April 27, 2018

  • Better Than Chocolate

    The kitchen is such a mess when you’re done

    Flour dust covering every surface

    One bowl for fruit and one for dough

    Wooden spoon, spices and cups

    Worth the time and trouble

    Better than chocolate

    Round, delicious

    Sweet and hot

    Yummy

    Pie

    Yummy

    Sweet and hot

    Round, delicious

    Better than chocolate

    Worth the time and trouble

    Wooden spoon, spices and cups

    One bowl for fruit and one for dough

    Flour dust covering every surface

    The kitchen is such a mess when you’re done

     

    I wrote this as a reverse etheree, but I realized that with just a couple of simple word changes, it also worked as an etheree. So, I wrote it both ways just for fun. This is for the NPM Scavenger Hunt Prompt#13: Your favorite dessert. I love almost every kind of pie; it's the only thing that beats chocolate. It's a good thing pies are so time consuming and messy to make... that means I don't do it very often, for which the bathroom scale thanks me. What is your favorite dessert?

April 26, 2018

  • Cough

    Cough discreetly

    Look at me, please

    You see me here

    Like a deer caught

    In clear headlight

    Freeze in flight mode

    No fight left, this

    Plan was his, I’m

    Invisible

    Life was full once

    No dull moments

    Now a fence that

    Opens not stands

    Like steel bands, ‘round

    The sand remains

    Of heart painful

    Met bane and broke

    This bad joke makes

    Me choke and cough

     

    This poem is brought to you by the NPM Scavenger Hunt Prompt #12: Cough. The form is a Than Bauk. The rules are a bit confusing, but they make sense once you see the poem laid out.

    There are 3 lines per stanza, and four syllables per line. The last syllable of line 1 rhymes with the 3rd syllable of line 2 and the 2nd syllable of line 3. The 3rd line of one stanza is also the first line of the next stanza, so in stanza 2, the last syllable of line 3 rhymes with the 3rd syllable of line 4 and the 2nd syllable of line 5. For stanza 3, the last syllable of line 5, rhymes with the 3rd syllable of line 6, and the 2nd syllable of line 7. And so forth.

April 25, 2018

  • Sternutation

    A sudden premonition, something does not feel quite right.

    Explosive sound makes her stagger, head rocks backward and forward.

    “Terrorism?” she wonders. “God bless you,” chant total strangers.

     

    I was scrolling through different forms of poetry and came across a very interesting one that I wanted to try, but I did this Sijo instead. The sijo form is from Korea and consists of three lines containing 14-16 syllables each, with the entire poem containing a total of 44-46 syllables. Also, there is traditionally a break or pause near the middle of each line, and the third line is supposed to contain a "twist" and a conclusion. It seemed like a good form to  use for Prompt #11: Sneeze in the NPM Scavenger Hunt. The title taught me a new word, so I am feeling quite educated today. Four more prompts to go, and five days left in April. I might just make it to the end of the list in time!

    Describing a sneeze made me think of this funny moment in 3rd Rock from the Sun, a very funny sitcom from the late 90s about aliens who take on human bodies in order to study life on earth. Click this link to see the clip - it's less than a minute long. Did you recognize young Joseph Gordon Levitt?

     

     

April 23, 2018

  • Hiccuping God

    What if life only exists

    In God’s imagination?

    All eternity at once,

    And every generation?

    I like the thought of mighty God

    Lost in a wondrous dream

    Of everyone who ever lived;

    Time flowing like a stream.

    Since He is a busy God,

    He’d oft be pulled away

    To deal with situations

    That only He could sway.

     

    When God sees to his duties

    And from dreams is distracted,

    All would stop in our world,

    Our time would be impacted.

    Is this why I fall asleep

    Whenever I sit down?

    Or why I cannot fall asleep

    When bedtime rolls around?

    Do I sense renewed attention

    In the watches of the night?

    When God is dreaming, does it mean

    I won’t sleep until light?

     

    I wonder what would happen,

    If this is how it works,

    If in the midst of dreaming

    God hiccups and time jerks.

    Would there be a collision

    Of the future and the past?

    God with hiccups could explain

    A list of questions vast.

    Like how do prophets prophesy?

    And are ghosts really true?

    And why do we experience

    That thing called déjà vu?

     

    The biggest question that I have

    Is one like God himself;

    Or maybe like a dragon

    That is swallowing itself.

    It’s actually two questions

    That circle ‘round and ‘round,

    And if there is an answer,

    It’s one I haven’t found.

    Did I sit here and dream of

    God, hiccups, eternity…

    Or did God hiccup in heaven,

    While daydreaming of me?

     

    The idea of time as a panorama is one I've thought about for most of my life. I've used it to explain the unexplainable, like the heavy footsteps clomping around upstairs when I was alone in the house (not my current house), and why I have no memory of driving the past twenty miles, and how I sometimes know things before they happen. But the idea of God hiccuping is purely the fault of the NPM Scavenger Hunt and its 10th prompt - Hiccup. Or maybe it's God's fault for dreaming of me dreaming of him with the hiccups. Either way, I hope you enjoyed my silly little poem.

April 22, 2018

  • Tiptoe Through the Headlines

    The following poem is brought to you by the National Poetry Month Scavenger Hunt prompt #9: Tip Toe. After much thought, I've decided to post it on Sunday morning and not link it to Facebook. I have enough stress in my life at the moment without friends and family members with opinions that differ from mine giving me flak. My handful of Xanga readers, as well as the aforementioned friends and family members, are welcome to your differing opinions and need feel no obligation to comment. This poem was not intended as a goad, it's just what popped into my head after thinking about the people we tip and writing the first line. It's not really what I thought would come out at all, but it is what it is... my opinion.

     

    Tip the man who makes the drinks,

    For an intro to the minx.

    Tip the driver to hotel,

    Tip the doorman; he won’t tell.

    Tip the scales of decency

    By parting someone else’s sea.

    Tip the bimbo in the room;

    Stormy weather coming soon.

    Tiptoe out the White House door;

    We can’t take it anymore.

April 20, 2018

  • The End

    lighthouse waves

     

    The first gray hair makes you grumble;

    Arthritic knees cause a stumble.

    You rant and you rave,

    But eventually waves

    Will even make lighthouses crumble.

     

    It comes for us all in the end,

    No matter the prayers that we send.

    There is no recusal,

    Resistance is futile;

    The Angel of Death does not bend.

     

    As existence begins to fade

    And the world turns to graphite shade,

    Regardless how strong

    You fight to prolong,

    The end you cannot evade.

     

    Nobody can escape the fate

    Of reaching their expire date;

    You will get there on time,

    But the joke is sublime –

    At your funeral you will be late.

     

    I hope the title of this poem didn't scare you off. I'm not about to stop writing, leave social media (although that is becoming increasingly tempting), or die (as far as I know). This was a difficult one to write. The NPM Scavenger Hunt prompt was #8. Use these words: resistance, funeral, lighthouse, graphite. Of course, with the word funeral in there, it's an automatic leap to death as a subject. I couldn't resist the absurdity of writing about death in limerick form.

    I've really enjoyed these challenges so far. I think I need somebody to tell me what to write about every day; I seem to be better about blogging when I'm given a challenge. But first, I have seven more poetry prompts to work through.

April 19, 2018

  • Breathe

    DSC02072

    Breathe.

    Just breathe.

    Close your eyes.

    Inhale, exhale,

    Taking slow, deep breaths.

    Think of a sunny day;

    A gentle breeze rustling leaves;

    A small stream flowing lazily.

    Breathe in, breathe out, let peace fill your mind.

    Everything is going to be alright.

     

    This poem is an etheree. Murisopsis will be proud of me because I remembered this form and its name without having to ask or look it up (although I was insecure enough to look it up and make sure I was remembering correctly). An etheree consists of ten lines, with the first line containing one syllable and adding a syllable to each line. You can also write these in reverse, beginning with ten syllables and working your way down to one. That is called a... wait for it... reverse etheree. This poem is for prompt #7: Air, in the NPM Feeling Foolish Scavenger Hunt.

April 18, 2018

  • Hills Are Afire

    For today's National Poetry Month Scavenger Hunt entry, I took a page out of murisopsis' blog and wrote a blitz poem. A blitz poem doesn't have to rhyme, but there are strict rules on the wording. You can probably figure it out by reading my poem, but if you want to know how this poetry form works, click this link to the blitz poem on murisopsis' blog and you can read all about it in her explanation. I did rebel with the rules for the title, though; I thought I was to use the first word of line 3 and the last word of line 47 and constructed the entire poem to end up with a workable title. And then I reread the rules and discovered it was supposed to be the first word of line 47, not the last. I didn't like that title and didn't want to rewrite the entire poem, so I stuck with my mistaken title.

    The prompt for today was #7: Fire. The poem was inspired by a trip I took out west in 2015. There were fires all over Washington, Oregon and California (and other states, too, but those were the three states we were in). A haze of smoke hung over the entire west coast and some national parks we visited had closed off large areas while they fought the fires there. The worst one I can remember was Crater Lake. I was so happy to finally find an area that was above the smoke so I could breathe! Driving down the highway through the Redwood Forest, we came around a curve and spotted a beautiful, secluded beach. The sun was setting through the smoky haze and the whole world turned to gold. It remains one of my most beautiful and cherished memories.

    9.13 CA sunset

     

    HILLS ARE AFIRE

    Fire in the forests

    Fire on the hills

    Hills dry and dusty

    Hills bare and brown

    Brown soil blackened

    Brown grass crackling

    Crackling flames

    Crackling like crows

    Crows taking flight

    Crows black as soot

     Soot in the air

    Soot-smudged landscape

    Landscape heat-distorted

    Landscape wrapped in smoke

    Smoke to the horizon

    Smoke makes eyes burn

    Burn off the detritus

    Burn so life can return

    Return in richer soil

    Return to arid land

     Land of hope and promise

    Land of broken dreams

    Dreams of easy riches

    Dreams of fields of gold

    Gold that’s for the taking

    Gold just lying there

    There where miners rushed

    There in California

    California burning

    California in the sun

     Sun that never darkens

    Sun that never clouds

    Clouds that never threaten

    Clouds that hold no rain

    Rain that never falls

    Rain to quench the flames

    Flames that keep on burning

    Flames that roar like wind

    Wind shifts to the west

    Wind blows toward the sea

     Sea is calm and peaceful

    Sea sparkling in sunset

    Sunset through the smoke

    Sunset glowing golden

    Golden lies the ocean

    Golden soars the sky

    Sky and sea afire

    Sky and sea at sunset

    Sunset

    Afire

April 17, 2018

  • Where Water Meets the Sky

    I am once again using a poem I wrote several years ago, for this year's National Poetry Month Scavenger Hunt. (I checked the rules and it's not cheating.) The prompt today is #5 Water. Lately I've felt adrift in a sea of confusion and change. I hope someday soon I can find that place where the sea of change meets the freedom of the sky and I can take flight. For now, I'll tighten my life jacket and keep paddling into the waves.

    water sky

    WHERE WATER MEETS THE SKY

    Like fishermen in children’s rhyme,
    I find myself afloat
    Upon an endless crystal sea,
    Inside a fragile boat.
    At times the sea is blue and still,
    At times the waves are high,
    And I would leave my little boat
    And spread my wings and fly,
    If only I could find the place
    Where water meets the sky.

April 16, 2018

  • Falling Asleep

    I just got home from a ten day trip to Arkansas. Four of those days were spent driving and six were spent with family. It was nice to be able to see my mom more than I usually do and hang out with my sisters, brother-in-law and various nieces, nephews and greats. I even managed to spend some time with my brother, my uncle and a cousin on the way down. It was all very nice, but I was still on medication from a very nasty sinus infection and was exhausted the entire time I was there. I went to bed early most nights, took a strong sleeping pill and slept late most mornings. And yet, I still felt tired all day and yawned constantly.

    My doctor recently prescribed a weaker strength of the sleeping pill. I'd had the old, stronger ones in my pill box for months because I don't like to take them when I'm alone in the house. They work really well and I tend to sleep through things that should wake me up, like the neighbor's house burning down a few years ago. My last night in Arkansas, I was out of the strong pills and took one of the weaker ones. I was still awake at 4:30 AM. It was a very rough eight hour drive to the hotel I'd booked in Illinois. I had to take the weak pill that night, as well, making for another very rough eight hour drive home. I'll never understand why it's so hard to fall asleep at night in bed, but so easy to fall asleep while driving. I talked to my doctor today and she gave me permission to go back to the strong pills.

    The following poem describes how most of my nights pass. I'm sure there are many people who can identify with my lifelong struggle with insomnia and have passed many similar nights.

    This poem uses prompt #4 from the National Poetry Month "Feeling Foolish Scavenger Hunt" put out by murisopsis.

     

    Turn and toss,

    Twist in the covers,

    Check the time.

    Stand and stretch,

    Straighten nightgown, smooth the sheets,

    Lie back down again.

     

    Aching back;

    Pull out heating pad.

    Sip water;

    Have to pee.

    How can night pass so slowly,

    And dawn come so fast?