Free Prompt for TOP: The Letter K

My granddaughter's name is Kylie so when I gave my poetry-writing students the assignment of taking a letter and meditating on it, K came to my mind immediately.
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Meditation on the Letter K

Three sticks make a K:
one long and two short ones.
This K is a peacemaker
offering a resting spot
for the two upstart
short sticks
that want to head
their separate ways.

K is picky, not showing
up in too many words,
but when he does,
he’s often with his sidekick C.
They are like Dick and Jane,
Barbie and Ken, Frick and Frack,
Kermit and Miss Piggy,
Captain Kirk and Dr. Spock.

K’s are masculine verbs
helping us walk, talk, pick,
snicker. They are cabooses
kicking us along.

A K says yes with
with every okay
but whispers
when he’s at the head
of the pack
leading us on to sparks
of knowledge.

On bended knee, a K
waits for acknowledgment
and a kiss.

Our Kylie started
as just a speck,
a look between her folks,
a knock on the door,
a quick smile.

Now, though, she has grown
into the capital K of her name
with two feet exploring
and an arm stretched out
ready to catch the package
of life.

Wedding for Sunday Scribblings

I teach a poetry-writing course in high school and the kids are also interested in writing song lyrics. I have had no experience with that but try my best to give them some ideas. This is one of my my poor attempts at writing an AAA song which contsists of three verses with a refrain at the end of each.
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The Wedding

Our friends were getting married
And we fought about the gift.
I suggested silverware
But you were for a fifth.
I rolled my eyes and shook my head;
I’d never win, of course.
We were going to a wedding
And heading for divorce.

You sat beside me in the church
But left a space between.
I listened to them say their vows
And swallowed down a scream.
I wondered why you hated me
I didn’t know the source.
We were sitting at a wedding;
I was thinking ‘bout divorce.

Later at the reception
In a silence filled with ache
You stayed on the other side of the room;
I thought my heart would break.
Then I heard them play our song
And felt you touch my back.
We danced and every movement
Put us more and more on track.
Our love was stronger than your fury.
It rocked us with its force.
We were dancing at a wedding
And forgot about divorce.

Zest, Dissolve, & Trinket for 3WW

The Recipe

called for orange
zest so I took that sunshine
out of the fridge
and grated the rind
into rays.

Then I added it
to the batter
of flour, sugar,
zucchini, baking powder,
and orange extract.

Because I’m never satisfied
with a plain recipe,
I added trinkets
of walnuts.

After I baked it,
I cut it into slices
letting the steam
rise like ivy vines
around and over
and into my nose.
I buttered it,
and then…

I took a bite
of all that warmth
and let it dissolve
in my mouth.

Invitation

for Sunday Scribblings
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The oak leaves
are waving
for me to join
them outdoors.

The sun’s eyes
have that come-on
look, bright,
inviting.

Through the pine trees
I see a lone maple
turned red,
a heart

beating, alive,
enjoying the life
left to it.
The air

is a golden gift.
All I have to do
is pull the ribbons
to open my day.

But what am I doing?
Sitting on the couch
watching Sunday Morning
and writing this poem,

feeling like the pair
of dungarees I see
hanging on the line,
stuck there.

3WW: They Met in Providence

Agree Execute Providence
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They met in Providence
at an insurance convention.

Two lost and lonely souls
looking for excitement.

She sent the buzzing bees
of her need straight

to the hive of his heart
and he got stuck

in the honey of her stare.
They spent the night

and both were amazed
at how creatively

the other was able to execute
maneuvers to please.

In the morning they agreed
to meet again the next year

then headed back to their spouses
and jobs and lives

humming a buzzing tune,
their steps lighter, like flying.

Coffee for Sunday Scribblings

When I get older,
I'm going to drink
coffee.

Each morning
I see its diaphanous
flavor

wrapping itself around
the corners of our
house

forming curlicues
of warm, cozy
scents.

I see my husband
pour cream in and
stir

it into caramel swirls,
sit down, and
commune,

become one
with its
energy.

I've always heard
that it was bad for
women

with fibrocystic breasts
so never took up the
habit

except for a rare
decaf laced with
Bailey's.

But soon I'll be
old enough to drink
coffee

every morning
and all those curls
will

flow deliciously
into my
mouth.

Miracle for Sunday Scribblings

Just a teensy, everyday miracle...
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Fog is tangled
in the arms of trees.

Pine needles
wear lone rhinestones.

Oak leaves
are aluminum covered.

The guy
across the street

sits at the edge
of his screen room

with the door open
and his legs sticking out

smoking a cigarette
and drinking coffee.

There is no sun;
there is no gold;

we’ll see no blue sky today.
I write a poem, anyway.

3WW: Awry, blame, Hiatus

Awry Blame Hiatus
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It’s fourth block.
The kids and I
are tired from a day
at school.

We are studying Hamletand his “to be or not to be” speech
is scheduled.

I have separated the parts
of the speech
to simulate
Hamlet’s dilemma
and run off copies
for them.

I divide the class
in two with desks
facing each other,
and have offered them
a challenge
to read the speech
in two voices.
The side with the loudest voices
wins an extra hundred
on their next quiz.

To make it fun
I have a tape recorder
ready to go.

First, we practice
and they mangle
most of the words,
especially the ending
where it says,

“Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pitch and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.”
They trip over “sicklied”
saying sickled, instead,
but after a little practicing
they get it.

And then comes “awry”
and they all want to say “aw´ ree”
over and over again!

So, I tape them
and play it back
and we laugh
and they never get it right.

Finally, I give up
and can’t blame them
for hating Shakespeare,

especially at the end
of a long day
when we are all too tired
to sympathize
with Hamlet
and all they can think
about is the bell ringing
a hiatus
from learning.