Sunday Whirl: Toes and Basil

twine, conjure, nest,
carry, spirits, bend
through, curl, trinkets,
neglect, cap, back, sigh
------------------

Toes and Basil

I can't neglect
the sun as it curls
and twines and bends
through the basil.

I carry my camera
outside and sit
in a nest of gold doubloons
feeling rich.

I remove my lens cap,
focus on my toes,
conjure the photography
spirits, and click,

click, click, this way,
that way, near, far,
hoping to catch
bokeh trinkets.

I hear the door open
then my husband
rubs his hand
across my back.

"I didn't know where
you were. Aren't you
going to watch
the car auction with me?"

I glance at the light,
sigh, then head back
inside. He smiles
his own sun at me.

These Were the Reasons to Stay

Thursday November 18, 2010

These Were the Reasons to Stay

Twilight
when the air
is flannel.
You
come home
and we sit
in the hug
of evening.

Rain
and you stay home
enjoying the silver day
while I go to work.
I return
and spaghetti sauce
is bubbling
on the stove.

Wander for Sunday Scribblings

Tuesday June 7, 2011

I Carried It in My Pocket

We'd been fighting
tossing words back
and forth
at each other.

Did you ever notice
if you add an S
to "words," it turns
into swords?

Anyway, we were
tossing swords
at each other
when I couldn't

take it anymore
so went out
for a walk
in the woods.

The sun was minting
little golden coins
on the ground.
I picked one up,

put it in my pocket,
and wandered back home.
He looked up at my smile
when I walked in,

put his arrow back
in its quiver. I took that bit
of sun out and we sat
holding hands in its glow.

Distance for Sunday Scribblings

The boat rocks.
Birds fly around
eating the chum
my husband
put out.

We sit,
waiting for a tuna
to take our bait.
"I blind the mackerel,"
he says, "because

if they see a tuna
coming, they'll
try to avoid it."
I picture
that fish

doomed to swim
around and around,
go nowhere
and, now, can't
even see

the aqua bubbles,
the sun melting
through the water,
other fish,
and his death.

We are quiet.
"I wish you hadn't
told me that,"
I say through
the lump

in my throat.
He laughs.
I get up
but there is no
place to go.

I need to put distance
between us,
The sun blinds me.
I can't see how
to get away.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

3WW: Bloody, Kinky, Tender

There is only one
little smear
of morning sunlight
left on my kitchen floor.  

I woke up too late
to enjoy a couple hours
of solitude.

He's already making
awake noises
so this will have to be
a quick poem.  

Too bad I can't think
of anything
to write about.  

No bloody emotions
lately. No kinky past-
times to secretly enjoy.
My days have been

unusually soft and tender
like a mound  
of bread dough

we've been kneading
and kneading and, finally,
it can rest and rise. And I think
he's even fallen back to sleep.

3WW: Fragrant, Jostle, Remnant

Canteloupe sky
behind a palm tree

jostles my eyes
awake. The remnant

of last night's disappointment
shrinks as the sun

peeks from behind
the fronds. A new day

winks. My eyes fill
with possibilities,

again. The fragrance
of hope is a sunrise.

It's just too bright.
I close my eyes,

wait for you to wake up.
I become less and less.

3WW: Eject, Impact, Render

On Our Fortieth Anniversary

The old VCR tape
is stuck
in the machine.

If I press play
it growls at me.
If I hit eject

nothing happens.
The impact of this
is slight

since I rarely watch
movies.
But, just knowing

about it
is driving me nuts.
I guess

it's time to surrender
and buy
a new DVD player.

Language for One Single Impression

Language

Phrases of accusation
like bombs
exploded in my brain
all day.

I ranted
a ribbon of griefs
to the bed
as I changed it
and to the dishes
immersed
in sudsy death.

My complaints
slid down
the length
of the broom
and left a trail
of resentment
on the linoleum.

I was ready.

When you came home
I was spent.
We watched TV
in silence,
the language
of our life.

3WW: Yawn, Race, Dull

I packed a few things
in a paper bag

ran out to the car
and raced off quickly

before you noticed.
My phone rang

almost immediately.
"I saw what you did.

I can't trust you.
You lied. Don't call

me again." And I hung up.
I had no where to go

but I started driving.
The night yawned

and I could smell
the bad breath

of an uncertain future.
Raindrops dulled

my windshield. Or maybe
it was tears. I drove

all night. I followed
the half moon into life.

Betrayal for One Single Impression

Betrayal

The wind takes my breath
and flings it down the beach
out of reach
one breath
after another
stolen
gone
I suck on emptiness.

Notebook for One Single Impression

She wrote this in her notebook:

It’s a hole
A big black hole
No way around
The scent of dead bodies
No bridge
No ladder to climb down
and back up
Just an empty mouth
trying to swallow me.

Then she shut it
so the words
couldn’t escape
but they did;
they leaked
from between
the pages
and dripped
onto the floor
where they got tangled
in her sandals
and between her toes
and she fell
into them
and they swallowed her
and she disappeared.

3WW: Bump, Knuckle, Transfix

I like to slide
out of bed early

like a letter
out of an envelope

without bumping
anything

so he won’t wake up.
But he stirs

and his first command
of the day

hits me like a knuckle
sandwich. “Turn

the air off.” Yes,
master. He falls back

to sleep and I become
transfixed by the morning.

Today, the trees
are entangled

in a hairnet of fog.
The oak leaves

are shiny as rubber
gloves from the dew.

I sit in the silence
with myself

but only
for a little while.

Sarcastic for One Single Impression

We were watching Julia Stiles
as Katarina and Heath Ledger
as Patrick Verona in 10
Things I Hate About You.

Patrick says to Kat, “I
bet you’ve thought about
me naked.” She deadpans,
“I want you, I need you,

oh, baby, oh, baby.” My
husband and I cracked up,
our laughter flying out of
our eyes and settling over

us like a warm quilt. This
morning, he came downstairs
where I was trying to write
a poem and made a suggestion

for something else I could be
doing. That little smile,
that come-on twinkle. I glanced
up from my computer, said

in a flat voice, “I want you,
I need you, oh, baby, oh, baby.”
His laughter floated to me
on the scent of the coffee

he was making. When it was
ready, he carried a cup
in to me. I sipped it slowly.
It filled me with joy.

Big Tent Poetry Wordle

He started by running his finger
along her thigh
to make her gasp.

By that time she was awake
and knew there was no way
she could slip out of bed.

She rolled over and saw
the question
in his boyish eyes.

What other way is there
to quench the flame?
She nodded her tangled head

ready to defy
the alarm’s insistent buzz.
The sunrise was a parade

of smiles. She reached out
turned off the alarm,
got up. Just a typical morning.

3WW: Figure, Juicy, Stress

We stopped at Juicy Lucy’s
for hamburgers
on our way to the boat.

I ate mine knowing I was adding
to my figure.
It’s so hard to say no.

So, I just go along
even when I don’t want to,
even when it causes me stress.

I could have ordered a salad.
I should have. Next time I will.
Really. The ketchup squeezes

out and the meat dances
with my tongue. Jimmy Buffett
sings on the radio,

the sun tiptoes across the ocean,
the boat bobs, waiting.
My husband grins

and I grin back then reach over
and wipe away a speck
of mustard from his smile.

3WW: Absolve, Hiss, Ridicule

Tried to write a tritina instead of a sestina.  It sort of worked!
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Save your ridicule.
It’ll only make me hiss.
Nothing you can do can absolve

you. You are a scab, solv-
ing your own ridicule-
filled life by trying to erase your his-

tory. You pick at the wounds and hiss
then try to hurt me to absolve
your own guilt from the ridicule

inflicted by parents who thought ridicule
was a form of love. Turn your hiss-
es into kisses and our issues will be solved.

3WW: Bait, Jump, Victim

Swallowed the bait whole
then jumped around for a while~
another victim
MY HUSBAND’S DIABOLICAL LURING
Another victim
swallows the alluring bait.
The fish jump. I jump.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

To see a picture of the actual fish he caught yesterday click here.

Sunday Scribblings: Life Swap

We are sitting
on our screen porch
at the campground

listening to squirrels
scampering and kids
playing and golf carts

whispering by. Suddenly,
we hear our neighbor’s
piercing voice giving

her husband hell in French.
It’s like taking a hammer
to a row of champagne

glasses and pinging
and smashing every one.
Then her husband’s

banging reply
pounds through the air.
My husband reaches

over, takes my hand
and says, “I’m glad
I got you, Hon.”

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.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

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.

NaPoWriMo #25: First Things First

ReadWritePoem prompts us to listen to the first thing someone says to us and write a poem around it.  This is what my husband said to me this morning.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

He walks downstairs
and goes into the kitchen
to make coffee

and notices a new striped
cutting board. “Did you buy
a new cutting board?”

“Yeah, it’s from Avon.
I had to buy something.”
“Couldn’t you just

give her some money
each time so we wouldn’t
end up with all this crap?”

I laugh, he continues
to make his coffee,
then comes into the living

room and turns the TV on
to his fishing shows.
I write a poem.