they like their mini donut breakfasts
it’s what happens on Sundays here
pre First-Baptist-of-You-Tube
sitting at their dad’s feet
waiting on a bite
patient Schnoodles
best-behavied
time of
all
Sunday Morning Donuts Nonet
Great Granny’s Caramel Cake
my great granny Lena
made a caramel layer cake
second to none
back in the 1930s
between the Great Depression
and the sugar rationing years
teaching her daughters
the fine art of baking
just the way to moisten
the flour
just the way to bake
to touch
just the way to cook
the caramel sauce
not staying true
to any recipe, just
baking from the
knowing
baking from the heart
the way it tastes best
downtown,
a young man
“helps” an old lady across the
street when she
doesn’t want to go
still, emails come
offering to
pound cakes into molds
like this
the kind of store-bought
cake no one raves
about ever:
We are prepared
to support leaders
with individualized
coaching to positively
impact their school districts.
We have assembled
some of the best professionals
throughout the state to serve
as executive coaches.
We have made it a top priority
to provide this
performance-based l
leadership to inspire
leaders to “GROW” and achieve
maximum impact
my granny Lena knew the art
of a thing could not
underpower
the science of a thing
because frosting-forcing
falls miserably ~ implodes
like a cake that might
have been delicious
In Places Loved Nonet
today I loaded my car with books
first editions, autographed names
I’m holding on no longer
to these inked hostages ~
those sentiments are
not mine; nor those
memories ~
I’ve let
go
of
housing
what should live
in places loved
where their worth is not
measured in value of
possible return or in
collectors’ satisfaction but
in what’s inside ~ their words and message
Toxic Relics
in Genesis
Lot’s wife looks
back longingly
to the past
before turning into
a pillar of salt ~
so as I part with
these pieces of
past, these
memory scars of
what once was
but is no more
I heed
Luke’s caution ~
that the past can be
the kiss of
death for
the present
old books
have arsenic
old paint
has lead
old memories
have heartache
The Worms
I checked daily for
weeks on our baby wrens
in the garage
on the old desk
destined for Goodwill
but when I got
home from work
the nest was destroyed
pulled into the yard
a broken candelabra
shattered on the
concrete floor beneath
something got our babies
probably the feral cat
the black one that
comes in at night
trips the light
prowls around on the hunt
I tiptoe sometimes
down the hall to watch it
in its silent quest for a
field mouse
something found these
baby wrens I’d
eagerly spied on
from eggs to
nestlings, almost
fledglings,
their tiny mouths
opening for worms
at the slightest
bump or noise
in nature’s cruel twist
they became
the worms
Rest in peace, little ones.
The Tick
At 3:54 a.m.
I felt it~
the sting itch
of a bite
on my insole
I fumbled for
the itch cream
back in bed
couldn’t sleep
4:17 I felt the
critter urgently
scrambling
Along the back
Of my shoulder
Up my neck
Behind my ear
To my hairline
Where my fingers
Found it,
Pinched all
The way to the
Sink, released it
To see a lone star
Tick scaling the basin
I turned on the water
Chased it down the
Drain, pulled the stopper
And filled the sink
But still felt the
Crawly itch as I
Lay back down
on my eyebrow,
under my armpits
in the fold of my ear
even my clavicle
itched ~
(they don’t
make
clavicle itch cream)
Something Fast and Dangerous
it all happened so fast
thirty yards to our left
in the woods
along the edge of the driveway
in the rural countryside
in the early morning
where anything is possible
where most won’t walk without
a wildlife safety gun
** (but I do) **
as I was walking the dogs
a rustling of underbrush
and a flash
something fast and dangerous
*** (not a deer) ***
running through the trees
me in my work heels
in sudden panic
my sled dog team kicked into
high gear
jolting me into a
sprint
holding on tight
praying whatever it was
would keep going the other way
*** (it did) ***
making me wonder:
is it time for a wildlife gun
or at least a fire extinguisher?
On My First Day of Summer
It’s already as hot as August
in Mid-June, the kind of heat that
makes you wonder how we all
don’t cook to hardened arms and
faces like a pig on a spit
and why dogs don’t all
wear shoes on their feet
to go anywhere
and just exactly how people
without air conditioning lived
ages ago and whether frying
ice cream should be legal.
Open Write June Day 5 with Jessica Wiley/ Day 155 of The Stafford Challenge
Today marks 155 days that those in The Stafford Challenge began a yearlong quest to write one poem each day for a whole year. Last night, we celebrated with poet Jessica Jacobs of North Carolina via Zoom, listening to her share her writing retreat to the desert of Arizona as she wrote about the art of Georgia O’Keefe. When writing group days intersect, it’s always interesting to see how several ideas can combine into one poem and fit in all of the spaces.
Jessica Wiley is our host today at http://www.ethicalela.com for the final day of June’s Open Write for 2024. She inspires us to write poems by taking the spines of books and using them as lines. You can read her full prompt here.
My Reading Life
Life’s Greatest Treasure
Big Magic
Some Much-Loved Poems
Bear in the Back Seat
An Unexpected Guest
Living with Haints
Dead Uncles
Slice of Life and Open Write June Day 4 with Anna Roseboro
My writing groups converge today – Slice of Life Challenge writers and Open Write writers take joy on days when we get to see all of our fellow writers on the same day when the stars align. I’m so grateful for these groups of writers who are positive people, inspiring others to write. I also joined The Stafford Challenge in January, and we are around Day 160 of writing a poem every day for one entire year – so we’re close to the middle mark. Where would I be without my writing family? I don’t want to know.
Anna Roseboro of Michigan is our host for Day 4 of the June Open Write at http://www.ethicalela.com. She inspires us today to write reflection/projection poems, using synonyms for those words by looking forward and looking back. You can read her full prompt here. Today I have a working retreat before going off contract for three weeks over the summer, so I’ll be doing a lot of this today. I wrote a nonet, a nine-line poem with line-numbered syllables on each line in descending order.
Slice of Life writers are bloggers who share our posts and something about the moments of our lives. We write every day during March and all through the year on Tuesdays. You can find the home page at www.twowritingteachers.org to learn more. Today’s Slicing prompt is thinking about what inspires us to write on the early days of summer. I’m not quite there yet, but I’m almost there…….
Almost There
glancing backward to focus forward
setting the sails on this boat
checking wind direction
untying the ropes
feeling the breeze
smiling now
almost
there
Common Threads 