For today’s poetry prompt, write an answer poem. That is, imagine a question (or think of a question you’ve been asked recently) and use your poem to answer that question.
Here’s my attempt:
“Where are you now?”
I’m lost in the line
breaks, creeping among
the metaphors,
dancing with reason,
and trying to capture
the moment…
*****
Follow me on Twitter @robertleebrewer
*****
Learn how to master the most important moments in your stories.
feral cats
by juanita lewison-snyder
where are my feral cats?
they’re usually here every morning,
their scared but hungry faces hunkered down at my back door
knowing food and sympathy need be only minutes away,
well worth the inconvenience of wind & rain
and perhaps a touch of humbleness
to fill these otherwise clean but
empty bowls.
© 2012 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder
THIS IS HOW YOU LOSE HER
G. Smith (BMI)
———————————————
At the far end of the bar,
Half-watching the playoff game,
Sits a guy who comes in most nights,
(I ought to know his name).
He only orders up a beer;
He rarely drinks it all,
And he always nods on his way out,
As I close up at last call.
One evening here, I think last week,
Things were pretty slow;
So I struck up a conversation,
Not tryin’ to pry, you know.
I found out that he lived alone,
Though that hadn’t always been the case,
When I asked him what had happened,
A sad smile crossed his face.
And he said,
“This is how you loser her:
A little at a time,
Through silly little simple things,
Without reason; without rhyme.
Come home late, forget to call,
Spend Saturdays watching college ball.
Too much golf; too much fishin’,
Too much pretending that you listen.
Nights out with the boys, though you’re not a boozer;
Follow these steps, and,
This is how you lose her.”
Well I screwed up my courage,
As I unscrewed a cap,
(He’d rather have a long neck
Than what I have on tap).
And I asked if there was anything else,
That he’d be willing to share;
Well he looked into his fresh-filled glass,
And found this answer there.
He said,
“This is how you loser her,
A little at a time,
Through silly little simple things,
Without reason; without rhyme.
Forget to say I love you, or good night,
Or make up after a nasty fight,
Or insist that you are always right,
Or fail to hold her good and tight.
You don’t have to be an abuser…
Just follow these steps, and,
This is how you lose her.
“The little things become big things,
And the next thing that you know,
There’s a tear in her eye as she says good-bye,
And tells you she must go…
“Yes, this is how you lose her;
A little at a time;
Through silly little simple things,
Without reason; without rhyme.”
“Why Did My Mother Hate Me?”
28
Southern Baptist woman
Married an alcoholic
Golden girl
Blonde hair, blue eyes, college bound
42
Almost free to divorce
Menopause
Surprise!
1940s
Back alley abortions
Death
No choice
Ugly girl
Mousey brown hair, brown eyes, disabled
No divorce
63
Freedom achieved
Died.
miss josh emmett
copyright 2012
Why are there so many leaves this year?
Even with the snowless winter
and rain-dry spring,
the trees grew like weeds,
rooting deeper underground,
disturbing pipes and pavement,
In October, the trees’ brown leaves
are like the specks in my mother’s eyes,
darkening cloud and sun alike,
waiting for the chill and day’s wind
to lay a blanket on us all.
fascinating poetry this week!!! wonderful prompt!
A WORLD APART
why must we be a world apart?
how cruel the reality of our existence
that tore you from my embrace!
cannot life be kind this once?
time betrays us, too
each minute stretching into days
whilst we endure our forced separation
what Gods determined that this should be so
what terrible deed did we commit to offend them
or could it simply be that they are jealous of our love?
no matter how long it takes
i will be waiting for the moment
when once again i shall be in your arms
i am forever yours, my Love
I am just another poet whose ‘commenting tooooooo fast” that is what I am told.
Guess that my last post (couple days ago) did not post either!
I give it another go.
IF YOU COULD FLY? Triolet
If I could but fly upon a wing
Just to and fro I think I’d go
Perhaps to fly with birds that sing
If I could but fly upon a wing
Then gather treasure to homeward bring
From lands that no one else can know
If I could but fly upon a wing
Just to and fro I think I’d go.
They come
unbidden,
pouring through
cracks in consciousness,
spilling into quiet
afternoons.
breaking down
dams of resolve,
dripping like
springs
down mossy
corners at the back
of my mind.
They wet
my hair and leave
me shivering
in the middle
of the night.
No towel
can absorb
their insistence
until I sit down
and let them
flow into
form.
Where do
I get them?
I wish
I knew.
Robert – I loved your question and idea so much that I “stole” it.
I was painting on Wednesday and it seemed to fit. Thanks.
Where are you now?
Lost…
Lost in a forest of english ivy
and burnt sienna
searching for an owl
whose shape won’t quite form
but he watches me with intense eyes
as I try to sculpt his shape with my brush
and a bit of autumn brown.
*****Having a horrible time trying to post – will add my other poem to the same post on the off chance I actually get through. ****
When will you arrive? (Sonnet)
When will you arrive mon petit bebe?
Will your hair be dark or fair as spun gold?
Blue eyes or brown or something new maybe?
I long to meet you and in my arms hold.
The days are longer, the nights ever short
as you grow and move, keeping me awake;
Preparing me for when you will hold court
knowing the life before, I will forsake.
They say that I glow with inner smiles,
little lullabies are heard as I hum
as I sit folding clothes into piles
dreaming of the little one yet to come.
For now I sit here rocking my tummy,
dreaming of the day when I’m your Mummy.
WHEN YOU LEAVE I SHALL NOT…
Fall to pieces, a tumbling heart of cards,
Nor shall I weep, not a trickle, I’ll
Dance as you walk away.
Nor shall I deprive myself
Of sleep – yet be me
Saddened, stricken,
And smutted lowly with grief. No, I’ll
dance as you walk away.
ARRRGGGHHHHHHHH so completely frustrated – tried posting comments earlier yesterday afternoon – now find myself at nearly 3AM trying to comment only to meet with the ROBOT-EDITOR (not to be confused with the Robert Editor) and told even when posting in slo-mo that I AM POSTING TOO QUICKLY! Example: I tried posting nine times to one poem before the reply posted! I surrender. Some truly wonderful poems … Yole, Jane, Julie, Sharon, Marie, Dan, Mike, Taylor …actually too many to mention without the ROBOT EDITOR I was looking forward to giving so very many poems their deserved individual praise. Thanks to one and all for this terrific reads! With a surrendered wave – I bid all a goodnight (or goodmorning as the case may be!)
WHAT LIES BEYOND?
for a certain 10-week-old puppy
What’s beyond the doorstep?
the bamboo-jungle hedge. Beyond
that, the driveway.
Don’t turn your back, she’s
headed at a puppy-trot for who knows
where. She’s got a wanderlust
we never taught her.
Beyond the front-yard fence, the roar
of traffic. Catch her quick!
She’s gone already past the edge
of shrubbery. There’s
a world out there. She means
to measure it by puppy-stride
and eye and nose, to taste it, roll in it;
to know the shade of redwood,
poison sumac, tarweed, tamarind;
to run from one earth’s end
until its other. To become the wind.
“How big is the universe?”
He says to me
while his blue eyes search the ceiling,
as if the answer is painted there.
I don’t have the heart to tell him
he’s staring at the ceiling
and the universe is
swimming just outside of his reach.
He’s here,
on my lap,
in my heart,
tracing a star
in the shape of the couch.
“It’s as big as you can imagine.”
And I wonder what it was I just said.
What he can imagine.
The universe is as big as the
monsters under his bed,
the elephants he sees at the zoo,
the sleeping man
on the park bench
we pass every day,
his smile,
his mother’s short brown hair,
and the universe
changes every day.
But, how can I say that?
How can I say that the universe
is just one short breath
from being brought to its knees?
“Really?”
He asks,
not quite believing his old man.
“Well, maybe not that big.”
But I smile,
and he smiles.
And I know that tonight
he will dream of elephants.
“How Old Are You?”
“Old enough, I say.”
To keep prying thoughts away. . .
Of course, you can’t tell my age
All your days are not enough yet
No comparisons can you make
Unless I am the one who is fooled
But I see your days ahead
I see your young faces now
Some days I want to strangle you,
And then I think,
You are so cute.
When Will You Let Me Out?
I just let you out,
then you asked me to let you in
after you took care of business.
I’ll let you out again
when I get back
from what I have to do.
Remember I have left food
in your dish.
So just be good,
and watch the house.
Don’t stare out the window at me,
don’t give me that pathetic look,
and don’t paw at the glass.
Okay, I’ll let you out
once more,
and I swear
this will be the last time.
Who Reads Books Anymore?
Apparently, everyone who has congregated
on a brisk October day to this downtown festival,
a four-block party cordoned off and transformed
to a long promenade stacked with new and used books,
authors and publishers who proudly display their “babies”,
on whose front page they will gladly scribble
their names for posterity. The air is filled
with poetry and music, pizza and funnel cake,
and face-painted children careen from curb to curb,
jumping and clapping to a kid-rock band.
They bounce up to the displays, wanting this book
and that book, and their parents mostly oblige.
Later they tote home bags full of their new prizes,
each one a new world of letters and pictures
sandwiched between two covers, souvenirs
of this tribute to the printed word.
i loved this! i read books, mainly hardbacks. i don’t even own a kindle, but i have hundreds of books. keep on reading!
ARS LONGA VITA BREVIS
My body tells me, stay, you need the rest,
they’ll be forgiving if you explain that it’s
problematic ambulating , your foot quits,
on strike, don’t move, yet the very best
of me resides among this company . . .
hobbling ably, finding the higher chair
the therapist poet, gloats, “I think that there
ought to be something to mitigate the knee,
the tender muscle above it, all in flames
the more you ignore it, that tissue tells you how
abused it is, traveling from distances, and now
stepping upon it, please respect its claims
upon you,” He’s right, I know, that they all say
the body knows what’s good for it. It tells
you ouch, reminds you as the rash it grows, regales
upon your skin, do something quick, pray,
here, my words cannot wait, they must be told,
they pine inside me, their meanings to enfold
into the light of day, “Don’t you agree,
life’s too short to fret over physical pain
you have to call its bluff . . . to let the mind
flow into a visceral mode, albeit resigned
to leave the ache in a corner.” I remain
listen carefully to the voices as we read
our lines, wrap around our sorrows, joys,
what we love, how our healing power employs
to end the suffering around us. Planting the seed,
as the deep medicinal roots pull down and reach
everything alive—life’s isn’t all that short
as those ancient sages tout. Slowly we court
whatever is good for our mortality beseech.
Zev Davis
If you have a moment, hop on over to Poetic Bloomings to catch an interview with P.A.’s own Andrea Heiberg. You’ll be delighted to learn more about her.
http://poeticbloomings.com/2012/10/18/poet-interview-andrea-heiberg/
HEADS OR TAILS, RICHARD?
By FangO
and Alice’s artist friend, Kurt, flipped
and worried a silver dollar the whole time
we ambled around Manhattan, bumblebeeing
into art galleries and revolutionary bookstores.
Coming out of one, Kurt chatted up
a Texan woman who was picking up her rejected
charcoal nudes. She was a flat-out nut,
I reckoned, though Kurt and Alice
enjoyed splashing in the flow of her quick
drawl of scandalous international narrative.
Had she been local, richer and only
slightly more balanced, Kurt could have
stacked another possible crash pad
on the three he has standing by. Spiv,
that’s a Scrabble word I love. One who
lives by his or her wits. One day, Kurt,
your figures will be billboard sized.
They may as well be, but will you be
heads up or tails up by then?
I am sorry for the double post. I was fighting the “You’re posting too fast demon.” He won.
Great poetry today. Thanks to all of you for sharing. I’m fairly new and learning as I go.
So, here is mine.
The Answer
In my quest for answers about the family tree
I stumbled upon bewildering history
Researching my mother’s and my father’s line
I discovered how closely they intertwine
My mother’s mom was his grandmother’s sister
Follow along carefully, it’s a brain twister
So,they were cousins, and this being the case
I searched the charts and found my place
What shocking development did I find?
Well, it explained much, but blew my mind
Upon this union of two thusly related
An interesting kinship had been created
If one’s Great Great Grandmother
Is another’s Great Grandmother
And this is a fact that can’t be disproved
I’m my own second cousin once removed
In conclusion the answer is quite clear
My cousin and I both deserve a beer
ah – I love this! true or no, it’s a riot … pour one for me, would you?
Thanks. Riot, is pretty much what I was going for. Truth I find is stranger than fiction and settles easier with humorous depiction.
Entertaining & I admire your ryming. Have you ever heard the old country-western song “I’m My Own Grandpa?”
Thank you. Yes, I have, but no in years.
Where Do You Get Your Ideas?
(“. . . if he knew where his poems came from, he would go there and never come back.”—Billy Collins)
Winding down the reading,
“Just a couple more poems,”
we always say—a warning
or a promise—we open the floor
for questions. Unnerved
by silence, someone always asks
“Where do you get your ideas?”
Anticipating the question,
we bite our tongues, knowing
better than to risk humor,
to offer insult to anyone
willing to spend an hour
or two listening to us read.
We who wield words
fail to find the right ones
to explain how miracles happen
only as we take out paper,
sit with pen in hand,
and believe.
Which Was Better—the Movie or the Book?
Even reluctant readers know the truth—
regardless of the book, the film.
Whole lives fit tucked between the covers
small enough to carry anywhere,
capable of painting portraits, landscapes
in Technicolor on the dull grey matter,
embroidered in threads of conversation,
illuminating fears unspoken, thoughts
invisible on any silver screen.
The printed word transforms the reader–
alchemist, conjuror, casting director–
each encounter singular, each return
to its pages as fresh as the first time,
and like a traveler, each reader steps in,
lives days and years in hours, stopping,
starting again, retracing steps, unbound
by time or place, moved as soon
to unchecked laughter as to tears
saltier than hot buttered popcorn.
So true, Nancy.
This was an excellent prompt… Please see my response at http://hopefuljo.wordpress.com/2012/10/17/365-creativity-project-day-282/
Being Admitted
What? No, I uh, don’t know
No, no – I can’t, I don’t …
Yes, I think so, but I don’t …
No, I haven’t taken too many
No, I’m not sure … no, wait
I am, I am … I think, I am
What? Sorry … what?
Yes. Yes. I don’t want to feel
No. No. I’m sorry.
Maybe – I’m not sure …
No. No. No.
OH my. Heartbreaking.
Totally get this one, Sharon.
Can you take me to my appointment next Tuesday?
Give me a minute I’ll check my book
Let me put you on hold while I have a look
So far it seems I’m free that day
But anything can happen it’s so far away
I’ll give you a yes and jot it down
Unless something better comes around
When will You Let Me out?
I just let you out,
then you asked to let you in
after you take care of business.
I’ll let you out next
when I get back
from what I have to do,
and remember I have left food
in your bowl.
So just be good,
and watch the house.
Don’t stare out the window at me,
don’t give me that pathetic look
and don’t paw at the glass.
Okay I’ll let you out
once more,
and I swear
this time will be the last.
That sounds exactly like me! One goes out, the other hangs back, and just as I sit down, he’s ready.
Set me Free?
Let me in
giving up his fight
wanting much more now
wanting to realise his own light
He once walked with his head
held down
he was never allowed
to keep it up
all he did was frown
Correcting him was what she liked
to do
obeying her
was all
that he ever knew
When he realised
there was so much more to him
his emtyness and lonelyness
was discarded in the bin
Making a place
in the back of his mind
now his eyes were open
how could of he been so blind
A world full of laughter
a world full of hope
making a pathway for him
his life through a telescope
Now he was not under it
but seeing himself for the first time
knowing he was independant
and that was just fine
Her shackles he removed
and placed them to the side
his open mind and heart
were fianally free to glide
Catching a shadow of himself
a reflection coming from within
he was so much stronger now
his old self left now living
The site is acting up, and so I’m just going to post a few comments here. I hope you poets find them.
My favorites of the day so far:
Walt (LOL!!!)
Laurie (whoa nelly! )
Andrew
Yolee
RJ
Nancy (GREAT voice, SO not your own!)
Pearls’ “Why?”
JWLaviguer (amusing take on the prompt)
Taylor
Thanks Marie..Hopefully this will post – almost time to get up and I’m surrendering the effort to try to respond individually and eyes closing
Sorry, the day got away from me and I have to go pick up my kids or I would be commenting on everyone else’s wonderful work! I will get the hang of this soon.
+++++
Questions I Hear From My Kids
Can I
do my homework
later, have a snack,
go to my friend’s house, skip
taking a shower, stay
up late?
Can we
eat out tonight, go
for a bike ride, see
a movie, take
a walk, play
badminton, buy
a book, have
chocolate, stay
up late?
Can you
make breakfast
for dinner, buy ice
cream, make cookies,
wash my socks, make
soup, bake brownies,
curl my hair, sign this form,
get me some water,
come here, get
my medicine, let me
stay up late?
Just another day in the life, right, Linda? LOL!
VOYAGER
a Canzonetta
Where do we travel in our dreams, when dark
holds us fast in sleep? Last night I watched you
caught in a long trajectory – not an arc,
but aimed past one o’clock through space, a zone
far beyond anything I’ve named or known.
I called. You looked back once. And then you flew
as if each star became your leaping-stone
beyond the planet-orbits of our sun,
outbursting telescope and mind. A dream.
You traveled past the outer star-webs spun
of time; beyond, extending the short sight
that’s bound by mortal’s morning, evening, night.
Did you pass the heliopause, a seam
among stars unraveling in your flight?
But this is dream. Tonight I’ll stay awake.
Walking in the dark, might I sense a star
is watching with its distant eye? Mistake
or vision? just imagination? Eye
of light that seems to gather the on-high
into its own design; a door ajar;
a blink. Now look again – the endless sky.
Will someone tell me why I constantly have to log in, even though I am registered on this site?
Robert, I love your poem for today. Here’s mine:
How Are You Coping?
Luring lullabies drift
as soothing steam
calling out from my sofa.
These days, being down
with a cold provides
perfect excuse to snuggle
under a large throw,
flanked by heat and heart-
beats of two loyal dogs,
into closed eyes of escape.
apologies writing in between (my other hat) working – haven’t had time to read – will look forward to later and what I am sure will be some wonderful questions and answers.
Who You Lookin At
Not me
you ain’t
cause if you
is
you not
goin be
seein much-a
anythin
when I
put ya lights out
even if ya is
luggin that Oxy
pump
no matter ta me
ya hear me now
Do You Need Anything?
An innocent question
From one wanting to help;
An answer buried deep
Within passages of mind,
Inside rooms built of heart’s
Desires and wishes unfulfilled.
Do I need anything?
I need regular inspiration,
Requiring only inner vision.
I need time to stand still,
Allowing me to explore all.
I need adequate will power
To accomplish all my plans.
All else requires the help
Of those with resolutions
To grant me a world without
Strife, where humankind lives
In peace, without want for needs
Fulfilled that serenity can satisfy.
This question has amused me for 39 years of teaching.
Did I miss anything when I was absent?
Don’t be ridiculous.
When you’re not here,
we sit around stymied,
folding class handouts
into origami animals,
waiting, wondering
what You must be doing
wherever you are,
missing you.
HAHA!!! i love that!!!
“What do you want to do before you die?”
Live life as if it were a poem. Appreciate every breath of word and every silence of syllables. Feel the heartfelt, jaw-dropping effects of reading between the lines and make connections of how everything and anything is important. Fall in love with words while slowdancing on top of the world. Then freefall from the skies as if I was Peter Pan reborn into the earth. Just so I can point and laugh in the face of failed fears like HA! Then safely land in my motherland, get blessed by waters of my ancestors knowledge like teardrops on the page. So wherever I am, it is home and promised, “Never forget”. Write every translucent story half-dreamt and publish like a maniac. Learn to swim in the flow of my own beat, treading against the waters. Swim through tsunamis of scribbles with no resolutions and find the anime colors of truth. Once I memorize my piece, jump up the biggest stage as one of my city’s finest and put up my soul of art for judgement. Chase my dreams of abstract spirituality rather than flammable papers. Love with as much knowledge of the word as I possibly can. Finally, at the end of my days, let go of tired habits and heartaches and move on today.
Holding Pattern
“Can you hold?”
“I can’t–“ I’m on hold.
Time passes
to muzak
throbbing in my burning ears,
thinking “will” not “can”.
Answers slash
through my mind as I
hold my phone,
tongue, temper,
my head in my hands, waiting,
life reduced to breath.
i love that whole run at the end of “holding.” Nice!
“Stating the Obvious”
You guys playing cards?
Shuffling, dealing, ignoring.
Really? Can’t think of anything
better to break the ice?
Did that hurt?
No I just like bleeding and crying.
And this bone sticking out of my arm
is just preparation for Halloween.
There are no stupid questions.
Just stupid people.
Again?
Yes, we are John is just so delighted
That we are having a big family because
We have all this room here for them to run
Around and the woods and the big pond
And hills for sledding, John and I still
Love to do that outdoor kind of stuff, too
We have the gardens and the chickens and
Dogs and cats,
Now that we have indoor plumbing, I bought
an automatic washing machine and I’m
Looking for a second hand clothes dryer, though
I do like to hang things outside when it’s nice.
Of course I still sew all the girls’ clothes
– yes, they like blue jeans, too. Naturally
the Sisters insist all the girls wear dresses.
Oh yes, I agree, sainthood should be granted
To who-ever it was invented permanent press.
We do have life so much easier than our mothers.
Isn’t it wonderful? Kennedy will be even better
Than Roosevelt. He’s one of us. Now, if they
Can just get those communists out of Viet Nam –
Oh, JoEllen’s boy is going over there? That’s
Terrible. Yes, of course we’ll pray. With Kennedy
As president, we should have peace over there by
Next spring, don’t you think?
I LOVE this Marian! Love.
I’m cringing – - -but in a good way.
Why can’t you freeze little ones for just a little while longer
When they throw their velvet arms around your neck
fall on the floor at your jokes
and laugh with the mystical chimes of angel bells
in every Wonderful Life combined
When you inhale the perfume of their skin and
swoon with a primal intoxication
When….
Well it just goes on
and that is why
If you could stay the unspooling
of the irrevocable ribbon of time
you would
forever
If they never grew up, we’d never remember the good bits, but be in a constant travail over the messy bits. ^_^
Mmmmmm…..i LOVE inhaling the perfume of their skin! Never thought i’d love the smell of dirt and sun so much.
Why did they never return?
I remember them
When I used to walk to
Work with you
We looked up
I leaned against your
Thighs so I wouldn’t fall
Over and we laughed and
I was so little I thought
That they touched the
Sky and believed you
When you told me that
They went on a vacation
That smoky day on the way
To preschool when they were gone
And your eyes teared
Wow, Pearl, this strikes and makes it mark well. Sad.
Hits the heart
Why?
I cleaned the kitchen
even the crumbs between
the grout
that was so annoying
last week when I promised
remember? I promised on
my knees to you
that I would never be so
disgusting again and get
you so angry
Remember
so why?
Everything is clean
the laundry is done
and the towels folded
the way they should be
not the way I did by mistake
so why?
and I even have on the
red lace thing that you
bought underneath
my shirt
and I am trying
hard not to let
a single drop of
dripping blood
stain it
I’m sorry I asked
why?
Because I know
how much you
love me and that
there must
must be
a reason
that I’m just
too stupid to
see
Powerful and concrete.
This.
Wow, Pearl.
Feeling shaken.
Oh my, come here, let me give you a biiiig hug. I’ve played that game.
Love the poem, hate the painful scenario………
Powerful poem, Dr. P.
It’s about a journey,
you know, sort of an epic
but nobody dies, gets raped, or shot.
There are no heroes.
It’s about politics,
sort of a Lone Rider in an RV
but through the politically charged landscape.
It’s hard to explain, but in one word:
‘uhm’.
It’s about people,
people helping people,
people not helping people,
and people bumping into people,
sort of a pin-ball game with human emotions,
frailty, and empathy.
It’s about love.
Of course it’s about love.
Aren’t all novels about love?
And Canada.
It paints an inescapable inscape of this
great white northern
boggy, tree filled, rock heap.
It’s also about art,
not the money of art,
or the wonderfulness of art,
but more of the philosophy of art,
sort of an Art of Painting Easel Maintenance.
It’s a story of questions
to ask yourself while trying to sleep
or trying to wash the night’s earthy sweats off in your shower.
It’s a story that will make you say hmmm,
and scratch your chin.
Sounds like something I’d enjoy reading.
When Will I See You Again?
At another class reunion Ten years down the road
Unless luck would have it her way and we meet again by chance
we can keep pace with technology, FB, MySpace, WebCam
Until then.
You Talkin’ to Me?
Yeah, you, mutterin under your breath over there
like nobody’s listenin, like you’re the only guy
in the whole wide world
not havin a nice day
If you got somethin to say to me, say it, Buddy
Don’t get all mealyimouthed
just ‘cause I’m makin eye contact
You and me’s gonna hafta ride this bus
all the way to the end o’ the line
and all I want’s a little quiet
so’s I can read a little
If you find it funny, me, a grown man readin
a real book, not some computer screen book–
and not porno either—I see ya laughin–
but a story, a good one
Just shut your yap and keep your eyes
on your own newspaper
or cellphone
or iPad or iPad,
your toy-of-the week.
I paid the same fare you did for this ride
and I’ll cry if I want to.
What’s it to ya?
I love the “voice” of this!! “What’s it to ya/” ^_^
Adorable – had a similiar thought and poem – but enjoyed this far more !
Good voice, Nancy.
Are you a Poet?
Without a doubt I do indeed
Know that somewhere deep in me
A poet hides and can’t be seen
Hoping someday to be set free
I hide and live in fear and doubt
Afraid my poems might bomb out
My words it seems are never right
Yet my quill insists on taking flight
It flutters and flaps and jumps about
Filling my scroll with words of prose
Spilling my ink and letting it flow
Yet mellifluous it’s not this much I know
Without a doubt I do indeed
Know that somewhere deep in me
A poet hides and can’t be seen
Hoping that someday I’ll be set free
Without a doubt I am indeed
A poet that needs to be set free
With words of prose across my scroll
I hope to take you sailing with me
Oh boy do i identify! well said.
Thanks Julie,
This was a difficult write for me, got stuck on the rhyming thingy LOL
Yes, I would say you are indeed a poet! ^_^
This is wonderful!
I love this poem.
Do You Want to Supercize?
I steered my car up to the mic.
The squawk-box rasped: “What wouldja like?”
I said, “A burger, coke and fries.”
The voice replied, “K. Supercize?”
“No. A ‘small’, please,” I insisted,
even though ‘small’ was not listed.
Just big or bigger, they advise.
The voice replied, “K. Supercize?”
I rolled my eyes. “I told you: small.
I don’t want big, huge, grandé, tall.
And also, please, now skip the fries.”
The voice replied, “K. Supercize?”
I cried into the mic, “A SMALL!
Petite. Or tiny. Wee. That’s all.
But you know what? Think I’ll revise.”
The voice replied, “K. Supercize?”
I screamed, “You dolt! Yeah, here’s the deal –
Forget my food. Don’t want your meal.”
As I drove off, to my surprise
I heard the voice. “K. Supercize?”
###
Yes. I go through this every time! But now I mostly don’t go through at all. ^_^
Well, I guess there a few perks with having to give driving
OHMYGOSH! An RJ instant classic!!!!! LOL!!
AWESOME!
What is your Fear?
That my field of dreams will become
desolate as a frostbitten bleacher; dark
as a gambler’s obsession; that their seed
will not shake the ground, push thru
earth; the quarter moon of fancy thoughts
will recede in shadows as if they were hermits
coming undone; that calla lilies will appear
with backless dresses, and no one will
perceive their simple beauty.
Yolee,
I tried soooooo many times to post this under your poem, without success. Hoping it lets me here, and that you see it.
This is outstanding. Every phrase struck me, but especially these:
“desolate as a frostbitten bleacher”
“that calla lilies will appear with backless dresses, and no one will perceive their simple beauty.”
WOW.
Well, lookie there. It even posted in the right place.
<3 <3 <3 Breathtaking, Yolee.
Loved it Yolee !!!
Same thought as Marie about the calla lilies line, love that.
OH, stunning poem, Yolee, especially the calla lilies.
Gracias, MarieElena, Domino, Michael, Julie and Sara. I am humbled yet pleased at your reactions. I feel encouraged. Thank you all so much.
Where You Been Lately?
Out and about
Doin’ what I do
Helping people cope
With disasters
Just got back
A month on the road
Seen the Big Easy
Followed Isaac
People hurting
Flood, wind, rain
Losses to be adjusted
Some total
Did my thing
Held a lot of hands
Even made some smile
Satisfaction
What a great (but hard!) job. Thank you for doing it.
Impromptu
I’m so glad you asked me that, Dale,
and if I may, I would like to say that
tonight somewhere in lower Vermont
is a little boy named Timmy, whose
parents are exactly the kind of
person I would want to meet after
I had sat down on my first day
in office, people who know
how hard it is to be upset and
in need – and we would have
a beer and a plan for everything,
and to be honest, a new day for America.
Someday, Timmy will be older,
and we have to give him the chance
to do that, be older – just like Ethel,
sitting up there in the balcony tonight
next to my lovely wife and daughter.
And make no mistake, it will take
sacrifice, and great vigilance, just like
the founders would have expected,
and I will lead us in changing many
things, important things, which is why
I am different than my opponent,
and I am not gritting my teeth, and
my body language is warm but firm
and I am very, very focused in a
folksy kind of way, and I will not
touch my nose, nor will I think about
you-know-what AT ALL for the
next ninety minutes, just in case
and may I just conclude by saying:
lies-taxes-moral-God-contraception-economy-jobs.
Thank you.
People think there is a choice, but it is all the same in the end. :p Very thought-provoking, Andrew.
Oh my word Andrew – this is spot-on … my gut hurts from laughing but I could just as easily cry … come November, is there a choice?
I am seriously considering not voting anymore, due to disbelief in any of the candidates for the last I-don’t know-how-many years. Excellent poem, Andrew.
Up?
Baby blues, gleaming
Chubby arms, reaching
Dimpled smile, charming
My response?
Need you ask?
A glimpse of my reality for today.
Will be back later to read.
Awww.
Sophie Sunshine Day! Yay!
Love this.
Precious baby. ^_^ Love this, Marie.
Marie – as I tried to comment earlier yesterday afternoon – just delightful – your love just bubbles from the screen – I feel as though I could just squish delightful Sophie in a big hug
Such a sweetie!
Just Answer the Question
1 or 2?
A or B?
In or Out?
On or Off?
Yes or No?
Hit or Miss?
Wet or Dry?
Pale or Tan?
Pass or Fail?
Live or Die?
Hot or Cold?
Rent or Buy?
Land or Sea?
Up or Down?
Win or Lose?
Rich or Poor?
Love or Hate?
Day or Night?
Give or Take?
Laugh or Cry?
Work or Play?
Sun or Shade?
Jazz or Blues?
War or Peace?
Happy or Sad?
Coffee or Tea?
Young or Old?
Coke or Pepsi?
Soup or Salad?
Dead or Alive?
Lost or Found?
Vice or Virtue?
Dusk or Dawn?
Fact or Fiction?
North or South?
Black or White?
Try or Give Up?
Knit or Crochet?
Open or Closed?
Better or Worse?
Fight or Give In?
Hero or Coward?
Grass or Garden?
Hope or Despair?
Noise or Silence?
Lunch or Dinner?
Tough or Tender?
Always or Never?
Holiday or Work?
Awake or Asleep?
Entree or Combo?
Common or Rare?
Dressed or Naked?
Interesting or Dull?
Car or Motorcycle?
Formal or Informal?
Brave or Frightened?
At Home or Abroad?
Breakfast or Brunch?
Locked or Unlocked?
Pancakes or Waffles?
Talk Radio or Music?
Chocolate or Vanilla?
Compact or Mid-size?
Arrivals or Departures?
Fiction or Non-Fiction?
Sweet or Unsweetened?
Half-Empty or Half-Full?
Come In or Do Not Disturb?
Condominium or Apartment?
Morning Person or Night Owl?
Upside-down or Right-side-up?
Clockwise or Counterclockwise?
Diana Terrill Clark
So many questions that need answering, too many go unanswered. Good Work.
I love the centered version on your blog
This is as far as I got last night. The site would not let me post. Anyway, I just adore this.
“Who do you think you are,anyway?”
I am not a victim.
I have taken control of
my own life.
My life could never
give me better than
what I had given.
What we did share was fear
and doubt
and whirling dervish moods
not knowing
where I was going
or how I got there
or what
or whom I
left in my wake.
And that life
left me victim
to myself.
Foundations for the
House of False Bravado
finally collapsed.
And I crawled out of
the rubble. I guess
that makes me a
survivor.
And so I shook
off all the victim dust,
picking up
useful pieces as I went,
carefully choosing
the only ones to
help make this new house
strong and true.
This is my house for
me and my life.
And for my friends.
Friends. Nice word.
Never used it
much.
This new house has
no room for victims—found
out they need help—alright
but they can’t pay
their way.
Or mine.
And survivors, they
are victims’ second cousins,
the lucky ones.
At least they made it.
But there’s no room for them
either.
But there are plenty of rooms
for peace,
and comfort,
and I can add on more
rooms for friends
(I kind of like that word)
anytime I choose.
So, that’s who I think
I am.
Who do you
think
I am?
“Foundations for the
It’s quite a road to travel.
House of False Bravado
finally collapsed.”
love that–and I love your take on the whole victim to Strong and True Friend.
I love that you deny the labels of Victim or Survivor and simply say you choose peace and comfort. Love this.
My Ifs, Ands and Buts
I know I should and
I’ve dreamed I would
BUT
I’m scared of failing so
I sit here wailing
AND
I know if I pass
My regret will amass, even
IF
I commit, are
my fingers 50K fit?
SO
Back to the question you’re asking about
(Will I do NaNoWriMo?)
The jury’s still out.
Ha! Christine! This is the question/answer on so many of our minds. You have answered it perfectly. Excellent. And if I had to hazard a guess from the quality of your poem…YES, your fingers (and wit) are fit, and at the ready.
Good luck!
AH! Fear of failure, how well i know thee…. But what the hey? Go for it!! (and i know personally, my fingers would be the ONLY part of me possibly 50K fit.)
i’ve just spent the last hour reading up on NaNoWriMo–it does sound and look daunting, but fun and challenging! wow. more power to you if you do it. i’m thinking about it now…
I feel the same way, Christine! Wondering if I can make enough time… I just don’t know. ^_^
WHY WAIT?
There you are
with that look
of rapture
in your eye.
I know
the calm comes
before you
throw me on the bed
and rattle my appetite.
Why wait?
Indeed! <>
;-D
(and fanning my embarrassed jealousy….)
*fans self**
What fun.
Steamy, Laurie!
Aaaaaaaahhh, the answer is also a question.. Nice !!!
Laurie – delightful surprise – especially enjoyed the tossing away of restraint – Bravo !
How now, brown cow?
One
(for the money)
(if by land)
two
(for the show)
(if by sea)
three
(to get ready)
reasons I should not call you:
You.
Me.
We.
.
OOOH. So perfect!
Thanks so much.
Too funny, I was just commenting on yours.
LOL!!
interesting…
<3
Edgy and a different De voice ….
IS THERE A POINT??
Is there a point
to these words that keep circling
around my head like so many flies
is there a point
to the words you are spewing
verbal incontinence on my new shirt
is there a point
if there is, just please grab it
show it to me before I lose hope
perhaps you can’t see
my face, eyes glazed over
your words dripping off me
flattening my hair
and frankly, my dear,
I don’t care.
Julie, this is sharp, and pointed, and perfect.
thanks! nothing speaks as loudly as personal experience.
very vivid. loved it!
Amen to that. We either become poets, or go crazy.
True dat, De!
Thanks all!
I like it.!!!
I would probably juggle and rearrange some lines and try some new wording though…
Throw the verbal abuse back at the speaker…. e.g.
Is there a point
to these words you are spewing
Your verbal incontinence
It soils your soul
tell me now before I lose hope
just what is your point
Hope this idea, critique and example helps
Great stuff Julie
i see what you’re saying, and that “your verbal incontinence soils your soul” is pretty funny! but my point was that i was just standing there being vomited on verbally….and i hate when my hair goes flat!
Terrific description of the floating flotsam (“like so many flies”) of the pre-creation creative process… Wonderful
!
Excellent poem, Julie. I particularly liked, `words you are spewing incontinence on my new shirt’
How Was Your Trip?
Short answer. Fine, I had a wonderful time.
I’ll leave out the parts about the flight delay,
the deep conversation with a nephew,
doing dishes for three hours after a family supper,
helping a nervous mother of the groom
by preventing her tags from showing,
attending an outdoor wedding with
PJs under my dress to keep warm,
watching my nephew and bride exchange I dos,
dancing for the first time in a long while
to Monster Mash and I Believe in Miracles,
pinching myself to stay awake at church,
seeing my sister cry ten months
after her husband died, going to Taken Two
with my sisters and brother-in-law,
stuffing myself with pizza and lasagna,
breakfasting with a friend I hadn’t seen for thirty years,
meeting my sister’s friend and her dogs,
helping sisters and nieces clean out a farm house,
eating some kind of thing with green stuff,
playing Canasta and Scrabble half asleep,
being adopted by a cat and chased by a goat,
sitting by a frightened teenager on flight home,
getting enthusiastic greetings from my family.
So, fine thank you, had a wonderful trip.
i wish i could write like this! And i loved the whole story.
Julie, You can…..
Practice, Practice, Practice
revision, revision, revision
and then when your so sick of it and ya want to puke……
there is actually an answer for that also…..
more practice, revisions, and editing…..
Ha Ha Ha…:)
i don’t seem to have the gift of the poetic flow of storytelling without some dorky beat in my head and a mind full of rhyme!
I like rhyme!
Wonderful, Connie!
I knew you were gone, and I forgot to ask you how your trip was. My Bad, thanks for the answer.
Love the theme and story line but it flows more like prose than poetry. With a revision, a little editing and some tightening up, had a lot of potential and could be really great. (just being honest with my critique {hope I’m not being insulting})
but THAT is exactly why i love it!
Good one, Connie!
The answer is always:
I Love You
If I said I love you
a hundred thousand times,
if I wrote I love you
in romantic rhyming lines,
if I sang I love you
in somewhat melodic verse,
if I showed I love you
for better and for worse,
then you’d see I love you
with the give and the take,
then you’d dream I love you
as you sleep and you awake,
then you’d feel I love you
throughout joy and without sorrow,
then you’d know I love you
like there is no tomorrow.
By Michael Grove
This is simply wonderful, Michael. Whoever you love is so lucky to have you write them such a love poem! ^_^
Awwww….so sweet! and i love the “somewhat melodic verse”…made me giggle!
Ohhhhh. Just beautiful, Michael.
Nice…I like this, it flows very nicely. Perhaps just a little tweaking and revision would give it the mellifluous flow a beautiful piece like this deserves.
Thanks All ! and Wired, I’d love to hear some suggestions… always looking to improve.
Beautiful.
I’m having a little trouble deciding what to offer for suggestions and critique here…mainly because I like the flow and the way you structured this in couplet stanzas. I played around with the form of Quatrain’s (??..I think that’s the poetry term for 4 line stanzas. Someone correct me if I’m wrong on that please) and like that too. E.g.
If I said I love you
a hundred thousand times,
Then you’d know I love you
Till eternity was through
If I wrote I love you
in romantic rhyming lines,
Then you’d see how much I love you
in each mellifluous line
I guess it’s just a matter of personal preference. I like both structures.
I played with the wording also leaving your structure intact and just pulled out a thesaurus and replaced a few words;… that flowed beautifully also. You created an absolutely beautiful poem here. Great job
How Are You?
Everyone says “good,”
whether they really are
or not,
or “fine, just fine.”
And sometimes when I say
fine or good or whatever
I say
I am not really fine,
I am more
or less
or a combination of things
all at once
that cannot really be
answered in a single word,
not in a sentence,
nor a poem,
nor even a novel
at times.
So I say, “Fine,
I’m fine, thank you.
And you?”
Diana Terrill Clark
Ah! You speak of the familiar! i like it.
Perfect, Diana.
Took the words right out …
you may think this good
and others think it fine
but I say divine
and wish it were mine
but it’s OK
I’m still fine
Fine, fine, I’m perfectly fine. Fine. ^_^
This is so often how I feel. . .
“Fine, thank you. And you?”
Oh, how I wish th lie was true.
Yes. You capture the thoughts behind this question perfectly.
and, no one really wants to know, if you are not fine.
LOL So true!
YES!
Do you wanna, huh?
I mean, no one is around and
it won’t take long.
We can…you know,
do it in a couple rooms.
We can get behind the couch,
and in the kitchen if you wanna.
And of course the bedroom.
We haven’t done the bedroom in a while.
So…do you wanna? Yes!
I’ll do the trim and you
can follow behind with the roller.
Painting goes faster that way.
Groooooooooooooan …
BWAHahahaaa!!
Hahaha! I thought you were vacuuming at first… LOL ;D
Heehee!
A painter indeed you might just be
but a poet your not as all can see
revise this piece and you will see
just how fun it can sometimes be
from prose to poetry it still can be
Ha Ha Ha….LOL
Indeed a painter I too do be.
2010 Poet Laureate? That’s me.
And I revise on my good time.
My minions say I have fun with rhyme!
And apparently, a grammatical scholar, YOU’RE not!
He He He…I still have my cred; yours is shot!!
Undeniably so you reaped a chuckle from thee
the last comment you stroked with your brush so soaked
was funny as hell but now I must go
I’ll be back for another as soon as can be
for I love to laugh Ho Ho Ho
Walt such a delightful poem – gave me a chuckle
I wonder oh Wired one why the veiled in rhyme knuckle?
Walt, of course, you had me going.
I love the surprise ending!