Sorry for the late post today. It’s been a doozy of a morning. First, the power was knocked out by some intense storms early this morning, so my alarm did not wake me up this morning. Luckily, my girlfriend called–giving me just enough time to rush over and make my oil change appointment (in a very disoriented state of mind). Once at the dealership, I was told the average oil change wait time is 30-45 minutes. “Good, good,” I thought, “that’ll give me just enough time to get a start on my poem for today.” So anyway, I guess I should’ve been trying to get a start on my Great American Novel, because 105 minutes later I’m politely asking if maybe they called my name and I didn’t hear them. “Actually, no,” they said–also politely, “The car in line before you had problems getting off THE RACK.” So yeah, I’m not one to make a big fuss, so I said, “Cool,” and sat back down worried about posting for y’all (because I’m always thinking of my wonderful blog readers) and just attributed it to some weird Friday bad luck. Anyway, 2 hours after arriving, they finally had me set to go. I pull out my wallet and find out that all I have to do is sign my name and leave. The service guy didn’t even bother telling me it was on the house, and–as mentioned earlier–I’m not one of those people who pushes for that kind of stuff. So, yeah, nice ending to a weird morning. I’m thankful for the way they treated me without forcing me to be a jerk–and without making a big “to do” about how they were giving me excellent customer service by putting it on the house. It’s the little things really. Anyway, that was a huge ramble. And now, on to the prompt!
*****
Actually, that ramble kind of perfectly fits in with today’s prompt, which is to write a thankful poem (at the time, I was thinking TGIF=thankful poem?). Another option is to write a tribute poem. The thankful/tribute poem can be dedicated to a person, an inanimate object, an idea, a day of the week, etc.
For my part, I used this prompt to write a poem on a subject that I’ve just never been able to tackle: my mother. She’s one of those people who is so perfect that every poem I’ve ever tried writing about her has been kind of blah. But you know what, who cares? So here goes:
“My Mother”
She began working in a car factory at 18,
got married, had 3 boys, and thought
of eventually doing something other
than working in a car factory. But she believed
in providing. Even after the divorce, she
worked and worked and did not let it
keep her from shuttling 3 boys between
practices and events; she did not let
it keep her from attending those events
and getting to know the boys’ friends; and
she never once complained “it’s not fair.”
She was the only parent to be so involved
who also gave her children the freedom
to grow up at indie rock shows and staying out
late at night. “Just wake me when you get in,”
she’d say, “so I don’t wake up worried.”
She worked and cared for 3 sons, who
went on to become 3 successes–who
had 1 parent to thank for everything.
This poem is sappy and personal and the kind of poem many serious poets would attack as not poetry. I would seriously dispute any such claim. I agree that this is not “publishable poetry,” but it is still poetry. Just because a poem is not meant for The New Yorker or The Atlantic, it doesn’t mean that it’s not a poem–or even that it’s not a good poem. For instance, this poem really helped remind me just how thankful I am for my mother and how much she means to me. And when I read it to her tonight, I know she’ll realize just how much she means to me as well. So even though this poem is only intended for an audience of 2–it scores a 100% for those two. Don’t value your poetry solely off your publication credits and rejection slips; by writing and sharing your writing, you are doing something great. For real.
I’m sorry; I’m totally rambly and sentimental this morning/early afternoon. 
*****
Some quick notes: First, I’m going to be visiting my grandmother in the Gatlinburg, Tennessee, area this weekend. She doesn’t have a computer; and I’ve never tried locating the Internet down there–so my posts this weekend may be a bit on the inconsistent side. I’m going to try and keep them coming in the mornings though.
Second, due to popular request, I’m going to randomly provide posts with poems that I’ve particularly liked from each day’s prompt–probably grouping a few prompts together. So on Monday, I’ll see if I can get that first batch together.
Third, I’m very thankful to all of you who’ve been participating in this challenge with me. Your responses have totally overwhelmed me (in a fantastic way). Let’s keep at it!
Our Brand New Shih Tzu?
Yesterday Sandra watched him
dodge cars on the paved road
that leads to our lane
a small white Shih Tzu
with a blue leather collar
and red mud trousers
halfway up his short body.
It is spring here on the island
and this spring is slow
the snow is melting away
leaving patches of pale green
faded by long winter days
and lack of proper contact
with the sun’s bright face.
There is also rusty mud
that sticks and runs and stains
and adheres like mortal sin
clings to the over scrupulous.
The soggy dog came back
after a night of cold rain
coaxed finally to our deck
this damp and chilly morning
in spite of the hissing white cat
and is now wagging and thankful
to that same uncooperative beast
for a few meager bites of dry food
and a plastic dish of clean water.
If we can catch a proper hold
of the scrawny shivering pup
the veterinarian on the corner
has promised to keep him caged
until his delinquent owner is found
or we decide to bring him home.
Hugh
Thanks be to the Faithful
Every time I return from yet
another sojourn
To the great beyond,
an increasingly unknowable place
That grows ever more difficult to describe
And even more challenging to articulate
Without exception, without fail
I am always warmly welcomed back
Embraced by a group of friends,
the nucleus of which
Is such that I know not how to classify,
categorize or in any way explain
Such exceptional people, I am certain,
are as rare as true love
And just as precious
If not even more so
People – friends, of whom
I know I am unworthy
Yet feel incredibly blessed
to have in my life.
When I finally soar back into their lives,
as if on the wings of some recalcitrant
or at least at last, forgiving angel,
there are never any recriminations,
nor the slightest whiff of disapproval
and not a hint of disappointment.
If any of these, feel any of that
they are incredibly careful
to keep such feelings
expressly well-hidden, from me.
Their love and acceptance seems,
and after years of experience, I believe is,
truly unconditional.
So – no matter how long my
fickle health has me
go to ground
Or, contrarily provokes
months of behavior so bizarre
my family must crave disowning me
This company, never intrusively,
always reassuringly, but really – just there
Let me know throughout all the
shades and vagaries that
make up my shredded life,
I am loved, I am treasured;
I am valued beyond all measure and
When I am so inclined
or my demons at last
let loose their surly bonds
No matter should it take
a million untold days
My band of allies
will still be there for me
Eager, nay, impatient
to help pick up the ruined threads
That link the fragile web of my existence
To the weft and weave of theirs
And carry on as if uninterrupted,
We continue
Their strength becomes
my strength, at least
For a time
and I know,
I do, I am so very blessed.
S.E.Ingraham
God’s Miracle
Have a thankful heart
and you will see
God’s miracle
pouring out
like water
from
a
well.
Tribute and thank you poem to my grade three teacher, Miss Moore.
MY GRADE THREE TEACHER
I will always remember you
with love and thankfulness.
You gave me precious gifts
that would see me through
the hardest years of my life.
Most important, you believed in me,
I have never felt that before.
You gave me the part of Echo
in the play we performed for assembly
and you told me I had a beautiful voice,
words I would cry over in gratitude
years later when I was in therapy.
You helped me become a survivor
and I thank you
with the deepest emotion in my being.
© Maureen Sexton
Here little kitty…
I’m so glad you made it in tonight
To snuggle up against my chilly toes.
Rub your head all up and down the spine of my book
Even though I’m trying to read.
You make me feel loved
And I know I am your number one person
In the world.
Thank you for making me feel special.
You were just a feral little street kitty
And we found each other when sadness
Enveloped so many.
You made me happy then
And you made me laugh,
At a time when sorrow and goodbyes
Were a main focus
Thank you for being such a funny little girl;
Looking at me with those big blue eyes
As if you really love me.
Thank you for letting me pretend.
Thank You
Surrounded by Nature
Brook, river, trees, fields of grass and flowers
Birds, insects, small mammals and large
Mountains in the distance
Clean air to breathe
I am truly grateful
DADDY
D-Dedicated to hobby, country, career
As a teen and beyond, built and used short wave radios
Always, electronic gadgets and gizmos were his toys
As a young adult, an Army Signal Corps Lieutenant in WWII
As a career man, an electrical design draftsman
After 34 committed years, retired from that job
A-Adventurous in a playful way
Spur of the moment family day trips to the beach
Summer family camping vacations–in a tent!
Routine trips around town became adventures because if there
was a back way to anywhere, we took it
D-Drawing, an often-used talent
Always the cartoonist
Illustrated maps
Flip books with magically moving stick figures
Detailed drawings miraculously appeared as a paper unfolded
All communication enhanced with "talking paper"
D-Devotion to family
A faithful, committed husband of 58 years to his dear wife
A fun dad who loved and provided for his son and daughter
A silly PopPop who always had a smile, joke, or something
entertaining to share with his three grandsons
Y-You are not with us anymore and we miss you greatly.
You had eighty-nine blessed years and
You were a blessing to us.
Oops, missed this one completely and I have so many things to be thankful for. Including the fact that it’s midnight and my bed awaits. Tomorrow, another day.
What in this world am I thankful for?
I’m alive and well and so much more
And though I have been know to complain
I’m really okay just let me explain
I have a good job and a roof over head
a comfy couch and a cozy bed
a nose that breaths
two eyes that see
ears that can hear
God has blessed me
But everything’s not perfect you see
there are some things that do bug me
I also have a back talking teen
A raggedy car
And a boss that’s mean
my grass is too high
my toilet’s stopped up
my feet sometimes hurt
and I broke a cup
But no matter what
Happiness or strife
I have to say thanks
Cause that’s just life
Meme
—-
My grandmother,
a strong, amazing woman,
reaches out to help others
while I do nothing.
She travels the world
while I go nowhere.
She holds a faith so absolute,
it makes me doubt my own.
And despite my faults,
I know she loves me.
———————————-
One Day at School
Jaye flew with fists,
“Say it! You know!”
That boy’s chance caught
By her contempt.
Earlier she asked me if I’d noticed
Elle smelled of urine.
I wonder if her pants are wet daily,
If her eight siblings stay damp.
Jaye told me she was defending
Her cousin Kaimera who was born
With a piece of her spine detached
without a connection to her torso.
Kaimera shuffled lumbering.
That boy culled her hunch
From the hallway crowd,
Gripped her like game.
Jaye stepped down one floor,
Descent for the scent of sense.
That boy missed,
Jaye only felt a rabbit-punch.
Misconstrue or misconstruct
Kaimera in a lure,
Jay impregnable,
That boy imbrued.
My Books
Many books line my shelves
On the wall of my room.
They have always been there
When I needed them.
Ready at a moment’s notice
To whisk me away
To a foreign land or
Transform me into someone new.
Carry me from
The pain of the day
And immerse me
In another story.
I wanted to include this tribute to my neighbor’s dog, a wonderful old Australian Shepherd who loves to hang out at my house.
Max
He’s always on my porch, my
neighbor’s dog. Laying on the
old couch we have yet to haul
off, or on the blanket I bought
at the thrift shop just for him.
I open the door, and there he is,
this 11-year-old arthritic sweetheart
who brightens my day when I
see him. But how much longer can
that last? How much longer will
he struggle to get up and greet
me when I come outside, walk
out onto the deck with me, dragging
himself along on stiff back legs
that barely hold his weight? How
much longer before my neighbor
does what it breaks all our hearts
to think about and puts him out of
his misery? How much longer will
I have my buddy Max waiting for
me to bring him his daily snack?
You said we could be sappy. My first one was a bit, and this one is more. I will give them both to my husband on his birthday, April 12th.
Chris II
You hold me up when I
start to fall
You hold me back when I
want to jump
You push me away when I
need to fly
You hold me close when I
start to cry
My heart has wings
because of you
My life is a joy
Thanks to you
Each breath I take
Is for you
Everything will be fine
since I have you
valerie
that she is there yet
nowhere else
that even on dark days each day ends in prayer together
that when the sun shines brights her hand is warm in mine
that she turns to me for direction
providing the same for me when i turn as well
that she is always beautiful, even in those moments where she questions herself
that she wears the ring i bought, she smiled when i gave it to her
that she fills with compassion when i don’t
lifting up our children as i miss the opportunity
that she loved me when i didn’t deserve
that she loved God when i didn’t understand
that she seeing all bad and good in me
she is there yet
Thanks to Everyone I’ve Met
Because everyone has quirks
The sum of varying experiences
Each day becomes an adventure
Each person touches my emotions
Joined in the common experience of life
Some stay for a fleeting moment
And are remembered always
Some strike out to destroy my mood
And are forgotten instantly
Some stick around for as long as we have something to share
And then memories fade
A select few bind for a lifetime
And are sadly missed
Still each and every person joined my quest to discover who I really am
Transferred their essence to become a part of my personality
I guess this really is a tribute AND a thankful poem. (btw, just discovered this challenge this AM and am hooked now!!)
Mom and Dad
today, McKenna turned 16.
she’s driving.
she thinks she’s independent.
yet, in my mind,
she’s fresh from God.
smelling of baby powder,
crying for me to pick her up.
so, Mom and Dad,
today I understand you better.
I’m pretty sure I get it now.
Here is my tribute to my husband, who I am also thankful for. :}
Chris
I can feel the heat of his touch
through the material of my shirt.
It soothes me,
makes me feel ever so safe,
secure,
loved.
I can feel the strength in his arms
when he hugs me,
gently pets the top of my head,
Holds my face,
pressed to his chest.
I feel his heart
beating
softly.
I am home.
Tribute
You will never know
So many things I wish were me:
Humor, confidence, love
The way you can feel another’s
Joy, hurt, need
Make the sunshine come back for them
Bury the pain of twenty years?
Let the healing begin
Move from child to friend
Animosity to respect
Mutual with our feelings
Making a new start
You inspire
You encourage
You listen
You have made a life possible
How many have you touched,
And how many love you in silence
Add one to the number
Therapy
They have me in therapy.
A way to deal with the lack
of chemicals in my head.
Everyone talks.
I listen.
I talk.
They listen.
Feedback is provided.
It helps, but there is something
mechanical about it all.
Something robotic.
Do they think of me when they leave?
Do I think of them?
They seem to care, and yet I doubt sincerity.
I write in my online journal.
I speak in type.
People from all over the world reads.
They type.
I read.
They offer feedback.
Many become my friends.
This is my alternative therapy.
Friendships without eye contact.
I can disappear and they worry.
Acceptance if I’m not perfect.
This is what I’m thankful for.
Our nontraditional friendship.
A therapy that is never forced.
I read about a man who gets
out of bed and steps into the shower
saying thank you every morning
like his prayer. What
he’s thankful for must be exist-
ential, because I thank as reaction after service
or in obligation. Or maybe he loves
the shower or his body. I’m really thankful
when the credit is mine. When I sell
the toys I designed, I thank myself
all the way to the bank. If I die,
before I post again, be relieved to know
I’m probably not in heaven
keeping up the dead at night, thank God!
Grandpa
He fought in an army,
for a country that wasn’t quite his,
to make sure Grandma and my mother
never knew the pang of hunger
He worked in the markets,
until he was 65,
to make sure his sons
never had to decline a field trip
He walked me to school
though it must’ve ached like hell
to make sure that I
never walked the south Bronx alone
I take care of him now
to make sure he and my grandmother
never know the loneliness of a nursing home
First step in thanks
We should never wait
To give thanks, to say "I love you"
Because tomorrow is unknown.
Why is it so hard for some
To show appreciation?
So, for all my immediate family
—and you know who you are—
I want you to know that I love you all.
Each one of you fills a special place
In my heart and mind.
You are all special
All bring unique qualities and characteristics
Making our family what it is:
A blend of abilities, ideas
Disparate, but cohesive
Our own melting pot.
prescription: colour
everyday is a gift
depending on the tint of your sunglasses
so i put on my rose colour
and an otherwise grey day fades to red
so i thank the grey. and the glasses
and the whitman poem i read earlier
and a song that always makes me feel good
for sheltering me from an otherwise dreary outlook
and when i get down to it
really really down to it
everything is a gift
and i had the doctor tint my retinas
Sincerely, With Love
I’m grateful for monsters,
for the luxury of imagining
their frenetic tantrums, and for
the waking up
after a nightmare, the relief
of the tedious day. Grateful, too,
for the longing
good dreams can spark, the pleasures
almost lived, and how they ache
in the morning’s bite.
I’m grateful for how much can remain
after loss or devastation,
grateful for the ability
of both the liver and the soul
to regenerate.
I’m grateful for how small
a scrap of life you need
to begin to rebuild.
So much gratitude for
the unlived years, the unread
books, the ambitions
yet unreached. To the high school
friend who taught me gratitude
for a world bigger than we could
comprehend, here is my thankfulness.
I’m grateful for the possibility
of getting back in touch.
Daddy
You were the one
Who was always there for me
Always there to comfort me
To stop the tears when I cried
It made you sad to see me cry
You were there when no one cared
Even now you come to my rescue
Helping as best you can
I always make your life more stressful
But you never complain
One good thing about having a job
Is that when you come in with a
Nightmare you just couldn’t shake
You can get sympathy
In the cold fluorescent light
All can be right with the world
The voices up and down the hall
That you usually block out
Are the welcome sounds of
Friends who love you
Being found
No one talked to me on the bus.
I would sit, leaned against the cool
green steel, my backpack cradled
in my lap, perusing the graffiti
and burns and scratches defacing
the brown leather seat ahead of me,
or watching the scenery roll by
through my expressionless reflection
through the glass
through the window.
My only friend from middle school
lived on the other side of town,
so I was accustomed to riding alone,
losing myself in the braided words
and laughter of a hundred teenage voices,
the roaring hum and vibration
of a diesel engine stutter stopping
between gear changes and the shudder
of air-lock brakes that hisssssssed
when released.
High school was a different planet,
a virtual adolescent minefield,
an awkward emotional powder-keg
packed into a series of hallways
filled with enough hormones, angst,
and sexual confusion to detonate
a nuclear blast, teeming with enough
varying strands of conformist peer
pressures and integrated social classes
that it should qualify as its own
ecosystem, a new organism
in its own plane of existence.
I could never expect to fit in here,
not this awkward lanky kid
with plastic frame glasses
and feathered hair, not this kid
wearing the multi-colored silk shirt
and the shoes from Wal-Mart,
making straight A’s and drawing
pictures of robots or super heroes,
not this kid from the trailer on Crow Hollow
that never goes to dances or parties,
not this geek-dork-fag-four-eyed-freak-
nerd-weirdo-bitch-motherfucker
who has never kissed a girl,
not this kid in the braces.
When he sat next to me
I never thought he would speak,
just another face attached to a body
that would never be more than
a reflection in my periphery,
never be more than another set
of sneakers for me to memorize,
but then I heard the words
“hey, what’s up” and two minutes
later we’re talking about music
and movies and Metallica and how
he can make me a mix tape
of heavy metal bands,
and how he can rip out
the hearts of cows
with his bare hands,
this blue-eyed kid
with shaggy blonde hair
and a black wolf t-shirt,
an English teacher’s son,
president of the Chess Club
asking me if I like Iron Maiden
and two years later,
we’ve found an entire circle
of friends, of brothers, of freaks,
of knights of the reckoning day,
and we’re staying out all night,
fighting with tobacco stick swords,
learning to play guitars
and letting our hair get long,
building bonfires and breadstick devils,
being hated and misunderstood
by preps and rednecks and adults,
making mistakes and growing up,
learning the true value
of friendship and brotherhood,
learning that no one should ever
have to ride a bus alone.
I’m trying to be silly with this poem and experimenting with rhyme as I usually don’t use it. Not the best but here we are…
Wrestling myself out of dreams
to twisted sheets and twisted neck
light breaks through the curtain seams
onto a grumpy bitter wreck
My sleep thick legs kick out
breaking through the night’s cocoon
a furrowed brow begins to sprout
the seeds of getting up too soon
a bleary stumble down the hall
my body falling on and pushing free
the solid anchor of the wall
hands guide me, for my eyes can’t see
desperate clutching to the counter edge
clumsy fingers reaching up
to fumble on the wooden ledge
for my favorite coffee cup
Slowly, the first smile of the day
as brown heat begins to flow
how thankful I am in every way
for the blessing of a caffeine glow
"What I’m Thankful For"
I’m thankful for every day that I wake up and see my children standing over my bed.
I’m thankful for every memory and good thought that I have, that are still right there within my head.
I’m thankful for the beautiful things that God has given me in nature to see.
I’m thankful that I still have my mother and father, and that they are still together, and very proud of me.
I’m thankful for my only daughter, whom has to put up with her three brothers everyday.
I’m thankful for getting to stay home with them, to watch them grow and see them play.
I’m thankful that I have good health, or at least I think I do.
I’m thankful for for all my family and friends; I’m even thankful for you.
For you have pointed out the blessings in my life, by asking me to write exactly what I’m thankful for.
It’s people like you that make us poets think, and keep us writing more.
a life of grace
amazing grace
the melody filling
the morning air
whistled during chores
sung around a bed
softly whispered
as she slips away
faith that doesn’t waver
because she was persuaded
we too, are persuaded
because she knew
we know that we know
nothing can separate us
from that love
love that welcomes
with smiles and laughter
and conversation
a kiss from moistened lips
a table full of food
dominoes and cards
surrounded by faces
who share her eyes
her smile, her hands
I see her in these faces
hear her in these voices
and now finally
memory lost is restored
she can see us
can hear us
knows us as we are
and watches us
as we carry her story
her gifts, her loved
down the road of life
passing them along
until we see her again
TLS, April 2008
My Thanks
I once had a teacher
Who made me feel like a
Complete and utter idiot
Every time I spoke.
But he made me think
Of ways and things
I never would have done
If not for him.
So I give my thanks
To him, the drifter.
Whimsy
A move to Florida
From my beloved home state
Seemed like the end
Instead, met my soul mate
Lost my job with my best friends
Seemed like the end
Instead, more pay, more experiences, more friends
Went to a conference
No one I’d meet
Wanted to critique
Seemed like a waste
Instead a friendly face
Walked through the door
Became one of four writers I adore
Went to law school
Going to study IP
Didnt’ interest me
Ended up corporate, then technology
Going to build our dream
Had to sell the land
To make ends meet
Seemed no house would do
Then when the money showed up
The house did too
Seeking women friends
No one had the time
The ones at work lived on hate
Resigned to friendless state
Then five new neighbors moved in
Suddenly I was flush with friends
Every time I feel
Distraught
Life experience
Has taught
Never despair
What seems unfair
Turns into
The type of ending
Disney would do
So I’m thankful
for the Whimsy
Aren’t you?
Ella
Martin Luther King
was shot this day in 1968;
That same day
my first nephew was born.
Greg was a chubby baby,
happy and smart.
Now he’s 40,
grown up, finally.
A dad at last.
Martin Luther King had a dream.
Greg hasn’t told me his dreams.
He’s a proud daddy,
loves his little girl so much.
She looks just like him
and adores him
just the same as he does her.
Here’s to Ella,
a beautiful baby girl,
who makes her daddy proud.
I dream that she’ll have a
fantastic future.
Catching up from my time without a computer… off-prompt from the point of view of a ghost, but ends on a thankful note.
Esther
one day I seemed to fade
into this room’s blue walls
(I couldn’t imagine where else
I should go)
when Jim left he did not take me
though I cried after him
his shoulders slumping out the door
blue shirttail loose and collar
yet unironed
it’s been lonely here
in the insular drift
from beam to beam
I offered the new girl a spoon
but she jumped away
so now I linger in the kettle’s steam
as she inches around the kitchen
at night she does not mind
if I stroke her languid forearm
humming (my daughters never
came back-why?)
as I flood her dreams
with the thankful odor of jasmine
Thankful
Today I don’t have to work,
Happy as can be,
And well rested, of course,
No alarm clock for me!
Kiss suits and ties goodbye,
Free in my pajamas and fuzzy slippers,
Under the cozy covers,
Likely emailing in my knickers.
Poquito Voce
Fred Meyer
Where the woman at the front
Clutches a hundred coupons
And holds the line of shoppers just as tightly
For twenty minutes
"But you forgot my two for one"
Groans and sighs
Rustling leaves of impatience
I hear as I walk by
Because you told me
Take the self-checkout
Thanks
I’m running behind I’ve always seemed to be the come from behind type. But I will catch up soon. Here’s my poem for April 4th posted on April 7th.
~ONE AND ONLY~
How do I go about
thanking you
It seems like it would
be impossible to do
how do I go about
forming the words
that express all that I want to
and truely express the
magnitude of all you’ve done
You came into my life
quite by suprise
a cousin you are
to an acquatience of mine
from a fleeting glance
you would tell me later
that I was someone
you knew you had to meet
I cant say I didn’t have my doubts
I had been wronged in the past
my life filled to the brink
with studies, work, and responsibility
I lived and worked for my little girl
thoughts of someone esle
was just not apart of the plan
persistant yet pacient you where
forever waiting for me
you let me take my time
yet always let me know you where there
days became weeks
those weeks became a month then two
I was like a forgotten garden
found by you
and tended back to full bloom
your patiences fed my trust
your care lead me to believe
your love took away my fear
six months since that first meeting
and a world of change you have brought to me
No longer do I hide from the rigors of true living
I’ve discovered live is not just work and responsibily
It’s love, happiness, and faith in the small things
That’s what makes life worth living
back to my origional question
how do I go about saying
thank you for all you’ve done
after the world of change you
brought to me and my daughter
the answer is quite simple
it’s damn near impossible
that’s why I intend to show you
each and everyday
"Family"
The definition of always
Never how I want them to be
Never how I need them to be
But forever loving
forever giving
forever forgiving
Taken for granted at times
but never forgotten
Filled with all the love I expect
in the world
I never want it any other way
Always
"TRIBUTE TO ROBIN"
Written April 4, 2008, posted April 7, 2008
I ate your sandy cake pies
You fed them to me when I was, age two.
Dad’s Handi-cap races who would win?
Running as fast as our tennis shoes would spin.
We’d strum tennis racquets like silly fools
Belting Monkee’s songs, standing on stools!
You choreographed unending skits,
Mom and Dad watched which caused laughing fits.
You scared me, out sailing El-Tor-O one day
Water seeping in, "Have fun," you’d say.
Four on the floor, brake, clutch, Gas
Driving your Rambler, the hills flew past!
Sisterly advice, all manner of truth,
Your answers concise and simple, "Moo, moo!"
I asked when I was young, one Q,
"My poems?" You declared, "Are the essence of you!"
By Sally DiUlus
Thankful poem
We pulled the car in-the baby clapping in the backseat
Like a mad cymbal-crashing monkey, creepy
As hell from a one-week road trip. Really
All of us were giddy with whizzing miles
Smearing Winter to Spring and back again-
Dripping luggage, pillows, half-eaten muckamuck
Into the kitchen where the cat was singing.
It was definitely a song, though not a flattering one-
Today at least, meow is a four letter word-but
It made the baby giggle and run up and down
After her, saying “home” “home” home”-
A word I’ve never heard from him before.
Six Weeks To Go
Thank God I’m
Mother Of the Groom.
The MOG is a slide,
a skate, a free pass
to a party for two
attended by two
hundred or so
intimates, out-imates,
in-laws and out-.
The MOB plans and stews,
cajoles and agonizes,
plots and plans and pays
and PAYS.
The MOG shows up where
she’s told to,
wears beige,
and shuts her mouth.
I’ve got the beige dress
(with shiny red shoes)
and will appear
where and when required.
It’s the mouth shutting
I have to work on.
Thanks
It’s a wonderful world when I awaken to
Coils of coffee aroma and
A big hug.
I have to thank you too for
Expecting me to do
What I’ve planned
Even when I might
Wimp out without
Your prompt.
Thank you for sharing your connection
With the world, your awareness
Of sunrise, flowers, clouds
Sudden showers
Seashells.
Without your quick eyes
How much would I have missed?
And especially thanks for the quick
Hand squeeze in passing,
The pat on the head
You give me while
Carrying out the trash,
The little hug at the microwaver
The sequins that make life rosy.
Thank you
There is so much we all take for granted.
It only takes one life
that is more diffucult than ours
To realize how good
we have it.
I’m thankful for that
word called "encouragement".
You’d think it was an
endangered species.
So less of it heard
these days.
It’s going the way of our planet.
Thank you for the compliment
and the smile on your face
it’s your words that mean
the most of all.
kindness, you can’t replace.
© Joe MacKinnon 4/6/08
Be Thankful
It’s not much of a piece of land, but it’s paid for.
It grows enough food for the family, and no more.
He works the land day and night,
Sometimes it’s an uphill fight,
It’s all they got; they don’t even know they’re poor.
Every day they thank the Lord for what He’s given.
That little piece of land and the house they live in.
They’ve got plenty to wear,
And they think life’s really fair,
They’re thankful, most of all, they’ve been forgiven.
Now Mom and Dad raised the children all the same.
They gave them all the tools to win life’s game.
They taught them all they could,
And prayed that they all would
Take responsibility instead of laying blame.
Their oldest went on to further her education.
The next decided that life was just a vacation.
He did what he wanted to,
And lived without a clue.
He went through life with total misconception.
Mimi
You helped raise me
when all others were busy.
I remember how you used to
nod off while watching tv shows.
Everyone seemed to ask a lot of you,
which I hope wasn’t too great a demand.
We miss you daily, you and Papa,
say hello to the angels for me.
I can imagine many angels
look to you for guidance
as much as you gave us.
Don’t worry about us anymore.
We are fine, even if we miss you.
You were a sweet grandmother
as well as a mother to my mother.
We all love you so, dear Mimi.
(This is for my grandmother called Mimi. She passed away a couple of years ago. She constantly worried for everybody.)
TIVO
I’m a horribly shallow addict of TV
who cannot write rhyming poetry
My thanks go to this wonderful invention
that makes up for my lack of attention
It organizes our viewing
So no matter what we are doing
We all get see
What we want on TV.
I will never give up
My ba-dupp, ba-dupp, ba-dupp.
As pitiful as this is, I know I will one day revisit this poem since I REALLY REALLY DO love TIVO and I’ve always wanted to use ba-dupp in a poem.
To My Mom
Thank you for your love
And for your tender care
For all the times I needed you
Thank you for being there
Thank you for your hardwork
I appreciate everything you do
But most of all I am thankful
For just having a mom like you
Most probably know the thankfulness I feel;
Friday arrives after a week that was unreal.
We have to work to pay our bills;
Most days the boss’s really needed to chill.
We all know when one has had a bad night,
We witness the beginning of their day as they look for a fight.
We should not be their verbal punching bag;
I’d really like to tell them, they are all nothing but hags.
We work for a nonprofit agency,
The higher ups should treat us more calmly.
Working with all women has proved to be very challenging.
We all need our jobs but most feel like quitting.
On Sundays I get depressed knowing I have to return in 23 hours or less.
But when Fridays arrive we all smile and feel so incredibly blessed.
Yeast
Where the black iron and bitter-sweet roast of a pint of Dublin’s finest?
Where the golden stars from Champagne risinig in their fluted universe?
From whence would come the fiery caramel rush and warm peat blanket of single highland malt?
Without you,
Nowhere. A tragic utopia:
We’d drink water.
And what of the ethereal aromas of rising dough and baking:
Baguettes, batardes and boules;
Rye, sourdough, pumpernickel;
Eclairs, croissants, and my favorite, brioche?
But for you,
Crackers all.
So much lost, nay never found,
Unmakeable without you dear little unicellular critters,
You gassy, randy, little organisms,
You magic fungi of love.
Thanks
Thanks to the man who holds open the door
Chivalry and good manners aren’t dead yet
Neither are the old guys who still maintain
And the young ones who are learning.
Thanks to the lady who says, have a nice day
As I fly down the grocery aisle and nearly
Knock her and store displays down
She settles my nerves and centers me.
Thanks to the boy who bags my groceries
Who asks if I could use a little help
Even if I don’t need it; someday I may
It shows promise in the heedless young.
Thanks to my husband who eats my cooking
Even if it is a little scorched on the bottom
Or bland because I didn’t feel adventurous
His loving support is my pillar of strength.
Thanks to my dog who welcomes me home
It doesn’t matter if I ignore him
He loves me still, now and forever
I am the center of his doggy universe.
Mother Lost and Found
My Mother passed away one day.
Father had moved her far away
Involuntarily I could not attend.
Neither Good Byes nor amends
I estranged and Oh So Sad.
Because of My Greedy Demented Dad.
He shipped her ashes to another state.
For her to lie and him to wait.
Yes he thought he had the upper hand.
But I found her there on Peaceful Land.
Today as I lay these flowers down
I’ll sit awhile.
For Upon a Cloud
I see her smile.
Music-man
Is all about peace,
Chimes gently singing in the wind,
Hands that speak through guitar strings.
All about love. With
Eyes closed tenderly, he creates the notes of
Life that surround us
poetry
light in my dark
voices in the whirlwind
the world ordered on a page
my saving grace
in syllables
repeating
randomly
like blessings
God gave Coltrane music
he gave Shango thunder
me, I got words.
Cleaning Out the House
Yesterday, in a shoe box
at the very bottom
of a stack of shoe boxes
in my mother’s closet,
I found four, tender,
beat-up pairs of baby shoes-
Worn, scuffed, white leather,
cracked with age-
one pair for each child-
harboured all these forty-some years
in the closet of her heart.
Last summer, when she neared her end,
she asked for all her children ‘round her
and we came-
the busy son,
the estranged son,
the daughter from Texas
the daughter who came home.
We did our best
to keep her body comfortable.
Elaine the nurse came and went
For four days we sat with her,
phoned relatives,
talked quietly,
made arrangements,
ate little,
as she withdrew further and further
through laboured breath,
and then she was gone.
She did the hardest thing-
left her children behind-
now in adult shoes-
now walking adult roads-
now motherless.
April 6, 2008
Jacquie Wareham
Poem-a-Day Challenge, Day 4
For Maggie
A thousand suns to warm your face,
A thousand leas in every place
You chose to run;
A thousand jingling balls to chase,
A thousand snacks to suit your taste
When you were done;
And maids to fill your every need,
And sweater sets with purple beads
Just for fun;
But all of this would not suffice
For one who came into my life and
Kept me from despair.
Your gentle licks upon my hand
That said each time, "I understand"
Were answer to a prayer.
The long car rides, or just at home,
Woodland walking all alone,
We bonded from the start.
How many tears you kissed away!
How happy, times we got to play.
Yes, you captured my heart.
When I was ill you stayed by me,
And shared the cakes when I had tea,
Played the doting wife.
But did I say sufficiently
Just how much you meant to me?
How you filled in my life?
I cannot tell you now, ma couer,
That Rainbow Bridge was crossed once more.
Alone I’m left behind.
You can’t protect me more, my dear,
Or take away my doubts and fear,
Nor calm a troubled mind.
Gratitude’s with ease expressed
When you are one who has been blessed
With gifts of great import.
And whether it be man or beast,
A simple thanks is due at least
Before we say, "C’est morte".
So one last time I thank you, Mag
Of the flappy ears and wiggling wag
For loving such as I.
When you have that kind of friend,
Giving joy right to the end,
Better "thank you" than "Good-bye".
####
Shirley T.
I’m a day behind and playing catch up, as writing with a house full of famiy is . . . well, now they’re sleeping.
THANK YOU, MOM, FOR THE BOOK
My four year old daughter insisted we read
a children’s version of Romeo and Juliet – a gift
from my mom – every day, ten thousand times.
It was the violence of Romeo’s revenge on Tybolt
that she loved. She stared at a picture of a sword
pointed at Tybolt’s throat and listened to me reading:
Mercutio’s soul
Is but a little way above our heads,
Staying for thine to keep him company.
Either thou or I, or both, must go with him.
Ten thousand times a day.
I found the movie and my four year old daughter insisted
we watch Romeo and Juliet — every day,
ten thousand times, and she’d ask me questions:
“What does livery mean?”
So I opened up the real thing and we found Romeo,
unseen in the orchard, wanting Juliet to cast off her vestal livery,
and my four year old daughter read the words to me.
I can’t remember whether she found the footnotes
or if I showed her how to use them, but she found the answer.
My four year old daughter was happy. I was amazed.
When her baby brother fell asleep, we cut out card board swords,
colored them with crayons and wrote their names:
Romeo, Benvolio, Mercutio and Tybolt.
And we have surely laughed more than ten thousand times since,
about what we might do if we had the chinks
and about the wisdom she may have sucked from me.
Birthday Ritual
Every birthday I give thanks to the same stranger, a woman I’ve never met, my taproot, place of origin, the reason I exist, my birthmother. She’d be an old woman, 89 if still alive. But I think she’s gone now because the longing to search for a face like mine has faded. That ache I used to feel, that hole
I couldn’t fill.
I can’t pinpoint when it went away, just that I know it is gone. The tug I felt, as if there was a line connecting us, a cord knotted around each of our hearts that only death could cut. On my birthday I know she always remembered, as I still remember, though I’ll never know how she thought of me: with sorrow, regret, bitterness, or with love.
Let Your Good Heart Lead You Home
She is strong and resilient
like a tree in a heavy-
sighing breeze: did not break
when her spring
vacation was infused
with familial hospital trips
and red tape that stretched
miles and hours
long
Even when brain-deep
in books and paperwork
and panic, she lends
her ear and advice; reads
me with a calm
reassurance and offers
gentle optimism
always
In return for the laughter
and all the better days
she has given
to me, I hope
that she will graduate
from all the weight
of the world one day
Thankyou for the smiles
Thankyou for your grace
Thankyou for your loving eyes
That take me from this place
Thankyou for your cooking
Thankyou for your words
Thankyou for kissing me
And dispelling all my hurts
Thankyou for your kindness
Thankyou for your hugs
But most of all I thank you
For making me believe in Love.
:a tribute to the empty (soda bottles):
this is my tribute to the empty
soda bottles that sit
unassumingly
around my desk—
they watch as I ignore their presence
and pretend not to feel hurt
they do not complain
in their e m p t i n e s s
they do not scream
in thirst
they do not recite deadlines
or correct my spelling errors
they do not beg
for a relit lamp after dark or shake
in the silent watches of the night
they only sit and stare
and bravely die of thirst
tribute to…
the voyuer at my window
hanging with use of antigravity.
a joyful kind of smile just waiting
for me to jump and play.
i thought you were
something of a genious
of your genus, curious
and slight intrigue.
then bang…
you collide with my dirty window
and stirred the cats with glee.
then bang…
you collide with my window pain
and stirred my rage and steam.
you lost interest, then
flew away with grace and speed.
off to your next spot of
fleeting mindless activity.
my young Robin, you were
a thankful site to see.
a pleasant reminder
of this young spring.
Canine Queen, Victoria
December morn arrival
heralded by a child’s cry,
"Dad’s got a dog!"
A canine queen, Victoria;
sleek, black Labrador retriever,
tail wagging entire body in excitement,
Love at first sight.
Time passing, ever changing;
One remaining constant in
family photos -
ever trusting, ever loyal,
ever tail wagging.
Today you teeter on tired, old bones,
that air of royalty still about your
sashay across the yard,
nose to the ground,
scents reminiscent of earlier days,
pausing to reflect on
bunny chases,
stick fetches,
water splashes,
child’s play.
Words ignite a spark of pleasure
in bright eyes:
go for a walk,
doggie bone,
ice cream,
storytime.
No need to teach my old dog new tricks;
we are beyond the need to impress.
Sit by my side,
my canine queen,
Victoria.
BRIEFLY
How glorious this profusion
of blooms along the cherry branches,
clouds of color lining the streets.
As delicate as a snow that lingers. Before
each petal drifts and settles,
the pale clusters call us to Spring
even on the gray days, in the rain.
Thankful
I’m thankful for
my wonderful
parents, who
have always
been there for me
and even though
I’m grown
and have children
of my own
they still
call me
their little girl.
I’m thankful
for my man
the love of my
life, my rock
and my strength
who always
encourages me
in my crazy
endeavors,
to never give up
on my dreams
of being a writer
and finishing
my novel one
day.
I’m thankful for
my children
my beautiful
daughter
and two strong
handsome sons
who make
me more
proud of them
as each
day goes on.
for Ryan
and Halle
my angels
from heaven
I’m thankful
for life, on
Gods great
earth.
Ode To A Box
Inside
You hold my life
Upside down
Crammed all in
Squashed together
All my life
SInce I was a child
Never that place
To call my own
Always shut out
And shuffled around
Oh thank goodness
You’re always around
Sorry this is a bit late, but since I am living in Germany I get the prompts before I go to bed and barely have time to post them after coming home from work. (At least it gives me something productive to do during lunch break.) I usually don’T share my first-drafts, but after passing this lady on the street, I figured there are worse things to deal with in life than my writing insecurities!!
Burning Questions
Her eyes stare straight ahead
focused on the red light
at the crosswalk,
waiting.
And I wonder if she notices
the people around her?
Watching, wondering,
their faces
twisted with curiosity,
crippled by shock.
Or has she crossed this road
enough times before
that she makes them
instantly disappear,
like paper in fire?
Is it any easier today
than yesterday?
Or does it make her see red,
like the burnt skin of her face?
The light changes,
and as we pass
I think of my own scars,
deep and dark,
but hidden inside.
When throwing words on paper, beconing aware of time passing, I think of one of my poetry journals. Some fragments are still that–fragments. Some became poems with several revisions, often retaining only one phrase of the original draft. It is good to remember many poems I am now pleased with. They started as many lackluster phrases.
One I wrote:
My Journal
Blank book covered with splashes of paint
Fanned out with a giant’s comb
Containing words slowly sputtering
From a mind hoarding its showers for another time
Now for today’s poem.
The Gift of Words
Thank you, Lord
for the grift of words:
to wrap our thougts in,
to play with,
becoming a lens to our world.
You gave us poetry and song
to excercise our brains,
bring clarity to feelings,
and feed our creativity.
Please teach me to treasure
such a gift,
Remembering,
of course,
to mostly treasure You.
Brother, More Than Thanks
you died six years ago,
hearts hurt breathing in your name,
your spirit still here, thanks.
Friends
In this life, at the beginning
We are born to people,
Beings we are related to through genetics,
Blood relatives we really don’t care for, at all.
But friends,
The family we build for ourselves
After we’ve figured out genetics and DNA
Are not so great.
They are the ones we call when we’re afraid, happy, bored.
They are the loves that are our rock.
My friends, the women I laugh with,
Talk about husbands to, console,
Raise up, lean on,
Share my kids with, my dreams, my fears
New recipes and love.
They have become of a part of me.
I wouldn’t be standing on my own
With a smile on my face and laughter in my heart
If it were not for those special souls
I share this life with.
So, here’s to my friends!
Much love from me to you, much thanks.
I look forward to many more years
Of not knowing where we’re going or what we’re doing,
But figuring it out anyway, together.
Cheers girls …
Not Today
I greet my day
with a pocketful
of enthusiasm,
but you come along
with a sprinkling
of your biting sarcasm.
From your nostrils,
dark clouds billow.
Frogs start croaking;
I need to get going.
For today, I don’t intend to ride
your mood swings.
- dodinsky
Rodney, why not? Others have jumped in a day or two late, and if you have a 12-year-old wanting to write, by all means get her involved! I look forward to reading her posts!
Question, my daughter would like to join in on this contest. She is only 12, but already taking after dad in the poetry writing. May I get her started in the contest. I am not sure she can make up the missed days, but she would like to try.
Rod.
What I am thankful for
She was the product of 29 hours of labor
I was the first person she saw in this world
a moment I will always savor
Since I was free much of the time
responsibility for her was mine
We would travel all over the neighborhood
In a little stroller
after awhile those little wheels no longer could
Every day
we went a different way
she saw every street, every park and every tree
Hers was a face all knew
in a 2 mile radius before she was even two
We went to the local parks on a daily basis
Rain, hail, sleet, sunshine or snow
as soon as she was ready, we were off to the races
and on our way we would go
There wasn’t a person, cat or dog she did not know
When asked what I am thankful for
I have riches beyond this mortal life
no one could ever ask more
I am thankful to my wife
for this child whom I adore. . .
©Rodney C. Walmer 4/5/08 poetry contest prompt #4 Sorry a day late but, I think this one is worth the wait.
Gratitude
What is gratitude?
It’s an attitude
that can become habit.
to see the cup brimming
signs of spring bursting
or winter glistening—
the chirping of sparrows
blackbirds flutter red wing-tips
the crisp air fills my lungs.
So forget grievances,
let daily travails flow
as water from a spout
drained away, by gratitude.
Better late than not at all!
in thanks for true silence
the shovel thrills into the soil turning
horse manure under fine loam worms pearling
in april sun with each pitched mound this is
quiet he says sweat tracking across forehead but
not true silence he pauses to watch a worm
thread back underground i read an essay some
writer tried to find silence in a forest but couldn’t
escape waterdrip birdsong sun cracking along
pineneedles the pounding of his own heart the furrow
deepens as our spadework mixes manure and soil
sweat with talk the only place i have found true
silence he casts eyes up toward the west is in those
unearthly slot canyons in the desert and i am going
back and i am going back because because true
silence is the rarest gift in this afternoon of rare
gifts: two shovels dark earth bright sun best
love
For Ray
Home
When unfamiliar walls close in
and hallways that should echo
with the voices of my children
taunt me with their silence
You reach out and bring me home
The mornings when I pour
despair into my cup
and shower in the tepid waters
of just another day
You reach out and bring me home
When I climb into a bed of memories
and blanket myself in mistakes and regrets
You reach out and bring me home
To a place where joy can be found again
In your arms
Home
I’m thankful
that I live in the United States of America
in Florida, residing in Plant City
the Winter Strawberry Capital of the World
with an incredible man I have been married to
for thirty -eight years on the second day of May
have had the blessing of two wonderful
children, a girl and a boy, six years apart.
I’m thankful
for my home with the huge front porch
where I can look out at the trees and squirrels
as I write or take a book out to read and enjoy
the weather in this incredible state I live in
while friends complain of snow and cold
I wear shorts and think of painting this scene
so others would enjoy seeing what I see today.
Namesake
Though the birth of a baby can certainly be a trial,
to this mom and dad it seemed more than worthwhile.
Choosing a derivative of grandmother’s name,
a maternal namesake she first became.
Then a middle name to choose was the time,
and paternal grandmother’s name fit in just fine.
So each time her name was spoken,
a kindred thread was woven.
Soon a tapestry of her life could be seen
and from the center was spelled the name Emily Irene.
The Golden Rule each grandmother gave
taught the young girl how to behave.
With truths from the Bible of salvation
they carefully laid an eternal foundation,
Reminiscent of a New Testament story
that saw Timothy into Glory.
2 Ti 1:5 I have been reminded of your sincere faith, which first lived in your grandmother Lois and in your mother Eunice and, I am persuaded, now lives in you also. (NIV
Ok, maybe not exactly a "thankful" poem, but I ate sushi last night for dinner (my favorite) and wrote this poem. I am thankful for sushi!!
I Love Sushi!
raw fish rolls
watch that wasabi
brain burn
sinuses clear
Hoo-haa
Cooled with
warm saki
Kampai!
I posted it yesterday, but it didn’t take… so here it is again!
The Throne
You spend your hours
tucked away in a space
no one will call by name—
the john, the powder room,
the water closet—there you sit,
never complaining
about the lot given to you.
Sparkling white outside holds
swirling blue water,
covered by a wood-grain lid.
Always there when nature calls.
I think of your counterparts
around the world—holes
in the ground, the backside
of bushes. No porcelain thrones
in the African desert,
only imitations at the ruins
in Peru.
I’m so very glad you are here—
I flush you just to hear the sound.
My Friend
I’m thankful for my friend,
who is always here for me.
He listens to my troubles,
never saying an unkind word.
Just knowing that he loves me,
feels so wonderful and grand.
He’s a very understanding man,
full of love and compassion.
I couldn’t ask for anyone better.
Thank you for being my friend.
for all the tears I haven’t had to dry
for all the loss I haven’t had to lose
for all the pain I haven’t had to live
for every stroke I’m able to row
for every word I’m able to read
for every mouthful I’m able to enjoy
for a childhood so rich
for a landscape of love so vast
for a life so blessed
every day
in my heart
I fall to the ground in gratitude,
for the abundance that overflows my palms, spills through my fingers, colors my every day
For Spring Mornings
I’m thankful for a fresh morning,
the coo of doves just before sunrise;
as the first glow of light
dresses the east side of the tree trunks in gold.
Young leaves breaking bud;
sparrows in every bush and tree.
Green tipped branches keep rhythm in the wind.
Soft gray flashes up in front of me,
a dove with some grass in her beak.
Male buntings put on their best black
adorned with white wing patches.
The Spotted Towhee takes off his winter gray
and puts a red vest over his white dress shirt.
A sparrow has spruced up with a white crown.
In the early morning stillness
I spy through the windows at another world;
Thankful for what You have made.
Thankful today
My car started
after only
three tries.
The eggs didn’t break
on the way home
from the market.
When I called,
you answered
on the first ring.
I found my
Jon Dee Graham CDs
under the couch.
The neighbor’s dog
did his business
in someone else’s yard.
I got a letter
in the mail
from my mom.
The moon rose early
in a clear-blue sky
and I noticed.
Uninspired
I
am ever
so
grateful
this poem
need
not
be
any
longer
than
this.
Steady
I wasn’t ready
Thought love was petty
Thank God she’s so steady
Not swayed by trends
Teasures her old friends
Pray this love never ends
Seems like I’m a day late and a dollar short, but I’m happy to be prompted and be inspired by this wonderful website
THANK YOU
and now my entry:
GRATITUDES
Motorcycles, bi-planes, two-wheeled bicycles
Two cycled-engines that mow and blow
and drive-up window double-mocha lattes
Served with whipped cream to go
Two eyes, two hands, two legs. two lungs
A doubled-sized capacity heart
Twin- and double-beds and double-bubble gum
Double and triple coupons at the Supermart
Two-car garages to fill up with junk
A doubly-strong lock to protect ‘em
A double-sized wastebasket to collect poem rejects
A doubly-good throwing arm to project ‘em
Double shots of Johnny Walker’s label in Black
Friday night double features
Two pieces of pizza for afterward snack
and Noah’s two-by-two arc-ing creatures
The twin moons of Jupiter
The Gemini kids
It’s all about doubling fun
I could double back on myself in this ditty
But I think my work here is done!
Thank You
Somehow you are always awake
No matter low late I am coming home
Glad to see me when I’ve had an awful day
Making my troubles melt away like
Warm butter on a stack of blueberry pancakes
Your breath on my face, a tender kiss,
A touch on my knee, nestling beside me
The bliss that I feel to know you are here
Unchanged in a sea of frenetic changes
I am so grateful for that, my dear,
My friend, my companion, my dog
Sappy I know but
Such unconditional love
I am not worthy
"Defenders of the USA"
For falling in line
out of your daily routine,
away from all you hold dear…
I am grateful.
For taking orders,
putting your life in danger,
defending our country…
I am indebted.
For believing in a country
that was founded on trust in God
and acting for this country’s behalf…
I feel blessed
For staying faithful to your wives
when it could be easy not to,
and writing to her, because she needs you to…
I am appreciative.
For wearing your uniform
by air, by land, and by sea
endless months at a time…
I am eternally filled with thanks.
Sorry I’m late – sleeping 14 hours will do that. *sheepish look*
My Lady
4/5/08
Glowing embers, banked but living still
Simply waiting for a breath to blaze anew
A touch to stir the fire within
To raise the passion hidden deep
A rolling boil just below the surface
Raw power and untamed strength flow through your veins
Radiating blessing for those who venture near
With warmth and light and inspiration
Your eyes flash, and my pulse quickens
You smile, and sunburst light the skies
Your anger smolders, a wildfire held in check
By the shear knowledge of the destruction it could unleash.
Your tears, an earthquake of the soul
That rocks to its very foundation
Goddess power contained in flesh
Your lips sear my; heart, my soul, my spirit
Like moth to flame, afraid to be consumed
But oh, to feel your passion burn through me
To be engulfed by this desire
And see it echoed back to me in your eyes
Your touch, your kiss, your smile
Oh for your smile
Even for a moment being found worthy kindling
To feed that flame and life within you
This little moth could rest content
For having felt the beauty of your fire.
Better late than never! I seem to have gotten a day behind. Here’s my Day 4 poem:
Thankful
Two times, two days in a row
Thank goodness for going slow
First for wanting a small piece of gum
And not able to open the bag for some
At a red light now a green glow
Fighting with plastic and what do you know
A Cadillac shoots right through the red
If it weren’t for gum he might be dead
The following night driving through town
Not another soul to be found
Again his green light, the opposite red
Cruising along he notices ahead
To his left up the hill he can spot
That car should be stopping but is not
Braking and bracing with mounting fear
Thankful that no one was at his rear
With inches from that car to his hood
Had he been followed, would not be good
Sitting a moment to catch his breath
Twice in two days, avoids possible death
Continuing on with green light aglow
We both are thankful for going slow.
Granddad
Always in a good mood
and humming a tune
with a lilt in his walk
and a smile on his face.
My Granddad.
A man who loved life
and people even more.
Never one to gossip
nor say an unkind word.
My Granddad.
Took serious his part
teaching me how to ride
my bike but even more
about being a Christian and
loving others. Taught me to
be responsible and productive
and enjoy life.
My Granddad.
Thank you Granddad for
your love, your time and
your teaching. Because of
you I became the person
you wanted me to be.
My Granddad.
Susan
April 4
#4
Cardinals (For Mom)
You loved cardinals.
They stood out for you,
not in huge flocks like the grey birds
that swarmed your backyard feeder,
but one or two.
The male, easy to spot
the female, with subdued color a little more elusive.
You loved cardinals.
They predicted the snow;
at least that’s what you noticed every year.
Announcing a storm bringing white
that made them easier to see
venturing out of the holly tree.
Leaving the nest you know was there but never saw.
You loved cardinals.
You surrounded yourself with them.
My son counted 136 in your house;
photos, models, light-catchers, plush.
We all knew you loved them
and buying a gift was easy
as you found a new place to display number 137.
You loved cardinals.
Every spotting was mentally noted,
shared with me on the phone.
Now, we see them occasionally and think of you.
We watch our feeder now,
hoping to spot one before the snow
and catch that red reward of memory.
OK, finally came up with a new one written today. Having done a heartfelt one so recently (posted above) I could only manage ironic this time!
Thank You, Dear
Thank you, dear little insects
who, loving me so dearly,
come kissing up from the grass
or down out of evening air.
I am never alone
while, with ecstatic tongues,
you draw my blood
for your sustenance.
I am necessary to you. In reward
you leave decorative marks
on my skin, like imprints:
great red swollen blooms.
I am special. You prefer me
to any other. You crowd to my side
ignoring the rest. My skin
is thinner, my blood sweeter.
You make me notice you.
You are sharp and keep me awake.
I cannot brush you aside;
you’re mine, all mine, and I’m yours.
© Rosemary Nissen-Wade 2008
April 4, 2008 prompt: Write a thank you note to a person or inanimate object
I’m So N Luv with My Music.
you hold me in the worst times of my life. Just when i feel i’m about to break and my sanity is on the verge of walking out the door you speak to my inner soul. so many times you dug me out of my pathetic whole of depression and i thank you. the beats, melodies, hidden beats puts me into a trance, you mezmerise me for hours but i know that reality is my home and living with you foever is just a silly imagination. as tears glide down my carmel skin i write this letter. you kiss me with your melodies and your variety….the beauty of your acoustic sounds, electric sounds, mellow sounds, reggae sounds, and hip hop sounds. i love you and holding you for eternity is just a wish like the wooden puppet who fancied becoming a real boy. u carress my ears with the beauty of your sounds. i know you’ll stay with me until my playlist ends.
Daniel Stanford © 2008
Monday my friends and I returned home from the Santa Barbara Poetry Conference – it was amazing! – and Tuesday email brought your PAD project. I’ve had to play catch-up, writing #1,2 & 3 Thursday and #4 today. I was going to keep the poems to myself and perhaps publish some after rewrites, but my friend encouraged me to post them. So here they are for your enjoyment or derision.
#1 – First Glance
It wasn’t love –
I was already in love.
It was my first breath,
my first heartbeat,
my new life.
How grand to find
a new identity,
a new name,
a new focus.
Some may have said
she was just so-so
under a warming light
like a blue plate special.
I knew better.
I knew it then,
I know it now –
she’s smart and funny,
pretty and sweet.
Her hugs and kisses
send me soaring.
When her eyes sparkle
and she calls out Grandma!
there’s no doubt why
I’ve folded her into my heart.
#2 – balloon
yesterday I was flat and flaccid
buried in a dresser drawer
then you rescued me from the melee
now I nestle in your pocket
safe and warm, unafraid
soon you’ll place your lips to mine
make me strong and shapely
ready to float away
before your love
disappoints
#3 – Haiku
seals lie on cool rocks
calling to the open sea
splash! splash! she responds
#4 -
Tiny pebble –
how great you are!
Wedged between rotting oak limb
and attention-seeking crystal,
a mosquito who’s lost his head
clings to your pitted surface
like chunky peanut butter
on a thick slice of rye.
You tempt me,
tiny pebble.
All I need do is extend my reach,
stretch a bit further than before.
No! I mustn’t give in.
I know your secret,
tiny pebble –
the gray owl whispered it to me.
If I pluck you, precious prize,
the oak limb will bump the crystal,
pebbles and rocks will break apart
clumps of soil will take a wild slide
with rocks, boulders
and the entire hill -
gravity
would
have
its
way…
Thank You Mom (Belated)
It’s your spirit that moves me
through life and your smile
I find on my lips though I tried
to deny the resemblance neighbors
said as the two of us strolled
cracked sidewalks, "You have
one face."
Your older face bent over your
sewing machine fashioning
garments for only me was the
same as mine? The daily
additions on your face puzzled
me and I never appreciated
those lines formed from days
spent dispensing fabrics and
feet in pain from hours spent
standing behind the counter.
I took for granted those new
outfits custom crafted in the
small confines of a Brooklyn
apartment after you cooked
dinner while we watched TV.
But didn’t your fingers hurt
as you gripped the sides of
a new skirt for me stitching
each pleat? Did your heart
break when I argued for a
store bought outfit like my
friends wore?
I’m sorry I didn’t see the love
in those stitches and the talent
you wasted and I took for granted
when you tailored all my clothes
even as an adult. You were my
own Donna Karan and in my
adolescent tantrums I was blind
to the wonder of your offer.
You are gone, but is it too late
for "Thank you"?
Thank You Mom
Thank you for everyday you have been beside me, guiding me watching over me
Happiness is what you have giving me, being in my life for an eternity
Apathy never filled me, for you were always standing by me
Never ending strength is what you always showed me, through good, through bad you were the rock that protected me
Kindness you gave to the world, your heart on your sleeve..you were really swell
Yearning today for chance to see you once more, talk briefly just to hear your voice, to look into your eyes would be joy
Optimistic that this is what was best, where you now dwell is where you must, always remembering us, always remembering me
Ultimately I will see you again, those words has always been written, so for know I will carry your soul in my heart, your heart in my soul, your face upon my face , your courage I am blessed to be hold
Lucky
Fortune is a fickle whore, Billy Shakes used to say.
I’ve paid for her favors,
and I’ve paid more for her disfavor.
Truth is, whether she’s kind or cruel, I’m thankful,
and though I don’t like to believe her,
I know one day I’ll see her
strolling down some street on the arm of a new lover,
and she’ll wink at us and give herself all the credit.
Because really, if she hadn’t screwed me over,
I wouldn’t have found you.
I guess in the end that actually makes me lucky.
That clever wench.
Special People In My Life
I am grateful for all the special people in my life.
Waking up to my little ones,
I am thankful for thier joyful presence.
They bring fun and mindfulness of each moment
into my life.
When at work, Im thankful for the msn
who let me join his team,
Now he is my friend, and confidante,
I appreciate tbe unique loving friendship we share.
Im grateful for my mom and dad,
for supporting me in all I do
and for their guidance even now,
to me, now a woman still learning her way.
Im grateful for the others,
I met along the way,
teachers, friends, co-workers,
colleagues and kind strangers too.
Never do I these special ones,
for thier presence in my life enriches me,
and is part of who I am,
as I see life’s meaning in love shared along the way.
My Heart
yes you, strong and never failing heart
beating for me day in and day out
the one thing i know not to doubt
you were there in the beginning
and have yet to leave my side
In happiness and pain, its with you i subside
Thanks for being there when my head got the best of me
you stepped in to overrule…
..through you i’d find destiny
now i know on whom i can depend
thanks for being there..
..my heart, my one true friend
To My Soul Mate and Husband
You protect me when my defenses fail and
I am vulnerable against the evils in the world.
You protect me from myself when I am frustrated
and destructive.
I am grateful to you for
teaching me unconditional love;
being my guide in understanding who I am;
accepting all of me;
surprising me with random acts of kindness;
laughing together, at ourselves and at each other.
Where would I be if our paths had not crossed?
You are the angel my mother sent to guard me -
a bright light that led me away from the dark path
I had chosen in my grief and despair.
And yet how can I help but love you will all my soul.
You are in my heart when we are apart
and by my side when we are together.
I do not breathe if it’s not with your breath.
I do not fall that you don’t pick me up.
I am ever vigilant to ensure your comfort.
You are ever by my side.
I am so thankful for your presence,
my partner,
my best friend,
the fiber of my soul.
Mom and Dad
They deserve a daughter
Half again at least
As good as me,
Not one who forgets to call on Sundays.
Knowing this, I should tell them so.
Yet all these years they have given
only love, and loved us all
Unconditionally.
&
The car is an envelope
the boulder passes under
and we are letters
shrilling into the night
on a mountain.
And we are letters
shrilling into the twilight’s
tough indigo
on a panting mountain.
And there is a voice
on the other side
of the line and “Yes”
says the voice.
Salsa is not to be
underestimated
in times of great joy
and in times sorrow
does its jeer-sweating burlesque
at you. There is this moment
and it will not last.
The other half of you
turns toward the half of you
slipping into the bed
with a smile
even asleep.
There is this moment
and it is taken from you
and it will never
be taken from you.
And your mind is folded
into your heart
waking in a coffin
waking before a tidal wave
waking carried by
some reckless wind
through such brutal kitchens,
driven into such pillows,
and. The door comes open
in the middle of the night
and before you close it,
just for a moment,
you look, you look
deep.
Mira
Mira
Miracle
wanted baby
hope begun in winter
died before spring
wanted baby
Miracle
Mira
What a feast! I totally agree with the thanks expressed by Corinne in The Collective Pulse of This Blog – it’s a great gift.
RAIN, ONE MORE TIME
Not often enough.
They say scarcity
increases demand.
We don’t dare ask,
let alone pray. It
seems the skies
have developed a
self-determination
one would admire
if it helped.
I stare at shrunken
reservoirs, at daily
news reports: "…at
8.9%of capacity". I
watched men wading
in one, trailing a
seine net. If there
are fish or yabbies,
they will taste rank.
Our windows, the two
cars, are spotted as
pardalotes, our water-
tank too small to waste
on inessential washing.
Some plants look ill
when watered, others
wilt without. Vegetables?
A little bitter.
The town has grown,
still grows beyond
alluvial valley’s
bounds. We stare down
from dry heights,
calculate cost of
moving west, get used
to the tinder-dry, whinge
at careless winds.
When it does rain, I
grab a camera, capture
gleaming deck boards,
flooded streets, gutters,
drops and overflows,
the whole torrential
show. Dance in it,
lay the buckets out
in rows.
Then I am thankful:
for the deluge, for
for thirst and big blue
skies, the hard ground
that make me so. For not
having to trudge for miles
to collect a bucketful.
For the illusion that this
is a lucky country. Still.
Ode to Nolo.com
(Since 1971 making the American legal
system accessible to everyone)
You helped me:
divorce my nephew,
fight my ticket (the left turn-lane
was not clearly marked),
form my husband’s corporation
and a non-profit for the local PTA,
repair my cousin’s credit,
buy property in the country,
sell my house in California,
compose a rental agreement,
evict a tenant,
plan my estate,
write my will,
and fund my trust.
For $24.95 a pop
you affirmed all (wo)men are created equal
not just those with a law degree.
You said that I was good enough,
by gum, and more important,
made me believe it too.
Thank you.
Carol Brian
Thank you
Thank you for good times and bad times they make me grow,
Thank you for big people and little people who love me so.
Thank you for old things and new things each have a value,
Thank you for hot and cold things they make a good barbeque.
Thank you for high and low things they make me stretch and bend.
Thank you for all things great and small they make me good in the end!
Siah Ah Tai
my baby cry called
Quan Yin in the Heavens,
astride Her tiger She
rode in to save me,
Her quiet, ferocious
love lifting me from
the bloodstorm into
which I was born.
black pearl eyes warm
still from shining,
indigo hair to Her knees,
though, truth be told She
was just four feet from
ground to crown,
the smell of Her
cooling embrace,
cotton
coconut
calm
comfort.
Thankful For the Continuation of All Things-
Including Myself
I am thankful,
that the earth turns on it’s axis
without having to be reminded to.
I am thankful,
that the sun never fails
to appear in the east
just when the darkness
becomes unbearable.
I am thankful,
for the rain soaked days
of an upstate new york spring,
making hard little seeds
soft and wet and fit to burst
into the loving blooms they’ll be.
I am thankful,
that my mouth remembers to inhale,
my lungs to swell,
and fill my blood with oxygen
when i forget to breathe.
I am thankful,
that my heart still beats loudly
in the pearl white confines
of my rib cage,
when i’d rather it be quiet.
I am thankful.
“Diner Thanks”
It sounds silly
to be grateful
for a diner,
But I am.
After all,
you only serve breakfast
and lunch
and coffee
sometimes dessert;
I could get this at home.
But that’s not what I’m there for -
well sort of.
You do have fresh coffee
and super-fresh salads
and scrumptious crab cakes,
not to mention
the $5.95 everyday lunch specials.
It’s more than that:
You’re my friends,
the waitresses and hostess and busgirl
who took me in
when others took off;
let me cry at the counter
and laugh at the booth,
let me feel what I felt.
I thank you
my diner folk
for all the good food
and for just being you;
‘Cause without being you
I might be sitting
eating fast food;
not getting any love,
or attention,
only getting
all greased-up.
THANK YOU
So many things I’m thankful for
I hardly know where to begin…
All the nature outside my door,
and for my very good friends.
For my health and those I love,
For the spring and winter too!
For the good Lord up above,
For the day we said, "I do."
For our pets, our dogs and cats,
For the jobs that pay our rent.
For all of the forgiven spats.
For everything that’s Heaven-sent.
For the daughters we hold dear.
For the sight to see.
For that Christmas time of year.
For the things you mean to me.
For the life that we two share.
For the joyous laughter.
For the pennies we have to spare.
For forever after.
Thank you seems so very small
an offering to send
to the One who created all…
I think He’ll understand.
Everyday Things
It’s the simple things
We take for granted,
Or perhaps they are
Complicated, but
Have become the everyday
And blend into our lives
Like a chameleon in the desert.
Running water
Telephone chargers
Lights overhead
Toilets that flush
Life without
Limited battery power
The internet
Storm warnings
On the television
Electricity
Huddled in the bathroom
In the dark
With a pen light
And a miniature radio
Barely able to hear the DJ
Over the storm marching overheard
Batteries about to die
Wondering
If you will have a home
In the morning
It’s then
That all the little things
Show their face
And you’re truly thankful
For those little
Everyday things.
Time
I am thankful,
grateful; appreciative –
for every drop of time
filling me up.
Grateful for the moment
that seemed like days
when my mother slipped away
as I stood by her bedside –
the moment between
tick
and
tock.
Grateful for the white flurry
of a wedding day;
unable to be recalled
except as one long, joyful, whirling jumble of music, family, friends, elation and love.
Grateful for all the time between –
between
bacon sizzle and first bite;
first line and last;
swelling overture and resonating final note;
shiver and snowflake;
first breath and last.
Brothers
I never had a sister
So my brothers had to do
The younger one let me dress him up
In sehets and ribbons and flowers
The older sometimes let me tag along
Just sometimes
Then we grew up, got married,
had children
And over the years
The sisters-in-law
Were never as good
as thoses two brothers
A tribute to my daugher Kathy who lives in a wheelchair.
LESSONS IN FLOATING
She walks in water.
Glides like a miracle,
breaks away
from her portable chair
(no luggage needed on this journey)
and steps into aqua cloud.
She gives me no words
yet tells me more
than I could ever learn
from philosophers,
preachers or poets.
Her bent body
stands proud,
tight joints
loose and free
in the warm flow.
She walks in water
and I imagine I am flying.
It is her miracle.
I am only learning.
© Maureen Sexton
Wow…so many accomplished, vivid poets here…it’s been years since my teenaged "angst" and probably my best poetry..but here goes and thank you for the forum…
skylights and moonbeams…
the appartitions in the forest are real,
but unnecessary.
The lonely call of the eagle
signals the end of an era.
Embers from yesterdays past
drift on the winds of tomorrow
As echo’s of eternity….
Friends
On lonely weekend afternoons,
when tears are free to fall,
thoughts of old friends fill my mind
and memories start their call.
Looking through old photographs,
the letters and pressed flowers,
remind me of the things I’ve done,
those long forgotten hours.
Then I think of my new friends
and what I now can share,
creating a new memory,
sharing troubles that we bear.
So I’ll say goodbye to memories,
I’ll pass them on to you,
and hope that we can all grow close-
for real good friends are few.
Wow…so many accomplished, vivid poets here…it’s been years since my teenaged "angst" and probably my best poetry..but here goes and thank you for the forum…
skylights and moonbeams…
the appartitions in the forest are real,
but unnecessary.
The lonely call of the eagle
signals the end of an era.
Embers from yesterdays past
drift on the winds of tomorrow
As echo’s of eternity….
Thanks For It All
Birds came to feed from the seed
Scattered upon the grass.
Brilliant blue and red as they fed,
Pecking around, en masse.
Brown, black, and tan spread their fan
Tails as they flew away.
But they’ll be back in their pack
To dine yet another day.
Butterflies flitter, loom over a bloom
Delivering peace, it seems,
Filling one’s eyes, such a surprise,
As real psychidelic dreams.
White clouds drift by, in blue sky,
Standing, we survey the scene.
"Thanks for it all!", is our call
So we can feel serene.
Thankful
By Amanda L. Selset
April 4, 2008
My world has shattered
I know not what to do
I struggle everyday to get up
No energy to clean my house
Or to eat
The pain I feel is so intense
No antidepressants have worked
No sleeping pill is letting me sleep
Constant thoughts run through my head
Exhausted I sleep for a few hours
Only to dream of the pain
One this has helped me
This last year and a half
I have more pain coming
And I will need that one thing
For the rest of my life
What I get from this one thing
Is all that keeps me going
Keeps me from
Drinking
Keeps me from
Drugs
Keeps me from
Suicide
Keeps me from
Falling
I thank you with everything I have
And all that I possess
Thank you my friends
Thank you
Whomever you thank . . .
Don’t forget to mention
All the little miracles
The joy of children singing
The sorrow of one lost
The animals that provide comfort
Those which provide meals
The flowers the paint beauty
And perfume the spring air
The vegetables that nourish us
And the work we do to nurture them
The orchard that offers fruit and shade
The honeybees that pollinate their blossoms
The way conditions are just perfect
For life on our planet to exist
Whoever you believe responsible
Don’t forget to offer thanks.
Mad Madam Mem
Mad Madam Mem
Marvelous in your
Wild uninhibited
Third-born baby way.
Voices bellowing from
Wide-open windows
Pedal to the metal
Hills and switchbacks
Rushing past us.
Laughing to tears
Stomach pains
Doubled-over in joy
At our sisterly, womanly
Bond of love.
Thank You, God
Thank you for Jesus dying for my sins.
Thank you for my family and all my friends.
Thank you for the church and my freedom to attend.
Thank you for my job which never seems to end
Thank you for my house and everything within
Thank you for the children, who love without end.
Thank you for loving me no matter how I sin.
Thank you, God, for everything.
Invitation
Thank you for loving me
For breaking through my walls
For looking at me so deep
That I feel beautiful
Thank you for holding me
Before, during, and after,
For make me feel so safe
That I could be myself.
Thank you for wanting me
For encouraging me to move
My self and heart into yours
Trusting in the future
Hoping in our future
Grateful for a future
With you.
So thank you for letting me
Believe your lies
For giving me a taste
Of whate never existed
Between the two of us.
And thank you for inviting me
To your wedding to my former friend
Whom you met through me
Whom you met because of me
And who you now choose to marry instead of me.
So thank you but no thank you
I have better things to do
Than rejoice for the two of you.
My Friend
Friendship is a special gift
That’s given without cost
Your heart may feel a certain lift
From friends you love the most
A friend is there to help you
No matter where or when
True friends will stand besides you
Until the very end
My friend surrounds me with prayer
When I’m feeling down
And yet I know she’s always there
To turn over my frown
She knows exactly what to say
To make me smile again
Time with her is never grey
She is the bestest Friend
4) Thank You 4/4/08
For purple mountain majesties
For the earth beneath my feet
For life within small places
For images in my mind
For miniscule meanderings of the atoms of my soul
Thank you.
anne
4) Thank You 4/4/08
For purple mountain majesties
For the earth beneath my feet
For life within small places
For images in my mind
For miniscule meanderings of the atoms of my soul
Thank you.
anne
My Virtual Salon
(Or thanks to Al Gore for inventing the Info Superhighway)
Electrons pulse,
weaving invisible ribbons,
a maypole twisting
all of us together,
we writers,
disparate and desperate
for commune of words.
A miracle, we find each other,
crawling through blogospheric interspace
from our physical centers -
the wilds of Kenai,
Orcas Island, swinging Joisey,
Beantown and Trigger Town,
Carolina on my mind,
Hon City, Geneve
across the pond,
and points in between and beyond -
to arrive here, NOW,
a virtual salon.
(Thank you, dear writing friends, my nudgers and compatriots).
If You Can Read This, Thank a Teacher.
Disregard the bumperstick tone
Of my message. Though trite perhaps
The sentiment rings true.
Thank you, Mrs. Wilkes. You created
A monster then kept feed it books.
And you, Mrs. Hester. When I saw you
In my thirties, you were the age
I thought you were in second grade
When you let me call my mother
Complaining of a stomachache.
You must have known my malady
Was my first low grade for telling time.
Mrs. Perry, I can only thank you
For letting school be fun.
Too bad your bikini at the public pool
Ended your career in grammar school.
Mrs. Knott, I’m sorry we called you
Mrs. Snott. How can I thank you enough
For day after day, chapter after chapter
of Laura Ingalls Wilder in the Big Woods.
A double portion of thanks to you,
Mrs.Hopper, not just because we spent
Fifth and sixth grade together
But for the serendipity worked into
Those otherwise awkward years—
The pledge of allegiance
Recited each day in Latin,
“Old Floyd Ireson and his hard heart. . .”
shaped note singing and new math
(which you learned each evening
to teach us the next day.)
The Lady
Thank you for raising me, for loving me
And carrying me.
Thank you for making me feel important, making me feel tall,
And never the least bit small.
Thank you for your grace, your humor, your smile,
Thanks for staying with me for a while.
Thank you for my challenges, my fall downs, and my pick-ups,
Thank you for your shoulder and always giving me the last cup.
Thank you for the excitement, for the happiness, for the joy,
Thank you for putting up with me, never treating me like a toy.
Basically, thank you for being you, all the time, everyday,
Thank you and I love you, there’s nothing more to say.
PETE
Thank you Pete so very much,
My dream you made come true.
I felt your love through your touch,
And never again was I blue.
Plenty of happiness you gave me,
So much plus all your love.
You called yourself pimp daddy,
To me you are my dove.
The size of Texas is your heart,
With everyone you are kind.
Mostly I hate us being apart,
We’d cuddle relax and unwind.
I was happy like this never,
It was all thanks to you,
Always I have you forever,
To you my heart is true.
Day 4
"Miss D"
During the time when I didn’t care,
You took me and said "I do."
During the time when I wanted to quit,
You showed me how not to.
You had to fix the mess from the year before,
Take away the low self-esteem.
I was told I was stupid.
I was treated like I was dumb.
She made me want to quit.
She made me want to leave.
She made me want to disappear.
She made me feel ashame.
Now is that was a teacher suppose to do?
You made me feel good again.
You showed me how to suceed.
You made me love school again.
You made want to learn.
After spending a year in your class,
I was a new me.
Cause of you I suceeded in school.
I made myself smart.
My life is how I like it.
Many, many years have gone by,
I wonder if you still teach.
Cause I know your students would be in good hands.
I just wnat to say "Thank you" Miss D.
Robert – thanks for today’s prompt. I’ve been kicking this idea around in my head for two weeks now and finally put fingers to keyboard. A tribute to my wife who has had to deal with medical issues but keeps kickin’ butt.
"My Wife"
Spring arrived
the temperature flirted with the low end of the scale
but the sun was shining
and I needed something to keep my mind busy
so I decided to clean out the fish pond
saturated with late fall and thick-as-molasses winter muck.
I scooped the water out
pulling out leaves as I went
and came across a dead goldfish
or so I thought,
for she began to twitch.
a miracle I thought
not having paid attention in science class years ago
(bears don’t hold a monopoly on hibernation I now know),
a miracle nonetheless
and I placed my discovery from the season past
into our favorite popcorn bowl
and added some scum and leaves and such
and dirty water — no fresh water –
you can’t clean up someone too fast you know,
slowly is best — put some time between the jolt and recovery.
I kept poking at my little friend
thinking she was dead after all
but she would flail wildly
and bounce around the bowl with bravado.
30 minutes later I’d poke her with my finger
and the dance would begin anew.
I couldn’t help it.
I just wanted, just had to know that she was still breathing
still with us, still
with me.
what should I name this miracle I thought?
she had suffered through the harsh winter
lived in scum
been left for dead
yet she survived
still lively and still so beautiful
reflecting against the glass
flirting with the sun’s brilliance;
how grand a creature I thought
to survive against all odds and to remain so pure.
I had to honor her in some way to recognize her struggle
to pay homage to her unshakeable strength,
but what to call her?
Helen of Troy…Joan of Arc…Frida Kahlo?
and then it hit me,
Cindy Rae.
perfect I thought and took her inside
away from the cruel elements and guiltless predators
just as I had with her namesake
26 years before.
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How do I say "Thank you"?
Two words and
One brief space of
Breath; these never
Are enough to say
All that I owe
And all that’s felt.
World, mom, pavement
Stranger’s smile
And friend, is all
That I can say, can
Whisper "Thank you"?
For breath, for sun
For shadows, pain
Small favors, hope
For all that’s made
All grand creation
Our language has just
Two small words to
Cover these; one brief
Space of breath:
"Thank you".
And on the subject of thanks, many, many thanks to Robert for this poetry challenge, the most fun ever! I was stuck in line at the post office for 20 minutes today. But was not bored–I had this poem to work on!
there is a creek
that walks
out to the lake
been there
longer than the bridge
in the whispering
twilight
my brother would watch
the tadpoles
swim
in the morning
we would catch
frogs
in a styrofoam bucket
overflowing
with croaking
companions
and banana
rain boots
my paw paw
still watches
the waves
and paints
the oils
with memories
of his grandchildren
You came
You came into my heart one day and it smiled. You came into my soul and it rejoiced.You came into my life and made it better. You came into my body and hasn’t been the same. You came into my thoughts and stayed there.You came and I am so glad you did.
Mister, Doctor, Sir
Conversations, jokes, laughs, smiles, a cup of coffee, Good Morning Friend.
Wisecracks, witty comebacks. I’ll have to mark that one on the calander.
Kids, sports,school and lifes little pains. Your even there when it rains.
A hug, a kiss, a night of making love, you fit in my life like a glove. Who needs love? When there’s friendship like ours. I can talk to you for hours an hours.
Insecurities and craziness and mispoken words. I’ll warsh that for you.
Your tall, handsome and have a beautiful smile. See I can get mushy too.Have you ever had a comfortable shoe? You’re my pair. I love it when we share, thoughts, ideas and our lives.
Thank-you for being the friend in friendship.
I Ran The Roads My Daddy Ran
By Bill Kirk
I head across the freeway from Mollie’s
And pick up Dover road for the first two miles.
It’s early morning and the air is still cool,
Not yet thick and heavy with delta humidity
Pulled into the air by the heat of the sun.
Mostly rolling hills lay before me
As I hug the edge of the asphalt—
My shoes finding purchase
In the loose gravel and sand.
I’ll make the left onto Neely Road in fifteen minutes,
If I’m lucky. I wonder if that’s how long
It took Daddy and his brothers and his cousins
When they ran these roads as boys 75 years ago?
The road is paved at the turn but it will quickly change to gravel
And powdery Mississippi clay.
I trade the open exposure to the sun for cool shade—
Sun flashes through the thick canopy,
Dappling the dusty road at my feet.
“Come on Woodrow. Keep up.”
I can hear my Daddy call out over his shoulder to his big brother.
“Last one home slops the hogs before supper!”
Quiet foot strikes in unison kick up the road dust into a cloud
Like some kind of reddish talcum powder.
In wet weather this would be Mississippi mud.
But this day a fine layer of red clay covers the feet and legs
Of half-dozen, bare-footed young farm boys out for a good run
After a long day in the fields.
Now that’s entertainment!
Someone, it could have been anyone, coughs out between breaths—
“This beats pickin’ cotton by a long shot.”
Then it was Daddy, “Yeah, ‘cept when I slung that whip snake
At Woodrow four rows over while we was pickin!’”
That got a good laugh out of everyone,
Hard as it was to laugh on the run.
“Not a lot of cotton got picked that day!”
Back in the moment,
I feel the first traces of the morning heat on my face—
Sweat streaming down my back.
I can just see those boys as they must have sprinted down
What would one day be the same Kirk Road I am running.
At the next left they would catch Fletcher’s Chapel Road,
Heading for home past the very fields they had worked in that day.
Imagining the tight group of runners ahead of me.
I pick up my pace. Can I catch them?
My high-tech running shoes seem no match
For the six sets of calloused feet ahead of me.
They know the feel of every inch of these roads.
The old home place suddenly pops into view.
I think I can take ‘em. But these boys are running
For more than bragging rights. The first one through the gate
Gets the first slice of Mammaw’s chocolate cake after supper.
Less than a quarter mile away, I have to make my move.
Imagining that chocolate cake in front of me,
It’s time to see what kind of a kick they have.
Keeping time with a silent cadence caller,
The boys stretch their strides out,
Threadbare over-alls flapping in the breeze.
Jockeying for position on the inside
They aim to cut the short corner into the gravel driveway.
But wait! In a split second Daddy swings to the outside—
Farther to run but more room.
In my mind’s eye, I fall in behind him.
For a split second, stride for stride we make for the gate.
In a final burst, Daddy breaks away
From the thundering herd, slicing through the front gate opening,
Just inches ahead of the pack.
This night to the victor goes the first dipper of cool well water
And the first slice of Mammaw’s chocolate cake.
As for me? I relish the feast before me—
Rich memories of by-gone time long before I was born.
Thanks for the run, Dad.
A THANK-YOU NOTE
TO PAST MEALS
A visit to my doctor
has caused me much distress.
He said, “I’ll test your sugar,”
then gave a quick blood test.
“I’m sorry to report this:
Looks like your sugar’s high.
Now I’ve made up a diet
I hope you will stick by.”
Goodbye potatoes, farewell
to macaroni. And sweets
like cream pies and jelly beans,
potato chips and salsa treats!
“And I suggest,” the Doctor
said, “you do some exercise.
You want to keep real healthy.
And you want to drop in size.”
So this poem’s a thank-you note
to the meals of my past.
My taste buds all miss you.
Oh, you meals were a blast!
A thank you to those milkshakes
I drank up from my straw.
My gratitude goes out to
the meals I eat no more.
My sugar’s coming down now
and I’m losing some weight,
but Lord, I miss the old days
when I could fill my plate
without worry that my choices
one day would make me pay.
Now I’m reading the labels
and cringe when most will say:
“Sugar,” then add too many grams.
It’s hard to live a life that’s sweet
when sugar’s not allowed.
Today’s meals are dull, but I eat.
#
© 2008 Salvatore Buttaci
Chance
It was by chance that we met.
If I hadn’t been so tired
I wouldn’t have stopped
on my way home,
but the bar was quaint
and the night was rainy
and only a cat was lonely for me.
If there had been a table
I wouldn’t have sat at the bar,
but every table was taken,
and I was taken with the cute smile
of the fellow sitting on the end stool
so I went and sat down beside him.
If I hadn’t been tired of chardonnay
I wouldn’t have ordered a Chevis and soda
and if the new bartender hadn’t run out
of Chevis he wouldn’t have motioned
for the regular bartender.
If the regular bartender
hadn’t asked me where I was from
we never would have found out
that we both hailed from Virginia.
If he hadn’t thought I was cute
he would never have asked me
for my phone number
and if we hadn’t gone
to the same college I never
would have given it to him.
But he had and I did and
that was how it started.
Thank Heavens for chance.
To Those I’ll Never Forget (#4)
Dedicated to those
whose nights gave me
the poetry I needed
for my days.
Tom
He makes me smile
When I least expect it
He sings with a power
Unmatched
He has the tenderest
Heart I know
He keeps me
From falling
Off cliffs
He helped me
To heal
Through showing
Me love
No matter
How insane
I get
He loves me still
My bed
Is not warm
When he is
Gone
He is
Sacred
To me
I am
Blessed
When we
Eclipse
My moon
Merging
With his
Sun
My friend
My lover
My soul
3/14/8
My Wife
You challenge me
Have I been up to the challenge?
You inspire me
Have I been inspiring?
You love me
Have you felt loved?
For all of these things I am grateful
Do you feel appreciated?
You are a cool breeze off of the
snow-capped mountains
You are sea-mist off of the
grandest ocean
You are lush grass in a
desert oasis
You are my life
I will cherish you
You are my love
I will protect you
You are my wife
I adore you
-Justin M. Howe
04/04/08
A Dream in Her Pocket
"When you go to the hospital,
They make you hang your Wonder Woman outfit on the back of the door."
You could still see the pain.
She was back at work after four months of recovery.
And you could still see the pain.
She was the same old boss with the same old laugh,
But more had changed than the occasional shaking of her head or hands–
More than the new earrings and sudden, impromtu naps.
She’d faced scarier opponents than her boss
And bigger challenges than her job.
Now she faced us all in the meeting that day.
Notes rustling in her hand, we heard in her voice
Determination that rang past the strength she could give it.
We heard the phrase and took it to heart:
"I am not going to die with dreams in my pocket."
My Anna Belle
Your wing was sharp
Too sharp a thing to crawl under
When the sky blackened.
We hid beneath the warmth,
All of us high-cheekboned, brown babies.
We were the clamoring in your kitchen of paradise,
Herbs everywhere, rice that would melt
Grain by grain on our tongues.
Even the chickens held their breath
When you stepped off the porch.
Grand woman, a chief among men
A laureate among the fearful girls
And their babies.
I prayed for your hands the day the child came.
I heard you, saw the deep black of your eyes
And a thousand years of wisdom slapped me clean
Across the face.
Two thousand years of grace
Straightened my back, brought back the soul.
I can see the glint in the girl’s face,
It is you, my queen-chief,
Axe and all, feed and all,
Hand on hip
In the fog of just another morning.
I get embarrassed by religious poetry for some reason–it’s so naked and can be really, really schlocky. But here’s the truth:
Above Assisi
Thank you, you who left your
little prayers on the Lenten altar,
little pieces of paper held down
by small stones from the path.
Did you come here, as I did,
a tourist who suddenly awoke
to the immensity of the mountain,
looked within, looked without,
face wet with tears?
I thought I was here to see Italy.
Instead, I was opened, broken body
and spirit, cut open to acknowledge
just how helpless I am in illness.
It was your prayers on the Lenten altar
high above Assisi that taught me
how to pray, really pray.
I was no longer alone. I was at rest,
from the moment I placed my own
little prayer beneath a stone. Even though
the pain still cut through and through,
I finally knew God’s embrace.
Our salvation comes from desperation,
my friends. "Someone’s praying
for me!" became my mantra when
darkness swept over me two weeks later…
I prayed for you, too. I give thanks for you:
Where there is despair—hope,
Where there is darkness—light,
Where there is sadness—joy, true joy.
Elizabeth K. Keggi
I am grateful that no one has found it necessary to hire a hit man
And put an end to all my schemes
The only direct physical assaults
on me occurred in junior high school
And were easily survived:
glasses sunk in the school stream,
A bloody nose.
None of my students (that I know of)
have stalked me
Hating me for the bad grade,
Showing up at my door with reams of paper
and a shiny knife.
Oh I have lived a charmed life.
Despite the gifts I was given–
a diary covered in mocha and gold,
and a set of stationery from Japan
I set my face in the crook of my arm
and wept.
Summer and its promise of freedom
lay outside the door.
I could not rejoice, for
at eight years old, I knew
no one would ever
have books
or the love
for my poems
stories
and essays
like Mrs. Pine.
My Little Sister
Who should have been my twin,
as close as we were growing up.
My defender that weird day I
chose to follow my hippie
teacher’s advice and not face
one of my tormenter’s off school
grounds, after I had pinned him
to the blackboard by the throat.
She took my place, instead.
Who acted as my conscience when
I wanted to beat our middle
sister, the bully in the family,
who backed down the first time I
hit her back. She pulled me away
when first blood appeared, the
accumulated backlog of torture
paid in full. She saved me from
stepping into the bully’s shoes.
Who is my best friend, despite
husbands who barely speak, three
children (hers) and two dogs (mine)
who distract us when we’re together.
Each other’s shield growing up in
a hostile land far to the north
of us now. I owe my life and my
sanity to her, the ham, the buoyant
personality who rarely meets
a person she cannot like.
Monty
Truth you know it well.
Realness you show in all things.
Intelligent beyond scopes of books
Beauty that glows from within
Unequaled in your temperament
Touching in your sensitivity
Earnest in your desire to please.
This TRIBUTE is for my pet
the four-legged variety
Each New Day
I am thankful for yesterday
And the memories it made
I am thankful for today
And time with family shared
I am thankful for tomorrow
That I will be around to see it
With apologies to Wallace Stevens.
Seven ways to be grateful for chocolate chips
I
Among the cooling cookies
the chocolate chips sit liquid hot.
semi-sweet bombs ready to explode
on your tongue.
II
After the dentist’s drill,
A chocolate chip sits melting
Alone in the corner of my mouth.
III
The mouse nibbles at the corner
of a yellow plastic bag
of chocolate chips
shoved in the back of the cupboard.
Rodent ecstacy.
IV
She rode past the suburbs
in the back seat of a minivan
Once, fear pierced her
as her mother glanced in the rearview mirror
and saw the shadow of chocolate chips
smeared across her lips.
V
I was of three minds
Like three kids
Fighting over a chocolate chip cookie
VI
The chocolate chip rolled across the floor
A small part of the mess.
VII
It was evening all afternoon
It was foggy.
And the fog would never lift.
A chocolate chip cookie sat waiting
in the tupperware.
Do you have a secret link to my mind? First you asked for haiku on the day I normally post them (your Thursday being my Friday). Now you request a thankyou poem when my writers’ group has just published a zine with that theme! My contribution (below) was written 19th March. I’ll see if I can come up with a new one too before the day’s out.
Sometimes I Want To Be
Sometimes I want to be alone and listening
to gardens by the church singing in yellow
their tenor notes
and dotted with pink the sweet sopranos,
hymns on the evening air
calling in colours
against that great organ
thrumming in the background,
that rolling sea.
The birds getting ready for bed
chatter like children
as the wind whispers
a light-hearted prayer of its own.
The sun near its setting brightens the clouds
with a silvery edging
ahead of advancing rain.
And what are their prayers and chants,
these elements of God’s kingdom?
They are thanks, they are thanks,
they are joyous thanks,
the carols of Life raising up
ecstatic voice at the end
of another living day.
Thanks for the day, the living,
the colours and songs, and now,
thanks for Your night
and the rest.
© Rosemary Nissen-Wade 2008
Me
staring back
from the mirror I have
yet to clean because of
work, work-out, and
other whimsical obligations
is you,
which is me.
and just in case
I forget
with all the rush
and the mess
thank you
for being you
and
the woman you’ve become
staring back at me.
Wow, Robert, Gatlinburg’s only 2 hours away from me! Should be lovely this time of year, if the rains and mists unveil the lacy yellow-green buds on the still-naked trees. Sorry I can’t help with the Internet dilemma, but we do heartily recommend dining at the Apple Barn or Pancake Pantry.
It’s okay, its been really raining in Nashville. It’s strange how things coinside to bring about a subject that one thinks about earlier in a day, then someone brings that same subject up. The following is my day, and how I thought how lucky I am, and that the "drama" really isn’t so bad. Anyhow, deep thoughts on a Friday? Who’d a thunk it.
Anyhow, onto the poem.
Being Thankful
The day began
Stress ensued and drama commenced.
Thinking how bad my day was,
And how boring and dull is my creed
A conversation overheard
Reinvented the day.
The woman in tears
Told of her dying sister
Her husband being pursued by her best friend
How her sister needed surgery in 24 hours
But couldn’t get it as
Financial aid was denied
As she “Made too much money.”
I considered my situation,
And how lucky I truly am
To be in this place,
In this time
Just be.
LOST AND FOUND (WHEN POETRY PAYS)
I found $150
tucked between pages
846 & 7 of the
Norton Anthology of
Contemporary
Poetry. I’m a
satisfied customer of
the First Bank of Eavan Boland.
Little Things
When the waitress brings her plate
whe says, "Thank you so much!"
with a lilt to her voice that speaks
of true gratefulness. Her simple
plate of mac’n'cheese unleashes a spark
of thankfulness in her sould that she
can’t ignore – it breaks forth through
her vocal cords and up, up into her
words. It’s the little things that really
get her going. And I love her.
My little thing.
For Your Entertainment
So glad to have learned it is okay
to laugh at myself instead of
making excuses like the time my
Girl Scout badge sash fell down during
kickball and tripped me up
I’m hurt I cried which silenced the
mean fifth grade grins.
How great it is today
to fall off the bike
while getting on
and know I am making
a darned good story for
your dinner table chat!
I remember a love from another lifetime
That touched me
In places I can no longer find
A loved that taught me
The importance of simple things
Of grassy hills and sunshine
Of Bob Marley and secret lovemaking
Taught me how to
Make a guitar sing
Mmmm… those fingers
You taught me to paint
Red on me
Blue on you
Purple of the floor
I remember when a time
When I was alive
I knew how to laugh
Because you had showed me
This trick… told me a secret rather
Of true laughter
[chuckle] yeah.. I remember
…thanks
Rachel, when we talk now I have to hold myself back from talking about it.
I just enjoy the feeling again instead.
David’s New Address
Lord you gave us total joy,
A bubbling loving infant boy.
He laughed often and seldom cried.
Help us remember he hasn’t died.
He lives in his new home with your son.
We know he’s laughing, having fun.
Now we urgently appeal:
Oh Lord, help our hearts to heal.
During the long lonely nights,
Abd the lengthy quiet days,
May we never forget,
To sing Thy praise!!!.
So many times life just wiles away
Just trying to make it
Wanting to make it
Striving to make it, for a reason
Any reason
Just walking down paths that left reason
Behind
And only the mundane structure of
Day to day reality
To keep my soul company
To entertain my mind
Until you arrived, a park in the night
To give me a reason
For entering the light from this long dark
To give me a purpose
To give substance to my goals
Where I only climb ladders for myself
Now I have someone to carry
And I have someone to hold
I have someone to teach
And from you I know I will learn
And I have a sweet kiss on my cheeks
To warm me in this cold and harsh world
And though eye to eye
We don’t always agree
I do what I think is best for you
And you give what you think is best for me
I give you purpose and knowledge
To survive the toils of existence as they unfold
And you give me laughter
You make me remember that once
I too looked upon life with a glimmer in my eyes
And a need to find beauty and a smile
In everything that I behold
Together we walk this road
So much more than when I was alone
A gift from above you are
More precious that shiny stones from the earth
And when I run too fast for myself
Move so quickly that I don’t stop to enjoy
All the beauty that permeates my living world
You are there to remind me
That life is too short
And you re-align my soul
The US Soldiers
They are always fit, ready for the shrill.
All over the world on oceans and hills
the most difficult tasks they have to meet
and when they come back they expect no meed
protecting their land is always a thrill.
Like no one other, they master their skills
becaude they know their lives are at a brink
they are enraptured no matter the risk,
they prepared to die, they prepared to kill.
They leave behind who knows what sort of grief
but their mighty country is their belief.
Always will be a hole for them to fill;
a brisk deployment with a goodbye kiss
and to preserve our home vale like a bliss
many bleeding tears we may have to spill.
One more battle for them is just a drill
that they do conduct for war or for peace;
bein in CONUS, or far over the seas
to be defeated the chances are nill.
The US Soldiers are all heart and will.
The Collective Pulse of This Blog
These posts, each one of them
All of you in your
Yearning and earnestness
It’s like mainlining your dreams
Such rawness and vulnerability.
Graced I am, and awestruck
To have stumbled upon this crowd,
Such hearts!
Thank you for beating within earshot
So valiantly, so true.
This is kind of crappy because I’m uber-short on time, but whatever. I’m steadfast, if nothing else.
- – - – - – - -
Wartooth
I have an unconventional horse,
a crimson twenty-six-pound beast
composed of premium aluminum,
intricate derailleurs and cables,
dirtied rims and painted spokes.
His saddle is fused to his back.
He is compliant and near-silent.
He never rears up, never whinnies,
needs no stable, needs no hay,
only oil and bimonthly adjustments.
He asks me for nothing
even after hours of my weight
pushing down his saddle,
even after I shove him uphill
in gears too high for either of us.
My Wartooth’s loyal to the last,
and I am ever-thankful
for every day we get a chance
to fly together as one.
Dear Dr King,
This is just
To thank you for showing
Me
I can dream
And pursue
Happiness
Even though
The world has not
Turned out the way
You wanted
Let us not bankrupt
The bank of justice
And help us break
The silence
Of the agony of the night
Let us speak from the burnings
Of our hearts
Help us see that war
Is the enemy of the poor
Let us not forget the people
Who suffer under fire
Day and night
Night and day
I know I have borrowed your words
But I know you would want them
To spread throughout
The world
In this day
This age
And continue on
Through the ages to come
Until one day
We can say
The dream has come true
Abundant blessings pave my life’s journey
and I relish the thought of more travel
even as I shall lay on death’s gurney
I will anticipate what unravels
Not enough time exist, nor enough words
within my lifetime and it’s harried ways
so should I take for granted, rest assurred
I thank each and every one, every day
My thanks is to God, his gift from above
that allows us to connect and be loved
Robert, like you, I’ve had so much to be grateful for all week, and even today, though I didn’t mention the most recent turn in my poem: my daughter’s car needed a tuneup, not a transmission–difference = $2,000!Yea!
The Thankful Lifestyle
This week began with worries about money
not that we don’t have any
but bills and obligations we’re juggling at present.
Calm down, I reminded my anxious side.
God’s always provided, He’ll do it again.
That’s Thankful #1.
Frustrated call to the Big Insurance Company.
We already processed that claim, won’t pay your lab,
Out of network, your doctor should have known.
Bless you Gina of the doctor’s office.
You took my little fax and it became a litany
to the lab company, who’ll take care of me.
That’s Thankful #2.
Alas the calendar conflict I discovered
makes me choose between hubby and choir social.
I so wanted to see my friend’s farm
where everyone will laugh and eat home-cooked food they brought
and fuss over all the beautiful hunting puppies.
She said, you two come visit any time, no party needed,
We’d love to show you our farm.
That’s Thankful #3.
Just the beginning of sweet people and orchestrated events,
Mercy and grace raining gently on my up-tilted thirsty face.
I can always find one more thing to be thankful for.
Dawn
The &*%($) dogs haul me out of bed, again,
Too early. They pull on their leashes, looking
For the perfect place to pee, and when I’m lucky
They keep me out here a while–long enough
To see the rising sun backlight the clouds,
Which today hug the horizon and look like
Mountains in the distance. I pretend
That our lake is a glacier-relic, with
Those mountains around us, like arms, and
It’s almost real, this time of day. But the dogs
Want to go back before I‘ve had my fill, and
Like I often do, I end up thanking them
For making sure I didn‘t miss this dawn.
Lyn Sedwick
A Poem for Mommy
Has it been 4 years?
4 years since
I gave you that final kiss
my hand holding your fist
4 years since
you encouraged me
to strive
For you is the last time I cried
For 4 years I’ve tried
to accomplish
what you forshadowed
and prophesied
that I’d
Make you proud
but my pride
has me crawling on all fours
to emphasis
my appreciation
for to have you
is why I miss you
but without you
I couldn’t thank you
for being the reason I’ve
made it this long
4 years later
I’m twice the man you saw
if it wasn’t for your love
I would forget what love was
I have a tattoo of your name
on my forearm
so when I reach for the stars
the whole world can read
why I’m reaching so far!
Thankful for the Camera
I am so very thankful for the camera
I wouldn’t remember half
My life without the photos
I have taken.
The children are growing
But once were small
I have the proof before me.
The beauty of nature
Sings to me
The creatures of our planet
Fascinate me
And I must capture it.
One small moment or
Humongous occasion
All needs to be recorded.
I am so very thankful for the camera.
April 4, 2008
Big Love
(for my big sister)
It’s on display all the time now
it radiates straight through to the tips
of her curly golden hair
the great big love she gives the world
and to me
Big love is better than little love
or tiny love or even self love
it’s not hidden
waiting to be discovered
it is given
like breath to a drowning man
or a vision to a saint
Why wait?
Her love says
why waste time
wondering how it got broken
and trying to mend it
plant your feet on the ground
and throw open your arms
my big love is about to give you
a big hug
Say thank you
you remind yourself
as she bathes you in her light
say it so she knows
and never stops
Thankful for Him
She fell from grace
amongst the falling stars,
smiling still,
she fumbles for solidity
riding crystal thoughts in the midst of chaos
on an infinite air of impossibility.
Beauty in debt
to ineffable pain,
Carries on,
hopeful still,
she’ll slumber in the brilliant night,
she’ll stumble on her shining knight.
Upon a savior’s note,
to take and hold one’s hand,
He’ll forever keep her safe,
So she’ll never hurt again.
A Moment of Thanks
An Intake of Breath
And A Few Words
A Simple
Thank You
and There is a Feeling
Of Fleeting
Apprecation
And For that
There Can Be No more
Deception
Or Ungratefullness
And its All
Taken
Graciously
-Alex
CHANGE
I am grateful for change
And everything that doesn’t
Stay the same
For my husband of 2 years
Who now asks my permission
To go out at night
For the basenji-lab mix
That we rescued from the shelter
And has made us a family
For cutting my hair
And doing it for me,
Despite what you all think
For new phone numbers
New jobs, a different commute
And a parking garage
For yogurt and granola
And 2 mile walks at lunch
Instead of fast food french fries
For bubble baths and wine
Followed by a fluffy robe
And furry slippers
N. E. Tasker
(last line…should have been a ‘you’. Oops)
I like the sentiment behind the poem for an audience of 2 so this is my version.
A Lighter Look at Friendship
You were my friend, even when you stole a fork.
You’ve been my friend – though we’ve never been to New York.
We’ve called in sick – played hooky from work,
Even made friends with a 7-11 clerk.
Stayed up late – our minds corrupt,
Drank cocktails from giant paper cups.
Saw some bands, stayed out much to late,
Drank in bars that weren’t so great.
You slept on the floor instead of your bed.
Sorry I ate your pizza bread.
First… I really enjoyed your post today. I only just found your blog through the PAD email I received from WD. Posts like this one will bring me back long after the PAD challenge is gone. Thanks for sharing. And in keeping with the sentimental vein, here goes…
Thank You (to a Grandmother)
And in your library
We laughed, in love
With words and music,
Those mediocre mornings
When rain would
Soak the daffodils
And daisies windowsilled,
The pitter-patter fall of water
Blurring willows
In the yard.
Your voice, lifted,
Above the rumble,
Would sing of Persian nights,
Ali Baba, Istanbul and dreams.
And me,
A boy
Caught up in wanderlust,
Would ride imagination
Far and wide,
Adrift from mediocrity,
On the wings of your warm
and soothing voice.
And your heartbeat witnessed,
Felt beneath your skin,
Would keep me still,
An anchor to the music
That your trilled.
Thanks
by Margaret Fieland
For the red breasts strutting their stuff
For the ducks diving for their dinner
For the amber light slanting through
the new green leaves of the maple tree
For the purple crosuses poking their heads
up around the patio
For the whispers of wind when
it blows drops of rain against
the window in the living room
For four walls and a roof that doesn’t leak,
For air to breath and a body to take breaths
For today and all the todays to come
And for you.
This one was particularly challenging for me since, as a rule, I don’t write happy/upbeat pieces. Hopefully it’s not too horrible.
Thanks
Without much further hesitation,
but still a little trepidation,
I’d like to show appreciation
for all that’s gotten in my way.
For all the challenges presented
and opportunities prevented,
although they were at times resented,
have made me who I am today.
For Julie: A woman of the stage
You are the thunder clap
in a shushed theatre
hot pink lip stick
in the grey of winter
bending and pulling
b o u n d a r i e s
until they snap back
to let other voices in.
OUT ON A LIMB
i was born with a problem
that grew into a troublesome ache late in my twenties
i always wanted to sever the growth for vanity sake
but the pain took over and made me feel less narcissistic
and surgery became real
i’ve always hated needles and the thought of induced sleep rattled my nerves
but if that was the path that would lead to my end, then why fight it?
i came out breathing and intact
but forced to rely on crutches
and maneuver with one leg
i became all to thankful for all of my limbs
you never know what you have until it’s gone
became my mantra during the healing period
it’s so easy to take for granted the ability to move freely
without assistance
especially when you see those that have injuries and problems that surgery cannot repair
the removal of the bunion on my right foot
became a lesson in thankfulness and gratitude
I have given myself the poem a day challenge since Oct. 2004. Most of them will never be seen by anyone but me, but I value them just like pictures in my photo albums, that few will see either.
Thank You for the Little Things
Thank You, God, for the little things
For Vanessa’s laugh
That she’s been with us five years
And for the funny way she
Chews me out even though she’s nonverbal.
Thank you for all the things my husband does
To make my life more comfortable
Takes the trash out. Gasses my van.
Brings me my tea from the microwave
Even if I have to take it back to
Put cream and sugar in it.
Thank You for my son Eli
And that he’s still here even
Though it’s past time for him to be on his own
Thank You that he makes me laugh
And that he helps me with my computer problems
And does the dishes every evening
So I don’t have to.
Thank You for daughter Lori
And phone calls from Louisiana
With her details about how college is going
And how her work at the hospital is going
And thank You for keeping her safe
While she’s driving back and forth with little sleep.
Thank You for the food I eat
My little blue house on the hill
My Snickers cat. My laptop.
My writers groups. My church.
My friends. And spring time.
Thank You for my Pennsylvania roots.
And for beautiful Colorado.
Thank You for my four sisters.
Thank You for my parents.
Who are now with You
Thank You for Your love.
Power Switch
Right now, most of all,
I am happy to look
at the black of my TV screen—
its shadow of inactivity
in sharp contrast to the world at large.
No Pokemon, no Yo Gabba Gabba,
no Oprah and all her asphyxiated
sister-girlfriends screaming over free gifts.
No Whitehouse press releases
or news from Iraq. Just quiet.
Somewhere a great tragedy or crime
is happening,or some kids show
is trying to teach my child to read.
Without a doubt, someone is talking
about American idol or Top Model.
But here there is silence. The light
of mid-morning warms my room,
and the noise of the world outside
goes unanswered from within these walls
and I can at last sit and think for myself.
thanks to Auden
for inspiration
the leftist
poets of the Thirties
they believed in
the revolution
in borders
murky not safe to cross
Isherwood
staying in Berlin
for the sex
then to watch the rise of
Hitler’s Third Reich
ideals smashed close up
Kristallnacht
the front now everywhere
some went to Spain
Spender John Cornford
who died there
along with idealism
Auden to New York
hopes expired but that
came later
this is thanks to Auden
who crossed borders
Thankful for You
Coming into my life
You swept me off my feet
Cinching a hold on my heart
With a love felt so deep.
Rotating on my axis
My life spinning out of control
Showering me with your love
Giving me a hand to hold.
Pulling me up from a black abyss
A bottomless hole, the depths of despair
Saving me from my enemies, myself
Not a moment too soon, not a minute to spare.
Your love filled the caverns
Of my heart, mind, body and soul
Picking up the many pieces of me
Making me feel completely whole.
Every day I awake
I thank God for you in my life
Blessed with a loving husband
I am proud to be called your wife.
Before the sun had risen above the trees, I could hear her.
Before my mind had cleared away the lingering cobwebs of an early morning dream,
the aroma of frying bacon would awaken me to the prospects of a new day.
As I lay shivering in the cold frosty morning,
scraping ice from the window and glimpsing at the fleeing night,
I knew that she had already taken out the ashes, stirred up the smoldering coals,
and added fuel that would bring a semblance of warmth to the drafty old house.
As I lay there I could imagine her hands working rapidly
as she prepared a meal to fill our bellies and comfort our spirits.
She had no need for an alarm clock–
she was driven by an inner desire to meet her family’s needs.
Daddy, still laying in his bed, was the king of his castle
as he waited for Mom to bring his cup of coffee and put his socks on his feet.
From sun-up to sun-down, she worked caring for her fifteen children;
With no complaint about having so much to do,
Or about the things that she had to do without.
Tirelessly she labored with the cleaning, washing, gardening, canning,
making quilts to warm us, clothes to wear to church, and cooking–always cooking.
Throughout her life she has been carried by a strong and abiding faith in God.
Though her life was filled with sickness, tragedy and death
She never lost that faith.
Although she is no longer here,
I still feel the need to run to her during times of trouble.
I am thankful for all the hard work and sacrifices she has made, but most of all for her love.
She is my light and my inspiration.
Anything good that I have done is greatly because of her.
The Neighbor
my girl introduced us
i, still scared of men
saw your eyes smile
and i shook your hand.
you helped me learn
how to talk again
and think what i had to say
was important.
when my boys were out of
control
you talked me through
made me think
and i am grateful
i am not so afraid to feel
to laugh, and enjoy
living
because of you
Tim.
you think you know but you really don’t
they say you reap what you sow, so it must have been an amazing wife to leave this man a widow.
For I’ve found a great man, one like no other
His very instincts cause him to stand apart, men of this epoch need not bother.
For they wil never succeed to accomplish all that he has
Their chance to grasp greatness (like his) has passed.
Average is what he’s not
The average man wouldn’t care
A good man would make the effort to, all the while hiding behind a mask
But this GREAT man assumed the impossible as his own personal task
To love with no conditions, to resurrect a heart pummeled and destroyed by life
To assume responsibility of a smile, vanished by this worlds constant strife
Only a GREAT man does this. Only a GREAT man did
Love is what he defines
But any ordinary man can love
A good man can love when loved
But this GREAT man loved before any was sent his way
Human character has become his study. The human heart sets base to all his soul desires
Always believed only God had the ability to transpierce the heart of man, of this wo- man like he did.
Instead, what ordinary man deemed impossible, he assumed facile
Only a GREAT man does this. Only a GREAT man did
Life has obstacles
Not everyone can handle
The average man would fail and end miserably
But a good man could find ways to make things work
Only this GREAT man tho, could ignore where life has “tried” to kick him down
Only he can withstand the evil force trying to prove to all that he’s an incompetent clown
Only he would let a stranger step in and care for his needs. Because he knows this is only a recompense for all his good deeds
What a life!!!
What a priveledge I’ve been granted
To have met this GREAT man
And ever since my life has been enchanted
To end with the stanp, yes the seal of perfection
On my heart that this GREAT man has cherished with compassion
Jay
Loving men again
Was not possible
When we met.
Me: cracked and brittle,
Dried up desert of betrayal.
You: so like him,
Right down to the Mars Bar.
And I circled around you,
both prey and predator
occasionally spewing pent-up venom,
about him and those before, all over you.
You would not flinch,
Heart flowing out of warm brown eyes.
Holding me so I would not shatter,
Filming yourself for me to find when you had to go away,
Warming the dinner plates, and
Driving 11 hours to pick me up in Baltimore.
And it is because you knew
To gently drip kindness, a single drop at a time
Letting the shock of it absorb quietly
That the cracks have plumped,
Returning to sand:
Golden, silky, receptive,
Even home, now, for a lush oasis, my heart green once more.
You.
P.S. Maria Jacketti, that is brilliant.
Dad
36 days since you started your journey
From weakness
From tremors
From pain
36 days you have had the chance
To fly
To caper
To be free
36 days I have missed
Your presence
Your warmth
Your funnies
36 days have been yours
To dream
To focus
To relax
36 days I have honored
Your courage
Your lessons
Your gifts
36 days I have wished for you
Life anew
Life refreshed
Life everlasting
The Morning after Anne Died
Wet dark morning
No time to ponder
dreams would not surrender
I had to hurry
Cold and watery dawn
One step from snow
Light mostly absorbed
By glistening pavement
I have not seen
The spring bird yet
But robin song
Accompanies me
Lonesome I make
My solitary way
Thanks Barack Obama
I Openly Thank You Barack Obama For Putting Your Hat
And Heart In The 2008 United States Presidential Race
At Such A Time As This.
I Welcome And Usher You, Michelle And Your Family
Into The White House. Simply Because Its Your Time
Also Your Turn To Make A Change In America To Restore
All Dignities That Has Been Lost With A Change That
We Can Trust.
We The People Of The United States, In Order To Form
A More Perfect Union Must Establish Trust And Can No
Longer Stay The Course. We Can No Longer Allow
Political Lies To Out Run The Visible Truth. I Believe
Your Presidential Administration Will Take All Challenges
By Force, To Accommodate All The People All The Time; For Liberty And True Balanced Justice For All.
2 Peter 1:10 Wherefore The Rather, Brethren Give Diligence
To Make Your Calling And Election Sure: For If Ye Do These Things Ye Shall Never Fall.
H. Michele Cooper
Teachers
She knit a set of mittens and a matching hat
For every child in her classroom—
A Christmas gift with high personal investment.
The ABC’s, number lines, and kindness
She opened to our young minds.
Mrs. Ireland, Kindergarten.
The ducklings hatched while I was out
Home and in bed with the chicken pox.
But her station wagon became a rolling incubator,
Bringing the squeaky birds for a visit.
She taught me to read.
Mrs. Swart, First Grade.
She smoked like a chimney and wafted into the classroom.
Strict is too gentle a term to describe her, but we learned to march in line,
And loved her for it. We took pictures and developed them
In a closet she claimed as her darkroom.
She taught me to tell time.
Mrs. Seeley, Second Grade.
Her classroom was carpeted! and I had the stomach flu so often
That the school nurse had my home telephone number memorized.
I cheated on a multiplication facts quiz and got caught,
But she made sure the result of being caught was being taught.
She loved to watch it snow.
Mrs. Beswick, Third Grade.
I rushed, trying to always be the first one done.
It was more important, in my ten-year-old mind,
To finish first than finish with excellence.
She sat me down, caring enough to point out
The error of my ways and convince me I was smarter than I showed.
Miss McHugh, Fourth Grade.
The Peace Corp had been home prior to the classroom,
And he taught with his guitar always in reach.
We explored Narnia together,
And his gentle, quiet spirit pervaded all our interactions.
He was larger than life, yet so in touch.
Mr. Mills, Fifth Grade.
She would dance on her desk when we impressed her
With our knowledge of the world and its history.
Food provided a celebration of our learning for every unit.
(And we loved the field trip to a Chinese restaurant!)
I first wanted to become a teacher when I was her student.
Mrs. Hennesey, Sixth Grade.
Every child should be so blessed, to have teachers who love,
Who care, and who do what they do so well that
Students can’t help but learn.
They gave me a solid foundation, and inspired my life’s work.
I’m honored to be a mere member of the same profession.
Thank you and goodbye, Steve Marriot
I went downstairs with my 12 month old son,
made him breakfast, put on his video
Postman Pat or Huxley Pig, can’t quite remember
I sat in my favourite armchair (the one next to the stereo)
and turned on the radio.
The announcer said he’d been sitting in an armchair too,
smoking a cigarette
Just like I was now. Only He fell asleep,
the fire brigade came but it was too late.
All I could hear in my head was “The day the music died” and all I wanted to hear was Stevie, getting down and dirty one more time, knocking out some “Rockin’ Soul”.
He’d coined that phrase. I loved it.
They said he was getting the band back together,
it was like a second kick in the stomach,
no more Stevie, no new Humble Pie.
Unlike the guy in American Pie, I remember crying,
Sobbing. Like a baby,
my baby cried too, “What’s wrong Daddy” written
All over a face that didn’t speak yet.
His mother came in and asked what’s up, why the tears
And I told her and she cried too, then went to the phone
Rang my work
Spoke to my secretary and broke the news
Iain won’t be in today there’s been a death in the family
I still love to hear him goin’ to Itchycoo Park or
wailin’ Natural Born Boogie.
And I still get a tear in my eye in the memory of
Someone who brought me so much joy
The music carries on, he’s one of the greats
Now he’s jammin’
With all those other lost heroes, Hendrix, Harrison
Probably got Bonham on drums
So its so-long Stevie, thanks for everything
It’s a lazy Sunday Afternoon and I’m humming
Ninety-nine pounds of natural born boogie – ninety-nine pounds of soul
Give it to me!
Senseis
Life was much simpler
Way back in the day.
You knew good from evil
If good, you would say
"I don’t want to hurt you.
But again, I just may."
Life was simpler.
Dark Knights and Blue Boy Scouts
taught me my Tao,
They didn’t want to solve problems
with Biff, Zap, and Pow,
but they would if they had to.
They’d web up the villain.
They were never found killing.
They knew right from wrong.
I know it now, too.
Deep deep in my heart,
I know it now, too.
Many Years Gone
I knew him years ago, many years gone –
He introduced me to lovely things:
Wine and Jameson’s
the poetry of Yeats
the Irish countryside (and Paddy O’Sullivan)
graveyards
sailing.
I knew him so long ago that I doubt him now.
Did he exist? Was he there? Did I imagine him?
I no longer know –
where he is, who he is,
how he lives –
whether he lives.
But what I knew of him many years gone I now know.
He reads poetry in my dreams,
hums in my ear,
guides me to the right wine,
walks me through the graveyard,
calls to me on sailing winds.
Hysteria
Thanks a lot!
I know that you are only trying
to teach me
to remember
how to
really breathe.
Maria Jacketti
(4)
"Knight in Matte Black Armor"
I’d like to thank you,
from the very bottom
of my tar black
shriveled heart.
Your existence fuels
my very life -
my will to live,
to continue on into another
smoggy, gore filled day.
My creator, my savior
from a life less ordinary
than that of a
lifeless trout’s.
Swathed in the darkness
you try to thwart,
such a vision
of a Knight in pale
matte black
and tones of gray.
Without your push,
your drive to keep things
conventionally boring,
I would merely be
a robber with no
contempt for flying mammals.
My laughter is what I give you,
in return for this
gracious opportunity
to prove my worth
as an adversary,
I bring you glee.
Or so I wish to think.
(A/N: I’ve decided all of my April poems are to be about Joker, in one way or another. It is his month, after all.)
Dead RELATIVES
Memories: black and white
photographs of past life
nuances lost
in grey tones and shadow
you smile at me from the picture frame
your spirit dwells on higher plane
in the distance a mourn-song of trains
whispers vibrato to the walls
in the rooms of my remembrance
where the past lives
alone, the story only half-told
in the photographs
in the memories
in the videos where
your voice still says
I love you
Carol A Stephen
they should have given you a backrub.
My Appreciation
I have learned one thing so far,
I cannot face each day
Without my loving Savior
To gently lead the way…
He blesses me beyond
The realm of what I see
He’s building up a mansion
In heaven, just for me.
In my mind I can’t imagine
The splendor of it all
But soon I will behold it
When I hear my Master’s call.
In a cloud of white I see Him
A crown of glory on His head
As He steps out to call His children,
The living and the dead.
In awe we’ll fall before Him
Unworthy of His love
But only through the blood of Christ
Will we ever go above.
For this reason I must praise Him
Each and every day
To show appreciation,
Lord, I worship you today.
LR
Update! Free oil change already.
Just received a free sandwich and pineapple fruit cup!
Things are turning around for the weekend!
"Even though this poem is only intended for an audience of 2–it scores a 100% for those two."
I completely agree. Who’s to say a poem isn’t poetry if it isn’t meant to be published? It has impact. I like.
Oh no! I just saw this challenge, being ever the late-to-get-to-it poet! So have just posted my Day 1 poem. Fortunately or not, I had already challenged myself, and coincidentally my first poem for the month was about April Fool.
Now since this is a topic-specific challenge, I will have to write new ones for Days 2 and 3.
Perhaps I shall end up writing 2 a day this year?
Carol A. Stephen, Ottawa