Day 16 of NaPoWriMo and 3WW

Touching Visible Stage
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I was dead
in the third act
of Our Town,
sitting on the stage
in a straight-backed
chair, staring at the
clock in the back
of the auditorium.

I could hear grown men
sniffling as Emily
relived her twelfth
birthday. I couldn’t
see her reliving it
since I was dead.

I could talk, though,
and warned her
not to go back,
to just accept
her deadness.

But she wouldn’t listen.
Her past was still
so visible to her.

After the curtain call,
I went parking
with my boyfriend
but just couldn’t get
into all the kissing
and touching
he was so intent upon.

Every time I closed
my eyes, I’d see
that clock in the back
of the auditorium,
hands moving
inexorably toward
death.

Day 15 NaPoWriMo (finally caught up!)

This picture came from Easy Street Prompts






I remember research
projects in high school.
Facing that many-eyed
card catalogue.

Those well-worn
index cards soft
as cotton. Fingering
through them to find

appropriate books.
Each drawer I opened
breathed freedom
into the library.

Day 14 of NaPoWriMo

This was the prompt I gave my third block kids today. The males changed it to men, of course.
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These are the Things Women Know About Love

It’s delicate lace
and can tear easily

It’s a robin’s song
in early spring

It’s a shiny penny
in the palm of a child
in a candy store

It’s the last piece
of a puzzle

It’s a geranium
with huge red flowers
in the summer

It’s a dead geranium
in the fall

Day 13 and ReadWritePoem

The prompt this week was to speak for those who cannot speak for themselves. This is a follow-up poem of one I wrote a while back. You can check it out here:
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Morning Smiles

The day enters
my eyes first
then my tummy
tells me it’s time to cry.

But where is mommy?
Why doesn’t she wake up?
My diaper is wet.
I stop crying
and put my thumb
in my mouth
but it isn’t like a bottle.

Now I can hear mom
and dad sleeping
in the bed near my crib.

I cry some more
and finally mom
opens her eyes.
I start smiling
and waving my arms
but she doesn’t pick me up.

Instead she takes
a long shiny sharp
thing and puts it in her
arm. I wait.

She leaves the room
then comes back.
She props the bottle
up for me and goes
back to bed.

I can see her smiling
but not at me.

Day 12 and Sunday Scribblings

Writing on the weekends is hard for me. I relax and my thoughts get lazy. I'm considering this a rough draft since the ending really needs work. But, it's all I can manage right now.
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Fearless?

He’ll fly off a mountain
in a hang glider,
catch an updraft,
melt into the sky.

He’ll do hammerheads,
Immelmans, Cuban eights,
spins, and loops
in an open-cockpit
Stearman biplane,

turning the world
upside down,
blue earth
green sky.

He’ll tap dance
over waves
in his fishing boat
and pull 500 pound

tuna from the ocean
as easily as lifting a tire
out of the back
of his pickup.

But ask him to climb
a ladder to shovel
the snow off the roof
or paint a dormer window

and his feet become
bricks unable to move,
his heart a scared mouse
shivering in his chest.

Day 11 and Writers' island

Flights of Fancy

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A simple house
near the ocean
white curtains
sashaying
to a rock ‘n’ roll
breeze

Big bookcases
a small TV
a poetry book
open on my
grandfather’s
trunk

me
on a red bicycle
curls bouncing
under my visor

I can’t pedal
fast enough
to the beach

Day 10 and TOP

Mythology
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I was explaining
how Danae’s father
imprisoned her in a tower
because he’d heard
that her son
would someday kill him.

But tricky Zeus
disguised himself
as a golden rain
and got her pregnant,
anyway.

I could see my students
trying to picture this:
eyes squinted
sidelong glances
at each other,
wrinkled foreheads.

Finally one brave kid
said, “Gee Ms. Jacobs,
sounds like Zeus
forgot his Trojan.”