One Hundred Years of Company

Please don’t think I’m against company because of this poem. But I am adverse to judgmental, ungrateful, embarrassing company. And that’s all I want to say on that subject. The poem may speak for itself. (This is, again, after the Wednesday prompt today challenging us to change the title of a book and write a poem about that.)

One Hundred Years of Company

Or that’s how it feels
when you’re not really ready
to share every nook
and cranny of your home
with your overly-curious
in-laws
who silently judge
your housekeeping
based on a standard
made in the ‘fifties
when moms stayed home
and took care of
it all.

That’s how it feels
when you wake up
surprised
to see your company
in their boxers
outside in your garden
smoking
and putting the butts
in the garden gnome’s
hat.

That’s how it feels
when you no longer
even want to
suppress the words
that are begging to be
said.

Yes, it feels
like a hundred years
at least.

Vacuum

The Wednesday prompt was to write about Vacuum because with the lack of challenges filling our every thinking moment, the world does seem a bit more empty. It just feels wrong not to be thinking, thinking, thinking about how to attack the prompt. And so I DID try to think about how to attack the prompt…and the results were…well, you’ll see. ^_^

Nature Abhors a—Yawn

A-
drift in
a sea of
wordlessness I
try to wake my muse,
who, exhausted, mumbles,
turns over and falls to sleep.
“What a great idea,”
I think as I sink
into the down-
y cover-
let and
doze.

An Ode to Poetic Asides

Well, it is sort of an ode, though not an official ode in “FORM,” but more of an homage to the folks on the PA “street”, as we like to call it.  A nod to the way it feels (to me at least) to have one regular place to go to poem and read other poems and give and receive feedback, and  just enjoy it all. This is my take on the place.

###

Life on the Street

Oh, it’s usually pretty quiet here
on the street,
not a lot of fuss or fury.
but it’s kind of fun that way,
and we regulars enjoy the
peace and serene
enjoyment
of each other’s
words and
thoughts and
mere presence.

There are weekly
hello’s and a
little bit of chat
and support
and all that.
It’s fun, in a quiet kind of way.

But twice a year,
in April and November,
our quiet street becomes
a seaside resort,
or Swiss spa,
or amusement park carnival.

And we regulars?
We like it that way too.

^_^

While you were gone

The theme today is “while you were gone.” I had a few ideas, but these two popped to the surface. The second one is not necessarily about me; for instance, I don’t drink and never have, more than socially anyway. It is more a generic idea…and it is also non-denominational because that is important to me. So, here they are. ^_^

A Day in the Life

I missed you all night
since you wouldn’t let me into bed
with you.

And slept, curled up,
at the foot of the stairs.

I was so happy to see you this morning
I was probably a little too excited
and irritated you before you’d had
your coffee.

But luckily, we had breakfast together.
I’m not so fond of that dry cereal,
but you bought it for me
and I love you so.

And now you’re gone again
and I’m home alone
all day.

I didn’t mean to chew your shoes
but they smell like you
and I just couldn’t
resist.

It’s boring in the yard
with no one to play
with me.

And when you get home
the last thing you want
is me on your lap.

Please, please,
let me love you…

I’m only a dog
but I have a big heart
I’ll love you with
for life.

***

While You Were Gone

I lived my life in a sort of daze
I thought I was living it up.
I drank too much,
I opened doors that should have
remained closed.

I was reckless, I admit it.
I didn’t care who I hurt
but it turns out
I was hurting myself
most of all.

And now that I’ve let
Your light back
into my life
I realize
how empty I’ve been
without You,
my
higher
power.

Wednesday Poetry

Escape

High-tech life

Pressure rife

Filled with strife

Need a break

My escape:

Cooper’sLake

Back in time

Past sublime

Temperate clime

Minstrels sing

Armor rings

Heart takes wing

Day’s bazaars

Battlescars

Night with stars

Chivalry

Revelry

Courtesy

Reminisce

What I miss:

Pennsic bliss

(For those of you unfamiliar with Pennsic War, it is the largest event of the year in the Society for Creative Anachronism, or SCA, which is held every year in late July/early August. For more information about the SCA, go to www.sca.org. For more information on Pennsic, go to www.pennsicwar.org)

Wednesday Poetry

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 was “Serious” (Seriously.)

Uniformed

Open-ended conversation
Asked a stranger’s place and station
Found a soldier to the bone
Often traveled far from home.

Many hours we spent talking
On the bus and later walking
About the world that he has traveled
And his soul, which came unraveled

When in war zones far away
Prompting him to leave one day
Though he took the uniform off,
It wears him still.

***

Ambush

Yes, I am running late, again.
And yes, I still haven’t had
any breakfast
or coffee.

Yes, I know I’m behind on filing
And yes, I promise to get
to that dictation
still waiting.

But then

a call comes in
and someone’s child
has died.

My boss’s son
has just
passed away
on the operating table.
A minor surgery.
Nothing extensive
or scary.

And all of the minor
crazy
trivial
things
that made up my morning
are so ridiculously
insignificant now.

And all we can do
is cry.

Strange how death
can take us by surprise.
An awful ambush
of the worst kind
that changes one’s entire world
forever.

 

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.