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.

______ or _______

The prompt today was really difficult for me, but only because there are so very many options to pick from. Choose a phrase using _____ or _____ (i.e., this OR that, high OR low, flat OR fluffy, creamy OR crunchy, ranch OR Italian, etc). It’s always so hard to decide. Anyway, I chose two variations on the theme. Here they are.

 

Paper or Plastic?

We’ve all heard this once or twice
and have opinions on what’s nice
to haul our groceries away.
But I usually bring my own net bags
(and a couple made from t-shirt rags
that have a certain cool cachet)
I do sometimes get funny glances
but really don’t mind taking chances;
I just don’t care what people say.

Paper or plastic?
Neither.

###

Cut or choose?

This is what I
told my kids
when there was only
one
slice
left.

The ultimate
fair solution to
the problem of
two kids
and only one piece left
(of cake or pie or cornbread).

When they first heard,
“He gets to cut it,”
one would beam
and the other groan.
But then I would add,
“But your brother gets to choose
which one he wants.”
And the looks changed
to puzzlement
and torture.

The most even pieces
in the world
(of cake or pie or cornbread)
were produced at my house
when my boys got to
cut or choose.

Poetic Wednesday

The prompt today was: “Everything’s against me” and it did make me stop and think. Back to a time when I truly felt that everything and everyone was trying to make life unbearable. ^_^

Retrospect

Oh, to be 16 again
(and know what I know now).

I know now that every little 
pimple
broken nail
disarrayed hair
missed phone call
isn’t the tragedy I thought it was then.

I know now that 
I don’t have to be tan
to be cute.

I know now that
no matter how I loved that boy
there really are other fish in the sea.

I know now that being 
young
healthy
happy
are such miracles
and should be appreciated.

But appreciation is for 
the wiser
(older)
soul.

As a teen
everything
(everyone)
exists to 
annoy
torment
pressure
plague
bother
demand.

Only in retrospect
was that life
and time
beautiful.

Quote of the Day – August 16, 2011

What did you think, that joy was some slight thing?

—MARK DOTY, American poet

Wednesday Poetry Prompt – May 25, 2011

The poetry prompt comes from Poetic Asides by Robert Lee Brewer. If you want to try the prompt, go for it! Just go to the prompt of the day, go to comments, and put your poem up! It’s fun and the people there are very encouraging!

The prompt today is “Priorities.”

Writing

A page a day?
You can do better than that.
But the pressure
of a page
every
day
makes it much more
difficult
to come up with prose.

On the other hand,
if I let myself
(my imagination)
run wild
and write as much as I want
as often as I can
sometimes
I have
a fifty-page
day.

Bitterroot

As your daughter,
I wanted to be
part of your life.

Of course I did, I loved you.

But you were full of fear
or pain
that you hid behind,
telling us kids:

“It hurts too much
to see you, and not
get to keep you.”

I try to imagine your pain.

How can it compare with
the pain of a child
with no anchor?

No father in the audience
at recitals and plays.

No father at home wanting
to interview her dates.

No father for the
father/daughter dance
at her wedding?

Instead,
I find myself
on the sidelines.
Hearing about you
from others; witnesses to your
life. They know you, I don’t.
I hear them say, “Wow, you
look just like your dad!”

and

“He loved you so much.”

Really? How can you tell?
I want to yell at them,
scream that he was not the man
they thought he was,
the man who raised my
stepmother’s children
so lovingly.