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Got your diagnosis from the pathology lab – you
Lying in room 491 of piedmont atlanta hospital
In the starched white sheets at a 30-degree angle the
Oncologist prescribes following
Brain surgery – along with protein and avastin and   
                      chemotherapy and radiation
Lying in room 491 of piedmont atlanta hospital
As we wonder glassy-eyed how the world can change
So instantly from frantic december shopping to partial 
                     paralysis with
Three weeks of intense in-patient treatments ahead
Of you – of us – of this family – to see if the white
Mask with the two-inch hole and the pills and protein
                      and 30-degree bed and 
All our prayers will keep you here with us
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Challenge from Glenda Funk: write a Skinny Poem in which lines 2-10 use single words, lines 2,6, and 10 repeat, line 1 presents a strong image, and line 11 repeats the words in line 1 in any order the poet chooses.

Waiting
Trembling in a rescue cage, you stood waiting
terrified
starved
matted
betrayed
terrified
neglected
abandoned
abused
terrified
you stood – awaiting rescue
-Kim Johnson
*inspired by true events in the life of a now loved Schnoodle named Boo Radley
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Challenge from Glenda Funk: write an Inspirational Bop poem


Misalignment
the incorrect arrangement
or position
of something or someone
in relation
to someone or something 
else
shift happens
evidence of misalignment
lives in
the invisible realm
where actions
do not
align with desires 
where priorities
compete with values
shift happens
members and churches 
parents and children
husbands and wives
brothers and sisters
friends and colleagues
respect boundaries
shift happens
-Kim Johnson
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Challenge from Glenda Funk:  Write an echo sonnet. (I made my echos hashtags).

None of us have spirited family Christmases with characters like these – I repeat: this is all fictional (required disclaimer). But for our friends who do, here is…..a holiday hashtag echo sonnet with 14 plus one more…….a solution.

Sleighfully Navigating a Spirited Family Christmas 

Self-proclaimed “Mother-of-the-Year” stepsister mommy shaming another?
#Santa-PatternedGiftwrapSmother!

Philandering uncle’s womanizing making you sick?
#ReindeerHoofSwiftCrotchKick!

Cheap-ass brother not bearing a gift?
#SnowmanFacialFeatureShift!

Political hothead brother-in-law TRUMPeting his lies?
#CandyCaneGougeOutEyes!

Know-it-all cousin crowing all he knows?
#Non-AngelicBloodyNose!

Holier-than-thou stepfriend “blessing your heart?”
#ToxicFumeElfBlameFart!

Perfect pink princess sister-in-law going to town?
#PeppermintMochaSpaTubDrown!

Meddling mother-in-law business-poking?
#GoodOldFashionedWreathChoking!

Freeloading stepbrother eating everyone’s lunch?
#Star-TreeTopperThroatPunch!

Gossiping father spewing venom?
#BowCuttingScissorStabbingDenim!

Bragging niece going yackety-yak?
#PoisonedMistletoeGutSmack!

Stumbling drunk nephew landing in laps?
#Eggnog-MoistenedFaceSlaps!

All 17 spoiled grandkids acting high class?
#PricklyHollySpankingAss!

Manipulative aunt controlling the back porch?
#StrategicallyAimedYuleLogTorch!

           The best way through the Christmas fog?
                       #CurlUpUnderTreeWithDog!

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Challenge from Glenda Funk:  Write a Fibonacci Sequence poem (Fib Poem), in which each line is comprised of the total of syllables in the preceding two lines.  
I re-wrote a poem I recently wrote in my Baltimore hotel room while visiting the city for the NCTE Convention.  Here is my Fib poem:

Doodle Doo

A
rooster
is too loud
in the city where
gunshots, fire trucks, sirens, and trains
don’t want to be wakened so early to do their jobs?

The original poem:

In the City

Airplanes are awhoosh in the sky overhead
Demolitionists gong blocks with wrecking balls
Construction crews clang chains and tools
Hotel elevators drone and ding…..all…damned….night….long
People clatter and clamor on the chaotic streets below my window
Trains thunder past on the tracks
Music blares like an unbridled banshee
Buses brake to screeching halts
Traffic trills, engines revving
Horns honk the rumblings of road rage
Fire trucks scream past flashing red flames across my wall
Gunshots pierce the silence
Police sirens wail out like victims
       blue lights pulsing through the veins of city streets
               somewhere between life and death

in the city
where roosters
are against the rules.

-Kim Johnson

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Challenge from Glenda Funk:  Write a Golden Shovel Poem by taking a line from a favorite poem and letting each word of the line be the last word in the lines of the poem you create.

“An Incident in Bethlehem”
From “Incident” by Natasha Trethewey
(Taken From Native Guard, winner of the Pulitzer Prize)
Line: At the cross, trussed like a Christmas tree, a few men gathered

In a lowly stable in Bethlehem, Mary gazes with pride AT
her sweet little baby, sent to save THE
souls of sinners; in the 33-year shadow of the CROSS,
the shepherds and sheep admire Jesus in a TRUSSED
manger, crib legs that would someday stand LIKE
intersecting compass points needling Heaven and Earth, A
lasting symbol of the reason we celebrate CHRISTMAS,
The hope held in these trees – the manger, the cross, the Christmas TREE–
offers both the blessings of this life and the promise of A
more glorious one in heaven, where more than a FEW
will reflect on the Nativity sets we once admired, with wise MEN
and angels, and pray this is where we will all be eternally GATHERED.

– Kim Johnson

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My Current Schnituation
schtep into my life schnituation –
my Schnoodle and Schnauzer schnensations
but before we begin
          with their schn’anigans, friend,
rest assured they’re both schpoiled aberrations
we’d long buried our Dachshund Roxane,
her schneezing schnozzle way out of hand
she left out hearts schattered
     all because sche’mattered
to her perschnickety ticky-toe fans
two new schnugglebugs’ schnares and schnafus
from previous lives needed reschcues
from their lives on the schtreetz
        to the warmth of our scheets
they’re schnupreme broken heart schnuper glu’ers
when schnissors appear they schtart schnarling
and schneering and schlinking a’farling
but my schnips – and their schnaps –
      and a few schnitzel schnacks
‘schurenuff schape up our schweet schqirr’ly darlings
we schnelebrate their schneaky kinship
their schpirited schnooping cahootship
though they’re schnocially schnobs
          and schly schustenance hogs
they’ve schnagged Funny Farm schnitizenship
-Kim Johnson
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The Struggle Is Real

I keep on going up a size
And now my clothes do not fit me
The only thing the same’s my eyes
I haven’t run in months, you see
I haven’t watched my diet much
My “counting points” has not occurred
For lunch I just eat such & such
These hips are nothing but absurd!
My stress level is off the chain
I can’t quit work – I need the funds
Which maybe helps excuse weight gain
I just can’t keep on gaining tons
The change is up to me to make
I need to do some exercise
I must stop eating junk like cake
And lower stress would be advised
I think I’ll start today at six
I’m really not sure when is best
Monday noon may be my pick
Will my willpower stand the test?
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Challenge from Susie Morice: write a poem about a piece of art, capturing its light, colors, mood and message.

Manatees 
In muted tones of warm shallows
with streams of light filtering through
the branches of underwater playgrounds,
Mom leads her calves
through a watery wonderland
teeming with life. 
Playful, gentle creatures,
sea cows know
the health of their water
by the diversity of its life.
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Challenge: write a poem about a struggle. 

Trenches and Summits

A world of drugs – of heroin and meth
Led my firstborn child down a dark road of death
Her journey began with the birth of her son
Her sleepy glazed smiles fooled everyone
We saw a proud mother adoring her child
Not knowing she had painkillers stockpiled 
Doctors whose orders seem helpful and kind
Can be the start of a helpless decline 
Addiction abducted with needling claws
The kind that gives mothers a new prayerful cause
But as walls kept on crumbling and tearing her down
Her family kept praying that she would be found
And God heard our prayers –
She landed in jail.
Her once healthy body was sallow and frail 
“I’m ready,” she said. “I want to get well.”
“We know,” we assured her, “you’ve marched straight through hell.” 
And what’s happened since then is a miracle still
An addict recovering and seeking God’s will
She now works with others to steer and to guide To help those who need one like her by their side
The thing about trenches so treacherous and bleak
Is that they become summits that others will seek.