Something Fast and Dangerous

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it all happened so fast

thirty yards to our left

in the woods

along the edge of the driveway

in the rural countryside

in the early morning

where anything is possible

where most won’t walk without

a wildlife safety gun

** (but I do) **

as I was walking the dogs

a rustling of underbrush

and a flash

something fast and dangerous

*** (not a deer) ***

running through the trees

me in my work heels

in sudden panic

my sled dog team kicked into

high gear

jolting me into a

sprint

holding on tight

praying whatever it was

would keep going the other way

*** (it did) ***

making me wonder:

is it time for a wildlife gun

or at least a fire extinguisher?

On My First Day of Summer

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It’s already as hot as August

in Mid-June, the kind of heat that

makes you wonder how we all

don’t cook to hardened arms and

faces like a pig on a spit

and why dogs don’t all

wear shoes on their feet

to go anywhere

and just exactly how people

without air conditioning lived

ages ago and whether frying

ice cream should be legal.

Slice of Life and Open Write June Day 4 with Anna Roseboro

My writing groups converge today – Slice of Life Challenge writers and Open Write writers take joy on days when we get to see all of our fellow writers on the same day when the stars align. I’m so grateful for these groups of writers who are positive people, inspiring others to write. I also joined The Stafford Challenge in January, and we are around Day 160 of writing a poem every day for one entire year – so we’re close to the middle mark. Where would I be without my writing family? I don’t want to know.

Anna Roseboro of Michigan is our host for Day 4 of the June Open Write at http://www.ethicalela.com. She inspires us today to write reflection/projection poems, using synonyms for those words by looking forward and looking back. You can read her full prompt here. Today I have a working retreat before going off contract for three weeks over the summer, so I’ll be doing a lot of this today. I wrote a nonet, a nine-line poem with line-numbered syllables on each line in descending order.

Slice of Life writers are bloggers who share our posts and something about the moments of our lives. We write every day during March and all through the year on Tuesdays. You can find the home page at www.twowritingteachers.org to learn more. Today’s Slicing prompt is thinking about what inspires us to write on the early days of summer. I’m not quite there yet, but I’m almost there…….

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Almost There

glancing backward to focus forward

setting the sails on this boat

checking wind direction

untying the ropes

feeling the breeze

smiling now

almost

there

Open Write June Day 3 with Susan Ahlbrand

Susan Ahlbrand is our host today for the third day of the June Open Write at http://www.ethicalela.com, inspiring us to write poems about graduation. You can read her full prompt here. I’ve chosen a nonet, a nine-line syllabic countdown poem.

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Graduation Nonet

Teachers all worried about airhorns

beach balls should have been their concern

we learned how to inflate them

under our gowns, then how

to launch them at once

on secret cue

skyward dreams

island

style

Open Write June Day 1 with Sarah Donovan at www.ethicalela.com in the style of June Jordan

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For Day 1 of the June Open Write, Dr. Sarah J. Donovan of Stillwater, Oklahoma invites us to write poetry using the mentor poet June Jordan’s poetry. You can read Sarah’s full prompt here.

Now This

these nights
they are
hormonal hot
flash hell ~
flapping bedbirds
fluffing sheets
sleeplessly
in all the heat
and rumble
of the dark

these nightmares
they rage in ~
nocturnal carnage
at the screaming
speed of melatonin
on the yellow
eyes of a
Great Horned
Owl in a
trembling tree hollow

these scarecrows
they lurk now
in apocalyptic meadows
where as children
we found
peaceful slumber
we called
sweet dreams ~
all those sugarplums
that once danced
in our heads

~ now this

Mosaic

Ollie is upside-down

in the olive chair

chasing rabbits in

his sleep in the quiet

morning whirr of

the fan, coffee

steam rising from

my cup, Boo Radley

curled around my neck

like a fur-fringed coat

on the back of my chair,

Fitz hiding out under

the bed again

while I consider all

the fine porcelain

plates, these

place settings of past

destined to become

somebody’s mosaic

art piece of the

future

Going Bananas

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when the world

takes on its murky

hue and the heaviness

of the anchor spirals

downward making it

hard to keep my head

above water I wonder

about my age

and whether I’ve

depleted all the

happy chemicals

or whether I

just need to

eat a banana

Crisis in the Manhole

rarely do I ever

get to see true

hold my beer

moments as I

did last week

we’d just finished

dinner when a

dad waiting for

a table took his

baby on a shoulder

ride through the

parking lot,

stopping over the

grate to pretend

to dump the kid

in the hole

he didn’t dump the

kid, he lost his

air pods ~ the case

fell from his pocket,

one pod from his ear

he took the baby back

to the mama and

returned with a buddy

who set down his

beer and went

in the hole for

the retrieval

the old lady in me

was nervous so

I stood in the road

to warn oncoming

cars that there was

a crisis in the manhole

and just like that

the pods were back

in his ears and their

table was ready

A Flickering

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at 4:37 I heard

scrambling of paw

on wood floor

ticky-toe hurried

steps toward

the bedroom door

next the whining,

different from normal

pleas, like someone

stepping full weight

on my Boo Radley

then a return to

the bed, where he

turned in circles

bumping us with

his body to wake

us up, then lay

between our heads

trembling

panting

as if there were

a ghost.

I took them out,

all three,

in the light balmy

mist of the

pitch black

Georgia backwoods

starry skies

thought of the bits

of squirrel tail

over near the tree

line where violent

death hung in the

recent air

we came back

inside, and I turned

off the light to return

to bed.

A flicker after the

switch-off, and I

knew.

Hello, Mom!