Poetry Train: Tulips are poeming

Today in Poetry-writing class I had my kids use nouns as verbs in their poems and this is what I came up with.

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Tulips are poeming
out all over.

I see their lines
against stone walls

in a multi-colored
rhyme scheme.

Clumps of them
sonnet gardens

while straggler haiku
dot lawns.

Tulips are penciled
on the green paper
of spring.

Tardiness for TOP

I don't know about you but I've been dry, dry, dry since the April poem marathon!


Tardiness
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I sat down to write a poem
then popped up to turn
the dishwasher on, instead.

I came back to the computer
then remembered that I wanted
to paint a journal page.

Afterwards, I poised my fingers
over the keyboard
and typed, “Tardiness”

then made the broken line
underneath. A ding
alerted me to new email

that I just had to check
right away. I noticed
that the ivy was drooping

so got up, again, this time
to water the plants. Finally,
here I am writing this non poem.

3WW: Bicker, Nervous, Trajectory

We bicker, we fight.
The trajectory of hate
is a loaded gun.
TOO MAD TO BE NERVOUS
of your loaded gun,
trajectory of your hate,
bickering, fighting.

Poetry Train: As the blue sky

As the blue sky
knows nothing
about stars,
so am I a stranger
to you.

You see the person
you want
me to be: a white
fluffy cloud,
harmless.

But I am
the night
cloaked in the darkness
of secrets,
each of my stars
a hint
to the me
I really am.

Healing for Sunday Scribblings

A Voice

My mom started
talking again
last week.

It’s not much
more than
a whisper

but it is a
softness so
welcomed.

For months now
she’s been
mouthing words

and we’ve been
frustrated
lip-readers:

one of the sad
side effects
of cancer.

Hearing her voice
now is like
winning a

hard-fought
soccer game:
Mom-1
Cancer-0

Cheers.
Whoops.
Smiles.

~Linda Jacobs
Oct. 5, 2004

3WW: Cryptic, Flash, Malign

The flasher opened
his coat to show off his cryp-
tic manhood. I laughed.
MALIGNED
by his lack, I laughed
cryptically when his coat o-
pened. The flasher frowned.

Poetry Train: A Bed

A Bed

My bed has a head-
board where I hoard
chapstick and Bic
pens to write to friends.
It holds in its folds
a nail file I’ll
use when I choose
to fix, while I’m watching flicks,
my nails.

And if I fail to fall
asleep at all
I can read a book
or take a look
at TV. It’s free.
Or do a puzzle
and maybe nuzzle
if I must. It’s just
a great place
to be. Lucky me.