Friday, August 29, 2008

Somewhere for Sunday Scribblings


Every time I pick up a book
somewhere becomes real.

Each page is a wing;
each word a footstep.

Somewheres sit on my bookshelves,
a line of geographies.

Today I’m going to visit
the Boston area in two eras

as I finish The Bone Garden
by Tess Gerritsen, who is from Maine.

Tomorrow, another somewhere
will whisk me away.

Friday, August 22, 2008

The Frist Time I Met....for Sunday Scribblings

This is about the first time I met a student who was different.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

When I walked into my first
high school English class
as a teacher, my eyes
were drawn to a girl
whose legs were covered
in tattoos and whose face
had so many piercings
it looked like a Christmas tree.

I wondered what the heck
I was doing there.
She scared me!

For her first essay
she wrote about
how family was very important
to her and how she
didn’t get along
with her mom and stepdad
so went to live
with her boyfriend’s sister
and now has to work
full time.

One day she came in
with a new tattoo
on her arm that looked
like Japanese calligraphy.

“What does that stand for?”
I asked her.

She answered simply,

She didn't scare me anymore.

Wednesday, August 20, 2008

A Cinquain for 3WW: The Young Novice

Bored Habit Settle
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The Young Novice

bored with praying
so she settles her hands
on the rising mound under her

Monday, August 18, 2008

In the Moment for ReadWritePoem

The morning is green
freckled with gold and blue

as I sit under the exclamation points
of pine trees

on this, the last Monday
of summer vacation.

Wooden clothespins
look like gymnasts

holding handstands
on uneven parallel bars.

An American flag
waves at the sun.

The silence
of chirping birds.

Then my husband wakes up,
turns on the TV,

and fills the silent spaces
with his questions

that batter like bats
obliterating the beauty.

I stop writing my poem
and begin to make breakfast.

Saturday, August 16, 2008

Observations for Sunday Scribblings

Just a simple observation about taking a walk.
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The Last Night

The last night of vacation
is dark.
The stars’ eyes are gray
with tears.
The wind is cold
as I walk up
around the Russian Church.
Dead leaves chase me
like puppies trying
to nip at my feet.

I know I will have to get up
early the next morning
and that thought sits
in my stomach
like too much turkey dinner.

This walk is
an Alka Seltzer,
a small burp of relief.

Thursday, August 14, 2008

Three Dogs for TOP

We've had three dogs over the years so they were perfect for this prompt. Molley was our pre-kids baby. She died at three from cancer in her shoulder. My husband found Joshua in the woods and he and our son grew up together until Josh got hit by a truck when he was seven. Nathan wrote a letter that we buried with the dog. Annie was with us for 15 years.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


Firstborn, brown and white,
tomato stealer, beer sipper
St. Bernard puffball


Golden protector.
My son’s constant companion.
“Dear God, please watch over Joshie.”


Faster than the wind.
Gentle brown eyes gaze with trust
sweet as chocolate

Wednesday, August 13, 2008

3WW: Intimate, River, Waiting

Intimate River Waiting
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

She’d always heard
that love was a river,

that the more intimate
you became with its depths

the easier you could drown.
So, she avoided the whirlpools

and stayed close to shore.
She didn’t know a waterfall

was waiting around the bend.
It catapulted her over the edge

and into the churning arms
of wet, wild, wonderful lust.

Then she lost herself
and died while the river

continued on, searching
for new victims.

Friday, August 8, 2008

Beyond Your Wildest Dreams for Matinee Muse

A Voice

My mom started
talking again
last week.

It’s not much
more than
a whisper

but it is a
softness so

For months now
she’s been
mouthing words

and we’ve been

one of the sad
side effects
of cancer.

Hearing her voice
now is like
winning a

soccer game:

Wednesday, August 6, 2008

3WW: kissed/killed

Million Time Unnoticed
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

A million bright stars
went unnoticed and time stopped
the night you killed me.

Whoops, meant to type “kissed.”
Freudian slip? No, just truth.
I died the night we kissed.
Linda's Poems