3WW: Abandon, Gradually, Precise

Must abandon wheat,
not gradually but now.
My body hates it.
EATING PRECISELY FOR MY BLOOD TYPE
My hunger hates this.
I’ll gradually adjust.
Goodbye most loved wheat.

Sunday Scribblings: Dragon & Writer's Island: Imaginary Friend

A room full of teenagers
ready to learn
how to write songs

how to translate
their emotions
into music

how to turn
their angst
into notes

that float around
become light
and land easily.

I have compiled
a list of the different
types of songs

and begin explaining
and playing the examples.
I’ve chosen contemporary

tunes that they can relate to
and enjoy.
They are polite

and listen and learn
but a spark is missing.
Then we get to one

I think they’ll hate
and make fun of. I
hold my breath and start

Puff the Magic Dragon
and it’s like I flipped
a switch.

Their eyes light up,
their heads begin to sway
and some even sing along.

The room is dancing
with melody
and energy

and this imaginary friend
from their childhood
is alive again.

The song ends,
they grab their pens
and on plain white paper

they begin to capture
the secret longings
in a land called Honah Lee.

Sunday Scribblings: Recipe and Poem

Growing up in a Catholic family meant no meat on Fridays. It seems that about eighty percent of our meals on that night consisted of a sauce my mom would make with some kind of fish. It was sort of like Tuna Wiggle but my mom didn't put peas in and she used a variety of canned seafood. It was pretty simple and we just called it Sauce.


Sauce

2 cups milk
2 tblsp. butter
salt and pepper
2 tblsp. corn starch
2 cans of tuna, and/or shrimp, and/or crabmeat, and/or salmon

1. Pour milk into a sauce pan.
2. Add the butter and salt and pepper
3. Bring to almost a boil.
4. In the mean time, mix the corn starch with ¼ cup of water
5. When the milk is almost boiling, stir in the corn starch mixture
6. Cook and stir until thick and bubbly
7. Add seafood
8. Serve over toast or mashed potatoes with a veggie on the side.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Sauce

Family love
pours over us
filling in
our nooks
and crannies

sometimes whether
we want it to or not.
Our only telephone
perched on the wall
barely two feet
from my dad’s
place at the table.

When it rang
that Friday night
during supper,
I jumped up to answer.
“Hey, listen” said
my date for that night.
“I’m up at Flint’s
blowing my mind.
You want to meet
me at the dance?”

“If I’m there, I’m there.
If I’m not, I’m not.”
I responded and hung up.

All eyes stared,
all ears perked up.
I hadn’t even been out
with this guy, yet,
and, already, I’d have
to lie to my parents?

They sat there
expecting an explanation.
The phone rang again,
a slight reprieve.
“Hey, listen, you
want to go to the movies
instead? I’ll pick
you up.”

Acceptable.
I relayed that
and heads nodded,
eating resumed,
normal banter
flew back and forth
again.

He met my parents
as they were on their way
out to go bowling,
played a game of cribbage
with my brother,
then we walked
to the theater,
watched The Taming
of the Shrew,and returned home
to have hot
chocolate with my folks
and sister.

Conversation and smiles
drifted around
like the steam
wisping from our cups.

It was just another
Friday night,
another connection
of family,
another meal
of sauce
spreading it’s comfort.
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And in case you're wondering, the guy liked it so much at our house that we ended up getting married and we'll be celebrating our 39th anniversary in June.

Big Tent Poetry #2: Aural Experience

Big Tent Poetry asked us to listen this week to something technical, jot down a few words from it, and see where they take us.

From “Criminal Profiling” come these terms: comfort zone, triggering trauma, brain damage, chemical imbalances, negative parenting
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Trip Out of Life

It’s a shift
chemical imbalance
continuing death
nausea
no comfort zone
legs push covers
sweat pops out
heart races
fan face
brain damage?
menopause
the beginning
of the end.

Writer's Island: Stowaway

Stowaway

I got up early
on Saturday morning,

saw the aluminum sky
so turned the computer

on and flew to the sunny
shores of Writer’s Island.

There I found a shiny shell,
picked it up and put it

in my pocket. All day
I carried that stowaway

with me. I’d slide
my hand in and feel

it nestled there, smooth
and full of possibilities.

At night I placed it
next to my bed

and woke up today
dreaming about this poem.

Big Tent Poetry #1: Poetry Reading

Big Tent Poetry is a new poetry site.  Each Monday they put up a prompt and on Friday people can leave their poems for others to read.  This week's prompt was to write a persona poem by adopting the persona of someone working in a circus.  But I didn't do that.  I had a chance to attend an evening with Naomi Shahib Nye so wrote about that.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Trip to listen to Naomi Shahib Nye, Poet, Speak in Manchester, NH

We went from baby leaves
to robust teenagers
in two hours

We left fisted lilacs
and traveled to open-faced
perfume factories

We said goodbye
to clean parks
where children play

and hello to Wayne,
a bum living with other
homeless people

Mountains shrank
in our rear-view mirror
while words

grew larger and larger
through the windshields
of our minds.