Don’t Forget

Today’s prompt was to begin with the phrase “Don’t Forget…” and go from there. I remember so many who’ve gone on, this seemed a good way to memorialize them.

Betty and Patricia

***

Don’t Forget

Those ones you treasured
while they were here,
the ones that passed before;
their memories hold
and keep them near,
for they won’t pass here more.

The things they taught you,
both good and ill,
can guide you in your life.
Remember well
each pain, each thrill,
their lifelong joys and strife.

If you keep them close
and in your heart,
they’re never far away.
Their lessons shared,
their life, their art,
will bless you every day.

***

***

***The picture is of my great-grandmother and her daughter, my grandmother. They have both passed on and both have taught me so many lessons I’ll never forget, both for good and ill. Part of knowing what to do is knowing what not to do, and much as I love them, there is always that. As much as I can, I carry them with me every day.

Plea poem – What Were You Thinking?

The prompt was to write a “plea” poem.  I blame the mood of today’s poem on the migraine I had yesterday. Leaves me feeling a little weary, though life really is good. Be warned, though, reader, my positive self is still sleeping with many pillows in my quiet bed.

***

What Were You Thinking?

You let me go,
me and our three sons
(one was only six months old)
and you refused to help us.
(At least, without a court
order.)

You flew over two thousand miles
to take my car, though you
at least
allowed me to take the
car seats and strollers out
when I caught you at it.

You begrudged every single penny
the court made you pay
to care for your kids.

Is it just that you wanted me
to suffer? Even though you
were the one who
cheated?

Is it that you wanted to
simply wash your hands
of my part in your
history?

You tried to make me feel
like I was the bad one,
like I had done something
wrong
by not falling in with
your plans
as I did when we were married.

But my loyalty no longer belonged
to you.

You no longer had my trust.

My heart no longer held
you within.

And you could not comprehend
that I had given those things
to you freely,
you thought I was simply
dumb.

And I look back now
from a distance of twenty years
and wonder
what you could possibly
have been thinking?

I could never have abandoned
my children
to fate
regardless of the personal cost.

What was wrong with our marriage
was you.

Used heart: once broken, but still functional.

April 23, Morning

Ugh – busy, busy day today. But I took a moment to write my poem about “morning.” It was a beautiful morning the the pacific northwest…

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Morning in the Mist

The most beautiful morning
I can remember
was in the Jefferson Wilderness
in the Pacific Northwest.

We’d hiked in the day before
with me and two boy scouts
and one man.
Plus 12 silly girls and 3 moms.
I remember feeling I just didn’t belong
not only because the girls
were so silly (they’d brought
curling irons
and hair dryers
for the hike)
but because I got along so much better
with the grownups.

My tent?
A tarp I strung between a couple trees.
I had a ground cloth,
the rain was light and
besides, the trees deflected
most of it
high above.

And that way, I didn’t have to hear
the ceaseless chatter, chatter, chatter
all night because no one wanted to share
my crude shelter.
(Well, save a squirrel I caught
robbing my pack. I let him have
some granola.)

I slept fine.

The sun came up early, and the mist
was rising when I got up
and took a walk by the lake
and watched the sun come up
over the mountains.

I felt touched by God.

Once Upon a _______

Today’s prompt is another “fill-in-the-blank” prompt. I ran with it. It kind of stole some of yesterday’s theme, though. That happens. Here is my attempt… And remember, no poets were harmed in the making of this poem.

Once Upon a Broken Heart

Once upon a summer night
at the park, under the lights
children rolling down the hill
tumbling, giggling, laughter shrill
Thinking that for once I’m right
about you.

Once upon a sunny day
I thought to go but said I’d stay
snuggled up with you so close
Heart to heart and nose to nose
Gladly dancing love’s ballet
with you.

Once upon a starlit night
Words were spoken, seemed so right
And so binding our two hearts
whispered words, we’d never part
holding close with all my might
to you.

Once upon a stormy day
You said what I had thought you’d say
And harshly, coldly, had to part
Things you’d done had torn apart
our love, turned the world to gray
without you.

Once upon an afternoon,
years later, true, and none too soon
we met again in awkward grace
and found our hearts had kept the place
bookmarked; I was still in tune
with you.

Once upon a broken heart
We’d fallen hard, but had to part
but only so we’d learn true love
is something sent from heaven above
If love you’ll have, I’ll never depart
from you.

Addiction

Wow, today’s prompt was kind of a shock at first glance. Addiction? Seriously? But that’s because of my first thought: drug addiction and all the baggage that goes with that. So then I thought about other ways to be addicted. I think I’ve come up with a whimsical-enough solution to suit my nature. ^_^

My Crafty Addiction

It started with cooking

to help mom save time

helping with dinner

at about age nine.

That turned to baking.

I just love to bake:

cookies and candy

bread, pie and cake.

As a young woman

I learned how to sew

I worked at a theater

making costumes to go.

Then I took up knitting

and crochet and more:

Yoga and ceramics

and camping galore.

And writing, wow, writing

Now that is so fun!

Novels and poetry;

I’ve only begun!

Lately I’ve looked at

making jewelry too.

Cliff diving? Gardening?

I’ll just add a few.

But I have a question

It’s not that hard to see:

Am I running my life,

or is it running me?

OMG TGIF!

I  love Fridays. When I was in school, Fridays were the day everyone was finally released for at least two blessed days to do something besides what the teachers wanted. I was a particularly indifferent student: if I wasn’t interested in the subject I didn’t do very well in it. Also, if the teacher didn’t interest me, or was too cold, I did not perform well. Now that I think of my school life I am reminded of that children’s book “Mike Mulligan and his Steam Shovel.”  His steam shovel, “Mary Anne” always worked harder and faster the more people were watching.

For me, maybe it was more approval I was looking for. If I felt an approving audience, I performed marvelously, even if I didn’t completely “get” whatever it was I was trying to learn. Under the tutelage of Mr. Corn (my HS algebra teacher) I passed Algebra I and II. This despite most vehemently NOT being a math person. He convinced me to give Geometry a try. It was a dismal failure, mostly because he was not tutoring me anymore. Ask me someday how I managed a B in that class. (Hint *It was not through trickery, but something close to that. ^_^)

So here it is, Friday, and isn’t it true that a little of that heady I-can’t-wait-to-be-released feeling is a carryover from school days? Maybe.

Happy Friday everyone!