Okay, apparently libraries are not open in Eastern Tennessee on Saturdays. I’m currently coming to you live from an arcade in a tiny mall on the main strip of Gatlinburg, Tennessee. Woo-hoo!
The Day 5 prompt is to write a poem of worry. Also known as a worry poem. Anything that causes you worry can be used to help you write this poem. For instance, are you worried about clowns? Because I know I am. Write a poem about your worry of clowns.
Here’s what I’ve got for today–written across the street at the Gatlinburg Pizza Hut. 
“Gone Fishing”
And when we got back,
there was a message waiting for me,
but I was told to sit down first,
it was something bad,
and so I knew it had to be something to do with my wife,
or with our son she’d been carrying for six months;
I knew it had something to do with one of them,
or both of them;
that’s the only reason someone would call
up to these fishing cabins in Canada–
because no one had ever called in more than 20 years
of fishing trips.
So I knew it was something bad–
they were both dead–
killed,
perhaps,
in a traffic accident–
or she lost Ben in some complication–
or Ben was born but she was dead.
I knew;
I knew;
it was something bad,
but I breathed a sigh of relief
when I realized
it was just my grandfather who’d died.
Now this story above is true. The poem is bad. But I should mention that I immediately felt guilty and cried myself to death while taking a shower before driving from Northern Canada to where I am today–Eastern Tennessee. But for a brief moment I was so concerned with my family unit that I did have a moment of relief that it wasn’t one of them. Okay–enough of that. Heavy stuff.
*****
Day 6′s prompt needs a little warning, because it is a prompt where you record events that happen to you during the day and then create a poem from them. I’m going to post my poem sometime tomorrow, though I don’t know if it will be in the morning, day time or evening. I will be back in Ohio tomorrow night–so if I can’t find a connection before then, well, you know. Keep an eye out for me.
Hope everyone is having a great weekend. I know I am. Now, time to head up into the mountains and hike around.
I don’t think I’ve posted this – apologies if I have.
Fear of Losing One’s Mind
Panic first creeps insidiously
Then gallops recklessly
Through my veins
Leaping brainy synapses
Ignoring disconnections
Without pause or hesitation
And racing thoughts
I cannot switch off
Outrun
My heart’s rapidity
Almost
Almost as
Cords grow taut in my neck
Breaths shorten in my chest
This pace will kill me I’m sure
And still I fear it won’t.
What should I shall I do?
Would anything, will anything
Make a difference?
Improve the situation?
Or failing that, at least,
Change things…
How can I calm myself?
Collect my scattered, frenzied
Unrecognizable thoughts
And pin them
With butterfly-collector’s
Dispassion
Even cruelty…
Hold them together
Keep them
Still
“Almost 6 Weeks Later”
Still straddling the lip
Of the abyss
After brief spates when
Both legs were outside
the bottomless bowl
And some lengthier periods
Much, much lengthier
Periods
When they dangled
limply inside
Twitching to jump
Or at least push off
But always
Fearful of the
Unknown vastness
End up clinging with simian tenacity
To the infinite known sadness
S.E.Ingraham
Why Worry?
Worry gets you nowhere,
a waste of time it is,
can make you sick,
full of fear.
So rather than
just worry
turn it over
in prayer.
Don’t worry
The needle didn’t seem to hurt.
She didn’t notice it.
Maybe just a little curl at the corner of her upper lip.
Stark still, flat on her little back.
Dark eyes darting
Shiny
From the drugs, the fear, the uncertainty.
But she trusted the hands that held her, moved her, shifted her.
Crick, crick, crick, the wheels of the gurney
Back out of the x-ray
Back to Mama, who can’t come because of the bulge under the clean pink checkered shirt.
Little short breaths.
Panting like an animal caught in a trap.
Broken, they said. The femur. The biggest bone in the body.
Not yet three years old?
A half body cast.
Twelve weeks.
In our minds flashed
Thanksgiving, Third birthday, Christmas, New Year’s Eve?
Glancing at each other.
It’s okay.
This, too, shall pass.
Yes, No, Maybe
Will my health fail me
Will my mind become dull
Will my husband cheat on me
Will my children abandon me
Will my grandchild forget me
Will my friends ignore me
Will my money run out
Will my car break down
Will my appliances wear out
Will my home fall down around me
Will my writing get published
Will my worries ever end
Ah, the laugh-one-minute, cry-another joys of being mom to 3 boys.
Yes, the good and the challenging together.
Although too often the scale tipped to the challenging.
Wakeful worries stole time, energy, and hours that should have
been sleep-filled.
My concern for their well-being was endless.
Physical health and safety
Emotional well-being
Spiritual maturity
Mental stability
Educational advancement
Relational ease
Recreational opportunities
When will my mom worries not be necessary?
Won’t I one day cash in on my investment and be livin’ on
Carefree Street?
Grandma, a wise woman who lived to be 99, answered my questions.
In a simple conversation one day, it was clear her vested interest
in family never ended.
As mom of five, her care and concern never diminished
As grandma of ten, the same extended to them
As great grandma of fourteen, the same and more was evident
Thankfully, there is no retiring from the business of family.
#5 Worry Poem
They say, "don’t worry, it’s okay".
They say, "No, it’s not that".
But how do they know?
How can they be sure without testing?
Without checking?
I worry and I make it worse.
I know that.
But how to break the cycle?
Some days are good—
no pain or sugns at all.
But others, it’s there, back again.
Niggling. Nagging at my mind.
Why? what is it?
The dreaded "c" word loom s large.
A specter, An omen. A sentence?
Or merely a figment of my imagination?
How will I know?
Patti Williams, I just wanted to say that Momma was a powerful poem. Frightening, but I love it!
I can fix that for you, the doctor said
Your nose is crooked and your uvula is too long
It will be out-patient surgery
You’ll be fine in no time
But I found something wrong, the doctor said
Your blood isn’t clotting
I’ll send you to a specialist
Then we can operate
Your blood is fine, the specialist said
But let’s draw more samples
Send them to Mayo
So we’ll know for sure
Then you can have your surgery
You’ll be able to sleep all night
Be like a new person
Or like the person you used to be
We don’t do anything in a hurry, the doctors said
You’ll just have to wait
Could take weeks, we don’t know for sure
Don’t worry, you’ll be fine in no time.
Do I believe what the doctors said
Do I have a choice-not really
All I can do is wait and try not to worry
Hoping I’ll be fine in no time
What me worry, why yes of course I do
all day long and half the night too
some nights I don’t sleep
cause I’m overcome
with all the things
done and not done
some nights it’s cause
I’ve been watching tv
the news really does a number on me
some nights I’ve had
too much to eat
other times it’s cause
I have cold feet
And just when I think all the worrying is through
I happen upon something new
Worry Poem
When I was fifteen,
My sister bought me
Guatemalan worry dolls.
She told me to place them
Beneath my pillow to transfer
Those frets.
Wires to affix,
Each coppery layer
Concerns away.
I told her they’d have to
Eat doom through screws,
Or I’d flush out
Spread on a stretcher,
Whispering my sacraments,
Seeking a playful penance,
I’d pet their toggle bolts,
Recanting the day’s woes.
Night
——
Night leaves me troubled -
Shadows of men moving
about in the darkness,
ready to leap forth
and destroy at any minute.
I panic
and switch on the light…
the men made of gloom
dissolve in its brilliance.
——————————–
(For Richie Darling. Again.)
It’s one AM and
I haven’t heard from you.
But that’s okay,
Because sometimes you
Text late.
At three o’clock I
Begin to worry,
So I send you a
Note to check on you.
Six AM and I’m
In a Panic.
No text, and you
Aren’t answering
My calls.
At seven- thirty AM
You answer the phone
And my panic falls
Along with my tears.
What If The Worst?
What if the tornado comes
before I’ve finished
building my shelter, what if
my mother’s marigolds
die in an overnight frost, what
if the doe who begins
her summer with two fawns
ends with just one? What if
I have no livestock to offer
the troll guarding the bridge
between my past and my future,
and then an out-of-control forest
fire incinerates that bridge?
What if, oh what if life
hands me starfruits
and pomegranates and all
I can make is the sourest
lemonade imaginable? What if
my secondary school teachers
regret the accolades they
penned in my old yearbooks,
what if I never win
the Nobel, never own my own
business, never become
a professor? What
if I go bald so thoroughly
in middle age that I find myself
trying to braid three individual
hairs on an otherwise bare head?
Since I did not believe
I would live long enough
to grow old,
I have not done anything about
it. Financially, I mean.
And if I think about it
too much, it quickly begins to feel
like I may not have to worry,
after all.
Corinne
sorry for the lateness, it’s the only one I missed.
Worry Poem Day 5
My once-robust adventuresome husband
has been unable to walk for four years
a friend’s husband has gone postal
another’s rained all insurance and won’t work
insomnia plagues another friend
my brother, alone in poverty, manages a terminal illness
while my sister robs Peter to pay Paul
X’s husband flies about their house at night
celebrating multiple imaginary best-sellers
my dearest first friend in New Mexico grieves
the death of her first friend in New Mexico
Intractable pain from war wounds
hold my landlord hostage from joy
the most loving joyful friend I have
lives with tests and trials of liver failure
how can I help?
what might I even say
to ease such suffering?
When I surrender myself to sleep
I ask: Into they hands, Lord, I commend
my worries and cares. Bless these friends
I have in mind and help me to see
the way I can help them.
Worries
I lie in bed
sleep
flitting around
in the corners of the room
just out of reach
I don’t think
I can capture it
too many random thoughts
I can’t corral
can’t control
can’t quiet
is my daughter
headed home from work
yet?
did she forget to call
again?
is her car running properly?
is she driving safely?
radio blaring?
cell phone to her ear?
should I call
to check on her
would she be
mad at the intrusion?
will she remember
to lock the front door?
is the front door
locked now?
if someone tried to break in
would I hear them
with the bedroom door closed?
if I open the bedroom door
will the cat decide
to run a sprint
through the obstacle course
that is my bed?
arms and legs
sheets and blankets
flying fur
flying curses.
do I hear her car
in the drive?
will she come
to say goodnight?
will she sit on the bed
like she has done
so many times and tell me
all about her day?
is she happy?
is she scared?
excited about moving
away to school
out on her own?
will she be okay?
will she need me?
why can’t I sleep?
did I have too much
caffeine today?
will it give
me nightmares
when I
finally drift off?
is that her car
I hear in the drive?
the telephone!
my heart in my throat
her voice in my ear
on her way home
seatbelt buckled
driving safely
yes mom
see me soon
waiting
waiting
listening
waiting
is that her car
I hear in the drive?
front door
unlocking
opening
shutting
locking
her voice at the bedroom door
love you mom
goodnight
sleep
flitting around
in the corners
of my room
just out of reach
I don’t think
I can capture it
too many
random thoughts
TLS, April 2008
please be an A
please be an A
please be an A
please be an A
oh please be an A!
My future rests
on staid professor’s
fickle fingers
Doctorate
path to career
to relevance
to having a place,
a part of the world
all balanced
on the head of a pen
Please
oh, please
be an A.
Still trying to play "catch up." Thanks, again, for the inspiration!
"Half-full"
maybe rose-colored vision isn’t always that clear.
maybe I’m not very practical.
and, okay, maybe a little naïve.
maybe my sunny side really does
hide a denial of unpleasant things
(thanks, dr. whoever, for that!)
but, after careful consideration,
I’m just gonna stick with my plan.
and live
with Contentment,
in Joy,
on Faith.
And drinking from a glass that’s half-full.
I was constantly
worried about money,
concerned about life,
I feared for the children
through all kinds of strife.
It’s only anxiety, the doctors proscribed,
Here, take this pill,
Relax, they advised.
The fears, they’re not real
only ogres you’ve devised.
You’re wrong, I sighed,
The fears are quite real,
They inhabit my nights,
roam through my days,
and manage to steal away my delights.
Overreaction is a mother’s right
where two teenagers live
and money is tight,
but I’ll take all your pills
and swallow my pride
and quietly wait for my ship to arrive.
Skin Cancer
Something has gone awry
in the cells of my epidermis,
I am growing scales.
I am becoming reptilian
from the inside out,
maybe I have radiation sickness
or leprosy, losing chunks
of my own flesh
like stray coins falling
through holes in my pockets,
gathering in the drain.
This patch on my neck
started out small,
smaller than a dime,
now it’s like two
half dollars side by side,
a red, inflamed lake
that itches and flakes
around the edges,
the center hot and slick
like the blind eye
of this demon
that is trying
to eat me alive.
cabin for sale
the familiar rocks underfoot
i have walked on far too seldom as of late
soon shall pass
the path a younger i wore in the hill all but gone
leaving a virgin territory for the next boy
escaping
Overcoming
Why? Because of fearing the unknown
Obvious? When not contrasted with bliss
Rare? Not in those who accept challenges
Remedied? By taking action instead of wallowing
Yielding? Only to the Aussie mantra “no worries”
morning rises from rumpled sheets stickymouthed
from the night before she sleeps dark hair inking
the pillow as i rise to look for aspirin water anything
green in the grey light the day is cooler than i’d like
wind biting lower back a crescent exposed as my bicycle
cuts through side streets and i sigh something about
hangovers and exercise and swear never to drink again
but as we trace up the canyon singing pop songs watching
dogs play in air hustling through open windows the
day brightens in spite of snow clouds slowly enfolding
the peaks rocks are cool to our touch and we laugh
envisioning the house my aunt will build here if only this
pine tree can be removed snow starts stinging our necks
but we slide down between the boulders and we kiss we kiss
we kiss never thinking of the snow the trees the dark night before
Eviction
Why my guilt is big enough
to take on foundations built
– and cracked, too –
before I was born,
I’ll never know.
The tilt of the baseboard molding,
the spreading coffee seepage on the ceiling,
the plaster crumbles in the bathtub –
I take on the slow slide into destruction
as my own.
I am this building’s Waterloo.
I am not just the renter;
I am not just the latest in a string of tenants
stretching back 80 years;
I am the straw.
I am the reason this noble’s back is breaking.
The Next Paycheck
They told me I was fired.
I didn’t bat an eye,
secretly relieved.
Now that some time has
gone by, I have to wonder,
where will the next paycheck
come from? How will I
pay the bills, buy gas,
eat?
Anxiety
By M. Schied
Can’t
stop
A pit of butterflies, turning to worms
writhing, twisting, knotting
The knot grows bigger
Playing the game doesn’t help
When I look in the mirror,
why don’t other people see the reflection
Each day brings another sin,
but each dawn brings redemption
Are they so much bigger than your own?
Humble dreams:
Job
Security
Love
Would your fake veneer and false concern deprive me of these?
Men at sometimes are masters of their fates
I’ve heard that one before
Why
is the time not of our choosing
Bad incapable unfit hard
That’s what you see
Inside reveals
Please help learn laugh
Four days to my fate
Just look in the mirror
Locked Away With You
The law has stolen you away.
Locked you away from me.
Charged with crimes you did not commit.
Our anxiety builds everyday,
for I am locked up with you.
I hear your frustration in our phone calls.
"I’m stuck in this box," you say.
I want to free you, but there’s nothing I can do.
Don’t you understand I am just as helpless?
I’m in there with you.
We wait for the next step.
Whether this will go to trial.
We try to be optimistic,
but I don’t want to get my hopes up.
My mind is always on you.
We desperately try to cram in words.
There is never enough "I love yous".
I can’t describe how much I miss you.
There could be no greater bliss than a day free with you.
My heart is bound to you.
So we wait, impatiently.
Hoping that everyone will see the truth.
Wishing for another chance.
A chance for happiness for us both- Together.
My own freedom depends on you.
Worry Poem
My niece.
Such a beautiful being
Life let us lease.
As she grows older
My worries increase.
Our world today
Makes my heart cease.
In this time of nonsense
I pray she finds peace.
I worry one day the bank will fine
me for the fines I’ve overdrawn
some exponential, compounding interest
picking my pocket
next time I up for highway robbery
I’ll leave my purse
on the seat of my car
while I visit the bad side of chicago bat mitzvah
Thirty three dollars for every debit transaction
Including the dollar fifty I spent on a fry
because I misfired my math
Is it like a restaurant dishwashing
Those tellers are not paid but
over drafted
Nightmares begin
May I help you
And I’m in the bank naked
Except for a mild sweater and khakis
And shoes.
Who, Me, Worry?
We just moved here
I’m alive, I’m awake
We don’t have many friends
The sun is shining, the bluebird sings
The lock just broke on the front door
A daffodil has just bloomed
The school just had a gas leak
A white cloud just drifted by
My husband is nervous and tense
I get to write all day
My mom is far away
I get to describe the mountains to her
The economy is going down down down
We are renting for now
The day is warming up up up
I can wear a t-shirt
So me worry?
I could choose
or not
Let It Be comes to mind
And so it is
There is a rift growing between the left and the right
sinking deep into my symmetry
separating what is the same.
This imprint is alive, I swear it.
In my sleep it will split me
running down my nose, up into the part of my hair,
tracing the cleft of my brain.
From my chin it forges a path between my ribs
slicing through the frog-like thread upon my belly
and beneath me, gaining speed down my spine.
It will carve through my pelvic bone
isolating the mirrored wings
until every membrane disconnects
making of my center, two borders.
It will happen as I dream,
tossing as I peel apart.
This is why I stand here now
in the late quiet of the night
when other lines are spreading.
I hold my enemy in the mirror,
furrowing my brows together,
drawing forth the crack
to let it know
I see it.
"I Worry"
I worry that one day I will leave this world, and leave my kids with no mom to love them like I do.
I worry that they will then get split apart, if something should happen to my husband, too.
For there is so many of them; four to be exact.
I worry and worry about them, and that is a fact.
I worry about how they will turn out and what this world will be like then.
I worry and think I’m not doing enough to just be their mom; I also need to be their friend.
I worry that they won’t like me if I’m too strict and always make them do what they should.
I also worry that if I don’t, they won’t turn out to be any good.
Being a parent is hard because you worry all the time and wonder if you’re making the right choices for your kids, or not.
I worry about my children because they are my biggest responsibility, and the only legacy I’ve got.
Okay so I’m slowly catchin up.
~Poem of Worry~
Worry such a troubling disease
everyone has it
to various degrees
for the cronic worriers it’s
hard to not worry even when
things are going right
and things are better
then ever before
a teen mother who
had never known
a day without worry
for many long years
worries about the future
of her child
will she do right by her daughter
raise her right
can she form for her a stable future
full of love and warmth
she worries that she will
fall a thousand miles too short
she worries about the day
her daughter askes
about her father
the thought of the question alone
strikes fear into her heart
a teen mother that found
another that cares for her
and treats her daughter right
loves she thinks this may be
she takes things slow
not daring to wish too much
the days turn to weeks
and weeks to months
it seems like two had become three
they dream of a future together
even while his dream takes him away
for a soldier he will become
proud and strong as can be
four and half months of seperations
long enough time to make a person
without cronic worry to have doubts from
it was all to good to be true afte all
wasn’t it all but a dream
a beautiful figment of her imagination
no she screams in her head
as the worries try to engulf her
she must not let them consume her
for then she will truely fail
the disease of worry can be cured
with determination and faith
continue forward and give it all
she will for she knows nothing else
Day 6 (April 6)—National Tartan Day
How Sunday Went
My great-great grandparents from Insch
would have called it a
gley sort of day—
nothing of any large consequence took place
but some things were a tad askew.
Ordinary: church, chores, a trip to the grocer’s, a modest Sunday night supper.
Not so: riding a bike through poison oak
learning that the "do not shake" label on Rita’s bottled energy drink in the fridge should be
strictly observed
pinching my pinkie finger in the front door while carrying old newspapers outside.
A happy kind of tired at the end of the day. Wondering when tomorrow’s itching will start.
Where are the words? We have too many and not enough.
From the morning pulpit, a gentle and sweet reminder from Reverend Lorie:
"The Son says to us, ‘Come
here to me, all of you who are struggling, and
carrying too much, and I will refresh you!’"
This one had to ferment for two days before anything worthwhile came to surface-it’s too long, but, oh well…
Worry
What about tomorrow?
I peer forward into the mist
and find I’ve stumbled into a pit;
I can’t see how things will work out.
What about a place to live, an income, food?
Will our children succeed as adults, in work, in marriage?
What if tragedy shows up at our door, financial, legal, political?
Our well being could be a breath away from disaster.
How can we avoid trouble?
The grown-up monsters lurk under the bed, in the closet, at the windows,
more fearsome than the ones of childhood.
I can feel heat and the piercing of sharp teeth on my neck.
I am pressed down and can hardly breathe.
How can I escape this dread of tomorrow?
What about today?
I pull back out of the pit.
The monsters look smaller now.
Do we have food today?
Do we have clothes today?
We have what we need.
So I grab back this day from the fangs of worry.
I shake off the weight of the Monster’s bodies.
I will make the most of today.
The monsters recede.
They were only shadows.
Mt. 6:25-34
Worries of the Brain
The other day I told
my
my
my
husband
I used to be able to think of a word
anytime
I
I
I
wanted to.
So, why is it that I have such problems
of
of
of
retention?
It takes longer than it used to
for
for
for
information
to go from my short-
term
term
term
memory
to my long term memory.
In fact it took a while
to
to
to
figure out
the best way
to
to
to
express this idea
in
a
a
a
poem.
You could say I worry
Every single night
But I think of it as
Praying, keeping in sight
The light at the end of the tunnel.
You could say I worry
So much that I don’t move.
Inaction’s only one way,
Not like I’ve a thing to prove
If the light’s still there in the tunnel.
Every single night
I think of what I’ve got,
How I’d feel if it were gone;
For too long I have fought
For that light way down in the tunnel.
After so much heartache
And moments of lost might,
It’s hard not to break down
Every single night…
You could say I worry.
Why Worry?
Why do I worry so much?
God will take care of me.
I should not worry,
it’s not good for me.
I worry about everything,
God will take care of me
I worry about my family.
It is not good for me.
I’ve got to stop worrying
and let God take care of me.
Challenge Prompt for Worry
"MOSQUITO"
April 5, 2008, posted April 7, 2008
Me
wOrry?
I’m a light Snack
Quickly
jUst as I am falling asleep
It lands
swaT! splat!
nO more worry
Sally DiUlus sdiulus@cefe.org
"Martian men bare all"
Said the handwritten return address on the
Label of the twine-wrapped parcel
I received unexpectedly in the mail.
I ran my hands over the bulky protrusions of the
Unevenly balanced parcel,
The wires hanging out the corners glimmered in the light.
I imagined a horrific barren wasteland of one-eyed war gods,
Naked and aiming their phallic laser blasters at my
Easily liquified self.
I wondered what part of me they’d shoot first,
Or how their robotic voices would sound as I was gasping my last dying breath.
The box was throbbing and ticking in my hands,
With the insistence of a snarly puppy who just wants to be petted
But will scratch your eyes out if you don’t,
And I thought,
I’m sick of these stupid martian men.
So I threw it at a garbage can, where it immediately exploded,
Sending out twisted metal shrapnel,
Burying their scorched slivers in bystander’s unsuspecting bodies and faces.
Then I went on to open a letter from my grandma,
Who lovingly sprinkled her note with some strange-smelling white substance
Which tasted neither like baby powder nor cocaine.
Now you see why I don’t open my mail anymore.
Worried
I feel down and discouraged.
I’m easily annoyed and irritated
with my family and my friends.
I pick at them, and argue needlessly;
They still love me
even as I continue to push them away.
I worry that someday I’ll go too far.
I’ll push them too hard.
They’ll quit caring about me.
They’ll get tired of
my fussing and fretting
and they’ll leave me.
I worry.
Even though I know they love me.
Worry
I know I shouldn’t
So then I worry
About worrying
Did I do enough?
Will they make it?
What if I get crippled with arthritis?
I always have those dreams
Where I’m trying to run or walk
And everything hurts
And I can hardly move my legs
What if I fail?
But by what standard am I measured?
What is the worst thing that could happen?
I look at others
Who made it
And know
I can make it, too.
Don’t worry, be happy is so wrong
But, don’t worry, trust
Is right
Catching up for the days I was without a computer…
the celluloid drift of revisionist
memory would write this as tragedy,
not as the blooming farce that wove
its kudzu way through field and fence
leaving me suddenly blank, arm
raised to the grocery shelf, forgetting
what I’m here for, forgetting
what brought me here was it aspirin
or canned condensed soup or gauze
and instead I palm the clementines
who answer my fists with sweet yes
and yes and yes and yes
before they spill through the broken bag
shatter at my feet
This is really awful compared to everyone elses but here it is.
Fifteen minutes and not one word.
Need a break already.
Check the mailbox.
Two bills, a catalog,
and an advertisement.
"Nothing again", I mumble.
My husband looks up and says,
"You worry too much."
I reply, "Comes with the territory.
I wait. I worry."
"But it`s good," he assures me.
"They’ll buy it."
I smile and say,
You’re biased, mister."
He shakes his head.
"Hey," they’ve had it 7 months now.
That’s a good sign, right?"
he says in his encouraging voice.
"Yeah,"
I reply hesistantly,
then blurt out
"Butwhatifthemanuscriptgotlostinthemail?"
With a shake of his head he counters,
"You’ve got an active imagination."
I laugh, "Well, I’d better
if I ever want to be published."
Then I sit down, pick up the pen
and write
while I wait for that letter.
Weekday Worries
If I could spell tomorrow differently, it wouldn’t be spelled M-O-N-D-A-Y.
It’d start with me getting up at 11:55,
I’d skip my 90-minute drive.
No more meetings or emails or presentations to create,
No headaches in traffic when I’m on an open road to the lake!
I’d have breakfast in my bathing suit, working on my tan,
I’d spend the afternoon reading as much chick-lit as I can!
When I got home, dinner would be waiting on the table,
And the handsome cook would be installing my free cable!
If I could spell tomorrow differently, I’d give it one hell of a try,
I’d spell it H-O-O-K-E-Y!
Hard Luck
I scan The Classifieds
Nothing late and great
No posting of interest
No match for my experience
The economy’s in a recession
Counting my coins for gas
I owe the IRS taxes
My tires and cupboards are bare
I rise at dawn more positive
I say a little prayer
Put 50 cents in the machine
Purchase another paper
Discarding the other sections
I search the ads again
They know.
I see them looking at me just before they smile their greeting –
smug and knowing,
but not letting on.
It’s so good to see you.
What do you think?
How should we proceed?
They know.
They can see right through the thin façade
that separates my brilliance
from my incompetence.
Approach it from this angle.
Let’s coordinate that with them.
Why don’t we try this.
They know.
As soon as they rush away to implement my plan,
to do the real work,
to get the details.
The idea was picked up in the hall.
It’s recycled buzz words in a chocolate shell.
It’s not as smart as it sounded.
They know.
They’ll tell someone soon that there’s a faker in the office –
an arrogant nobody,
in a nice shirt and tie.
He’s a fraud.
He’s not as savvy as he lets on.
Why are we following him?
They know.
If not today, tomorrow.
I Can’t Share
The tears for you wet my cheeks
Cold sympathy
Empty offering
Your loss blooms in me a sympathy
Immediately risen
Quickly wilted
My pain for this hurt in you
Never equal
Not wanted
I hide this offering of my love
Sadly resentful
Shamefully afraid
Please don’t lose anyone or anything else
Ever
Forever
Faced with my own morality, I wonder…
Did I love them enough to last them a lifetime?
Did I teach them
to love each other forever, no matter what?
to forgive?
to be kind?
to love music?
to find beauty
in blue watercolor skies
and bright orange sunsets
and in the faces of those they love?
Will their memories be good ones?
How will they remember me?
I want them to remember that I was
brave
strong
fun
kind
forgiving
Will they remember
all of my weaknesses?
all of my mistakes?
that I tried?
that I laughed a lot?
that I thought they were great?
that I loved their children?
Is it too late to create memories that will
last them the rest of their lives?
Is it too late to give them everything I have to give?
Is it too late?
Mall Fright
We went into the card store
my daughter and I
I went down one isle
and she the other
to paruse the
merchandise
while I sought the
right card.
I finished my search
and paid for my purchase
and looking around
saw her nowhere in sight.
She got bored and went elsewhere
I assumed to myself
so I went out in
the mall to search
out where she’d gone.
I searched the shoe stores
then clothing and books,
music and movies
the novelties and nooks,
but she was nowhere in sight.
I retraced my steps
to the card store and searched
once, twice, three times…
then asked the clerk.
she left she told me so
out again I went.
The horrors
of girls being
kidnapped and murdered
started plaguing my heart
and I ran to the
service center
to ask for some help.
The woman made ready
to call security, but
decided to page her
on the chance
she’d lost me.
I looked around in hopes
and saw to my great relief
my daughter walking toward me
embarrassed by my fright
because the whole time
she replied
she’d been waiting for me
she’d been sitting
in the corner
on the floor
reading
OPUS and BILL cards
in the card store.
Worried about SunShine
Where I’m from
the Sun barely shines
as patrons wait in line
of package stores
to buy wine
liqour
beer
and stare at passing life.
As the Bus passed
I look back
at the cluster of
Unemployed working class
drunken derelicts
and wonder what took their spirit
to make them put faith
in Wine&Spirits.
Am I greater then them
or immune too life’s whims,
maintaining the cost of living
without a trade or career?
Am I stuck here?
Here in low income
inner city slums.
Work all day
and still share the same
tax bracket as bumbs?
Where I’m from
The Sun barely shines
will I be the next one
standing in line?
I Worry That I’ve Lost You
I miss you,
in a thousand days in the desert
no water,
azure sky starved of clouds
on the first day of
Amazonian rains
somewhere
in a rainforest,
mocking,
kind of way.
I yearn for you
in a broken glass shard
swept under the carpet
desperate for revenge,
thirsty for the bare foot
unknowingly treading over,
breaking the skin,
kind of way.
I need you, and I worry
that you were the slaughter lamb
to the sacrificial right of my lust.
You’re insides gutted and neck broken,
you’re heart-blood spilled
for my night of sex.
I’m sorry.
The candle has not been lit since yesterday:
It cannot still be smoldering.
I’m sure I took the cat in from the deck
And did not leave him trapped up there
Like I did once before: the fat white cat
Got rained on so hard it killed him
Well, it wouldn’t kill a healthy cat
And we didn’t know his heart was bad
After that drenching he just sat down inside
And never moved again, poor, bright Moonbeam.
But that won’t happen to the surviving cat:
I saw him under the chair, watching us depart.
And I never light a candle the day we leave
So the house will surely not burn down
Before we return on Sunday night.
The clock strikes three:
shuffling feet
the raven speaks
and I am left alone
night shifts
shadows sift
candle is fairly low
The moon is dark
eyes are closed
things are scratching
thrashing at my door
Covers up close now
eyes peer out
screams scurry south
and I
am left alone…
"And I Dreamed"
And I dreamed she was gone
for good
An inevitable day
not too far in the future
She’s always been there
so what will I do
how will I feel
I would never begrudge her
her final rest
or deny her freedom from pain and suffering
But I would pray to keep her
just one more day
And while she’s here
while it’s not too far in the future
I’m going to cherish these days
God lets us have
Poem of Worry
Dishwasher latch broken;
Washer won’t clutch.
Money for college bill
[Tuition for son's doctorate
No assistantship STILL!]
Parents grow older;
Highway to Nashville,
A day to St. Louis.
Grown children on the brink
of self-supporting and yet not.
Vanderbilt rejection times 2 for son 1
Belmont acceptance [for d-in-love]
and his adjunct professorship.
Son #2, Dr of Music to be, teaches
Elementary music and French Horn.
There’s barely time to keep up with it all.
They call us the sandwich generation, but
Perhaps it’s a sandwich cookie, an Oreo:
Pressed and twisted apart,
all of the cream licked out,
smashed, dunked and crushed.
Digested; requires Maalox.
April 6, 2008 A Worry Poem
At this age I probably should be
doing more than I am
or, at least, earning
more than I’m earning
and at night I might be
turning more over this
than I am yearning to change
because the guilty
truth of contentment seems
like the wrong thing to say when
we could do better than this
and I could be more breathless
than this and I know I would
look better than this
if I worked harder and worried more
about people less qualified
covering my motherhood
while I paid them so
someone would pay me to
worry for theirs instead of my own,
or if I scolded myself more for the
takeout dinner and birthday cake
that I should have passed on
or the miles I haven’t walked recently because
I was reading, and not getting paid, then
I might be more worthy of the breaths I have to
breathe and the breaths I have to take.
I know she hates the driving
driving in the dark
she gets all nervous and because
she is all nervous she is
likely to do what she did
miss a traffic light and pull
out into the middle of a busy
intersection and panic
she made the right decision
followed through correctly
and only when she got to
the other side did she
start to panic
I suppose my worry
is useless
even though tonight
I ride her beside her
in the dark
Everyday
Every day you walk out the door
I never know if you will come back no more.
Your life literally is held in society’s hand
While you protect and serve this glorious land.
My worry begins as you drive away
Hoping you return at the end of the day.
Each moment of silence makes the worry grow
Taking on a life in me you can’t possibly know.
When my phone rings out of the blue
I worry that something’s happened to you.
Hearing your voice on the other end of the line
Relieves some of my worry for a short moment in time.
The rest of the day passes just as it began
Worrying and praying for the safety of this wonderful man.
When darkness falls and the sky turns a midnight hue
My worrying ends with the beautiful sight of you.
The relief in my heart as you walk through the door
Only reminds me tomorrow I will worry some more.
I Worry
I worry that you will leave me,
take your fine collections:
your books, your music, your
quick affectionate touches,
your childish quirks…
I worry that you will stay with me,
scattering your books, your music
where I want to walk,
your affectionate gestures
not enough to counter
your childish quirks…
I worry I will miss you
long after you go.
I worry that I won’t miss you
the minute you go.
I worry that I let you return
when you left the last time.
I worry that I let you stay
I worry that I worry
Night Lights
Driving after dark
Won’t do at all,
Especially alone.
The excuse "getting old"
Is easier than
Recounting the tale.
Headlights behind, flashing
Or not, recall too clearly
One darkest night
Of isolation, soundless screams
And the only weapon self-reliance
Adrenaline driven.
Chances are it wouldn’t
Be again; pray it shouldn’t,
But it might.
####
Shirley T.
April 6th Entry:
What A Day It’s Been
By Bill Kirk
You’d think it would be easy,
To tell about the day’s
Events and how they happened
In ordinary ways.
But this day wasn’t normal,
Though it was kind of cool.
I learned to care for victims
At Boy Scout First Aid school.
At first I was a victim.
I had a “broken arm”
And “bruises” and a “headache”
As if I’d come to harm.
An “accident” had happened
On my “mountain bike.”
But soon I was “discovered”
By “hikers” on a hike.
They checked out all my “bruises,”
And bandaged all my “scrapes.”
In no time they had splinted
My arm with sticks and tapes.
Soon after I was “stable”
I had another role—
To help a rock slide victim
Impaled upon a pole.
Of course, he was “unconscious.”
His “skull” had hit a “rock.”
Because we had just “minutes,”
We worked against the clock.
At first we rolled him over
And “stabilized” his “spine.”
We did a lift and carry;
In no time he was "fine."
Several hours later,
The day was finally done.
Although the lessons were intense,
We learned, but had some fun.
I got home quite exhausted,
And heard, “How was your day?”
I almost told my wife, then couldn’t
Bring myself to say.
Six poems in a day;
I know, I know,
The idea is to write every day
(I’ll try to do better),
But on the bright side,
I had a single up the middle (my first);
And told off those scientists who don’t appreciate gravity’s pull;
Swept the front porch and sneezed;
Drank some beer and ate some bread
(and thanked yeast for the pleasure);
I avoided worrying about my poems,
But I confessed (it’s good for the soul)
And told you all about it.
Rather a pleasant day, now that I think about it.
(Plus, I’m caught up.)
Day 6 entry
Oh my Saturday!
A drive to Columbia to see George Strait!
I really can’t wait!
I have great seats, they can’t be beat!
Now to the concert I go!
I am sitting oh so low and close to the stage
I have waited so long to be this close.
Here he comes out to sing,
My heart is pounding I want to scream!
Now the concert goes on like in a dream!
Next time I will be just a bit closer
so his hand I can touch when he reaches down
for his fans hands to meet!
April Day 5 Poem
On/Off Track
Rocking back and forth
sweaty cushion
bottle in his hand -
bloody static on the radio -
ashtray full
burning cigarette
biting lip
stomach in knots
pulse racing
empty wallet
“and it’s a photo finish”
© Maureen Sexton
day 5 entry
Worry
I worry that this poem I write will disappear from sight!
This computer has eaten many a poem from this Poem a Day!
Maybe I am not too Bright!
Maybe the other one made it on
but just in case I will write this and be done.
To work I have to go tomorrow,
then the night time will bring more poems to write,
maybe by the time the month is done,
I will figure out how this all is run!
Tardiness is a Sin
"I’m not going to make it!"
is a frantic thought
as I manuever my encumbering getup
offstage as quickly as possible
without killing anything
for a costume change that
has to be done in less than three minutes;
as I bolt out of the bathroom
after the one minute bell rings
to reach Spanish two halls away;
as I run toward the bus’ closing doors
about to take off for school
on the other side of town;
as I see little James grabbing
the edge of the bottome book in a stack
teetering over his tiny cranium.
Sometimes I make it more than others,
and I hope it’s for the things that really count.
Why Worry?
Dad alway says to me,
if you worry you die,
if you don’t worry you still die,
so why worry?
You’re right, dad.
All my worries have proven unfounded.
My life has granted me more gifts
than any of the fears I worried about.
I worried about not getting a job,
I found one not long after.
I worried about not having children,
and now I have three.
I worried about my marriage failing,
and although it has floundered, it is healing.
I worried about friends I may have lost,
who are still my friends, even now.
I worried about the people I may have hurt or angered,
they were not hurt nor angry with me.
I worried about the sadness that at times overwhelmed me,
that sadness has subsided and led me to grow.
I worry about the loved one that I dont often see,
who cares for me too, and stil keeps in touch.
So Dad, you are very bright,
the worrying I’ve done has been for naught.
Now when times get tough, and worry clouds threaten to loom,
I reflect on what I want or how to make it better.
The worrying has led me to plans and dreams,
for fixing whatever doesn’t seem right.
Another thing I realize too now, Dad,
is when I worry less, I sleep better at night.
The ceiling looks the same as it did an hour ago.
I am lying in my bed, staring at it.
My eyes burn and blur the images
superimposed from my neuroses.
The front door is locked, I am sure.
Maybe I should get up and check.
Then I can write down the things
I need to remember to do as soon
as I get into work:
check for boss lady’s e-mail on the report date
look up when the sales report is due
find out if the invoices hit
answer John’s voicemail on the forecast
(is any of this important?)
I haven’t checked the plants on the back patio
in a week, they are probably dead.
The library books should be do any day now –
if so, renew online. But are you really going to
read them if you haven’t by now?
Did the mortgage payment clear?
When was the last time I checked the oil level in the car?
This is so dumb.
There are people with no roof over their heads,
people who have to dodge bullets and bombs every day
(just as Mom described about Italy during WWII).
I have food and the money to buy it.
I have a job and a comfortable home.
As a woman I can get my own credit, work for a living –
I take for granted to be able to do things my mother
could never do, and that some women in other countries
will never get to do.
What am I worried about?
I turn on my side and in moments I am asleep.
April 6th for day 6
A Weekend Day
I awoke and enjoyed the quiet of our home,
No chattering television or ringing of phones.
All 4 children still dreaming of pleasure unknown,
But not the animals who start a rebellion of their own.
After the fast was broken, more food we did need
So two of my daughters and I all agreed.
Off to the market we’d go and find feed
Loads of money we saved as we held in our greed.
Then the girls needed practice for their upcoming runs,
So a couple of friends were invited to come.
Two against two they raced having fun
“Simon Says” and “Mother May I” followed till the fading of the sun.
As evening completes the cycle once more,
I look over my life and wonder why I am sore
As I head to the kitchen and look behind a door
I find what I am after its a aspirin for sure!
Goodnight.
challenge too big?
a poem a day
makes me perspire
am i up to the challenge
can i do all you require
i say, ‘you can do it’
but my mind goes blank
i stare at the prompt
needing an infusion from a think tank
Demoted
I worry that I’ll be
awkward
say the wrong things
The best I can do is
dress correctly and
think before I speak
I’m already demoted to
second-best girl
I don’t want to
sink any lower
in the rankings.
Spinning MindDust
I used to read about princesses who
Sealed up in a tower with
Bales of straw
Spun it into gold.
I imagine my worry
About cancer is a bale of hay.
How can I make gold from the pain?
I know the rogue cell could be there
They could have missed it
With the knife, even with the
Beams of radiation
And the poison to
Starve the mad cells.
A little growing menace
Cannot define my world.
I have to take control back myself,
Love whom I love,
Make happiness
Instead of dreaming disaster
Focus on the now
See the moment
Live.
(Day 6 Poem)
Two, Forty, Eighty-three
Two-year old spots small frog
Thinks: frog is little like I am
Pokes frog which falls over
Concludes: something is wrong with frog
Two-year old doesn’t get that frog is dead
Forty-year old walks into surprise birthday bash
Thinks: oh lord I’m forty
Nudges friends for surprising her
Figures: I will smile for them
Forty-year old feels the next decade moving in
Eighty-three year old stumbles
Thinks: damn cane makes me look fragile
Jabs ground that’s unsteady under his feet
Concludes: I am fragile and ready to be done
Eighty-three year old welcomes the day he does not wake
My Day
On my way to work I pick up a friend,
We talk and laugh driving in.
We’re taking tech calls to no end,
Some of which are full of sin.
Customers scream and cuss at you,
Which does not solve the issue.
My friend Pam sits near me and who,
Writes self help books offering a tissue.
In between calls we laugh and joke,
To get us through the day.
At our supervisor fun we poke,
Quick comebacks he’s OK
On My Father’s 70th Birthday
Rain pelts the window.
In the grey-drear of this morn,
the only light the soft blue
emanating from this screen,
the words come slow,
really not at all,
and silently I blame
my nine-year old
padding down the stairs,
too early, to sit beside me,
as he does every morning.
Soon, the others stir,
the day passes in the smudge
of daily chores
that bind us a family
and divert from my inner life:
groceries, then lunch,
and a mystery ride to the country,
the smell of apples and rosemary,
a phone call home before the evening stroll,
the tinny murmur of a movie,
the goodnight story
and the house stills again.
Now, late, my son,
tucked under flannels,
dreams while I do battle
with words that still come slow,
because the ones I need to write
are too close to let out.
What I Did Today (#6)
Got up first
Then got reasonably cleaned up
and then ate breakfast
and then took a nap
and then ate breakfast again
and then started driving home
from my vacation and then
stopped on the turnpike
and took a little nap
and then ate brunch
and then drove some more
and then had lunch
and then took a little nap
and then did the morning all over again
and then ate dinner
and then drove
and finally arrived home
and took a little nap
and then began unpacking
and then got ready for bed
and then I typed this
and entered the code
and got ready to click
on the SAVE COMMENT button.
Not A Sunday Minute Wasted
Peeked out from behind the curtain in the dark hotel room
Blue sky, sunshine, Sunday!
Ate breakfast at the help-yourself-buffet,
Chose something healthy that no one else had touched.
Stepped out into a beautiful morning,
walked across the campus to church,
wondered why my daughter thinks it’s a long walk,
lost my soul in prayer and songs of praise,
took a moment to be at peace.
Checked out of the hotel with my husband,
picked up our daughter at her dorm,
drove to Wal-Mart,
tested my parking skills -
got an F for being outside the lines
laughed
Acted like a country bumpkin
(Have you ever been in a two-story WalMart
with an escalator for your shopping cart?
I rest my case.)
laughed and laughed,
took a picture.
Went to lunch,
talked and laughed.
Time to go
back to the dorm,
hugged and kissed goodbye.
Drove two hours west into the sunshine,
reflecting on the events of the day,
passed two coffee shops,
but couldn’t resist the third,
my husband craved one of those caramel latte somethings
(He never knows what he’s getting.)
I just laughed.
Drove the final hour north
to where the snow is still hiding in the woods,
kissed my dog on her nose,
and felt the welcome of home.
Shifted into overdrive,
put the washing machine in motion,
a batch of brownies in the oven,
called my mom and dad,
launched into cyberspace
where I could happily spend eternity,
but if I work too long,
I’ll be sorry in the morning,
when the alarm sounds a new day -
Monday -
And I’ll be wearing something blue.
LBC
You only cared about wife and son not about any other relative not even the one that died. are u that heartless?
TODAY
A long walk with the dog
Really got the blood pumping.
The windy air around my face,
Cooling all those sweaty spots
On my legs, hands and neck.
The house was not cleaned
(As I had hoped it would be)
When I returned from the walk.
The push and pull of the vacuum cleaner
Really gets the blood pumping.
N. E. Tasker
Day 6 Poem A Day
Gotta do what the muse says and she says do this one first, then the one on worry, so here goes:
Just Another Sunday
Had a late night at the music bar
With good friends jamming, and wine
“April in Paris” on saxes and drums
And a bass guitar played oh-so-fine
On Sunday I had a “big head”
But ‘rose up just slightly ‘fore noon
It was getting past lunch, “Could we go get some brunch”
I’d feel better if I eat real soon
Off we all went to the IHOP
In our Ford 500 blue car
Over to the East side of Madison
And my stomach thought it was too far
We drove like the demons of hell
Racing the slow Sunday drivers
Rolling stops at the signs, running stale yellow lights
But we didn’t arrive as cadavers
We feasted on ‘cakes and bacon
Joann asked for stuff like a child
She ate “Who Cakes, Green Eggs and Ham
And we drank pots of coffee quite mild
Atop the “Who Cakes” was a lolly
It was flavored in pink bubblegum
The picture on the menu showed a Tootsie
But what she got was just a Dum-Dum
A novelty served at IHOP
Is a drink nowhere else to be found
It’s soda with “Jello” cubes right in the drink
They were blue and pink floating around
Then we waddled right out of that joint
Raced back to the center of town
We were going to see Cycropiea
A dance troupe that is never down
And why? you may wonder, is that?
For they fly through the air with great ease
They’re an aerial troupe that performs in a hoop,
Hanging ladders and center trapeze
They are Madison’s own little
Cirque du Soleil
Though probably closer to earth
They are light on their feet, skinny to beat
And one is soon to give birth
Then back into the Ford we all climbed
Sped home; but stopped on the way
Got some sweets and some cream, bran was on sale
Now we’re all set for the day
We’re taking the dog for a walk
Before it begins the downpour
Thunder and lightening, is really quite frightening
For two-leggeds and even four
So I’m finished right now with this ditty
Admit it, it’s clever and cute
Thank God I’m not rhyming the first and third line
Or Robert would give me the boot!
They say it’s unhealthy
They say it’s not spiritual
It’s not living in the now
But they don’t love like I do
They can’t know how much
I have to lose
6) Chronology of a Day 4/6/08
Delicious Sunday morning
coffee, juice, the paper cover to cover
a bowl of cereal and finally Meeting the Press
Yawning and reluctantly plotting the day…
paying my respects to church and home again
Is it afternoon already?
The sun feels like early summer
but there’s snow mold on the grass and piles of dirty snow
refusing to melt away
I get the blower out and work on the pinecones and matted leaves
until I decide to put my feet up and soak up some rays instead…laziness sets in
Neighbors, socializing just because it’s spring,
bring me a glass of wine,
so I get out the cheese and crackers and we all
celebrate nothing in particular, just because;
First dinner on the picnic table on the porch
with grandchildren hopping on bouncy balls around the yard
plowing through my piles of leaves and pinecones…who cares?
Perfect little finale is giving them an ice cream cone
And sending them home for one last day of vacation,
one last day to sleep in
I soak in the clawfoot tub.
And God saw that it was good.
anne
This is #6
Awoke.
Breakfast.
Church.
Lunch.
Made soap to sell, even though it was the Sabbath.
Picked the molds as though they spoke to me.
Cameo, Karma, Goddess. Roles I’ve played
In many lifetimes. The soap was a disaster.
Colors not right. At Church I was the perfect
smile, dress, everything.
Got home and was the
dirty sweats, evil thoughts, vulgar words.
Should have washed my mouth with soap.
Just want to go to bad, I mean bed.
Can’t write.
Today I failed at everything.
I am a pencil with no point.
A book with lots of paper but no words.
Picked the molds as though they spoke to me.
Cameo, Karma, Goddess. Roles I’ve played
Captain Worry
Captain worry visits in that hour
that is not quite night and
not quite day
he commands my body
to wake up
thinking it needs to pee
I try to stay asleep
to hold on to
the slippery
fish of a dream
hoping Captain Worry
has fallen alseep at the controls
I creep back to bed
sliding in quietly
head on pillow
eyes closed
"You will never find love again,"
Captain Worry is broadcasting
he is awake and has many things
to say before he punches out
at dawn.
Day Six
Just another day
Expecting my wife’s return
I phoned to check her progress
Delayed in Orlando
Rain in Atlanta
How would she make her connection?
Her call came at 4
Boarding for Atlanta
Two hours late
Things didn’t look good
Then she arrived
Her connection had gone
On standby she went
Bumped once
Then twice
So, she called
Desperate
Depressed
And a little agitated
Did I say little?
So I gassed up the Jeep
Began the 5 hour journey
To the airport from hell
My darling to save
Through the dark night
The rain
The construction
And occasional fog
I trekked
On a tank full of gas
A heart full of love
And a lot of prayer
I arrived
To my reward
Her smiling face
And thankful heart
I had rescued my darling
My damsel in distress
And I thank God for
Just another day
Work Shift
I rushed to clock in
so I can hurry
to the front register
where customers set to greet me.
I’m new at the registers,
but I’ve been here
for almost a month now.
I still have a lot to learn.
A gentlemen has an EBT card
for some candy that amounts
to under five dollars,
but the card doesn’t work.
Someone has a gift card
that needs a manager’s approval
before the person can get the stuff.
A manager eventually approves this.
But the EBT didn’t work,
so the guy finally paid cash.
That’s when I say thank you so.
I’ve made it through half my shift.
No more problems to overcome,
the rest of day moves by
with people complaining of the heat
and myself thinking I feel it too.
I’m all smiles as I clock out
and head for home.
I still have some of my Sunday
reserved for me and my family.
I sit here at the keyboard typing
thinking the week has ended. sigh.
I have another 5 days to go
to hit the weekend. LOL.
Sunday
Sleep-overs should be called wake-overs
We are not well rested.
Grab our coats, umbrellas, and bibles,
Father time does not have us bested.
Escape with Galileo to a tropical island,
The rain has not followed us in.
Deliver our neighbors mail,
Chit-chat, catch up and grin.
Read the paper upon the couch,
Start composing this rhyme.
Surf the net for books and shows,
Decide it takes to much time.
The day is almost done,
A few last things to do.
A masterpiece awaits my time
And so now I must say adieu.
April 6, 2008
© Michelle H.
Don’t worry about it
My grandfather
A wise man
A tall man
A very, very handsome man
Once told me this:
“If it’s going to bother you
In six months
Or, perhaps a year,
Then
Don’t worry about it."
Wonderful advice
From a wonderful man
It cut my worries
To a manageable amount
And I’m happier for it
Thanks, gramps
I’ll see you in Heaven
Of that
I’m not worried.
worry poem
like the little worry dolls
whisper your troubles into
so that they will go away
worry poem
take these financial fears
and fix them
worry poem
find me a love
real and true
and safe
worry poem
what to do about writing?
what am I meant to do?
what is it meant to be for me?
worry poem
what about my job?
do I stay? do I go?
worry poem
my beloved Malcolm
please please please
don’t take him from me yet
worry poem
what about the world?
the war
AIDS
famine
killing
the pain we cause to each other
worry poem
can you fix it all?
"Give me room to think
Of a rhyme
In time"
Then the kid
Stood up
And thought
The boy walked over
And laughed at the girl
"You’ll never think a rhyme."
And those were my problems
In lots of dollops
Many years ago
I just need time
To find a rhyme
And make all the difference
In the world
Eco-friendly anxious
Will the earth soon
blow up to the heavens
cause I decided on using
hairspray when I was a teenager?
Will my using only one sheet
on a paper towel roll really stop
the likely rising global warming
crisis were under?
Can using less water
in the bathroom or kitchen
really do any good for
the future children of the world?
So many questions,
so many worries,
makes me think
am I eco-friendly anxious?
(Guess I’ll be posting my Day six poem here too)
Nothing
I can’t spend every
single
day trying to prove my
poignant point,
whatever thought du jour that may be.
No dreams to trample upon
with an airy grace,
intolerably cruel preciseness today.
Idle emptiness fills
my hours with pointless
uselessness that
should be could be would be
directed at something more
endearing and time enduring
than this disgusting
festering nothingness.
My Sunday Afternoon
By Samantha Altman
The birds and my dog brought me to life;
I thought that I could sleep in, but was mistaken.
I awoke to nice weather and windy sounds of chimes.
I did my usual morning exercise of pouring the coffee,
Sugar and cream too.
Got motivated and went to get scrapbook supplies,
My love needs entertainment in boot camp.
Went to the grocery store and shopped till I dropped;
Came home and tended to Hunter the Brave,
Cooked dinner had wine and fell into oblivion.
Wealth of Information
I spent the day reading of wealth
Somebody else’s, not mine.
Where’s the fun in that you ask?
Just leads to wishful thinking.
Plan to retire
Plot your future
Save for your expiry date.
There’s money in gold
Stocks for a penny
And Bonds which I really hate.
I ended the day on a high note
Mr. Gates is worth another billion
I haven’t found the secret yet
So on I’ll just keep drinking.
© Joe MacKinnon 4/6/08
Day 6
Woke up, got out of bed,
dragged a comb across my …..
Just kidding (Please don’t sue me Mr. Jackson)
Ok, here’s the real one
04/05/08
Woke up around noon,
had some breakfast, surfed the net,
then started working on my podcast
that I hadn’t finished yet.
Finished editing at six,
had a smoke to clear my head,
had a bite to eat
and then I crawled back into bed.
Slept for a couple hours
and then I woke up with a shock,
I rolled over, annoyed,
and turned off the alarm clock.
Watched some tv
and went back to surfing the net
while I wondered to myself …
"How much more boring can life get?".
I ate a little dinner
and then I uploaded the show.
Now I’m finished this poem
and then it’s off to bed I go.
Contradiction Concerns
Am I who I pretend to be?
Or is my true self someone others never see?
I know who I was
My childhood is a known
But is a larger child who I am
Now that I’m grown?
Though thoughts come like a tidal wave
They stay inside their cranial cave
I know what I think
But what I believe is an unknown
Is a conflicted self-converser who I am
Now that I’m grown?
Am I a stranger to myself—
A book unread but on the shelf?
The desires are familiar
But unfulfilled and untold
Is a man covertly lonely who I am
Now that I’m old?
Am I who I pretend to be?
Or is my true self someone others never see?
What I know and what I portray
Can stand independently alone
Do masks become permanent
On us who are now grown?
My Nightmare Bill
By Samantha Altman
Bills coming in, bills going out.
I have so many that my head might sprout.
“Money is no object” is a lie in my case.
If I had one wish, it would be for my debt to erase.
Worry, worry;
What’s the hurry?
Bills will always be here and there,
The trick to it all is to just not care.
I’ll pay off my debt one bill at a time,
But the worry is paid for, it’s all mine.
Confirmation
Join.
Now?
Why?
Because.
Underneath the pointy mitre
lives a soft man of great Love,
Compassion
with his hands
on my head.
He says: "Defend this child
with Thy grace,
that she may daily increase in
Thy Holy Spirit more and more. Amen"
Yes, please.
All of it.
The world is crazy.
I need help.
And if He is
otherwise occupied or
my faith fails,
I know
there are others
who have had
those hands
on their heads
who know the
great Love and Compassion.
So that is why,
Full of Gratitude
I Join.
Correction
Wrote a worry poem
Thought I knowed
How to put in the code
Only today showed
Not a trace
of my poem of worry
Too much in a hurry
To faceplant in my pillow
Now I’ll never know
Where my poem did go
Vanishing Ink
Wrote a worry poem
Thought I knowed
How to put in the showed
Only today no trace
Of my poem of worry
Too much in a hurry
To faceplant in my pillow
Now I’ll never know
Where my poem did go
My Day
Woke to rain
Soothing
Pictured all my plants
Soaking up much needed
Moisture
Relaxed and slept
Woke to dog whimper
Walked under
Ominous thunderheads
Made it back
just as fat raindrops fell
Whisked the eggs, milk,
sugar, vanilla, cinnamon
My better half soaked
The bread and fried them up
French toast
with syrup, bananas,
a cup of coffee
and the comics
Called my physics friend
three hour interview
on rockets and auroras
Very cool
Did dishes
Walked the dog again
This time in sunshine
Planted snapdragons
And pulled weeds
Made pizza dough
Now on the rise
While I sip wine
and watch the sunset
A perfect day?
yep, you bet.
Day Six poem:
Nothing (April 6, 2008)
today i sat
for the hours between
12pm and 6pm
&
did
n o t h i n g
and then
at 6:30
i sat
& ate
(or meant to)
Worry
Pain
Across your abdomen
A cramping sort of pain
It comes and goes
Then all is well
It could be nothing
It could be one of a hundred things
All bad
It could be all in your head
See a doctor
They say
Is knowing
That you are going to die
Better
Than not knowing
And still having hope
Tomorrow won’t be your last
Is it worth it
To know
Or is the worry
Truly worse
Than the pain?
(Day 6)
Completion Today
Smiling , since sun’s shining bright,
We gather our shovels and rakes.
In the garden, we work with delight,
Not minding the time that it takes
To rescue and straighten each plant
Striving now, surviving the rains.
Hope Mother Nature will grant
Reward for all of our pains.
Tired now, equipment put up,
Ice tea and a sandwich sound great.
Recline on the couch while we sup,
Watch movies until it gets late.
Then off to our bedroom with pride
Remembering our work done outside.
We didn’t roll out of bed til almost 10
Though we talked about getting up
I was roused by your nuzzle on my neck
and we stayed in bed a little longer.
I started to shower while you made coffee
and you finished your shower and I scrambled eggs
and attempted to pry burnt hashbrowns from the pan.
Then we watched Charles Osgood on Sunday Morning
Taped of course because we never get up in time.
We drove to the park and walked hand in hand
around the pond with those ugly looking ducks
and carp the size of baby whales.
We sat and watched toddlers enjoying a beautiful
spring day that they would never remember
Their short stubby legs trying to keep up
with older brothers and sisters
And the apple blossoms fell like confetti
and got stuck in your long curly hair
I thought you looked like a fairy prince
Now I sit and type these words
a cool breeze coming through the screem
the hum of the neighbor’s mower lulling me
I think it’s time for us to take a Sunday nap
My neck needs more nuzzling
Day 6 Day’s activities
Routine
Got up, pillow head
Threw back covers from the bed
Fed the dogs, potty time
Read some email, poetry rhyme
Take a nap, feed pups again
More email, where will it end
Dress for a meeting, meet at café
Dragging computer, bad rainy day
Critique her story, zombies abound
She reads my article, revisions are found
More café coffee, brownies as lunch,
Thunder in distance, time is a crunch
Head for the home front, play with the dogs
Open computer, write up a blog
Feed critters dinner, sandwich for me
Start up some laundry, now some time free
Play with collages, digitally
Make them look pretty, electronically
No messy glue sticks, no snips of paper
Just a few mouse clicks, then I just savor
Potty for dogs now, take a long bath
Bedtime for Lin, tomorrow I get up
Do it again
4/6/08
Events of the Day
Breakfast, dishes, search airfares again (irritating), dress,
Toss on makeup and grab jewelry and Bible as we hustle to the car.
Sunday school—talking about Abram and following God’s call
and how to know if He’s calling us to China or just to follow our feet
to the neighbor across the street.
Sing “Lifesong” in the choir and feel like the angels are singing with us.
Dash home and change to comfortable driving clothes,
Head South on the state highway to swap cars back
With our college daughter, who needed a tune-up last week.
Meet her at the dorm lot
And drive for lunch together at the wings place she suggests.
Pick up food for her new fish
And drop her off back at her car.
Hubby and I kiss her goodbye.
He dozes as I follow the highway home,
The hills, valleys, and mountains of North Georgia plump with
Raised, bright-gloved hands—
Debutante trees in neon green lace and finely crocheted fuschia,
waving at me from the roadsides,
with their baby leaves and redbud blooms.
We get home and I piddle on the computer before I do
The minutes for writers guild
And fool with FAFSA
As the ESPN guys in the tube behind me fill up time
before the women’s B-ball semis.
I still need to iron shirts, make sure hubby packs his meds
for a business trip,
And set an alarm to put up the cats’ food and water by 9 p.m.,
‘Cause tomorrow they get fixed.
Oh, and don’t forget, the garbage goes out tonight.
I don’t have enough
for a damn cup of coffee–
that’s just pitiful!
Four bucks for a greeting card!
I’ll go home and cut up magazines
and make my own.
How much to fill that prescription?
Forget it, I’ll just pop a
couple more Tylenol.
You like this shirt?
Uh, yah, I got it at GW Boutique,
(GoodWill for the uninitiated).
But it’s cool to be a starving writer, right?
And I’m sure that big break is
right around the corner.
Until then I scrounge beneath cushions
and rummage under the car seat
for enough to buy
that damn cup of coffee.
Worry 4-05-08
Like an unwanted houseguest
who stays to long.
It feeds upon its self
growing ever strong.
Worry day and night
trying to change with all your might.
Whatever stress worry brings about
you could surely do without.
Worry will not change a thing,
with it only pain you bring.
4/6/2008 (so this is day 6)
Oh! Sob! Oh! Sadness!
I have sunk so low into badness!
I have murdered My Muse, and everyone thinks
She’s the only Muse there is, and it stinks
Because if she is, it’s the ultimate in Cadness!
You see she loved me. And I gave her no wink
Or even a mink,
But only the stuff of ignoring
Her till she found I was boring
And went off alone and over the brink.
Wait! That’s where she went!
That’s where she was sent
From, she said when we met,
And if you’d look, that’s where I’d bet
You’d find her, west of the county of Bent.
In Swink!
Rain, Rain, Go Away
The garden was planted, that’s true,
But now I don’t have a clue.
Rain keeps on a’comin’
I keep on a’hummin’,
"Rain, rain, go away!" I’m so blue.
Plants swimming in mud can’t be good.
I wish they’d dry out like they should.
Rain keeps on a’fallin’
I keep on a’callin’
"Rain, rain, go away, if you would".
I lay down and worry each night,
Dreadin’ what horror"ll fill my sight
Of the garden in mornin’.
I keep on a’mournin’
"Rain, rain, go away! Treat me right!"
Day 5 (Worry) ****I’m a few days behind… working on catching up.
I worry about what you will do with your life,
It appears you have so much strife.
You’ve made bad decisions and for that it breaks my heart,
Your decisions have nearly torn our family apart.
I know it hurts you being forced to stay there,
As your mother it is a total nightmare.
I don’t know if you realize it yet,
I’m hoping you really do have regret.
Sometimes I don’t think you really get it,
For the self pity you feel you really need to quit.
I worry about you each and every day,
My knowing your safety is being in harms way.
Just so you know that I will always love you unconditionally,
Please choose your words and decisions more wisely.
Worry Avoidance
Denial and delusion I find very effective
Though I don’t recommend them as a rule;
Procrastination and rationalization as well,
If they don’t backfire too soon;
And of course, ignorance
Always comes through.
But these only control "worry".
Once reality strikes,
You go straight to panic.
Worry
If your mindset is on worry
you may be taking a chance
bringing into fruition that which
you are thinking about.
This worry pours all sorts
of harmful chemicals into
your body which can cause you
great illnesses now and in the
future. Added to this is all the
stress that is churning inside.
Worry is not healthy so may
I suggest you look for
alternative ways to deal with
these things that present such strife.
Susan
April 5
#5
I’m so sick of worrying
Mentally
Physically
Literally
My mind runs in circles
all day long
My body can’t keep up
Figuratively
Where’s the switch
to turn if off?
Give me good news
I can turn on
There’s no use
I can’t take it anymore
I want to end it all now.
Worry,
that is.
© Joe MacKinnon 4/6/08
By The Sea
I think the seagulls were mocking
The day I lost him in the surf
When every roll of the waves sent
my heart further away from me
And he became every boy that had
black hair and crooked smile
Picnics were stopped and strangers held hands
As we marched into the water, line by line
Looking for a little boy who didn’t know how to swim
We found him at the boardwalk later with sticky hands
and telltale cotton candy sticking to his cheeks
"Hi momma!" The seagulls shrieked.
I still can’t relax by the sea;
I see faces on every beach ball
that floats farther and farther away from me
Hi, I have an idea for a day 7 prompt. Not sure if you are taking ideas, but here it is. Since 7 is often associated with luck or gambling. How about a poem about luck, or taking a chance, or a gamble with, or on something. Just an idea.
Rod.
Vacation
I’m taking a trip to far away
I’m risking my life in a plane
I pray all day and half the night
To be safe and even on time.
The pilots may drink to excess
Or shoot up the place
The cabin may shatter apart
They’ll find me upright
In my tight little seat
My hand slapped over my face.
I read the papers each day
And watch TV news at night
They show carnage at every turn
My hand is atremble as I caress
A brow covered in fearful sweat
One eye has a tic and lip a droop
My nerves are twanging and sore
All I can do to relax and be calm
Is recite a mantra to gain control
I Will Be Safe, I May Be Late
(or go down in a terrible storm).
Poem for 4/5 "The Worry of Words" or "Will Words Come?"
For a long time she sits and waits
It’s not love she anticipates
Connection with a vital throb
Pulsing now like a silent sob
It reaches up to let her in
If she can hear beyond the din
Of clamoring within, without
She will no longer be shutout.
Turbulence
My first instinct is to reach for you
put my hand on top of your thigh
and squeeze.
Then the movie of thoughts starts in my head
only clips of thoughts, really, snippets.
Will it hurt-will the water be soft-
or will we not even feel it
will it be-as Frost asked-Fire or Ice
the water or a fire-how will it all end
will I have to watch you die?
I switch to the movie after,
the one I wouldn’t actually see:
the news footage my mother cries watching
the sobbing phone calls, to and from families
the stupid photos she brings of me to a memorial service.
The photos lifted off Facebook to be shown on the news
in your hometown or in our campus newspaper
me doing a shot of Bailey’s, with our friends at a bar
you and I kissing at the Eiffel Tower.
Who will see and remember, and who will try to forget me?
You tighten your thigh in response
acknowledging my worry
and replacing it
with the only thing I’m sure of
here.
The world is full of traps and bait
And out there ruthlessly a vector wait.
The Internet tool Has made a fool
of many a parent and child.
With games of Fights.
Queens and Knights,
and other callings of wild.
Predators with Cheesy grins
from deep within.
And Smiles
that beguile Life’s plights
Try to control Your child’s
life. His Soul.
Remember.
Enforce your parental rights
I’m on the road too, so here’s yesterday’s, a day late:
Suppose I don’t
reach it by nightfall
should I sleep
under a bridge or
take my chances
at a local farmhouse
my contact
tells me they’re mostly
partisans here
so the odds are with me
but that’s not
what worries me most
human contact
I’ve had too much of it
too much sex
and too much sharing
confidences
other people’s secrets
I don’t want
to know what they fear
what they hope the
revolution will bring
don’t want to
break the news to them
it never does
Another day six poem. This one expands on the incident described in my first day six poem.
Just looking for relief
I pulled over looking for relief
Pulled out the container
and what happened was beyond belief
A state trooper pulled up beside me
First, I thought, I should have had less coffee
Wearing a big western hat
I wondered what he would think of that
“what’s the problem officer” I said
In a deep voice, while looking straight ahead
he replied
“what’s the trouble here!”
I almost died,
I thought, I have had it for certain
Suitcase’s packed to the brim
my daughter barely fitting in
Would he understand the controlled substance
packed in the trunk
True I had a prescription
little by little my heart sunk
Did I fit some desperado’s description
I squeamishly replied, “I had to urinate”
“But, I have a container!”
I started thinking I was gonna end up
in prison as some Bubba’s date
He simply replied “OK”
and walked away
I sat there visibly shaken
He watched as I went on my way
Then, to my surprise he followed me
I thought, he can’t be taking the same route I’m takin’
when suddenly
he exited at mile marker 343
I looked at my wife
and she looked at me
we both realized we had been lucky
right then and there we both had to agree
we would find a restroom even a porto – potty
the next time I had to pee. . .
©Rodney C. Walmer Poetry prompt six, a poem about what happened on the road in PA. The
events are all true, unfortunately.
Too Anxious To Title (Or Terror
that his hand will never touch my thigh
that it will again
that atmospheric carbon will achieve
what childhood bombs cannot
(could not so far
that it will not
until I’ve died
that revolution will bleed me
that it will not race my heart
that I will never see you overseas
that I will have to speak
something other than I love
that I will only say
I do
that I’m responsible for all these fears
that I’m not & can’t
(Day 5 Prompt)
Morning
Slow, languid awareness;
warmth of soft blankets
and pale diffused light whispers of a new day –
What day? What time is it?
Am I late for work?
I shove open concrete-weighted eyes
and desperately try to focus on the bedside clock.
Six thirty-eight.
My heart pounds as I throw of covers;
sit up in chilly room
and realize it’s Saturday.
I remember how to breathe
a moment before I remember
The Wedding!
Am I ready? Did I forget something?
Is there hot water for a shower? Gas in the car?
Suitcase fully packed? Dress ready?
What’s next?
I really do hate worrying
It causes me annoyance
It takes up so much time
It robs me of my joyance
It makes my stomach ill
It gives me nervous jitters
It makes me so on edge
It makes my eyelids twitter
It reminds me that my faith
Could possibly be lacking
Instead of letting go,
I dwell on sharks attacking
I’d try to have more trust
To focus on the Now
to think of pleasant things
to ignore my twitching brow
I’ve noticed some gray hairs
Growing on my head
but I don’t need to worry
For I’ll just dye it red.
Day 6 poem
Nine and a half hours
First I was sitting there jerking off on my old neighbor’s couch. I used to sleep with her, but she was there just ignoring me, watching TV.
And then there were gunmen in my neighborhood, but it wasn’t my neighborhood. I found a pistol on the ground. Must be from all of those arrest and prison shows my roommates watch. One guy was directly from some re-enactment of a prison break I saw yesterday.
Finally I was riding a side by side two person bike with my friend’s wife. I kept making mistakes. She complained, and I was worried about the sun. The brakes failed, and I hit a tree. She was a little banged up and had to pee. She squatted right there in a stranger’s tree filled yard while I dug the dirt out of my cell phone.
Nine and a half hours of sleep made me a bit of a whacko.
Sorry…I was here yesterday morning, then had to run for the rest of the day…getting caught-up for yesterday and working on today.
Lyme War Worry
Nearly a decade~
an era of Lyme
disease worry and
madness of medicine,
like dogs marking corners,
snarling at research,
laughing at my worry as
my precious daughter
suffered.
We find the docs
who care~who know
truth inside madness and
that little bastard bacteria,
sweet compassion let’s me
close my eyes~
a minute’s rest before
I worry about
the witch-hunt
that may take them.
It’s 2 am and I am wide awake
Scunching my pillow and wallowing my sheets
Did I remember to turn off my computer
I forgot to mail the electric bill
I need to balance my checkbook, wash my car,
Fill up with gas, thaw something for supper,
Call my sister, take out the trash, look for my glasses,
Send a birthday card to my son, and all of this
Before I leave for work at 7:45
I yawn and go back to sleep
Only to awaken at 4, and the worries begin again
Did I………..
My Future
I’m worried about my future.
What does it hold in store for me?
Will it bring me the happiness I crave,
or will I go on living in misery?
Some days I just want to give up,
pack all of my bags and flee.
You bring so much sorrow to my life.
All I really want is to finally be free.
Day 5
A Little Stick
A little stick, just one
Tells the tale, marks the line
Between hope and despair
Between normal life and life
With the "C" word,
Such an ugly word
Forty-eight hours of waiting hell
For results good or results bad
Doctor in white coat to pronounce
My fate, meanwhile I keep living
Like it’s not too late
Bite by Bite
All the food thats fit to eat
and quite a bit that’s not
must pass my lips, go down my throat,
and oh, that’s quite a lot.
My pants are tight, so are my shirts.
I have to pull and pull.
It doesn’t matter if they’re made
of cotton or of wool.
Somehow these little bites
are making me quite bit,
so bite by bite by little bite
I’ve turned into a pig.
I want to stop, I really do
as long as I’m not eating,
but just as soon as I see food,
it seems that I start cheating.
So now I think it’s long past time
to go and clean the frig
and hoe I won’t find any bites,
not one, no, not a smidge.
Then when the kitchen’s all cleaned up
I won’t go out and buy
the kinds of food I want to eat
and if you do, I’ll cry.
Family Futures
Strangely,
I don’t worry about my brother,
who may be an alcoholic,
and therefore,
may drive drunk once in a while,
and all the other, awful, sordid possibilities.
What I worry about is
four perfect nieces, and one perfect nephew.
Who will carry the alcoholic weight
as it descends the family tree?
Irreversible damage;
some never recover-
potentially permanent losses.
Distant thunder
rumbles deep in my bones,
even as I hope for
sunny days and roses.
Jacquie Wareham
April 6, 2008
My Grandmother’s Worries
My grandmother
worried about
going barefoot
in months without r’s,
whether grandfather
approved her
new hat,
children without
sweaters,
men without
suspenders,
people without
humor,
plates without
gravy,
hair without
ribbons,
plants without
water,
children without
sweets.
I worry
about becoming
my
grandmother.
Day Six Poem
Returning Home
I awoke in a strange bed
thoughts of last night running through my head
thankful, I was not dead
I started thinking of the day ahead
But, first, morning breakfast
I looked around, wife and kid still asleep
I wanted coffee, but who to ask?
I might order some, but I was too cheap
We made it down to the eating room
I reminded everyone we would be leaving soon
We had to get back on the road
we were still 152 miles from home
The eggs, were powdered,
reminding me of a prior time I’d known
We eventually returned to the car
but, we just did not get far
We stopped for more gas
and for souvenirs, everyone choose to ask
after a half hour in there,
and Seventy Nine dollars later
The skies started to clear
We were on our way
admiring the beautiful scenery out there
It had been a long night
I was thankful for daylight
but, after too much coffee
I had an emergency
no where to go,
so I pulled over to the side of the road
thankfully, I had a container
not that it mattered,
It could not have been any rainier
Just as I was done
while zipping my fly
A Pennsylvania trooper happened by
Now, a scarier someone
you will never find
He asked why I stopped
He let us go
when I told him why
Now there’s more to this story
but, this poem is getting to long
I am sorry,
please don’t get me wrong
You’ve heard the best part
You don’t want to know the rest
All about windshield wipers
that would not start. . .
©Rodney C. Walmer 4/6/08 Written for prompt #6, about my return trip home from PA.
I wrote this while writing the worry poem about my mother. Not sure if it ties in, but worry, did eventually lead to my mothers state of mind. So, I share it.
Thoughts of my mother
Somewhere along the line
she lost all sense of hope
She never learned to cope
Over time
she eventually lost her mind. . .
©Rodney C. Walmer 4/5/08 Thinking about Prompt #5
Lest I Forget
I believe in redundancy
Schedule on refrigerator
Calendar on computer
PDA with duplicates
Notes on post-its
To do list on dresser
Small reminder notebook
in purse with old
grocery lists
Still I don’t return
Library books on time
Pay those infrequent
bills like taxes on time
Send my children
birthday cards on time
Am I deteriorating or
have I always been so
forgetful I can’t remember
It’s a Bit of a Worry
He’s quite a lad,
one of a kind
I’m telling you.
Know what I mean?
You wouldn’t read about it –
no, really –
he was all over her like a rash.
She wasn’t impressed,
gave him the old heave-ho
quick-smart, that’s for sure.
And he was that ropable,
fair dinkum he just went spare,
there was no holding him.
The demon drink,
it’ll do that to you.
Well, we calmed him down
after a bit,
just in the nick of time
before he made a right mess
of all and sundry.
All’s well that ends well,
that’s what I say,
but when all’s said and done
it was a near thing there.
He was like a wild thing,
all over the place,
a ship without a rudder
until we brought him to heel.
It was a very long day
as it turned out,
I’m sure you’ll agree,
and all in all, you know,
at the end of the day
he’s a bit of a worry.
© Rosemary Nissen-Wade 2008
Midnght brought me
safely home, full of
good humor and music
Journal written,
I found my way
Thankfully.
Laundered sheets
Waited and the cooling
Night of early spring
Had I not been so tired
Had I not had
mocha latte at MoJoes
After dinner
Downside of tired
might not have
kept me wakeful
my bed throbbing
with noise from
bass notes coming
across the still frosty
ground, making their
way to my bedroom
the last I knew
it was four a.m.
Worry, Worry, Worry!
Oh, Worry, Worry,
It’s Saturday,
This is the day I
worry because I have nothing
to worry about,
Tomorrow is Sunday,
That’s the day I don’t
have to worry about anything.
This is the year I turn 35
the number the doctor frowns
when she tells you
statistically the age
women should be pregnant by.
I want to wait one more year
I say
her silence reminds me
that I said the same thing last year
I wonder how many years will pass
before I no longer have to ask
if I can wait another year.
Trouble in Mind
When my father was a boy
he worried the world would end
before he met my mother
and when I was a boy
this worry had not left
but since the world had not
had its skin peeled back
and blistered into paper
and the char of paper
and the hint of char
and atmospheric wrinkle
of past tense
though no one would have been
around to see it
no start over
a little
he worried he was told
the giant white horse
would shatter all the windows
in all the houses
and the devil, that old serpent
and he worried he would never
even kiss my mother
whom he had yet to meet
and then I was a boy
and there was a terrible worry
and it was in me, too
and it is like being chased
from the inside
and part of the way I take to
the beckon of the world
is
is
do your worst
WORRY
What to write?
So worried
I’ll still be here
at midnight.
Each word weighing
English tonnes;
I’d rather use
cannons and guns.
Oh, now I’m worried
about starting a war.
Stop worrying:
it’s a BORE.
Robert,
I meant to say also that I’m sorry about your grandfather’s death. And I think we’ve all felt guilty and relieved when it was one person and not another who died. May you find comfort from the One Who understands and can console like no other.
PAD Challenge Day 4
4-6-08
Worry
I worried today because
I’d missed the airfare sale
And would have to pay more than before.
Another worry crossed my mind,
That we were eating out too much this weekend
Even though we spent great couple and family time
Together.
Because there’ll be bills to pay.
Also, I didn’t finish the FAFSA
Or the minutes that need to be sent out today.
Why are the things I worry about
Never important enough to tie my stomach
In knots
Or to lose any sleep at all?
It is enough
To have things to fill my stomach
And a place to sleep
And people so dear to share a meal out
That it’s worth it to cut other corners
To spend extra time with them.
Worry is focusing on the wrong things,
The skewed facts, and my own anxious thoughts instead of God and priceless humans.
Make Your Worries Count
By Bill Kirk
Some folks worry night and day.
I hear them rant and yelp.
But after all is said and done,
Their worries rarely help.
As for me, I’ve only two:
Not finding words that rhyme.
And, yes, I’d like to rid the world
Of Daylight Savings Time.
Worry, Worry, Worry…
Will the bills get paid on time?
What to fix for dinner?
How can I re-work that rhyme?
When will I get thinner?
Where are all the tax receipts?
Who hid the past-due library book?
How do I keep the messy house neat?
Can I change my outlook?
When will I find a publisher?
How can I pad my income?
Did I start the dishwasher?
It’s all more than I can fathom!
Worry is my companion
Each day brings another instance for worry.
My constant companion, it keeps me
company through each event no matter
the significance.
Did I do it all? What did I forget? Oh, no
I wore the wrong clothes! Should I say this?
Where are they? They said they’d be home
by midnight. Where did you say you had that
pain? Will I find a lump today? Will I get there
on time? Did I drink the wrong bottle of water?
As much a part of me as breath it fills my day
Intruding into every part Overriding logic and
order. Jangling my nerves.
On the outside you never see it for in my many
years it has learned to hide from those
who don’t know me, but it’s there fighting to
emerge and the ones who can read me see
the bitten cuticles and absent minded
demeanor. No longer the carefree glad-hearted
person, I crackle voice tight and hands curled in
fists.
You have accepted this side of me only
acknowledging it when for instance a doctor
sees it peeking through and labels me, "Worrywart".
And you coax it from me when you say you need
money as if I were able to change the situation
overnight. As if I were to win the lottery and
paper your world with all you crave. The worry
seeps out spilling into tears and anger since
when it is exposed it turns fast to pain.
But when it lays dormant you see only
my sunny side that smiles most times
as if my life were filled with roses and sunshine
and worry were buried in my backyard.
Animal Anxiety Dreams
I worry in my dreams. Some people have anxiety dreams about being naked in front of the class, or performing in a play having forgotten the lines, but I have anxiety dreams about pets. I’ve dreamed disaster for every dog I’ve ever had. My Pembroke Welsh Corgi falls off a cliff, runs out into traffic, is lost in the neighborhood after dark (she’s small enough to make some coyote a tasty meal). I bet the queen never has dreams like this. My Siberian husky broke her chain and it is now wrapped around a tree deep in the woods where she will probably starve to death before I can find her. It is always my fault. When I got myself two fish tanks filled with tropical fish I thought my animal anxiety dream days were over…who can feel guilty about fish? Oh no, even Steven King couldn’t do better than my fish tank dreams. I’ve dreamed about that third tank I forgot I had, the one I never remembered to clean, the fish I neglected to feed. What is growing in the algae at the bottom of the tank? What is floating in the water when I take the lid off? And what about that tank so big it filled the whole wall, the one that I kept a walk-in freezer just for fish food? What kind of fish grows that big and what might it eat? And when the tank shatters, what kind of fishy dream monster flaps around in the glass shards, gasping for air?
Worries
It’s the damn coffee pot again
I know I left it on
I should buy a new one with a timer thing
A fancy, shiny new one
So here I stand and stare
And stare and stand some more
This one makes lattes or
cappuccino somethings
This one grinds the beans for you
But this one brews in seconds
So you never have to wait
Which one? Which one should I choose?
While I stand here contemplating
The house has probably burnt to the ground
Which reminds me…
Did I close the garage door when I left?
Rurh won’t get pregnant again.
Ruth will get pregnant again
and the baby will die unborn,
or born too soon, or the baby
will be perfect, and we will
all believe we are safe and
the baby will die of SIDS in
the cradle in the sunlight
or start kindergarten and get
run over in the crosswalk
or get leukemia or get addicted
to crack or kill herself over
some silly boy. I can’t do this.
Ruth will get pregnant again,
or she won’t, and the sun and moon
will rise and set and I will breathe
in and out, in and out – whatever.
April 5, 2008
Prompt: Write a poem of worry.
The mail slot is opened and letters inside a rubber band landed on the white tiled floor. the whole past week all i could think of was my daughters waist line and how she could’ve shed a few more pounds before slippin into the swimming suit for the contest. Her mocha skin is already a minus. among the blonde haired and blue eyed girls my dark child has a chance. My hands tremble and as i sort the mail. i find her acceptance letter and with a sigh of relief i put my critiques in my purse which at first were out for my daughter.
Daniel Stanford © 2008
To Sleep, Perchance to Worry
I just know the salmon
I ate for dinner
Had gone bad.
But I ate it anyway.
And if I go to sleep now,
I’ll be up in two hours
Singing Technicolor lullabies
Into the commode.
If I survive the salmon,
And manage to get to sleep,
The phone will ring
At 11:22 p.m. again.
It will be that brusque guy
Calling from India,
Offering to wave the fee
On my monthly VISA bill
If I pay now.
I keep telling him,
The fee I can afford.
It’s the payment
I’m a little short on.
Really, it doesn’t matter.
If I sleep, I’ll just have
That dream again:
The one where the
Chimpanzee wearing
A red and yellow swimsuit
Chases me through my
Home trying to feed
Me a pepperoni pizza.
Maybe I should eat
Something before
I try to sleep.
I wonder if there’s
Any salmon left?
(because I just couldn’t get serious about the topic!)
The Progression
I cannot leave the house today,
for if I do, I might trip
over the welcome mat
and break my foot.
That would require a visit
to the emergency room
and probably a cast,
not to mention a needle
for the I.V., (I’m breaking out
in hives just thinking about it!)
and I won’t make it to work.
The eventual ramification
of my fall
will be the loss of my job,
followed closely by car,
house and sanity.
How much safer to remain
in the pillow-topped kingdom—
warm, settled and moments
from dreamland—than to risk
stepping out the front door.
Call my boss,
tell her I’m sick
with worry.
4/5/08 –
The Loneliness of Worry
My mind is adrift on an ocean loneliness.
Worry dancing across the waves of my mind plaguing my mental sea with doubts and tears.
I ride the roller coaster of confusion each and every day.
I turn left, I turn right, I go up, I go down, never escaping the worry, never able rest.
Why do I worry, why do I stress, why can’t I rest and fill less depress.
Optimism is foreign to me, in my life, nothing ever ends up right.
Round and round, and round some more unable to escape the loneliness of worry.
Right, left; left, right, the walls are closing in, this box gets smaller every moment suffocating my happiness.
Yearning to be free from this word known as worry, trying to be release from this feeling called loneliness…I cry another day, I pray another day; hopefully tomorrow I will be released from the loneliness of my worry.
The End
Re: moving past worry
Several days later
and I still can’t
open my throat
for you; I don’t know
that I can
ever love you
again. Not after
the debris of months
and wet mouths
and twisting
in your bed. I left
my heart out
on display
on ice
on a hill
under the moon. I
eclipsed everything
else for a feeling, convinced
myself this was real
or close enough
to true. In the fall-
out I was alone
and waving
in the wind. Exactly
what I said
was my worst fear. I
am past tears
and just keep
stunting my anger, but
where my trust
lies now
is somewhere
beyond you. I am
moving right along;
beyond all of the pain-
ful reminders that were
once as glaring
as a red
stain.
The End
And when will this
finally get to be
so tiresome
so worrisome
so bothersome
that one of us
will declare it
the end?
One of us will
surely perish before
it escalates
it augments
it distends
into something quite
grotesque that it will be
the end.
One more joke may
push you over the edge
of insanity,
of vexation,
of abhorrence
and make you not
want to come back and make it to
the end.
Your vague expressions
never let me see
your thoughts,
your hopes,
your dreams
of how you you see me
or if you want my death to be
the end.
I like what we
are to each other and
don’t want
don’t need
don’t wish
this to truly,
sincerely, ever be
the end.
~~~Worry~~~
I had a pet. Its name was Worry.
I came upon this pet quite accidentally,
And like most strays that folks take in
I thought I would only shelter it for the night.
Only give it enough nourishment
To make the night through.
But Worry pulled on my heartstrings.
Worry enchanted me, and kept me occupied.
I was fascinated by the ways it
Could hold my attention.
And even when put outside, it came back.
So faithful, so loyal.
I fed it a little more. I invited it inside.
Once there Worry made itself cozy.
First it was just on the sofa.
But Worry pulled me more and
I found myself bringing it
To keep me company in my bed.
It was so comforting to have Worry with me.
Too comforting, perhaps.
Eventually I softened up
And I began to take worry out.
I started to take it in the car with me.
Shopping. To the park. To the beach.
I wasn’t even really sure it was
Legal to take Worry around unleashed.
Occasionally, I snuck it to work.
I fooled myself to think
That this little pet;
This pet small enough to tuck
In the tiniest of pockets,
Would go unnoticed.
That it would be overlooked.
Ignored at worst.
So cozy this pet and I were.
One day my dearest friend
Asked me about my beloved Worry.
Asked me if I kept it as a pet.
A questioned I denied, of course!
For I could never have admitted to such
An act that goes so strongly
Against all common sense.
I knew others would condemn me
For taking in this stray.
For feeding it and keeping it alive.
But I began to notice changes
Taking place.
I began to see how Worry was running the show.
Worry was playing and toying with me.
I began to see how I changed my life,
My routines – for Worry!!!
What had I done???
How had I let this happen?
I decided to change matters.
It was time to get rid of Worry.
The problem was that no one would take it.
No one else wanted it.
Others felt it was too much of a burden to care for,
Especially when it belonged to someone else first!
I became desperate to rid myself of Worry,
So had it consumed my every waking moment.
I was almost crippled.
I limped outside. Far, far away.
And then I just let it……………go.
Worry looked me in the eye,
it didn’t want to go so fast.
It kind of hung around, hoping I would want it
To come back. I did not relent.
GO!
And it was gone. And it never came back.
After I learned my lesson with Worry,
I decided I would never, ever take in another
Stray so long as I lived.
I have kept that promise.
And I am free.
The price of gas is going up; it’s hard to make ends meet
Drugs are taking our children’s lives; there is violence in the street
We hear rumors of a market crash; Families’ homes are being lost
Politicians tell us there must be change, but what will be the cost
If global warming isn’t stopped the icecaps will disappear
And reek havoc that could even make a strong man quake with fear.
The Iraqi war is raging on, though no one quite knows why
Is it for oil or freedom’s sake that many men now die?
Super bugs and viruses grow stronger every day
If left unchecked we wonder will any flesh be saved?
Scientists say we could collide with a mighty asteroid’s path
With an impact that can equal a nuclear weapon’s blast.
After 911’s tragic day our feeling of security have gone
With it’s demise we have instead distrust for everyone
How I long for simpler times before Discovery and CNN
Would broadcast so eloquently how mankind could face its end.
To live a life of ignorant bliss without fear of the unknown
To trust God for my daily bread and the goodness he’s bestowed
For all the worrying I can do will never change one thing
So I will give it to the one who has control of everything.
My heart stops
When I open my mouth
My eyes search
To take in the damage
My body halts
As my brain ticks over
My soul shrinks
when I’m sure
I have done wrong
My chest hurts
When I have to
Walk away
My mind whirls
As I try to analyze
My hands shake
When I’m sure
I’ve lost you.
I worry about that precipice,
the one at the end of the stage
after they hand me my bachelor’s in English,
the paper I paid thousands for
to stare over the edge and see a futureless void.
I worry that I’ll land on the proverbial rocks
or worse:
that I’ll fall forever
and passion will never catch me.
Don’t worry
he shouts with some fury.
"Just order the curry!
A plate for you
and one for Murray.
But Hurry!"
They call in the Jury
Who enters the courtroom
in a flurry
while the defendant sits
lost and a little blurry,
the inside of his mouth
a awfully furry.
The lawyer whispers
"Don’t Worry."
THE TIME IS NOW
For long enough I just wanted to write.
When I was seventeen I begun the ride
into the marvelous world of poetry,
it follows me from country to country
always feeding my thoughts from the inside.
I wrote to love during low and high tide
to the grid lines and to the waves at sea,
to days of war and to the days of peace,
to some good peaty and to a new bride.
Much precious time has gone away, and now
I am ready to spill all my guts out.
I am bringing back those pieces of life
to look at them like they are from today,
in all my notebooks I did a foray
were all my secrets I usually hide.
They are due to come out, now is the time
since there isn’t much room in my world to spare
and if I do not, no one else will care…
I must give my writing my autumn pride.
Ready to give life to the art of mine.
Record for #6 Marcos A. Cabrera
OVERFLOW
There is a lot that the people don’t know.
The world keeps up with its eternal glow
without regrets in its fantastic ways,
the wheel of life with its moves is the same
but with every turn feels like we fall below.
The hopes are now a major overflow
and in most cases they end up in hell
though, our days are marching into a knell,
most actions we posponed for tomorrow.
We are missing so much a healthy dawn
that we can’t see the light of a good spawn.
The nations are turning against their own
a big maze seems to be the planet earth,
as the wheel turns it keep leaving more dearth
and behind every bust the darkest shadows.
It is time to face the foe with a blow
to take out its guts and to feed our mind,
to see every coin from both of their sides
and then to see what reality shows.
With an open heart the good thoughts will flow.
Sales Tax
Zero sales tax in Oregon.
The goons in Salem
want to change that,
for stability.
“Only three percent.
Maybe four.
Surely not more than five.”
“If you voters would agree,
we’d even get rid of property tax.”
Get rid of a tax;
who’s kidding who?
“Sales tax is fair.
Everyone has to pay
even those pesky tourists
(who can’t vote us in or out.)
Let’s get their money too.”
But they don’t tell you how quickly
three percent morphs into nine.
Born and raised in California,
I never gave it a second thought.
Every time you bought a book,
or a wheelbarrow or a car—8.75%
tacked on top. It’s just the way it was.
Five years ago we moved to Oregon.
I noticed what I no longer
had to pay. It’s nice.
I worry that those
guys in Salem just might
convince the unsuspecting public.
I worry that they might win.
Carol Brian
(You said "clowns" and instantly my stomach turned to spoiled cheese, so …)
:THE (PLEASE, GOD, NOT A) CLOWN (POEM):
I turn my head and there he stands
Watching me — yes, still watching
Yes, still watching!
:My God!: he’s coming over
I think to myself:
IfhecomesanycloserImightjustscreambutIthinkmyvoicewill :gasp!:
catchinmythroatohnoohnoohnohe’scomingover :gasp!:
he offers me a flower and I refuse
(politely)
I feel squeamish :balloonsinhistrousers:
He sprays the water in my face
Despite my defiant refusal to
S-m-e-l-l – i-t
I turn my head and, YES!
Still, he stands there watching
Watching, watching, watching me
:My God!: he pulls a longsnakingdeflatedballoonfromhispants
And asks me to guess what he’s making
And as it fills with air I guess
K n I v E s
And he looks at me :he’swatchingme:
And says: F R E A K
Feature Playing “Worry”
The mind movie’s feature is “Worry” tonight,
Choose or lose are the words causing the fright.
Fast forward is flying and pause won’t respond.
No blinking won’t help so just play along.
Choose surgery . . . get out of pain,
Lose the Disney trip and feel ashamed.
Choose surgery . . . Get out of pain,
Lose the fence for the animal’s domain.
Choose surgery . . . Get out of pain
Lose extra money every month you might gain.
Choose surgery . . . Get out of pain
Lose the short temper and smile again.
Why
Do you die
When all I have wanted for you is life
From me you sprung
From us you begun
Together with love
We brought you for the
But alone in the darkness of ignorance
You walk
Willingly into that embracing dark
Neglecting the lessons
Taught from the heart
Forgetting words of wisdoms
Replacing them with popular thoughts
Not wanting to be like me
Not wanting to be like us
Fighting against the ones who gave life
Because that’s what you think
Freedom is about
Thinking that to stand
You must topple all sensibilities wrought
Thinking that to walk tall
The road must be covered in blood
Thinking that to be a man
It must all come down to fisticuffs
The way of the peacemaker
Becomes the way of the punk
And you slowly die
And all I can ask myself is why
When all I wanted for you is fullness of life
But as I look upon the scowl on your face
The way you look upon me
As old fogey, so lost to the world
That I really don’t know what is
Really the now and the time
And I fall asleep at night
Hoping that you will see tomorrow’s
Shining daylight
Wondering why
Wondering why
5) Worry 4/5/08
I have worried enough for both of us;
for parents, who I feared would not return from their evening out,
sure that they would be in an accident
for grades I was afraid I wouldn’t get, jobs I might not find,
for prom dates that I was sure I wouldn’t have
for the years I wouldn’t find a husband to love me
for the babies I might not have
and then the ones I did have, that they might get sick and die,
and during the long nights waiting for those babies, now teenagers,
to return safely from their dates,
and for those teenagers, now young adults, that they would not graduate,
or marry well
and for you, that you might leave me, and die
and you did.
I worried that I might not survive, or be able to balance the checkbook,
or know how to find my way driving to unfamiliar destinations,
or be able to have an identity beyond what I was with you.
I have worried enough for both of us.
And now I worry that I might never see you again.
Worry
As if there’s not enough to worry about.
Sperm whales attacked by squids,
the money won’t come,
the bills are due,
super volcanoes in the west.
Can I focus?
Can I print it?
Will it read?
Will it live?
Live to worry.
Worry to live.
Life is a worry.
Cathy to Lisa at Coffee
Taxes are due ten days from now
and someone stole the wheels off my son’s car (in our driveway!)
and we saw rat bites at the bottom of the garage door
and my daughter might need another surgery to repair her broken leg
and in less than a month I am supposed to be in a big race.
And where are my library books?
Okay, your turn.
He’s Here
Impatient at the corner
But now the car is stopping
A table for two was
The obvious choice.
Voices crossing wires
Without a glance behind
Seemed simple.
Picking imaginary lint
From creased trousers
Settling purple plastic
Frames more firmly
On my nose.
Did I laugh too
Loudly?
Will he call tomorrow?
Lump
The doctor said there’s nothing to worry about
“But let’s keep an eye on it.”
How do you keep an eye on something
that cannot be seen but is felt
fingertips probing gently so as not to awaken
the beast that may lie within?
How do you not worry when every shower
reminds fingers soaped and slippery
of a presence that is not meant to be there
and may someday stir to be removed?
How do you not check more than monthly
for any changes that might occur
until one day the mirror shows you what
fingertips already saw and now eyes see?
How do you keep the fingers from
overshaking onto the wrong digit
as you dial to make an appointment
with a person who told you not to worry.
Staring at the blank paper, I worry
If I have what it takes to go on
The flow of the water over
The dishes distracts me from my intent
I struggle on
And these lines spring up and stay
Worry is my area of expertise! And I’ve been working on a series of poems about The Woman Who Is Afraid of Everything. This prompt gave me a good kick to write a new one:
Her Usual
The woman who is afraid of everything
is worried about worry–which,
unlike money, does grow on trees,
the branch that snaps in a strong Autumn wind,
and bashes her in the head, or the tree
that gives up its roots and smashes through the roof
into the bed where she was hashing
over all the anxieties of tomorrow
and what could go wrong.
Where are the children?
Where is the cat?
What will she make for dinner?
Worry crusts on her like barnacles on a whale,
weighs on her, slows her down, the swill
of angst and brine, a bad feeling
in anyone’s gut.
I’m worried
that talentless American directors
will be permitted to keep producing
rotten remakes of Japanese horror movies,
that someday the religious right
will succeed in sending a man
to the White House,
that society won’t collapse
before I have to join "the work force,"
that the West Coast will be as dead
and depressing as this state’s always been,
that a random psychopath
might see me riding on Route 5
and decide to hunt me down in his pickup
then rape, kill, and discard me
before rolling off with my precious bike,
that the fluorescent stars I taped to my ceiling
won’t come off when it’s time to move out,
that I complain too much
or dream or drive too much
or eat too much suspicious slime
at all these Chinese buffets -
but above all that I’m worried
I’ll just run out of things to say.
I’m Worried, and There’s No Comfort in Your Voice
Rain melts down the foggy glass,
as tears see highways pass.
Desperation upends blurred vision,
and nothing looks real through a melting windshield.
Take me anywhere but here…
These wipers they hold time,
to keep us all in perfect line,
Revealing highways that lead to nowhere real.
The car stalls on shifting gears,
to the squeals of asphalt cheers.
Still,
There’s no direction that can take me
where I need to be.
You only say my name,
you only say my name, when conversations wanting,
you only say my name.
Tell you what,
I’ll choke back all these tears,
if you’ll only hide your fears
…forget my name…….and I’ll forget it too…
Life Before Paxil
I will get myself into trouble
I should keep my mouth shut
They will find out that I’m a fraud
I am never truly safe; I’m homeless
They only love the person I pretend to be
What if I become sick or pass out
This is bad. This is bad. This is bad.
Heartbeat strains against neck and temple
Hands sweat, overpowering thirst creeps in
I feel confused. What if I’m insane . . ?
It will be proven that I don’t matter
They will all leave me and I will be alone
My hearing, my sight, my mind:
How long will they remain mine?
Need to breathe. Can’t speak. Mustn’t speak
Apprehension. Fear. Mutism. Anxiety
"Eight Minutes"
I’m worried
I can’t concentrate
what am I missing?
I keep looking down,
nothing.
This meeting
I’ can’t concentrate
can’t understand anyone
Charlie Brown’s parents
I keep looking down,
nothing.
Five minutes
six minutes
seven minutes…
I keep looking down,
nothing.
Hold on…yes!
I’m back
eight minutes
an eternity!
Blackberry’s back up!
But wait!
It could happen again
Oh my god!
I’m worried
I can’t concentrate…
[In honor of Robert's lack of connectivity and the fact that he's just fine with that!]
Years of Worry
My mother used to worry all the time
It would seem I’ve inherited that frame of mind
years of anguish on her face
led to fears and lines that were easily misplaced
Worries about the bills
led to high blood pressure
which in turn
led to taking different pills
worries about the rent
led to fears of eviction
when she did not have worries
she’d find some to invent
Often my mother was distracted
sitting a million miles away
I knew she was worrying about something reenacted
though when spoken to, she had nothing to say
My mother is now 82
she lives alone
just sits at home and still worries
with nothing else to do
Years of worry
she was never sorry
She said it was for us
Worry made her angry
through said anger she lost our trust
It’s such a shame
all those years worrying in vain
over what, she had no control
all the experience’s she could have tasted
her life could have been whole
instead it was wasted. . .
©Rodney C. Walmer 4/5/08 Prompt #5. Still not my best, but I hope a little better.
Monday morning before the garbage truck comes
and the mockingbird sings,
I lay in the too-warm room,
your breath a steady,
irritating reminder
of nirvanic slumber
that eludes me.
Instead, my head
waltzes, thoughts
baraging my brain
like so much clutter
the whirring truck
will soon pick up -
the library books,
no bread for lunches,
and what’s for dinner anyway?
The client meeting,
and calls for freezing rain
to snarl the overlong commute.
Forgotten birthdays
and unpaid bills,
the perfume on his collar
(not mine) slide into static,
white noise to accompany
tomorrow’s appointment
with the radiologist.
Brakes!
its happened to me before, but what if it happens again
will i be prepared for the hurt again
addicted so it’s like i can’t stop…
..but when im hurt i can’t go
laying in bed broken and bruised
the marks permanent..
..a sign of my contract with pain
its happened to me before, but what if it happens again
I had never been one to fret
though that was a long time ago
when my momma said dear
is that all your rear
now i worry while licking the bowl
I just found out about this. What a wonderful thing! I am a devotee of the Nano (National Novel Writing Month) so I am a sucker for challenges. I am going to try to do two per day now to catch up. I love April!
Here is my worry poem:
At One With Nature
Back home, on the farm,
I clean mouse droppings
out of the cupboards.
The following day,
after a drenching rain,
I find the first ant.
Long ago, barefooted
on the way to the toilet
one night, I crushed a fat roach.
The moths are in the closet,
caterpillars on the curtains,
spiders in every corner.
In bed, at night,
I hear the scratchings
rustlings in the walls.
Only a matter of time
and mother nature will
take this place back
she, its rightful owner.
.
Worry
A song.
An overheard word or two.
When my wife is late from the store.
A late snow storm.
Frostburned flowers.
Arriving late.
My father.
Being chosen last.
Being chosen first.
Reading my poems out loud.
My peers, whoever they may be.
A burning smell when I’m driving.
All three of my sons.
*
WORRY LESS
I used to have a running list of five
or six things that worry me every week.
When I was able to knock off one
or even two items per day I get very excited,
as if a huge weight has been lifted.
But then as a new thing got added
to the list in my mind, the worry would continue.
Over the past year, the list has changed to one
or two things per month that I stress about.
Nothing has changed dramatically in my life,
but I have changed my frame of mind.
And I must say, life is so much more enjoyable
when you worry less.
N. E. Tasker
I’m not allowing it
In my life.
Worry? Not me
I’m child of
The blue winds
And poetry.
I still remember
My Aunt’s furrowed
Brow, as she planned
Each stage of
The trip; no
Room to breath.
Or my father’s narrowed
Eyes. He wouldn’t
Let me out of his
Sight. Wouldn’t
Let me touch life.
Worry? I swore
Never. Yet as
I sit in my
Room alone; finally
On my own
My Aunt’s furrowed
Brow and my
Father’s narrowed
Eyes meet my
Own blue
Dreams. What if
My worry-free
Life does not
Succeed?
I wrote this and then looked at the poems above and realized it sounds kind of selfish. Everyone else is worried about a child, a father, a friend…Maybe a worry-free life is a self-centered life? I guess I have a lot to learn.
Tim My Son
My son is grown,
Living a full life.
A few years on his own,
Has not yet taken a wife.
My son is an only child,
In his life there’s only me.
He works hard not very wild,
When my time comes where will he be?
My son Tim is very strong,
I shouldn’t worry but I do.
He’s my son there’s nothing wrong,
If I worry bout him feeling blue.
Tim loves me I love him,
He makes me very proud.
Worrying for him is no sin,
He’s in with a good crowd.
Always a Mom
They’ve been grown
and on their own
for nearly a decade.
From two hundred miles away
I wonder whether they’re
eating right, sleeping well,
getting designated drivers
on party nights.
On the phone I ask
do they have enough money,
are their jobs going well,
have they been to
the dentist lately?
I imagine they roll their eyes
the way I did at thirty
at the same questions.
Worry – April 5
Genetic glitch – damaged gene
Each visit a last time
Love, appreciation, excruciating goodbyes
Heartbroken
About Time
Do not forget me,
trained by tree rings
to be punctual as the moon.
Me, worry? Temporally anal,
I clean atomic clocks, accountant
of the world’s worst worries. Zombie statistics,
I pop them like jelly beans.
The boss says global warming is thirty years
early, and my ark still slumbers cozy
As a pycho-bird in its time cushioned capsule,
above the purple laundry,
earth’s big diapers,
already, all wet.
Maria Jacketti
Plaques and Tangles
My dad began developing
Alzheimer’s when he was
In his fifties. For twenty years
We lost him a little bit more
Each day until he died.
I wrote an article on Alzheimer’s
About plaques and tangles
Developing in the brain.
They say it can be hereditary.
They say there are drugs to help, but,
I don’t remember what they are.
Worry About Life
Worry, worry, worry
Are the children safe and sound?
Deep breath
Worry, worry, worry
Is my husband safely on the ground?
Deep breath
Worry, worry, worry
Where are our loved ones to be found?
Deep breath
Worry, worry, worry
Where exactly are we bound?
Deep breath
Worry, worry, worry
Oh, how tightly I am wound.
Deep breath
April 5, 2008
© Michelle H.
My grandmother sits wringing her hands
then biting and ripping at her cuticles
until they bled, and chewing on her lips.
I was only a child and she my favorite
person in the whole world and oh how
she worried about me and the world.
“Well” she’d say in a long drawn out
sound to note she registered what I said
and she found the bad in it and is giving
it it’s due in furrowed brow and words
of grief over the state of the world.
She can’t imagine how sad this makes
Jesus and she knows it has to be the
end of the world with all this evil running
rampant. People piled up down below
town like rabbits and everyone turning
a deaf ear and blind eye to what’s in front
of them and God help them all, it‘s
certainly more than she can deal with.
Decade
My ten-year-old Weimeraner,
the one whose leg may be broken,
who sports yet another set of stitches,
I fear the day I will have to hold her
muzzel close as she struggles
for air. I shy from the day I will see
her deep keel still, her eyes haze, her
tail cease to move, her paws lie still.
I avoid the thought of where she
will lay down for the last time, or
where I will spread her ashes, or upon
which mantle I will keep her urn. I look
into her yellow eyes and vow to spend
more time tossing the ball, scratching her
ears, rubbing her near hairless belly. I know
that I will forget that silent promise until the
next medical emergency will remind
me that she was 69 on her last birthday.
limbs barely work now,
except one. Stumbles, falls–these
have left her as she is.
Mind stick quick, fingers nimble,
but the body betrays: Mom.
In a shocking revelation,
That has rocked the entire nation,
A wispy blue silk shard
Was found in the overgrown back yard
Of the notorious accused,
Just like the color that The Sacred Muse
Was wearing when she disappeared.
It confirms what we have feared,
Foul play out in the weeds,
Yet the sheriff now concedes,
That was the only clue
This reporter can tell you.
I read the headline grim.
The blue silk outside my shack.
I can’t recall however dim
Though all my brains I rack
Just how I made her die,
But of one thing I am sure
Before I could make you cry
Now, writer’s block I – we – endure.
In the meantime in this jail,
Fried Baloney and no bail.
Worries
The worries are real,
not figments of my imagination.
The worries are many,
too many to count.
The worries jostle and wrestle
to reach the top priority,
for some worries are stronger than others.
The worries align into categories:
work, family, personal,
local, national, global,
gaining strength in numbers.
The worries terrorize my thoughts,
would paralize my mind and stifle my existence;
But for laughter.
I WORRY (Prompt Day 5)
About a night visitor at
our front door and even if we refuse
To let him in, the thin stranger
With the sharp scythe will enter anyway,
Which frightens me though life’s ending
Inevitably comes to all of us
Whether we hide from Señor Muerte
On the dusty floor under the bed,
Inside the closet where our new clothes hang,
Up in the cobwebbed attic with
yesterday’s things, or we offer him our hand
And accompany the man down
or up myriad stairs to eternity
Somewhere. It doesn’t matter:
willing or not, we’re going one day
And that worries me because
I’ve grown accustomed to this life of mine,
Settled into the day-to-day
routine of breathing in and breathing out,
Accustomed to your being there,
Making my life worth holding onto
Because we love each other and swore once
When the man came to our door,
We’d club him with his scythe, stab him perhaps,
Send him stumbling back to Creep Town
Or somebody else’s house to steal folks
Away. It’s a worry of mine. A big worry.
Sometimes it keeps me up at night,
And then sometimes life makes me so weary,
Even death gets mentally swept under
The brain rug, so empty-headed,
The two of us snuggle, and fall asleep.
#
(C) 2008 Salvatore Buttaci
A RECORD OF APRIL 05, 2008 (Prompt Day 6)
In last night’s Dreamsville some lunatic
held me down and buried his sharp knife
multiple times into my flesh,
but I did not scream.
This morning when you woke me up,
I headed to the kitchen to
prick my finger so I could record
the first sugar reading of the day.
After a bowl of Cheerios,
I read the obits in the paper,
Finished the crossword puzzle,
And suggested a Saturday movie.
The other Boleyn, not Anne,
The other one, survived with her head
Intact. Moral? Take royal words lightly.
We stopped off to play a losing game of slots.
Who called? No one called in our absence.
I said it’s time to write a poem.
You picked up your Nintendo DS,
So both of us passed some quiet time.
Like every night, we’ll watch TV,
Complain about the dumb sitcoms,
Laugh anyway at dumb dialogue,
And close the night with nighttime news.
In bed we snuggle beneath sheets
And a blanket, review the day,
Say night prayers, kiss more than once,
Then, eyes shut, return to Dreamsville.
#
(C) 2008 Salvatore Buttaci
No real solutions
This world is growing colder
each day my child is growing older
I worry about the world we leave behind
I doubt many, have the next generation in mind
slowly we are eliminating the very air that we breath
yet, daily we cut down so many trees
All in the name of progress
we are losing sight of what we intended to achieve
Through deforestation
we are destroying the natural habitat of many
yet, without hesitation
We slash and burn to the very ground,
what will the wildlife do without the trees around
Extinction is now common place
some species gone without a trace
I worry about the pollution
Global warming, the fact that we really don’t have a solution
Rivers with warnings “Don’t eat the fish”
“Only eat one fish a month” “No swimming allowed”
if only I could have one wish
I would make a world of which my daughter could be proud
by doing away with Nuclear waste
Cleaning up emissions
and stepping up the recycling pace
I would make it my personal mission
to influence every political decision
so that this world would be a healthier place. . .
©Rodney C. Walmer 4/5/08 Poetry Prompt #5 Sorry, this one is not my best, but, I am
exhausted. I drove over 4 hundred miles between 3 pm on 4/4/08 and 3pm 4/5/08.
That feeling
in the pit of your stomach
gnawing from the inside out.
That weight
on your shoulders
pressing down, down,
shuffling through your day.
That welling
behind your eyes
as you blink back tears
and stare straight ahead
willing them not to spill.
That image
of everything that could be
or could have been
that won’t leave you alone,
that won’t go away,
that won’t let you go.
Worries.
A Teacher’s Running Record
Over fourteen years
I have kept five journals.
Two are black,
one is brown,
another denim blue and yellow,
embroidered with flowers
and the one I use now,
that is laying in my lap,
has a tiger print.
What they have in common, all,
are my neat columns of figures throughout–
more minuses than pluses
for rent, food, phone, student loans,
tuition, car insurance, credit cards, gas,
laundry, savings for
my son to go college,
just to name a few.
My journals are full of
finding ways to stretch
a teacher’s dollar–
overtime,
workshops that offer stipends,
and bypassed shopping trips.
The pants I am wearing
are pilled in the thighs.
One sock has a hole
and the treads in the soles of my sneakers
are flat.
My journals keep my worries from my son
who always
has a full belly and
clean clothes in his closet.
His computer is brand new
and his future securely in the bank.
I thank God for what we have
but I wonder
if I will ever
have a journal
free of worries.
Baby Bird
4/5/08
I didn’t want this for you.
A happy carefree childhood, friends, activities
You were my bedtime lawyer, my Lego architect
My astronaut among the stars
I wanted you free to follow your dreams
Wherever they might lead you
No obligations to hold you back
Responsibilities too heavy for you to bear
My fellow first born, I knew that fate
And so I strove to give you hope
To believe in your gifts, the strength of your mind
And tried to protect you from despair
Perhaps I tried too hard.
Just as I learned I had to let go
You had to find your own way
Walking the floor night after night
Not realizing your tears were release,
And not a sign of my failure…
I couldn’t stop the realities of life
From hitting you full force eventually.
And I wonder – did I do too much?
Did I strip you of the very tools I wished for you?
Or was my absence in the wake of my own crisis
A crippling blow that saddled you
With the same millstone of responsibility
That drowned my youth so many years before?
And as I see you buffeted by the same battles
And your spirit crushed by circumstance
I watch you plunging towards the dark earth
Beyond my reach, your own destiny to fulfill
And I stand by, heart in my throat
Pleading silently for you to fly
And wondering if it was my hand
That clipped your wings.
something wicked this way walks
haunting me
with widened eyes
full of false sincerity
raw lack of compassion
you steal from me
and walk away
saying aloud
‘i’m such a great guy’
when you trip
oh when you fall
down we go
you damn us all
Spiders
Spiders hide themselves
in silent spots deep
within the closet,
beneath the bed,
between the window
and the screen.
Spiders know
when you are asleep:
They are drawn
from their nests
by the sweet sound of a
little boy’s gentle breath.
They’re in the light
fixture above your head.
They guard the bathroom,
waiting for that midnight
visit made on your soft
bare feet in the dark.
Good little boys have
rooms free of spiders
and midnight venom.
Were you a good
little boy today?
I think not.
Elizabeth K. Keggi
For Franny – My Golden Retriever
I see her perfect,
golden beauty,
tussled, majestic,
and wonder,
did we breathe
without her here?
Did we sleep
without her
at our feet.
Her eyes,
hidden windows,
Nirvana gasps
from secret
corridors
within her.
Her tail,
wags of wonder,
universal dreams
and teems with wisdom,
ancient Buddha
caught within
her golden frame,
dispensing truth,
sacred laughter
in her breath.
And still,
I fret and worry,
how to live
without her joy,
a koan I’ll never
quite unravel
when she’s gone.
“Momma”
I worry she’ll come for me
Her face red with anger, spiteful words on her tongue,
Face slapping hands ready to go.
I am a woman, have kids of my own,
But I don’t sleep many nights
Without her and her anger
Telling my happy thoughts to go away
So that we can have a little talk, because I’m in big trouble.
‘what did I do?’
Belt
‘you know what you did!’
Belt
‘but I really don’t know!’
Belt
‘don’t you lie to me or I’ll whip you even harder!’
Belt
‘Please stop Momma, please!’
Belt
‘well now you’re going to get some more, move those hands!’
Belt,
Belt
Belt
The phone rings, I scan the display
Always hoping it’s not her number.
I get the mail, quickly shuffle through the contents,
Fearing I will see her handwriting on an envelope.
Sometimes in a store, I will hear a voice that sounds like hers.
I scan the room ready to run if she is behind me.
I worry a lot about seeing her again,
Facing her sour old hate filled eyes.
I worry if I will be able to stand in front of them
Without falling.
I am a mother with loves of my own
But I worry about the day,
The inevitable day
When I will have to see her again.
I worry it could be tomorrow
Or next week or maybe even next year.
I worry she may come for me with her belt swinging
Hateful words screaming
Over and over and over -
I worry it could be tonight.
I try not to worry
I try not to worry about the
little things
I don’t worry if my hair
looks good
I don’t worry if these jeans make me
look fat
I don’t worry about the milk I
just spilled
I am not worried if you like
this poem
I am not worried if you think I have
no talent
I am not worried whether you realize I’m doing this
for me
I am not worried if these poems reach beyond
this blog
I am worried
that my wife is not happy
I am worried
that I may not raise my children the way I want
I am worried
that I’ve stayed in my job longer than is healthy
I am worried
that I have squandered whatever talent I may have had
But
If my wife is unhappy
I’ll improve our life
If I make mistakes with my kids
I know I’m doing the best I can
If I let my job drag me down
I have the wrong attitude
If I let my talent wane
I can resuscitate it through practice and determination
So
Why worry?
I Cannot Change
I worry how the day will be, will someone talk to me.Will someone not be pleased with the job I have done. Will I get to see him today or is he avoiding me. I look out the window to see if he’s around. I worry that I have done something wrong the day before and he’s mad at me. I worry about things I can not change, the moods people are in. I just want everyone to like me and I worry if they don’t. I must of done something wrong and their mad at me. Its silly I know , but I can not change , for people that are around me control the way I am. I know it shouldn’t but its something I can not change.
Deadline
Looming, monstrous straight ahead
and bearing down on me,
a stark reminder of wasted time
with no sense of empathy,
no tolerance for excuses,
no concern for who’s to blame.
It only knows it must be met
to take that for which it came.
I must say your poem got me thinking about loss and all of the interesting things that come up when dealing with it. Good fodder for poetry that’s for sure.
So sorry for your loss. And Thanks for the PAD challenge.
It’s always some damn thing
My father’s favorite expression–which to me
Means, if you aren’t worried about one thing
Then you’re worried about another. The very minute
The pool vac is working great, then the filter stops up.
If you just got the house painted then the roof will
Start leaking, and if you figure the car will go another
X thousand miles because you got the oil changed,
You get a flat tire. It’s sometimes hard to live this way.
But consider the alternative.
Lyn Sedwick
Spring Morning
This is me and not me.
The bed holds my body like I weigh a ton,
but when I see me in the mirror I am a leaf.
The breakfast table offers up my medicine:
the pink one is a vitamin, the blue and gray
are happy pills, the white my Xanax.
For what is a day without sunshine?
Last night I drank too much wine,
though at the time it didn’t seem enough.
I am made of guilt. From every pore it drips,
the way my mother and ex-husbands taught it to.
Oh, look father, see how I am not all the things
you wanted in a daughter. I am shaking
while I stand here and the last drop of orange juice
dribbles down the sink.
Mornings are the hardest.
My sister isn’t here.
In her pajamas that I still wear, the elastic is getting loose
like I am, growing older, slackening around the middle.
Holding on. Letting go?
This is me and not me.
I wish I were the first bird of spring.
Tomorrow the news may bring something good.
The worry is there. What is wrong with me? What is it that needs to be done, and will it be enough? My Grandma said to me once, "You’re a worrier just like me."
"No I’m not." I argued.
"The hell you’re not. Just like your mother too; she worries herself sick."