Invitation
I was once
invited to a
wedding
but I saw
the truth
of that
invitation
and
declined
without hesitation
without gift
without regret
without excuse
Invitation
Reduced Speed Ahead
Reduced Speed Ahead
crave different days
not working deadline-driven
not governed by clocks
seems all or nothing
drowning in a swift riptide
too tired to love life
sacrificing hearts
of days just to earn a wage
what’s a better way?
What Chickens and Pigs Teach
we could take lessons
from chickens in a dust bath
shaking it all off
instead dwell in mud
wallowing unforgiveness
pig kin bickering
get out of the mire
unstuck from the yucky muck
before it’s too late!
*inspired by a recent sermon heard on YouTube
The Main Character
The Main Character
he seeks center stage
he knows his lines, his music
his orchestration
but music changes
suddenly the stage lights dim
spotlights shift elsewhere
Day 30 of #VerseLove with Dr. Sarah Donovan of Oklahoma on a Slice of Life
Today we wrap up #VerseLove 2024 at http://www.ethicalela.com with a prompt from Dr. Sarah Donovan, inviting us to choose a favorite prompt from the month and write another poem on that same prompt. I chose Stacey Joy’s In Our Mama’s Kitchens and Fran Haley’s The First Time. A very special thanks to Sarah Donovan and to Two Writing Teachers for giving us a space to write and grow and encourage each other. I look back as a preacher’s kid growing up in a household where one truly never knew which way the ball was coming, and today’s poem takes me back to the first time I knew I needed to hold on tight.
Pastorium Perils
late summer 1971
in rural Reynolds, Georgia
the land of peach trees
in their time of ripeness
Mama was pregnant with
my baby brother and
we were in the den
Mama Daddy and me
when
~~whoosh~~
in through the kitchen door
a naked girl with
long wet hair
streaked through
our house holding a towel
screaming all the way
down the hall
to my parents’ bedroom
locking the door
on her heels her stepdad
pounding and screaming
threatening her life
I recognized them from church
I was five
the girl was a teenager
(with flapping boobs
……and hair….down there?)
her stepdad was drunk
my mother clutched me
carried me like a football
into my room
locked the door
then ran through
the connecting bathroom
I followed, fearful
to stay alone
crawled under their bed
Mama found the girl
huddled in the bottom
of their closet
shaking
crying uncontrollably
wailing for help
Mama comforted her
clothed her
sat on the bed
holding her
called the cops
we listened
in fear for Dad
as we waited
those slurred screams
of fury
are seared
into my memory forever
she comes with me
or I’ll go get
my ruiner
and ruin you
then more voices,
the crash of a lamp
furniture slamming
handcuffs, arrest,
police report
one prominent
family in ruins
exposed
it was the first time
I knew
growing up a preacher’s
kid would bring
a whole cast of
characters always calling
mostly clothed
it was the first time
I saw a naked teenager
running for her life
Day 29 of #VerseLove with Fran Haley of North Carolina
Fran Haley of North Carolina is our host for Day 29 of #VerseLove, inspiring us to write Heart Map poems. You can read her full prompt here.
Fran explains that author Georgia Heard created Heart Maps to help younger students find their own meaningful stories. She encourages us to brainstorm “first times” in our own lives – or last times.
The Last Time
The last time I came home
before you died you
stood feebly
in the door
cold rushing in
against your
flannel pajamas
swallowing you
life leaving your body
escaping you
your voice
deep and low
sunk to the bottom
of your being
a soul cry of despair
saying my name
Kim
proving you knew me
there at the bitter end
unlike the times before
your trembling arms
reaching for me
I reeled at
the change in you
in only a few days
and held you up
while we cried
both knowing
this would be
our last
standing hug
our last
cry together
our final
goodbye
before you
slipped away
I watched you die
Day 28 of #VerseLove with Glenda Funk: Strike Through Poetry
Glenda Funk of Idaho is our host for Day 28 of #VerseLove, inspiring us to write Strike Through Poems. You can read her full prompt here. Strikethrough poetry is similar to found or blackout poetry, where a poem exists within an existing poem.
The Key
Don’t you wish we
could take the key
to the end of
the island like
we used to do
when I was little
and you could still
say Latin names
for each shell and bird and tree
your love for them pure
and passionate before
the day it all changed
for you?
Day 27 of #VerseLove with Jessica Wiley: Sound Off Poetry
Jessica Wiley of Conway, Arkansas is our host today for Day 27 of #VerseLove2024. She inspires us to write Sound Off poems, spouting off about things that irk us. You can read her full prompt here.
Burning Realms
his whole realm
went up in smoke
ashes of trust
soot of believability
smoldering memories
of the way
upon-a-times
once were
the day he
struck the sulfury
match
burning an
entire
kingdom to the
ground
starting with
his own
castle
*sulfury is a play on soul fury, as in Jessica’s original prompt a podcast entitled Sound and Fury was part of the discussion.
Day 25 of #VerseLove with Tammi Belko: Where I’m From Poems
Tammi Belko of Ohio is our host for Day 25 of #VerseLove. You can read her full prompt here. She inspires us today to write Where I’m From poems, based on George Ella Lyon’s “Where I am From” poem. She provides a template to create a “Where I Am From” poem.
Royal Fortress Meadow
I’m from the Royal Fortress Meadow
from Breck shampoo and Johnson’s No More Tears
from wispy locks of amber gold, windblown in the breeze
I’m from chain-woven crowns of wildflowers, dandelions, and daisies
from backlit sunlight exposing the truth: there will never be no more tears
from churning butter and wondering why the pants don’t fit
I’m from ancestors of the lye soap stirred in the backyard tin tub
from the front porch swing and swigging Mason Jars of sweet tea
from wash behind your ears and do a good tick check
from a don’t you slam that screen door one more time! flyswatter granny
who swatted more than flies
I’m from the country church of the cardboard funeral fans
with the off-key piano
I’m from Georgia, Cherokee blood three generation branches up-tree,
still searching for the bloodstained earth of my ancestors
from Silver Queen corn, husks shucked
from shady pecan groves and Vidalia onion fields
from Okefenokee swamplands and railroads
that side that tallied three pees before flushing
from clotheslines of fresh sheets teeming with sweet dreams
from sleeping under a box window fan in sweltering summer heat
from folks doing what they could to survive
Day 21 of #VerseLove with Stacey Joy: Mama’s Kitchen Poems
Stacey Joy is our host today for the 21st day of #VerseLove. You can read her full prompt here. She inspires us to write Mama’s Kitchen Poems.
Kitchens are oftentimes the heartbeat of a home. They are gathering places and hold memories like no other room in a house. Stacey mentions a recent podcast episode featuring legendary author Judy Blume, finding herself mesmerized by Blume’s memories and stories of her mother’s kitchen. If you are interested in listening to that episode, here is the link.
Next, Stacey shares the process: Let’s share our memories from our mothers’ kitchens, our own kitchens, or any kitchen that holds memories for you.
A Lock of Hair
there, hidden in the cakes and pies section
of Mom’s Gold Medal recipe box
with all the family secrets
an unsealed blue envelope
holds tender gold tendrils
~ cherished childhood hair ~
ethereal
long blond strands
of me
steeped
in
love, one
remaining
wisp of a child
blended, kneaded, shaped,
her own recipe for
disaster ~ aproned kitchen
ancestors gather still to check
on this bun baked through all their ovens:
did she fall? did she rise? did she turn out?
Common Threads 