Patchwork Prose and Verse
Today is my grandson River’s fifth birthday, and what a joy he is! His smile lights up a room, and his eyes talk. I chose an Acrostic Cinquain, a 5-line poem for my favorite 5-year old with 5 letters in his name. Happy Birthday, River!
River
Inquisitive, Vivacious
Volunteering, Kayaking, Snuggling
Everybody's favorite Transformer master!
(g)Randson
I’m having so much fun with The Stafford Challenge that I can’t bear to face my goal chart every month. I’m dropping back to quarterly reflections. Poetry offers more self-care, which I need more right now than thinking of all the things I’m not doing that I should be doing.
So I’m poeming instead.
Hippie Scrapbook Stickers
My childhood scrapbook, filled with stickers
psychedelic colors, hippie
Kim was here!! footprints, daisies,
seventies lettering
mushrooms, all the vibes
coolest era
best music~
Kim is
here!
he got his truck stuck
in the mud last week
and had to call a buddy with
a chain to pull him out
so now we are dickering
bickering about whether rain spots
on the road are dark or shiny
because that’s what
married people do ~
we dicker and bicker over words
in the car
playfully draw invisible
boundary lines
down the middle
just like kids
spinning tires
stuck in our own mud
all the way to see his favorite 70s band
Atlanta Rhythm Section
we sing all the words
at the show
except that one song
we remember when
link fingers
sneak a kiss
hold hands
all the way home
unstuck
invisible lines erased
humming
It’s just like a dream you can’t remember
Even though you always wish you could
When it’s gone, it’s gone forever
When it’s gone, it’s gone for G – o – o – o – o – D
I was so thrilled when my daughter in law texted me earlier this week to let me know that three of my grandchildren had a tea party with my childhood tea set I passed on to them. These pictures just melt my heart, seeing their little hands hold the cups I once held. What a joy and blessing! I’m also grateful for their mother, who creates special moments for them and shares them with me. She is an absolute treasure, and we love her so much!
My
grandchildren had
a tea party
with my childhood china
{{ pictures!!! }}
Our host today for the fifth day of January’s Open Write at www.ethicalela.com is Dr. Leilya Pitre of Louisiana, who inspires us to write Naani poems. Nanni poems are 4 lines of any topic, with 20-25 syllables. She challenged us to look to the texts on our phones to find a poem.
Naani Goat
William the goat
was a character.
The Sapelo cabin is a story.
The fireplace remains.
Our host today at http://www.ethicalela.com for the 4th day of the January Open Write is Larin Wade of Oklahoma, who inspires us to write free verse poems on the theme of reflection or discovery, following a reading of One of Us by Joyce Sidman as we explore a time when someone revealed something new about themselves or reflecting on a defining moment. You can read her prompt here.
I’m an Honorary Unicorn
I came in to work
on a cold Monday morning
to find her note
on my keyboard
Her children
have lost 4 grandparents
in the past 5 months
and all I did
was take pizza to her house
while she and her husband
disconnected life support
said goodbye to a father
And here, she thinks
I’m a magical unicorn
who is noble and brave
who shoots lighting bolts
from my eyes
who inspires others to sparkle
who carries a passport to Fairyland
who is kind and good
but not a goody-goody
who loves with my whole heart
She thanked me for the little
thing I did
taking pizza over
and always being there
but she got it wrong.
I’m none of that except maybe the Fairyland passport carrier
But I’ll tell you one thing:
I’m using that checklist to
be a better me.
My unicorn friend has
given me new goals:
pooping glitter and charming dragons
Our host today at http://www.ethicalela.com for Day 3 of the 5-day January Open Write is Dave Wooley of Connecticut, who inspires us to write WHY poems in list form, choosing a list of purpose and then explaining it in 10 because reasons. Hop on over and read his prompt and the poems that are born into the world today. I’ve chosen a prose poem to combine with the list poem just because I got rambling a little bit on the bird soapbox……
Why I Watch Birds
Because Eastern Phoebe, see, she’s the forest drunk and she hiccups and calls her own name like she’s forgotten who she is and where she’s supposed to be, and she makes me laugh first and then cry later like that time at the Atlanta Braves game when that lost woman looking for her seat stumbled down to the front of an entire section and yelled up to ask if ANYBODY recognized her
Because Brown-Headed Nuthatch, see, she’s always in the middle of a domestic dispute telling somebody how it’s gonna be, telling her man he ain’t got a lick of sense and he ain’t coming all up in her tree stirring up no trouble, better carry his ass on out there and find another nest to be a deadbeat dad, and she makes me cheer her strength
Because White-Headed Nuthatch, see, she’s the Social Media Gossip, laughing like an evil circus clown at all the crap she stirs up in the woods, revealing her own true self in the mirror, projecting her sins through the rough-bared face of the forest trees, and she helps me see the weakness and insecurity of people who laugh at others like this
Because Great Horned Owl, see, he’s an all-nighter with all this early morning coffee shop talk across the farm, like he’s an old man sharing some great wisdom when all it is, is a ploy because let’s face it — the man sleeps all day and sheds no light on anything pertinent to school, so why they ever put a cap and gown on him baffles me, and he reminds me not to let his kind fool me
Because Wood Thrush, see, he’s a bird that blends into the scenery, yet his song is the most beautiful of all, kind of like those normal-looking people who step behind a microphone and belt out a song that’ll bring you to tears and give you chills and wonder to yourself, where did that come from? And who else am I underestimating?
Because Eastern Wood-Pewee, see, he’s always answering roll call, saying his name like he’s entered the building and the party can start, like a kid with a bad case of Senioritis who is perpetually late and wants to be sure he’s marked present so he’s not caught skipping
Because Northern Cardinal, see, he’s a woman-whistler, cat-calling at every woman who walks by, calling her pretty, pretty, pretty, just like some will do – some with good intentions, some with not-so-good intentions, but still giving me the gumption to tilt my chin up and carry on with the day
Because Ruby-Throated Hummingbird, see, she will ask for her food and thank me for it, then hover directly a foot from my face and look into my eyes like she’s blessing me with good vibes of peace and joy to feel like I can make a thumbprint-size difference, reminding me that all hope springs forth and wells up from a tug the size of a tiny thimble into a cascading waterfall
Anna Roseboro of Michigan is our host at http://www.ethicalela.com for Day 2 of the January Open Write, where educators gather to write poetry and share thoughts. Today’s prompt has us thinking about the motivation of a book character – what drives them to action.
I thought of the book I’m reading, An Irish Country Doctor by Patrick Taylor, and decided on two limericks today, showing the relationship between the old doctor O’Reilly and young doctor Laverty. (I changed the last line of the first limerick about twelve times…..you can guess the obvious struggle with that last word, but I kept it clean since it’s Sunday – my own motivation and reason).
The Young and The Old
There was a young doctor from Belfast
whose countryside practice in green grass
was learning the ropes
in this village of folks
from an old mentor doctor with wise sass
When Laverty finds Doc O’Reilly
he bites his tongue, sees raw truths wryly
patient respect is a must
as country doctors earn trust
before they’re regarded so highly
It was 13 degrees when I woke up to take the dogs out at 5:15 a.m. For three years now, I have risen well ahead of time to leave for work, just so I can get my daily writing done. My goal time is 6:00 A.I.S* in the living room chair where my lap desk, lamp, and computer are arranged.
I was trying to talk myself out of a shower in this insane cold, but I knew I needed what my husband calls “climatizing” – – water that regulates the body to the normal temperature before heading out into the world to see what the day brings.
Normally, all three dogs get a treat and head back to bed while we get ready, but somehow two of them got shut out of the bedroom and remained in the living room while I took my shower. I heard whining at the door, and when I opened it to go into the living room, Fitz and Ollie made a beeline for the bed to join their brother Boo, who was buried under the covers, snoozing.
That was when I saw it.
Aha! I thought. Making a mess by the couch, I see. No wonder they hung back in the living room.
Not one of our boys wanted to go to the edge of the woods in this cold as they usually do for this kind of business. They’d all three peed and come straight back inside. But not one of them did the other emptying.
I grabbed a paper towel to clean it up, but when I got there, it wasn’t what I thought it was.
This dog mess was a frozen toad.
I picked it up to toss it back out the door and wondered whether it may still be alive. On closer inspection when I flipped it onto its back in my hand, I saw the poor creature struggling to breathe.
My Grandmother Jones would be rolling over in her grave, but I clasped the frigid little thing between my palms to warm it and soon felt a stirring. A muscle stretch. A pulse of life.
But how? I wondered. How had this frozen toad gotten into our house?
I’d brought the plants inside at lunchtime the previous day, ahead of the cold. Perhaps it could have come in that way, but it was far too cold to have slept in the heat of the house. I concluded that it must have been waiting by the door and jumped in when I’d taken the dogs outside.
As I put my socks on, though, it hit me – – the toad had been quite frozen, too stiff to move. There was no way it could have hopped twelve feet from the door to the corner of the couch.
What had happened?
After piecing the possibilities together, my husband and I believe that our toad-loving Fitz brought this little buddy inside and hopped up into his favorite living room resting place on the back of the couch with it, guarding it. That must be why he and Ollie hadn’t come back to bed – they’d been toad watching.
We slowly thawed it out, and I took it to work with me – and to the local coffee shop for a meeting – in a little plastic box with the lid half-cocked and taped shut. At lunchtime, I brought it back and released it right here on the farm so that it could return to its family. Not many Pike County toads can say they were brought back from death and taken out for a morning of work and coffee.
But Lazarus can (thanks to Glenda Funk for suggesting the name).
Back-Again Amphibian Tanka
In the house, a toad
Somehow, in from dark night’s cold
Lazarus, jump forth!
Resurrected Frozen Toad
Back-Again Amphibian
A.I.S., as defined on an episode of the sitcom Everybody Loves Raymond, means ass in seat.
I accepted the challenge thrown at my feet. And by thrown at my feet, I mean the Facebook post stopped my scroll. I clicked on Learn More and read the details. A poem a day for a year, starting January 17. They call it the Stafford Challenge, and registration ends today.
Sounds like my kind of adventure.
I signed up, and my backpack is ready for the year ahead. My computer is charged, my coffee is hot, and my momentum is high. I’m looking around – – where is the inspiration in any writing time? Never farther than a foot away. I see my coffee cup, white with a black butterfly etched in the surface. Me. I see myself – caffeine for the long journey ahead, and the freedom to make it.
I have a Zoom tonight to see what it’s all about, but for today, all I need is my poem.
Ready
wings spread, eyes open
every moment, a story
becomes a poem
Common Threads 