My friend, Anne, sent a bunch of words in an email and this one popped out at me. Thanks, Anne!
-------------
Hobby
This morning's sky
looks like the background
to one of my journal pages
with streaks of yellow-pink
and white gesso. I feel
like I should be gluing
pictures on it and writing
the date with a Sharpie.
But, my Mead Composition
book has sat open on my desk
for almost a week, now,
and I haven't added anything
to it. I hear it calling my name
every time I walk by. Once, it reached
out and just about caught my arm.
I hurried on ignoring its whimper.
That's the thing about hobbies
for me: one at a time. Right now
it's poetry that wants doing.
Other times, my fingers itch
to press the shutter button
on my Nikon D70. Last month
my journal got the love. I painted
a background black and used
a shot glass to make white circles
which I decorated and filled
with my life. Today I watch
the sun rise and write.
Monday, April 7, 2014
Sunday, April 6, 2014
Day 6: Condensation
Today's word is brought to you by my teenage niece, Michelle. Not an easy word! It took a while but I finally came up with something.
------------
Condensation
I apply a liberal handful of Pantene conditioner
to my hair and let it get absorbed
while I wash the rest of my body.
Suds fly onto the wall so I throw handfuls
of water to rinse it down, then let the shower
sluice through my curls until squeaky.
I step on the plush rug and look at my reflection
in the cloudy mirror. My wrinkles are a blur.
My head a white halo. I could be my mom
with her snowy head. The bathroom is an oasis
of misty softness. I could be my daughter
so young. I hide in its timelessness
and don't bother to wipe the mirror. I like
almost disappearing from myself. I dry off
in the friendliness of condensation.
------------
Condensation
I apply a liberal handful of Pantene conditioner
to my hair and let it get absorbed
while I wash the rest of my body.
Suds fly onto the wall so I throw handfuls
of water to rinse it down, then let the shower
sluice through my curls until squeaky.
I step on the plush rug and look at my reflection
in the cloudy mirror. My wrinkles are a blur.
My head a white halo. I could be my mom
with her snowy head. The bathroom is an oasis
of misty softness. I could be my daughter
so young. I hide in its timelessness
and don't bother to wipe the mirror. I like
almost disappearing from myself. I dry off
in the friendliness of condensation.
Saturday, April 5, 2014
Day 5: Whispers
My sister-in-law, Sherrie, gave me three words and I picked Whispers for today...or, rather, it picked me.
I kind of wrote this in my head yesterday about a half hour before Bob died.
-------------
Whispers
Somehow, for a little while yesterday,
I ended up alone with my father-in-law.
I moved to a chair near his head
and held his hand still warm and soft.
His breaths were coming rapidly
and his cheeks were pink and healthy.
I talked about heaven and the big nap
waiting for him. Gary had already told him
it was okay to let go. He tried to open his eyes
but couldn't so I know he was listening.
He squeezed my hand then continued his journey,
each breath a whisper of goodbye and thanks.
I kind of wrote this in my head yesterday about a half hour before Bob died.
-------------
Whispers
Somehow, for a little while yesterday,
I ended up alone with my father-in-law.
I moved to a chair near his head
and held his hand still warm and soft.
His breaths were coming rapidly
and his cheeks were pink and healthy.
I talked about heaven and the big nap
waiting for him. Gary had already told him
it was okay to let go. He tried to open his eyes
but couldn't so I know he was listening.
He squeezed my hand then continued his journey,
each breath a whisper of goodbye and thanks.
Friday, April 4, 2014
Day 4: Happiness
My camping friend, Donna, gave me today's word and it was perfect!
-------------
Happiness
The recycling truck just lumbered down our street
clanging at every stop. I took a picture of it.
My goal is sunrise photos this dewy morning
but I'm a little early. When I first got out here,
there were orange streaks shrieking. Then they faded
to apricot and lavender humming. Now, one spot
is beginning to glow and grow. I get up and click
and click this way and that way. I even take a picture of its
reflection in our living room window. It'll probably get deleted
but you never know. I have spots in front of my eyes
from staring into the sun. But, I'm heading back inside
because my son is here visiting. Two sunrises in one day!
-------------
Happiness
The recycling truck just lumbered down our street
clanging at every stop. I took a picture of it.
My goal is sunrise photos this dewy morning
but I'm a little early. When I first got out here,
there were orange streaks shrieking. Then they faded
to apricot and lavender humming. Now, one spot
is beginning to glow and grow. I get up and click
and click this way and that way. I even take a picture of its
reflection in our living room window. It'll probably get deleted
but you never know. I have spots in front of my eyes
from staring into the sun. But, I'm heading back inside
because my son is here visiting. Two sunrises in one day!
Thursday, April 3, 2014
Day 3: Priorities
My friend, Anita, suggested this one.
----------------
Priorities
I'm sitting on the porch this morning.
The sun is behind a tall palm tree
creating a fountain silhouette
against the white sugar candy sky.
A fish jumps for breakfast in the canal.
A circle spreads. My flowers soak up the light.
I should have made coffee and started the bacon sizzling.
I could have taken my shower first.
But, here I am in my nightie being blinded by the sun.
I close my eyes and the world goes red. A dog barks.
Traffic hums its early morning tune. Birds fill in the symphony.
There's nothing very much different about this moment;
our shoes are piled haphazardly near the door.
Our cranberry, mango, lime, and lemon bar stools
are in their places. I reach over and snip a basil leaf,
hold it to my nose, smell it's peppery spice.
(My father-in-law is still hanging in there) No, that worry
is for later. A slight breeze is picking up, ruffling our American flag.
Why can't life be endless morning?
I tap, tap, tap on my keyboard before doing anything else.
----------------
Priorities
I'm sitting on the porch this morning.
The sun is behind a tall palm tree
creating a fountain silhouette
against the white sugar candy sky.
A fish jumps for breakfast in the canal.
A circle spreads. My flowers soak up the light.
I should have made coffee and started the bacon sizzling.
I could have taken my shower first.
But, here I am in my nightie being blinded by the sun.
I close my eyes and the world goes red. A dog barks.
Traffic hums its early morning tune. Birds fill in the symphony.
There's nothing very much different about this moment;
our shoes are piled haphazardly near the door.
Our cranberry, mango, lime, and lemon bar stools
are in their places. I reach over and snip a basil leaf,
hold it to my nose, smell it's peppery spice.
(My father-in-law is still hanging in there) No, that worry
is for later. A slight breeze is picking up, ruffling our American flag.
Why can't life be endless morning?
I tap, tap, tap on my keyboard before doing anything else.
Wednesday, April 2, 2014
Day 2: Change
Today's word is from my daughter, Erin.
---------
Change
I'm sitting under a quilt my sister made.
It has thousands of one-inch squares
in red, white, yellow and green.
Morning is filling the house with possibilities.
I've sat like this writing so many times
catching inspiration in the slant of light,
in the quiet, in the gentle rocking of my chair.
I remember my mom always asking us not to rock
because it made her feel nauseous. But, we
never got rid of the black rocking chair
in our living room. Whenever I sat in it,
I had to keep my feet flat on the floor.
Mom is gone, now, and that chair, too.
Still, I got to see her, again, for a little bit
this morning in the smile of a rocking chair.
---------
Change
I'm sitting under a quilt my sister made.
It has thousands of one-inch squares
in red, white, yellow and green.
Morning is filling the house with possibilities.
I've sat like this writing so many times
catching inspiration in the slant of light,
in the quiet, in the gentle rocking of my chair.
I remember my mom always asking us not to rock
because it made her feel nauseous. But, we
never got rid of the black rocking chair
in our living room. Whenever I sat in it,
I had to keep my feet flat on the floor.
Mom is gone, now, and that chair, too.
Still, I got to see her, again, for a little bit
this morning in the smile of a rocking chair.
Day 1: Peaceful
Well, I'm going to try to write a poem a day for April because it's National Poetry Month. I asked for friends on Facebook to give me words and got quite a few good suggestions. I'm using them in the order they were given. The first came from my friend, Deirdre.
---------
Peaceful
The fan above our bed twirls. My husband snores lightly beside me.
I just slept for ten hours straight with only one bathroom break.
The sun has quieted down after a riotous rise.
I can see its white light around the shade.
Later, we have to go to the hospital to see Gary's father
who is not doing well. He's seeking his own peace
and just wants to sleep. His heart doesn't have too many beats
left. But, he's comfortable. He smiled and mumbled,
Hi, Linda when I saw him yesterday. That might have been his
goodbye. Gary is stirring. Soon, he'll turn the radio on
and music will fill our rooms. We'll fight the traffic. Avert
our eyes from all the patients lining the busy corridors.
Find Bob and watch him breathe slowly. He creates his own
bubble of peacefulness wherever he is. Just like I do
when I sit in bed with my iPad and write a poem in the stillness.
---------
Peaceful
The fan above our bed twirls. My husband snores lightly beside me.
I just slept for ten hours straight with only one bathroom break.
The sun has quieted down after a riotous rise.
I can see its white light around the shade.
Later, we have to go to the hospital to see Gary's father
who is not doing well. He's seeking his own peace
and just wants to sleep. His heart doesn't have too many beats
left. But, he's comfortable. He smiled and mumbled,
Hi, Linda when I saw him yesterday. That might have been his
goodbye. Gary is stirring. Soon, he'll turn the radio on
and music will fill our rooms. We'll fight the traffic. Avert
our eyes from all the patients lining the busy corridors.
Find Bob and watch him breathe slowly. He creates his own
bubble of peacefulness wherever he is. Just like I do
when I sit in bed with my iPad and write a poem in the stillness.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)