Before I get into today’s prompt, I just want to touch base on the results of the April PAD Challenge. I mentioned aiming to have the results ready around the beginning of August, but it’s more likely going to be the beginning of September (now that we’re half-way through August). With that in mind, let’s get to this week’s prompt.
For today’s prompt, write a change of plans poem. The change of plans can be a good change or a horrible change. It can be prompted by the weather or a person (or group of people). Everyone’s been there, right?
Here’s my attempt:
“We missed the bus”
We missed the bus
but didn’t cuss
or start to fuss,
and it’s because
of our plan B
to hike, you see,
up to our knees
through the grassy
fields all the day
reserved for play
and making hay
the happy way.
*****
Follow me on Twitter @robertleebrewer
*****
Breathe life into your characters!
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Change of Plans
by Juanita Lewison-Snyder
Parking lot, half acre
empty on a Monday afternoon,
yet you insist sidling up
next to my faithful Corolla,
kissing my back bumper with
your old beat-up Isuzu,
pitching the poor girl
forward ever so slight.
OMG, Really?
Really?!
I rip the seatbelt off me
and heave the door open
loaded for bear
while he backs up, then
tries again, this time
without contact.
Inside his cab
an old arthritic dog
with a tear-stained face
stares back sympathetically.
Once parked, the driver
hesitates at first,
out of fear or indifference
then slowly lumbers out
while I fume somewhere in the
vicinity of my rear bumper.
Short and stooped over
he is thin as a rail,
white whiskered face
masking contriteness,
or is it depression?
“I am truly sorry,” he says
clutching his cap,
slight accent to the voice.
I am taken aback momentarily,
then alarmed when he speaks
for here staring back are my
father’s eyes, tired and pensive
at a crossroads struggling with
vision, judgement, memories.
His clothes are clean but patched,
much like my father’s, mended
lovingly at home perhaps by a
woman sharing the same worries
about finding work at his age.
My frustration suddenly jams
like a bullet sideways in a chamber,
nearly bringing me to tears.
Instead of ripping this man’s
lungs out, I find I’m now
stifling an urge to reach out
and clasp his shoulder,
pat his hands, promise
everything will be ok.
I want to pull out a card deck
and go a few rounds of pinochle,
shoot the breeze and
hand out tools as he works,
argue the finer merits of
Piper Cubs vs Cessnas,
Kenworths vs Peterbuilts,
Allis Chalmers vs John Deere;
all flashes of my father
years ago before the
Alzheimer’s stole him away.
So instead, I downplay
the minor damage and
let him go with a promise
to next time be more careful.
© 2012 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder
In honor of Planny
I made a plan
A plan to change
I needed a plan to plan this change
I thought and prayed and planned to plan
Ah hah! I had it! A plan to change
But then there was a change in plans
The Best Laid Plans
I followed the rules
and planned it all out
There was one path
I had no doubt
I plodded along
Kept my head down
Thinking I wore a smile
But really I wore a frown
I pulled the weight
It was the right thing to do
But my plan was not for one
It involved two
The weight got so heavy
And hair was in my eyes
I swept it away
And then saw the lies
You placed boulders in my way
You dug holes to make me fall
But I built a new road
That you could not travel at all
And it led to somewhere better
Or maybe even great
And sometimes plans change
But lead you to your fate
Somehow, last week’s five words made it into the chorus of the following… coincidence? Left over scribbling?
You be the judge…
: )
————————————————–
I DON’T THINK SHE KNOWS
(WHAT IT IS SHE WANTS TO DO)
Gonna wrap myself around a bargain bottle,
Can’t bear the change she’s tryin’ to put me through,
It’s like one foot’s on the brake,
And the other one’s on the throttle,
I don’t think she knows what it is she wants to do.
I never thought I’d ever leave Nebraska;
I never dreamed I’d sail upon the sea.
I never hoped to set foot in Alaska;
I never saw her make a fool of me.
So I’m gonna wrap myself around a bargain bottle,
Can’t bear the change she’s tryin’ to put me through;
It’s like one foot’s on the brake,
And the other one’s on the throttle,
I don’t think she knows what it is she wants to do.
Summer-time’s always hot here in the Valley,
In the winter-time those wicked winds blow cold;
She’s about as warm as a woman ever could be,
And about as easy as that old wind to hold.
So I’m gonna wrap myself around a bargain bottle,
Can’t bear the change she’s tryin’ to put me through;
It’s like one foot’s on the brake,
And the other one’s on the throttle;
I don’t think she knows what it is she wants to do.
Yeah, I know she doesn’t know what she wants to do.
Wow! Got a tune for this one? Bravo, tunesmiff!!
Working on one (among others… )
I can hear… it’s just the getting it to come out at the fingertips that’s the challenge…
And thanks for your kind words… they mean more’n you know…
: )
g
Detour
The prelude came
as insidious rain
gently washing away
the sailing trip.
Instead, we drove
up the mountain,
following a tinny tip
from a nicked, bent
realtor’s sign;
the metal split
and worn.
Amid drifts of gold grass
that waved and bowed,
we stretched our limbs.
The trees were tinted
red and gold,
vivid against the cold grey sky.
Your eyes glowed
as we fixed ourselves
to this land.
Outstanding. Your imagery speaks, Annette.
Morning Sun
Morning
sun wakes me. Filled
with thoughts of the beach, I
suit up and open the door to
cold rain.
Bummer!
… and good job of expressing the opposition with title and final line.
i’m late! http://myheartslovesongs.com/2012/08/19/dream-catcher/
title: Dream Catcher
form: haibun
The sickly sweet aroma of summer’s fruits gone over-ripe sent me wandering back… reminding me of a fervid summer day that was the last time I could claim my life as my own.
It was the final year of The Thirty Year Drought. Of course, no one knew then that the rains would return in a matter of weeks. The crops weren’t worth harvesting and the hard, shriveled fruits were left to rot on the vines. The heavy perfume of the grotesque vegetation was so thick I could see it ~ a blue haze that insinuated itself into the dust that was everywhere.
Both my parents took the day work they could find in town, insisting that I stay on the farm to protect what little of value was left. Though only fifteen, I’d gotten damn good with the old pump-action shotgun. Stupid fucking men thinking I was just a piece of ass they could enjoy before they stripped our place clean of whatever they could eat, drink or carry off. None of the neighbors cared how we kept our pigs fed as long as we shared the meat whenever we slaughtered one.
I hoped that helping others to survive would spare me from eternal damnation but, with every life I took, I felt my future dying as the Earth died all around me. I spent my days sitting on the front porch waiting for the marauders, shotgun hidden in the folds of my skirt, decorating grapevine hoops with felt from our one remaining sheep, as well as found feathers and pretty stones. I hung them all along the porch eaves.
I’d taken to watching a spider spinning its webs inside the hoops, one after another. By the time the spider had wound the last thread, it no longer seemed strange to me that he had started at one end and moved, hoop by hoop, to the opposite end of the porch. I wasn’t at all surprised when the wise-looking spider spoke to me.
“I have brought you an opportunity to help Humankind and the Earth” he whispered, “if you have the courage to devote yourself to their needs.” “What would I have to do?” I asked hesitantly.
“Between the two of us, we have created dream catchers which hold the destiny of the future within them. They will only work if the People believe in the Great Spirit and in the power of the dream catchers. You must go to each Human and speak to them when they are sleeping, giving them the faith they are lacking. Leave a dream catcher hanging above their bed so that it may filter their good ideas, dreams and visions to them while they slumber. The bad ones will be trapped and will not pass. In this way, they will discover the actions that need to be taken to heal the Earth and bring balance to all Life.”
I could not refuse the honour of being chosen for such an important task. It did not take long for Humans to begin to solve the problems of the world. A way to seed clouds to make rain was working in less than a month; new farming techniques were developed which helped to feed everyone. With their newfound faith, violence ceased. All of the deadly sins were vanquished. Those with material goods shared. Those with knowledge taught. Those with hearts full of love and compassion cared for those who were unable to care for themselves. Life flourished as others began to spread the Faith we all need to have in ourselves to succeed.
The spider and I continue to make dream catchers to deliver around the world. His companionship is a treasure I truly cherish.
•
Working together
Gives individuals strength
United we thrive
“Heart,” have you thought of writing short stories for a middle grade / teen audience? You’d have to clean up the language, of course, but this would otherwise sell easily, I believe.
Great work!
I planned that this would scan.
I was going to be a writer,
wear starched blouses,
tippy tap on typewriters
all day long and all night too.
I was going to be a wife,
nicely pressed cotton aprons,
corporate entertaining,
scrubbed shiny children
and a man who
swept out to work at seven thirty sharp,
breezed back in at six
to a poured drink of something
and here’s where it all goes wrong.
Because I never worked out what was what
as far as booze is concerned.
I don’t know a Manhattan from a hole in the wall
and typewriters have turned
into something ancient and historical
and the clothes were allegorical
but I can state quite categorical
they were words to someone else’s song.
But I am a writer – not the starchy sort.
I am a wife – hard pressed and short
on supplies of shiny eager kids;
I squeezed out just one of a kind
and I’m glad I did.
And I learned through the years that all plans are a joke,
they take ages to construct and then just go up in smoke.
Michele Brenton 18th August 2012
This is delightful!
Change of plans-
Today I decided to wear, red
To burn away my passionate dread
And black, decided to hold its hand
With a mysterious flair and a deathly band
The blue scarf draped around my neck
Absorbed some rhythm of un- timely breath
And Nature’s green, just made its way
Of course he had to save the day!
It wove into my braid so tight
With a built-in crown of pure delight
My gray shoes had somewhere to go
They just frowned on the dread, and faded its glow
I thought my day was waterlogged
But the bright golden sun had found a spot
My plans still stayed the same you see
What simply changed was, How, I see—
They say all roads will take you there
So just get up and dress with care
PriyA Jane
“One travels more usefully when alone, because he reflects more.” – Thomas Jefferson
Traveling Light
I am only alone
without the comfort of grief
or warmth of bitter passions
There is still pain
a quiet grain of sand that
refuses to become more
An opening of hibernating
thoughts harvested by solitude
into a present I cannot ignore
This is profound and very nice Catherine; I didn’t see it until today but am glad I circled back to do some reading.
Thanks, Sharon! Travelling alone was a profound experience for me.
This is beautiful , shimmering and yes profound
I kind of got confused and thought we missed the bus was the prompt. Doh! Anyway it still goes.
Red’s Rebellion
“We missed the bus!” She said,
her little red head sister in tow,
pulling against, tugging the hand,
her saying she “wouldn’t go”
Tell me what’s wrong my girl?
I asked, wondering about the fuss.
She just stamped her feet
in response, no she wouldn’t budge.
Her older sister leaned to me,
to give me a hint of the trouble.
Some kids made fun of her,
fun of her hair and freckles.
I held and stroked her red hair,
Don’t listen to them, I told her.
They don’t know what’s beautiful,
one day they’ll be green with envy.
Really? Her head tilted in doubt.
Cross my heart and hope to die,
I swore to her, an ex made on my chest.
To me you’re a cut above the rest.
I smiled to her, broad and full of love,
it was easy for me, she truly was the best…
Her smile returned with the words,
she would go now, there would no further test.
“I returned, and saw under the sun, that the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, neither yet bread to the wise, nor yet riches to men of understanding, nor yet favour to men of skill; but time and chance happeneth to them all.” (Ecclesiastes 9:11 KJV)
*Plans*
It doesn’t matter
What we plan.
Time and chance happens
To every man.
I lay my day out
With such care
And find my planning
Leads nowhere.
But the unexpected,
While sometimes tragic
Or just irritating
Is other times magic
Leading down
A sparkling path
That it’s best to follow
With a smile and a laugh.
She beautifully glanced towards me and to my delight, I was once afraid of heights and now I’ll travel with you by night. To our little camp located in a random location in the woods. Where we’d meet up to justify our behavior during the day, mentoring each other so that we could remain sane. Lovely night isn’t it, I said to her as I slowly passed her Jane. Laying on our backs, looking peacefully at the sky. Trying to just catch a single glimpse of her out the corners of my eyes. Peering through the tree branches that gave an outlining to the sky. As if it was drawn comparable to a cartoon, being outlined by some guy. Peace is all that we had seeked, and it’s all the we so coherently received. Untill time gave way and our eyes began to stray. Into the back of our heads as our eye lids started to enclose the world around us. To be awoken at the earliest of times the next day by a metro transit bus. Our fire had gone out and so did all of our millions of friends in the sky. Too soon, and now we Must rendezvous at an other time. Set the date and bring your most valuable chest; your mind.
the form, a “L’Arora” – on offer over at Poetic Bloomings today … thought I might try combining the prompts …
Funny the Way
Funny the way
things can change
quick as a whisper
A carefully plotted
itinerary complete with maps,
routes, and hotels
booked, when – a call from home
and it’s off, oh well
Trip interruption
insurance covers the cost
and a savvy travel
agent makes
all the arrangements
Now it’s just the rushing;
try not to worry, you’ll
be on time, keep hushing
The millions of things
to be done zinging
through your mind
Settle into your seat
Prepare for take-off
Reset your watch,
forget it’s a nine hour flight
Just watch movies, read
while winging through the night
There’s a shock accompanying
the sudden change
of plans; it’s worse than
jet lag you’re realizing
as the minutes tick by
and discombobulation
sets in the farther you fly
You keep nodding off
waking up and wondering, why?
Super job combining the prompts!!
The Key
“It will not do to leave a live dragon out of your plans if you live near one.” ~J.R.R. Tolkien
I made some plans. They did not take
into consideration, Jake –
a dragon. He lives nearby me.
I’ll change my plans. Friends. That’s the key.
We’re pals, just like the dragon Puff
and little Jackie Paper. ‘Nuff
said about this. Now, let me see…
I’ll change my plans. Friends. That’s the key.
So, Jake, what is it dragons like
to do in summer? Take a hike?
Invite a damsel for sweet tea?
I’ll change my plans. Friends. That’s the key.
Are knights the thing you want to fight?
Come on! We’ll go and fly a kite!
You swim or hula? Water ski?
I’ll change my plans. Friends. That’s the key.
Aha, I see! Well let’s sit and
just dig our claws deep in the sand.
A simple day. Some sun and sea.
I’ve changed my plans. Friends. That’s the key.
###
SUPER CUTE!!
unexpected drive
and the flood gates opened
buried in the rain
New Day Dawning
She is my firstborn.
Her name in Latin means
“Bright as Day.”
Apropos – with her bright eyes,
Clever mind, disarming smile.
I used to rock her and sing
You Are My Sunshine.
Never does a mother plan
For shadows to be cast.
But schizophrenia had other plans.
In dark of night,
A mother pleads
For another change of plans.
Oh, Marie . . . heartbreaking. Beautiful.
Marie, this tears at me. This is a sad change in plans, indeed. At least she has a wonderful mother.
Thank you so much, gals. You both warm my heart.
CHANGE OF PLANS
(a shadorma)
I have stayed
on the beaten path
for too long
without much
substance; internal pressures
nudge me back in place.
2012-08-16
P. Wanken
Powerball tickets bought and paid for
Everything is paid off
Bought a new house
Didn’t win
Nothing changes
Press any key to continue
Clever!
Well, but then you would have the responsibility of a new house, where you can’t just press any key.
Love this.
What Happens
Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.
- John Lennon, “Beautiful Boy”
He was singing to his five-year-old son,
and about how he got a second chance
at happiness as a house-husband,
a stay-at-home dad. He didn’t really miss
the fame, trading it for something
that always eluded him – a happy home life.
When he used to play to thousands
of screaming girls, he never imagined
he’d be in this place now, at forty.
He’d taken five years off, but now his muse
was rekindled – he was writing again,
and perhaps he was whistling a new tune
when he and Yoko returned to their apartment
on that dark December evening,
while a young man waited for him
outside with a gun.
I remember that day and still wonder what could have been.
Wow.
wow, indeed
Exquisite, evocative, brought it all rushing back ,
I failed
to hang on tight
to my end
and the knot
untied
A lot said with few words. Very nice.
Amen.
Woman
Here is your dress, Sunday’s best
Before you leave, fix your weave
Wash your brother’s clothes, clean his nose
Prepare his dinner, you should be thinner
I prefer pants, and break dance
I’ll fix up my afro, without having to sew
I’m not a caretaker, nor child-maker
He can feed himself, I’ll maintain my health
Maryland shore, 1987
Taking a break from driving all day,
we walk around a small fishing village.
You are chatty and ask me where
I see myself in five years, doing what,
living where, loving whom.
The friendly moment makes me honest.
I don’t make plans exactly, and so I have
no idea where, what, who, or why.
I trust some slippery universal goodness
to steer me, tutor me, break and heal me.
Your anger shames me, suggests that
that is why I’ve been doing the same thing
for five years. I look back briefly
to determine if you’re right. Have I been
happily stagnating ? I haven’t felt bored.
I have been a teacher all that time, true,
different courses, different students,
writing, directing theater, graduate school.
Why haven’t I planned for success better?
What’s wrong with me, wasting myself like this?
I need to learn to make plans so I’ll know
when they change so I’ll be able to monitor
my stress so I can be disappointed with my life
and more like you, a realist, you say.
I’m troubled by the way this conversation
has turned on me, morphing from friendly
to unkind, but I’m making some plans already
as we walk back to the car. I plan to drop you
in Virginia on the way home and play loud music
with the windows down all the way home.
lol yes!!!!!!!!! I love it
You looked at me like I was a lost little child.
Of course I wanted to pick things up
where we left off; where else would
I want to be but on a path towards
some place that I knew harbored
some great, mysterious treasure?
My romantic delusions had led me astray.
Wanting one gift upon your return, expecting
another, having my realistic expectations
realized and receiving a metaphorical lump
of coal left me introspective, investigative,
wondering just what had gone wrong.
That lump of coal, it’s lodged in my throat now.
Five months can be a lifetime, and so
they were. Now, things are different
but you’re still beautiful and I’m still
me and, though I’d like to think that
I want you more than ever, I don’t.
A few words from a friend can remind
you of the mistakes you made in the
past. Learning from errors from another
era has enticed the differences of lust
and love out of their dust-covered lockboxes,
stored in the alcoves of my mind.
Tadpoles
She watched each morning
at the shallow pond at the
end of the street
the tadpoles
flashing in the early
sun deep black
commas marking
the water with
parenthetical expressions
until one morning
they were gone
leaving not even
one declarative sentence
of explanation
That was ribbeting! But seriously, nicely done!
Very Cute
What a charming story, Dr. P.
The Merry-Go-Round *
Why is it people always sit down
At the rush of oncoming bad news
She thought as she folded onto the
The top step and clicked accept
And slumped against the wall
But, it was not!
What they thought
It was
She exhaled
And her mother
And she laughed
Like crazy people
Flooded with relief
That dripped between
Her breasts and down
Her back
Later on the way to visit him
She stopped at a café
For espresso in a tiny heavy cup
And cheesecake
Savored each morsel and sip
In the bright sunshine
Watched two lovers kiss
That night finally she
Slept, deep and dreamless
Until the phone chirped
Cheerily in the morning
And she with a lingering
Smile answered as her
Mother sobbing
Titled the world on its
Axis
And she under
The sunslanted duvet
With no wall to slump
Jumped straight up
And stood
As a childhood carousel
Whirled around her
The horses frozen mouths
Open – as a calliope cackled
*************************
****ARGGH! when will I learn not to type straight into this box – only to have everything disappear??!!!
Well here it is again as best as I can recall…
I don’t anyone who makes more “plans” for her future than a debutante. Right? Well, perhaps the debutante’s mother.
Casanova
He pledged devotion, deep red
as my father’s Crape myrtle blossoms,
and I believed
in passion green and succulent,
burgeoning, ripening…
ravishing beneath Charleston’s
starry midnight sky.
I heeded not
the old matrons’ warnings
of wooing arms, bewitching lips,
of whispered promises
like Lagerstroemia’s fruit,
blackening, drying, splitting
at the end of an expectant
debutante’s St. Cecilia season.
by Margaret Bednar, August 15, 2012
The rain is falling, on the ground
and the jellyfish dance in the incoming tide
They don’t know it’s a safe day to swim
They don’t know the speed boats and daredevil teens
Won’t rupture their journey
They plunge away, like they always have
This prompt just happened to be timed perfectly. Tomorrow may bring a huge change of plans… http://hopefuljo.wordpress.com/2012/08/15/365-creativity-project-day-219/
DYNAMO
for the new puppy
At first light, she vaults onto the pillow –
no easy landing. “Wake up!”
She never learned to puppy-pile,
cuddle comfort against a mother’s belly.
She’s all angles – elbow, hock,
shoulder-blade knocking against your
sleep. Machine of intricately
meshed gears on a drive-train spine.
Pure energy and moving parts.
You wake up cursing her knuckle
in your eye. Nothing in your life is safe
now. She roughs the cat and rags
the old dog, she rearranges the living
room. And then she unwinds
in a flash, on her back before me
for a tummy-rub, her tongue a flick
of love against my hand. Then
up and running, she’s a constant change
of plan. Shall I ever discover the sweet
puppy wrapped in a steel spring?
Very nice! I have a 7-year old, 75 pound german shepherd that acts like that puppy
Going Back
So much intent,
Great plans for future
Realities grand and far-reaching;
One small glitch unravels
All, forcing retreat,
Beginning again.
Never mind. I see now. Hang in there, my friend!
Purposeful Schedule Change
The arrangement was for furniture pick-up
During a bright sunny-skied afternoon,
With plans for shopping along the way.
A small thing forgotten and a return home
Left us harried as we reached that turning point
Once more and met with a countesy’s delay.
To turn around again left us in a ditch,
Waiting for rescue from hurry’s distraction,
Only to go home empty-handed for the day.
Coincidence had it that delay saved us
From pain and injury due to train derailment
Should we have arrived at our scheduled time.
Sleeping In
I didn’t expect
to be so tired
this morning
on my day off from work,
but I hit the snooze alarm
once again,
and another nine minutes feels so good,
slumbering in dreams
or finding new ones,
dulled anticipation,
plans must be delayed.
My Last Broken Heart
I could call it a failed reconciliation—
that last time my heart was broken.
I told myself I shouldn’t have run
back to answer the phone. Maybe
he’d have had a change of heart,
put on a tie, showed up to meet
my parents, there for my big day.
Instead, already wearing my gown,
the mortarboard still tucked
under my arm, the tassel still safe
inside a plastic bag, I’d caught it
on the sixth ring. He wasn’t coming.
It wasn’t going to work out, he said.
Nothing more. And so, foregoing
celebration, without dinners or drinks,
I’d packed up and left that town
for the last time, headed back home–
where I met you—on a morning
when I had planned to be miles away.
There you were, ready to make sure
that no one ever broke my heart again.
Oh, Nancy … once again so beautifully penned, tells a complete story, and you take us from tears to smiles. Well done! And so glad it worked out as it did.
So beautiful, Nancy.
love it, Nancy.
Unexpected Change of Plans (double shadorma)
Heading to caverns,
a long ride,
heavy rain.
The caverns are never closed,
except when flooded
which they were that day.
Back to car;
what to do?
Movie theater on dry land,
Pink Panther on hand.
4 Years, 8 Months Ago
The click-clack of 12 heels on the hospital
corridor grew louder when my sister pointed
at the surgeon: “There is Papi’s new doctor. ”
Fallen thoughts had been gossiping:
“hospice; not much time; morphine; heart
disease”, like nosy neighbors round the gate
of my heart. I placed my hand on the left
side of my chest to bid the stupid mob
to quiet down. Papi’s old cardiologist:
a colt with circles under his brown eyes,
assured us one week prior that his diagnosis
was solid. The click-clack stopped. I
looked toward a window that simmered in
the offbeat wave of summer in January.
But inside, a chill, too quirky to label
cold, roamed around my hands and feet.
The voice of the green-eyed surgeon had
been knocking on my eardrums trying to
get in their court. He was facing Mami.
“I’m hopeful the double by-pass will add
5 years to your husband’s life.
He’s strong enough.”
I love the word hope. Hope lit a few
of my unemployed candles. Like sticky
notes, I attached the bright yellow
prognosis over hissing notions of death.
This too, Marianne – like a one-two punch yours and Marian’s. Thanks for sharing this.
Yes, what they say about “great minds!” You have some great images – “nosy neighbors at the gate” & “bright yellow prognosis”.
Even in the midst of celebration
Even here, in the antiseptic corridor lurk
The auras of pain. Even now with
Trays of nourishment from the cafeteria
Distuised as a gourmet delight, adding to
The simple struggle of life and death.
Even if someone would open a door here
Or a window, in this place the very air
Carries a scent of the sea, a nudge to the slipping
Away souls to remember.
My memory stiffens as the wind off the sea
Adds to the smell of street-vender burritos
How content, how satified, you and me
simply walking through the place
where sand trickles into our huaraches
As I enter your room a fanfare of trumpets
From the handsome young men dressed as
Vaqueros. You are wrapped in white linen
The next line is lost as I pick up your hand
You sleep. Do you dream of our almost honeymoon?
The crowded streets and the driver who drove
Too fast? Your sudden, stupid step off the sand,
And I am alone after our wedding in a strange land
While you linger in an even stranger place.?
No, I will make the terrible phone calls but not until
The doctors return and I will have something hopeful
To tell them. A shock and none of us are ever prepared,
But they have promised me a room and a bed and I will
Try to dream of a happier ending..
The similarity between your poem and mine drew me far into yours.
The emotion was not pulled in too close yet it was there for the taking.
Good reach, good poem, Marianv.
Btw, my mom’s name is Marianne.
Wow… Thanks for sharing this – it gave me such chills.
Wow… Thanks for sharing this Marian.
I hope there was a happy ending.
This poem sent icy shivers traveling. Just wonderful.
“The diary of a part-time student”
It’s a dumb book
for someone who reads
Russian History until 3 a.m.
but the school requires a project
and he has mastered the art of
procrastination from the best.
So, we cut our Yooper trip short
a day so he could read the silly
book and complete
the summer assignment before the bus
picks him up at 6:44 a.m. tomorrow
but now I can catch up all on my
poetry prompts.
Red Hot Chili Peppers
We had good tickets
and we brought money
for souvenirs
and snacks
if necessary
but for some reason
I forgot my migraine medicine,
simply not thinking
for one moment.
The migraine aura began as
we walked toward our seats.
With a slightly panicky
look, my partner knew
something was wrong.
Home (and a dark room)
felt wonderful
but I always felt
so guilty
for my illness,
wrecking our plans
again.
Diana Terrill Clark
Oh, I really hate when this happens.
I know exactly what you mean.
SATURDAYS
It seemed to be so right
to chase those baubles bright
to eat our fill and try our skill
and have an awesome day
and chase the work and worries and stress far far away
But here she is our fabulous day free at last to go and play
And here we are and here we stay keeping this bed warm all the day.
Ah, perfect! Love this!
A Moment
It was a fine sermon,
third in a series entitled
“To Be Continued Moments.”
“That was my last,”
he said to a shocked congregation.
To be continued…
Really like this.
First Date
I slip on
my black lacy thong
but rolls of
lumpy fat
make me change my plans and don
my Bridget Jones pants.
LOL You mean the scary pants? I have some of those. ^_^
I have those in XXL!
Lollipops and lemon drops
plopped off his lap, pop-
corn spilled on the sticky
ICKY floor. Pre-previews
still rolling, he peered
at his mom with pleading
eyes, palm outstretched.
“Puh-leaze?” Of course.
oops… Title: “More Money, Please”
LOL. Like David Copperfield, with his empty bowl and those yearning eyes…
“Please, sir, my I have some more?”
Too Late to Plan Ahead
So I’m writing the novel,
characters lined up,
plot laid out and
as I go,
the restless characters
rebel.
They seize the plot,
twist it beyond
recognition
and demand
the changes be made.
And they’re good,
better than I
could have dreamed up
alone.
And part of me wonders
how these,
my alter egos,
my creations,
my fairy-dust spun ideas
made of thin air and resolution
have managed to
wrest control from me
so neatly.
Diana Terrill Clark
I can relate!
Good one.
How fun is this! ? I love this creativity.
This is so true. Great use of the prompt, Diana.
KNOWING YOU’RE ALIVE
You lone it through the streets
as if heedless to old men asleep in doorways,
a rustle of who knows what
behind the dumpster; dark beyond the last
streetlight that never puts a period
to speculation.
Born a free spirit – but you grew up
tutored by this world.
And so, instead of flying, you
walk the streets and alleys, the junkyards,
stockyards, projects abandoned
to the night. Alone.
Are you pacing out mankind’s centuries
of misery? Joan of Arc; Lieutenant
Mercy presiding over the pits, the rifle-shots.
Or is it just the nightly itch of stars
that keeps you walking, shooting
stars at the edge of vision?
Men Make Plans, God Laughs
They planned to live together
for a few years,
traveling,
staying at hostels,
seeing the wide world
and then
one morning
she realized she had a touch of
morning sickness
and their plans changed.
So they decided to
get married, and keep
the baby
because having just one child
could still fit into
their life vision
and plans
and then
one day,
during the doctor’s visit,
they realized they were having
triplets
and their plans changed.
So they bought three cribs
and a triple stroller
and painted the bedroom
white and yellow and green
and decided to
just
go with the flow.
Diana Terrill Clark
The fickle flailings (and failings) of a fibrillating heart.
Start the day clacking black
keys or penning these
filmy phrases onto beating
breeze. Find a way to wrap
word roots in ribbon or lace
or some trace of silly string,
some anything that will make
them stay. Tie (try) knots, bends,
hitches, splices, seizings, hold
loose reasonings and reckonings
at bay. Make loops and long
strappy reins of tired veins that
no longer flow the right way. Grow
stronger, hold finger and thumb
to rhythmic thumpthumpthump,
then jump
(change of heart:
change your
mind.)
Let them float away.
.
Just lovely, De. I love this.
This is great, De!
Happily ever after sounded nice,
giving life a fresh new look.
Gladly ever after would suffice,
but cancer never read the book!
© Walt Wojtanik – 2012
This really is a wonderful response to the promt.
You hit the nail on the head with this one.
Happy back-to-school to all…
Show and Tell
I was excited
to show my dog leash – but then
Jeff talked all about
Disneyland. So I just said
I forgot my stuff at home.
I remember that feeling, Andrew… Thanks for bringing back my childhood!
Powerful Brevity… yet SO much felt! I loved this
I remember that feeling.
LEAD MINE, SWALEDALE
This hole is a clean wound
in the hill’s skull. Turf
whiskers the rim, bedding
stitchwort and herb robert.
Wordless, I hang over
the broken wall, staring
into the bleak null
that is deep space
trapped. You lean out
like a gargoyle, poised,
gripping a stone.
Suddenly you shift
like a sleeper woken.
The stone slips from
your grip, turns once,
pedalling the air, then
drops dead straight
down the shaft.
We share the steep rush,
falling with the stone,
sucking air until silence
catches up our breathing.
Only the broad voice
of the moorland wind
at our backs, talking
with the gorse.
And then, from the gullet
of the earth, at the edge
of hearing, a chuckle,
deep and rich, coital,
celebrating congress, stone
on stone in a secret place.
Echo into stillness.
Changed and wordless, we scatter
down the hill, tuft
to tuft, heading for home.
I LOVE this! So many of the phrases caught me — “you lean out like a gargoyle, poised” and “the broad voice of the moorland wind . . . talking with the gorse,” and “from the gullet of the earth.”
Got chills!!
Beautifully written, Dick!
Beautiful!
Wonderful writing!
TRAFFIC JAM
Raleigh to Buffalo in eleven and a half,
that was the plan; designated and approved.
A noon departure, destined to render us home
near its midnight counterpart. My heart
wasn’t in for the drive, but I strive to follow
an itinerary that felt hollow and vacant.
Down the on-ramp to the highway,
I stay five mph above the limit making up
minutes; false victory in an age old story.
No glory on a Sunday afternoon. I swoon
as I watch the traffic thicken, and it sickens me
to see red brake lights illuminated,
making me irritated and disgusted.
I trusted my GPS to bring us home,
but I come to a complete halt.
Fifteen mile back-up and hours
in arrears. My greatest of fears
is realized. A desperate maneuver
from the center lane to find an exit.
Closer to “come from” than “near home”
we return to the accommodations to wait
for the early morning “night” to restart our flight
to the promise land and a warm familiar bed.
Can’t wait to rest my head. If I can only keep
my eyes from making me fall asleep.
A change of plans; not in my hands.
I hate when that happens, but I love your poem…
Where he lies
Past out
Letting out a shout
Scared deep with in
Not knowing where he will sleep
Or find his gin
Sleeping underneath
An apartment block
Sheltered from the world
Not knowing the time
Has no clock
As life goes on
All around him
Others look on
Feeling sorry for him
As he wonders around
In the still of the night
Looking for food
To fill his hunger
Not wanting to give
Into his fight
Rubbing his worn tired eyes
This is a man in disguise
Running from who he once was
Now unable to provide
The life he once had
As he soaks up the sun
People can look
And judge him where he lays
But knowing this could happen
To anyone anyday
Sometimes in life
Circumstances come about
Some we can control
Some can take us out
Trying to understand him
As he spoke his gentle words
While watching people walk past
Free as flying birds
This is where he stays
This is where he lays
This is his home tonight
Who are we to judge his life
Who are we to judge his life.
Lovely, Ber.
Sad and true.
This is wonderful, and thought-provoking.
Thanks everyone for your lovely comments this was inspired by a man i seen lying under apartment block last week. Made me stand back and think who are we to judge.
“The taste is of Raspberry Sour Cream Pastries”
Not looking where I’m going,
I step on a patch of frozen time
and slip,
falling into a memory,
hitting my head
hard
on the sidewalk in Kalamazoo,
which must look like I remember
as memory cannot allow
for change.
I stand
and enter a world,
foreign to this version of myself
and wonder,
as always,
how has time
done this.
WOWEEEE …. I virtually ( no pun here!) never read first…. You caught my eye…OH MY! One of your best….will stay with me …. Stunningly lovely -authentically human – gorgeous
Jerry, this is just beautiful. This in particular hooks my heart:
“which must look like I remember
as memory cannot allow
for change.”
This is fantastic, Jerry!
Outstanding!
Just when I think you can’t possibly top your last …
Thanks Pearl, Diana, De, JW and Marie. This one came about after I stumbled upon an article about the bakery I worked at in Kalamazoo in the mid 80′s. It had burned down in February. The Raspberry Sour Cream pastries were wonderful
Jerry, this one caught me immediately. The whole idea of not being able to change a memory is sitting in my brain . . . well, at least as long as I keep remembering it!