Monday Poetry Train: Open the Box

Open the Box

Square, definitely square.
And tied with a white ribbon.
A prim and proper bow.

Go ahead,
pull on the ends,
watch that bow
disintegrate.

Tear the wrapping
paper off,
quickly, now.

Lift the lid
but be careful.
You'll have to dodge
all the words
flying out.

Here,
I caught a few
and left them
on this blog
for you to read.

One Single Impression: Blowing the Curve

Blowing the Curve

I should be in the cellar
separating lights
from darks

I should be in the kitchen
sizzling strips
of maple-flavored bacon

I should be in our bedroom
feeling his warm legs
next to mine

But, I’m sitting in the living room
in a bright bubble
surrounded by sun and blue sky

reading Artful Blogging
and sipping creativity
one glossy photo at a time.

Poetry Train: It's Snowing

It’s snowing
words
into my notebook

covering the page
with black
snowfakes.

See the design
they make
on the creamy

ground of this
paper? Each one
is unique.

I tip my head back
and let a couple
land on my tongue.

They melt into me.

One Single Impression: A Sunny Day

Every chimney in town
is puffing away
this Saturday morning.

It’s -8 degrees F.
Mt. Forist is a frozen
gray elephant

sleeping in front
of my face.
Then the sun hits

it smack on the head
like an egg
splashing into it.

I watch the yolk
slowly spread
over its hide

down, down
until it’s flowing
into my living room.

I scoop it up
with the spoon
of my imagination

and pour it
into a poem.
Time for an omelette.

A Quartina: brunt, sundered, froth, question for ReadWritePoem

He opened his mouth, words smelling of death, and sundered
our life. I shrank from the brunt
force of their whip. My eyes contained question
marks and poison began to froth.

He’d come home, poured himself a beer with too much froth,
then settled into after-work life sundered
by a long ride home. I asked him an innocent question.
Knives were his answer and my heart bore the brunt

of their sharpness. Blades and words equal brunt
trauma. Sure, our marriage hadn’t always been froth-
y, but I had never questioned
its longevity, certainly never expected the sunder-

ing. Picture the Titanic splitting asunder.
That was me, tearing from the brunt
of his iceberg words. “Can I ask you a question?”
I said and a volcano of “No” frothed

from his mouth, white froth as hard as the brunt
of fists. I tucked my question away and watched our ship sink, sundered.

3WW: Jolt, Ribbon, Zeal

The ringing
of my phone
jolted me
out of the stupor
of blogging.

It was my friend
asking if I’d like
a glass of wine.

“Sure” I answered
with zeal. So, she’s
on her way.

And I’m typing
quickly
to get this done.

Outside, the clouds
are turning
into pink ribbons,
the color of
white zinfandel.

Suday Scribblings: Extreme

We had a sunny day
today
for the first time
this year.

At noon I went
for a walk
in the ten degree
temps.

The streets were salty
slushy
and the wind was
a slap

I clicked a few
pictures
of snow-covered
mountains

hunching under
the blue
blanket of sky.
When my

legs turned numb
and tears
slid down my cheeks
like kids

sledding down a hill,
I hurried
home to the smell
of baked

bread and my husband
waiting
for me with his warm arms
wide open.