Anna Roseboro inspired me to wrote a poem based on Paul Laurence Dunbar’s “We Wear the Mask.” 

I went back and forth between an Etheree and a Golden Shovel form – I decided on an Etheree
– ten lines with that number of syllables in each line. I wrote mine in descending order, using borrowed lines with some rearrangement of words. 

Tortured Souls

Our cries to thee from tortured souls arise,
Christ, we smile, but oh, great Christ our cries!
We sing with torn and bleeding hearts,
Beneath our feet, long the mile!
Let them only see us
while we wear the mask.
It hides our cheeks,
Shades our eyes,
Masks the
Dream.

Say to them

Say to them, say to the chittering chatterers, the nonstop nonwriterss, the pencil-plagued, the drama driven, the social sasses, the introverted intellectuals, the down-in-the dumps depressed, the wordy will-nots:
“For all the talking and thinking and social media-ing you do, for all the ways you feel, for all the changing moods and all the injustices and all the promises and hopes and all the fears, you have stories! Forget the King’s English and the red pens of your past. Turn on your phone’s recorder and use talk to text if your pencil is out of lead for the 32nd time this month. Begin. Voice your story into air like you’re talking to someone, and watch it magically come to life as your words fall onto the screen.”
We all have something to say.
You, too, are a writer.
Work your magic.
Tell your story. .

Fix-it Bop 

this Bop is too small 

to hold all my problems 

20 lines and one refrain – 

which problem to choose?

family issues? 

health and aging? 

mama died, daddy won’t listen 

mom in law died, everyone fought 

thyroid quit, clothes got smaller 

arthritis plagues, we limp along 

IBD flares, applesauce sucks! 

Covid takes hostages, Zoom ain’t the same 

work is exhausting, no time to read 

spring cleaning is backlogged, I just want to write! 

My spirit needs writing 

Bop, Bop, Bop,

when earth’s axis is tilted off kilter 

it’s our hope in this space 

that’s the key! 

2005: The Lying, Cheating Fool’s Day

once hidden:
in the shadows
of the phone bill
between the unknown numbers
and private calls
under the cloak of darkness
in a back seat
behind the bowling alley 

then exposed:
truth spotlight
on a cockroach ~
legs scrambling ~
panicked antennae ~
backed into a corner ~
nowhere to hide 

now shrouded in shame:
all the careful-what-you-wish-fors
came true in an
inescapable twist of fate
where the winner ?
wasn’t you

Metaphor Dice Poetry 

I enjoy using Taylor Mali’s Metaphor Dice to get me started on a roll….

Confusion

Confusion is an insecure thunderstorm,

the kind that uproots 

long-established landscape 

and makes a person 

wonder whether 

the things that were 

once important 

still are. 

There is a boxed version – even an erudite set – and also an app! Here are examples, below. I used the app today and changed one word. 

Happy Birthday! 

My middle child of my Octane Trio born in the gas pump years 1987, 1989, and 1993 called me this morning after we’d played phone tag while he was moving his family into their new house on the South Carolina coast on his birthday yesterday. 

“Mom, I had a wonderful birthday – ate a huge plate of crab legs at The Boathouse for dinner last night. But we got into a long conversation about who exactly should be wished a happy birthday. And I want to congratulate you on having me. Happy birthday, Mom. You did all the birthing. I just showed up.  So happy birth day.” 

This is my most polite child, the one who always thinks of others before himself.  He admitted to two beers with dinner. 

“So how old are you, Mom?” 

I told him. 

“Holy cow! You need to retire. Travel. See the world while you still can…..” 

I reminded him that I’ve seen a lot of the world already and that his stepfather is six years older than I am. 

Long pause. 

“Jesus is coming, anyway, Mom. He’ll be here soon, but I just hope He waits until we’ve had some time to enjoy the new house. And until you’ve traveled  some more.”  

Another long pause. This is our love language – and there’s an unforgettable reason for the pi$$ing match. I say this to him every single year on his birthday: “Let me remind you that you entered this world peeing all over your own mama!” 

We laughed together and said our I love yous before we hung up…..just as we do every time he calls at random and unexpected times to say that he loves me and to tinkle on my day, filling my heart with joy. 

Peace ☮️ 🏕 Camp

If you ever wonder 

whether peace can exist 

in a diverse world, 

visit a campground! 

On campsite 72 

in Tugaloo State Park 

along the shores 

of Lake Hartwell 

this morning, 

birds and dogs and people

have lively conversations. 

An artist’s palette, 

colorful birds 

sing out in varied calls 

to greet the day.

All sizes and breeds of dogs 

from pampered spa types 

to those ruff at the tattered coats 

ask and answer.

People of all 

races, religions, and income brackets-

as likely to occupy a pup tent 

as a motorhome – 

dwell side-by-side, 

exchanging stories and hacks, 

sharing food and firewood. 

If you ever wonder 

whether peace can exist 

in a diverse world, 

visit a campground!