Patchwork Prose and Verse
the closest we
ever got to a
rainbow was a
peacock feather
the day the two
went to Noah’s Ark
to look for things
to discover
to wonder about
I didn’t feel like
that kind of mother
who says a prayer
and leaves it in
the lap of Jesus
without worry
I was more
the warrior type
praying everyday
hoping all the
nickels would add
up to be worth a miracle
I knew in the back
of my mind when I
saw the Cheshire Cat
smile
Wife: Oh, good gracious! A tick!
(gets tweezers, removes tick, flushes it)
7 seconds later finishes
applying makeup, gets dressed and starts
writing before work in her favorite chair
***********
Husband: (hollers from shower)
Can you come here?
I need you to look at something!
Wife: (hollers back) I’m not falling for that again.
Husband: No, seriously.
I think I have a tick.
Wife: I’ll be there when you get out.
Husband: (parading into living room
towel wrapped around his waist,
still half-wet, hair every whichaway,
pointing just under his left nipple)
No wonder I’ve been itching since
we got home from camping!
Wife: Are you sure it’s a tick? It’s
embedded deep. It’s not a mole?
Husband: I don’t think so.
Do you have tweezers?
Wife: Yes, I’ll get them.
(brings them from makeup bag)
Husband: Here, you try! (hands tweezers back)
Wife: (rolling eyes)
Husband: Well, I can’t see that angle
Wife: There’s a mirror right
behind you (digging at embedded
tick, husband wincing)
Husband: Here, let me try
(takes tweezers)
Wait, do you have different
tweezers? These aren’t lining up right.
Wife: (goes and looks for another pair
brings them back 3 minutes later)
Husband: (still digging) I got part of it
Wife: The head is still in there.
Husband: I’ll dig that out later. I’m
going to be late for work…..
(dresses, kisses her, grabs coffee, leaves for work)
Wife returns to chair to finish writing
<writes: Ticks ~ Husband vs. Wife>
Day 5:
from the corner
of the house
I could see
the bull’s nostrils flare
I covered my eyes
and peeked through
two fingers
with one eye
our little rescue dog
the Schnoodle we
named Boo Radley
for his timid demeanor
the Schnauzer-Poodle mix
abandoned
in a duplex
by his former family
found by a landlord
matted and starving
thirsting to death
our Boo Radley
with more issues
than a decade of
Saturday Evening Posts
Boo, who trembles
when a cell phone dings
who drops his ears
when we pick him up
who has a nervous
breakdown when he
smells the heat
from the toaster
who sits and stares
down the driveway
when one of us
should be coming home
our Boo Radley
did a most
surprising thing
one of my adult daughters
still calls novels
chapter books ~
on hearing
our family news
she texted:
there I was
listening to my own
chapter book
in my own
little world
of someone else’s
little did I know
there was another
story unfolding
in my own….
I smiled and replied
this could be the start
of a new chapter…….
am I naive to
believe that purple foxgloves
bloom in forgiveness?
that what was destroyed
smiles Heaven’s understanding
and blesses again?
or am I just a
poet choosing to believe
signs hold messages?
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?
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
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?
Scott McCloskey is our host today for Day 26 of #VerseLove, inspiring us to write short billboard-type poems of wit and wisdom, the kind that stick with a reader and leave an impression. You can read his full prompt here, but I’m adding some notes below, too:
Scott explains:
This, of course, is not something new, this “poetry as billboard.” Poems have replaced advertising on some buses (and other forms of transit) in Washington thanks to the Poetry in Public program. https://www.4culture.org/poetry/ And over thirty years ago, The Poetry in Motion folks did a similar thing, placing poems in various transit systems in Los Angeles, New York City, Nashville, and San Francisco (among many, many others). https://poetrysociety.org/poetry-in-motion
Just looking at a small sampling of the poems from the New York Poetry in Motion selections https://poetrysociety.org/poetry-in-motion/category/new-york you’ll see some heavy hitters: Charles Simic, Audre Lorde, Tracy K. Smith, Maya Angelou, Seamus Heaney, Shakespeare, Sharon Olds, Billy Collins, Walt Whitman…look, I could just keep naming them, and you’d recognize all of them! You’d also notice that their topics (and size of selections) are as varied as the poets themselves.
Clinking Pens
on Aisle 12
I caught him
peering around
the corner
“I thought that was you,”
he smiled, approaching.
“Remember me?”
Of course I did.
“Chandler!”
We side hugged,
I asked him
about life.
“I want to
thank you,”
he said.
“You taught me
if I remembered
nothing else
to always keep
a pen on me.”
He reached
in his pocket,
pulled out
a black pen
with gold banding.
“I just bought
my first house
and signed with
it. I thought
of you.”
My breath caught
a tear welled
and my heart
burst with
that now-I-can
die-a-teacher-
who-mattered-joy
I reached in
my purse
pulled out
my signature
Pilot Varsity
fountain pen,
blue ink,
and we clinked
pens, smiling
there on
Aisle 12
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
Common Threads 