Something I've been through!? I may have exhausted those already. I may be at a loss on this one!

I've been through a lot- two car wrecks,
my parents' divorce, and working so hard
for so long with nothing to show for it.
But, that's life, and we all go through
it. No one can escape their share of the
pie. It's some comfort- knowing that
whatever small battles we face, we're
all fighting the same war. The war of life.

What I've been through? 30 poems in April and now you tell me about an IKEA catalogue waiting somewhere with 4 sons and a cousin.
This is the 5th of August and soon the 6th here.
Isn't life just wonderful.

SURGERY

I learn a new phrase.
Sub-acromial decompression.
The procedure to fix my ailing
appendage. Torn rotator cuff.
Noticeable impingement syndrome
in my left shoulder. Therapy
did nothing to appease it,
(much to aggravate it!)
"We're going in!"
Put on this gown,
flap in the back,
a little something
to relax you into your I.V.,
"scooch" onto this table,
"Walt, this will make you sleepy",
"Start to count down from a hundred",
One Hun...iuerbvwZZZ...

You are just incredible, Walt! Simply!

...

If every word’s a diving board,
then every apostrophe of matter is a city
in which the swimming pool facility
falls to one of many possible authorities.

In the stump, there is the fence the school kids jump to reach the liquor store ten minutes sooner
In the choral note that rises is the sensation of returning home to a childhood park, this time a Jones in the blood, eyes beseeching the old reality for a place to light up out of the eyes of the wind, all within
the choral note ascending on a plume of smoke from campfires within.

Ponderosa groves, rushing rivers, all within.
The stump within the fence they jump
again, returning home with dime sugars, the shag carpet sticky to the toe touch, within the diamond glisten, beside the song on the radio, “Billie Jean,”
the clock stopped, O Creator.



DA

CAR WASH CLAUSTROPHOBIC

You approach the conveyor,
windows rolled up
cutting off my supply of air,
my escape route, my freedom.
"Here's your last chance,
get out and wait for me here",
you say in that motherly tone
laced with sarcasm and ridicule.
I swallow hard and my machismo
takes over, "What? I'm cool".
I white knuckle it through
the foamy massage,
hyperventilate, eyes clenched
through the rinse cycle,
contend with consciousness
as the hot wax is applied.
Panting like a rabid dog
as the attendant works
his chamois caress on my car.
At my first chance I fumble
for the power window button.
Somehow, there is not enough
air to resuscitate me.
I have a hose in the back of the house.
I curse technology!

The Cry of a Child by LA

The world slows to a stop
My lungs struggle to expand
My heart pounds out no beat at all
Only her voice rings in my ears.

The cry of child full of terror and pain
Calling for help
Crying in fear.

The world spins faster then possible
My feet move me toward the sound
My brain racing afraid of knowledge
My eyes pull away at the sight of the blood

Rivers and streams of blood abound
Coloring the street
the ground
my heart

My arms are filled with a child in pain
My clothes are covered with red that will stain
Jackets are compresses
Voices are quite

A drive that lasts forever
over in minutes
Doctors and Nurses rush to her side
The river has slowed the storm is passing

X-rays and exams
Bones and muscle
Broken and bruised
Scared and transformed.

A moment in time
A lifetime in a moment

The sound of a child
The fear of a parent.


LA

Sorry I meant: Isn't life just wonderful?
Sometimes life needs smiling. Thanks to all my co-poets. Thank you!

The Side-Effect


One has to draw the line somewhere.
Somewhere in my brain
somewhere in the frontal lobe
the left side, near the temple,
is a minute scar.
For years, I've taken this and that
to ward off an embarrassment of jerks
and twitches
and small broken things
(and to make me safe behind the wheel).
It took a while to find the one that worked
without bad side effects.
The one that worked for fifteen years
worked well.
I did not have one seizure in that time
--Although my hair fell out (it did grow back)
--Although I gained one hundred pounds (but over fifteen years)
the medication did its job.

However.

It developed over time
a side effect.
It started hiding words from me.
Dropped them into word-shaped holes
I could describe, define, and almost taste.
But they were
inaccessible.
One has to draw the line somewhere.

LEAK IN THE RIGHT FUEL TANK

Search-pack stowed, my dog at my feet in a four-seater
Cessna. Below us, a mountain wilderness of green
as far as the airborne eye can see. Sunny Sunday,
the mission’s over, lost man found, we’re flying home. No,
we’re dropping like granite through sky.
The pilot starts flipping switches.
We resume forward flight.
Then drop again. My stomach’s falling,
I’m looking for – not finding – an airstrip, highway,
any clear surface for landing. Pilot keeps
flipping switches till we’re flying, not falling
anymore. I’ve never gripped Sardy’s leash so tight,
but there’s no place she could go. At last
we touch down on tarmac, I shake the pilot’s hand.
And vow I’ll never fly again. That night,
another search call, another midnight airfield.

Am I really the only one in the entire world waiting for the results of the PAD challenge?

Nope, Heiberg. We are all going through it with you.
We wait.

Daniel. Wow

What Happened

What happened to me
Happened for a
Greater purpose,
Taught me to be the
Bigger person

What happened to me
Pushed my boundaries,
Stretched my mind,
Tore me apart and
Taught me how to put myself back
Together

What happened to me
Hurt,
Killed parts of me so that
New parts could shine through and
I’m grateful for the
Light

What happened to me
Isn’t okay but I see the
Good, and that has to be
Enough

Barbara- wow. Loved Side-Effect.
Daniel A- I loved that. Felt like I was jumping the fence. Great.

Why do we need to go "through it" - Barbara? Why not a date? Why not be happy with the winners? Why this?
I have no other option than wait - and yes, with you, only I'd rather just be happy.

FIRST FLIGHT
By: Nikki Markle

Clouds.
I have seen clouds
All my life, but
Never like this.
I watch a 2 a.m.
Sunrise spread a
Soft blanket the color of
Springtime dandelions.

They look so thick,
So plush. I wish
I could step out of
This cramped airplane
And walk upon them.
I long to feel
Their cottony softness
Between my toes.

I think they would
Be bouncy; a delicate
Quilt covering a bed of sky.
They remind me
Of cotton balls, cotton candy,
Of pillows, but mostly
They just make me think,
God has a hell of a view.

WHAT I'VE BEEN THROUGH?

What I've been through?
210+ poems in April,
within which I lost
two very dear friends.
Battling a mangled left
shoulder and a
colon cancer diagnosis.
A sixteen year old daughter
who is having a hard time
figuring out why a father,
taken from her through
a contentious divorce,
has to venture this path
a mere three weeks after
her mother's lung cancer
fight began.
A surprising "reconciliation"
with the woman who had made
life and my desire to write
a living hell. Finding
finally, a commonality
after twenty-four years.

Take another man whose wife
finds him unconscious
gasping for breath and life,
and gets him to a hospital
in the nick of time
to search for answers to one
of life's "baffling ailments".
A publisher, a mentor, a poet,
a husband and father,
taking time to smell a rose or two!
4 sons and a cousin,
an IKEA catalogue waiting somewhere,
and a batch of poetry to assess?
I'll take the four sons and cousin,
add two daughters and a bunch more
cousins and feel like life is
pretty damn good! I long for that
IKEA catalog collecting dust
atop my rusted file cabinet.
There is no more wonderful poetry
than a man in love with his family
and giving them his due, so he can
come back rested, happy and ready
to dole out his "awards"
to vindicate the poetic masses.
A true leader has their priorities
in order. After all,
it only poetry!
Yes, life IS just wonderful
when viewed through the passionate
eyes of a poetic heart.


Heiberg? "What I've been through? 30 poems in April and now you tell me about an IKEA catalogue waiting somewhere with 4 sons and a cousin.
This is the 5th of August and soon the 6th here. Isn't life just wonderful?"

Do I envy your wonderful life? C'mon! It's only poetry!

What Happened to You?

Molested from the age of three
by men who should have taken care
of my body, my young mind
Parents who drank too much
to take care of anything more than my physical needs
A nephew dead in the creek
when he was 5, I was 16
Forced by a line on a map
in a highways office in Victoria
to leave my home, my sanctuary, my soul’s place
two months after the boy’s funeral
The fire that destroyed our high school
less than one month before
my high school graduation
My friend meeting me in the hallway
of the staff dormitory of the Banff Springs Hotel
when we were 18
delegated the duty of telling me that
my father was dead
Stayed drunk for a decade till I was
rescued, loved, restored, glorified,
justified, sanctified, freed, renewed, reborn
by the gracious incomprehensible mercy
of my Lord Jesus Christ
Singing now, knowing that I was loved,
cared for, cried for, cherished, held
in the palm of His hand
throughout it all
Grateful that I am the person I am
because of all that happened
Knowing that I cannot fall because
underneath are the everlasting arms

Robert – I cannot thank you as eloquently as does Walt.
Bless you for taking the time to post a prompt for us. Wednesday without prompted poetry? Ugh

Trudi. Your poem is PURE love. After your early tribulations, I'm very happy you've been brought "back home". With all that's happened to you, I'm sure the only thing to make your life complete is knowing who captured the prize in the April PAD.
Truly Trudi, you life would be wonderful!


Gang, pardon my sarcasm, but after four+ months, I've finally found my temper. Now I remember why I lost it in the first place. Have a good night, I'm done here today!

Walt, there's no "only poetry" - and that's what makes life wonderful. Poetry is just another language and very often I like your voice, your language. That's part of my wonderful life, listening to voices, yours for instance.

Third Born
(Shadorma)

Waves of pain
how to describe them
knives that stab
flames that sear
no one prepared me for this
ordeal -- back labor

Finally
new son in my arms
heaven's gift
angel's breath
no matter how terrible
all pain's forgotten

Vicariously

No, I haven’t actually been through
divorce; each June I announce the tally—
thirty-two years, going on thirty-three
like a six-year-old already looking
forward to next year’s birthday.


of the phone line with you, my grief
for your loss a hard knot
in the center of my chest.

And I’ve waited at your house
until you returned from the court
date that made it final, letting you
breeze in an hour late as if you’d
only stopped by the store, offering
my silence, my presence.

No, I haven’t had the phone call
after test results, the one we dread.
Instead, I get the postcard I addressed
myself that lets me know I’m clear
at least for this year.

But I’ve prayed for healing
when you asked for prayers.
I’ve cried with you when you went
ahead and let them shave your hair
to avoid the clumps and tufts. I
even bought myself a floppy hat,
pretending we were a club of two.

My babies grew to term, were born
head first, face down, taking those
first gulps of air without a single
slap of the behind, offering up
such beautiful cries.

I know—as you do—that none
of my blessings come at your expense.
I have refused to live my life
waiting for my luck to turn; I don’t
believe in luck.

But I offer myself, a companion
on your journey, so you’ll never
be completely solitary, and you’ll
never go without love.

Coming Back To Life

Beginning backwards there was a glow
like a headlight halo on a pitch black road.
It formed a long tubular fixture
hypnotically drawing me in, but then,
voices murmured and I wanted to hear
what they were saying. My eyelids, closed
as heavily drawn drapes, began to flutter, open.
A three-digit number, black against white
background, sharpened. For a fleeting moment
I believed I was in heaven and assigned this number,
but outlines of faces filled in, as did the bed
I found I was lying on, and I remembered
the tranquilizers and whiskey; I knew I had failed.

My laptop cursor has gone rambo on me. A line was deleted from the second stanza. I apologize for not checking before submitting:

Vicariously

No, I haven’t actually been through
divorce; each June I announce the tally—
thirty-two years, going on thirty-three
like a six-year-old already looking
forward to next year’s birthday.

But I’ve sat at the end
of the phone line with you, my grief
for your loss a hard knot
in the center of my chest.

And I’ve waited at your house
until you returned from the court
date that made it final, letting you
breeze in an hour late as if you’d
only stopped by the store, offering
my silence, my presence.

No, I haven’t had the phone call
after test results, the one we dread.
Instead, I get the postcard I addressed
myself that lets me know I’m clear
at least for this year.

But I’ve prayed for healing
when you asked for prayers.
I’ve cried with you when you went
ahead and let them shave your hair
to avoid the clumps and tufts. I
even bought myself a floppy hat,
pretending we were a club of two.

My babies grew to term, were born
head first, face down, taking those
first gulps of air without a single
slap of the behind, offering up
such beautiful cries.

I know—as you do—that none
of my blessings come at your expense.
I have refused to live my life
waiting for my luck to turn; I don’t
believe in luck.

But I offer myself, a companion
on your journey, so you’ll never
be completely solitary, and you’ll
never go without love.

Sara bless you and I hope you are past that . . . truly past that and other things you have mentioned in the past . . . well written, heartfelt . . .

Soak away, Robert! Enjoy your much-needed, well-deserved vacation. Thanks for tending to the prompt, and taking the time to write and post. I hope you know how much you are appreciated.

I see many heart-wrenching situations already written of freely and without reservation. What a gathering of incredibly strong individuals we have here. And a gracious God.

LA, I can't even imagine.

Trudi, bless you. You are a true inspiration.

"Falling Down the Highway"

Tires hum on the blacktop
as lights in darkened buildings flash by
and overhead the giant sign warns
of the impending steep hill
we crest the unknown and fall
down the slope towards the cars all lined
up before the round green light
way down at the bottom where a street
crosses the highway we're on
lights flash red one after one
like dominoes going down and Normand brakes
we accelerate down against the seatbelts
but they pull back pull back pull back pull
we kiss the backs of the seats snugly
as we stop centimetres short of the car ahead
one two...I release my breath and continue
writing in my head only it's not over
the shock of contact stops time
my left arm reaches up to cradle my once-
damaged neck in time for another
the shock of contact stops thoughts
I stare out the windshield whole
cause of the seatbelt and see a white
car flash past on the shoulder.

Being Diagnosed with a Rare Heart Condition

Relaxed and optimistic
My general practitioner conducts my physical.
"You have a cardiovascular murmur and need an echocardiogram immediately."

I'm rushed to Yale/New Haven Hospital.

I lay my body down on a cold, metalic table.
The echo technician applies a cream to the transducer
And glides it 'round my torso.

Doctor Lutin, cardiologist and Jazz enthusiast
Explains the etiology of my heart's syncopated rhytms.
"He has a rare disorder entitled IHSS.
There is a blockage of tissue in his Atrial Cavity.
He only has a twenty-five per cent chance of survival...
He's lucky he has been alive this long."

The Cardiologist had diagnosed me when I was a teen.
I'm thirty nine and persevere against the odds.

FANCY FISHIN’

We cruise along in pontoon boat
on Truman Lake’s glassy surface.
Sunday morning calm broken
by “Oh my God!”
from husband
as he cuts the motor.
I jerk my head up
from sunny slumber.
“What happened?” I ask.
Husband, children rush forward.
Peer at a lifeless four-foot
Spoonbill catfish on foredeck.
I snap a quick shot
as husband displays his prize.

We haul it to our marina.
Ask marina operator
how to butcher the monster.
His reply,
“Get that thing outta’ here
before water patrol sees you.
Endangered species.
Big fines.”

“But we didn’t catch it,”
husband says.
“Try tellin’ that
to the judge,”
he says.

We take it to the main channel.
Let it loose.
Spoonbill rolls on its side
as we make a hasty retreat.

"mugging"

it’s a slow dance tonight
a rise and fall, a whirl to the right
and into the darkest shadowed wall
we twirl, it swirls, this momentary
embrace of skin to skin,
the touch abrasive, yet warm.

it’s a tearing, a breaking,
a roundabout reel and aching
in my chest and side, and down
again, against this monument
and dirty brick, a fallen rose
left rotting on this city street.

(when i was younger, my best friend and i were in sunday school together. at the age of about four, we announced to our parents that we were going to get married.)

“i felled in love”

i felled in love
will you give me a flower?
can i kiss you?
how about a hug?
i like your hair
do you like mine?
will we sing together in church choir tomorrow?
i am missing sunday school
i am missing your face on sunday
i am missing your smiling face
are you missing me?
are we missing that felled in feeling?
i am missing you.

Another Saab Story

Mike was doing 45 when we made the curve,
where the yellow sign cautioned all that 25
was the maximum safe speed and that
was in the coolness of the spring,
the heat and dry of summer,
perhaps an autumn day when leaves are red
and orange and purple
long before the stack along the road
was a berm of packed and plowed back snow.

"Slow down!" I said,
just as the Saab began to wiggle,
hit the snow berm fast and hard,
tumbled through the air.

Upside down, all glass erased,
scooping up the snow and gravel,
dirt and latent sod
as we skidded 'cross
the cold December morn,
the early, drunk December morn.

Somehow back on all four wheels,
I don't remember how,
the wailing from the back seat,
"It's gonna blow!"
woke me from my stupor,
along with Mike, blood
tricklling from his ear,
pacing back and forth along that
sleet-slick curve of road
and crying so that it becomes a mantra,
"I could have killed you!
I could have killed you!"

Climbing through the window,
out to freedom, I heard again,
Mingled in with Mike's lament,
"It's gonna blow!"

And to shut him up, the guy
who panics in the backseat,
I yanked him through the window
on to solid ground.

When later he was told his
collarbone was broken,
when even moments after
touching ground he realized
the Saab would not blow up,
it didn't seem to matter:
I was still his hero.

“Graduate School Comps”

The light cracks in through the window
The book is in my lap
The cat is on his pillow
Taking his nightly nap

A pencil is my hand
And the computer screen glows
I try to keep my eyes open
But they just want to close

Comps are tomorrow
I’ve studied all weekend
Over coffee at the café
And over beers with my friends

I keep my fingers crossed
That for some reason I’ll be able to pass
So I can get my MA degree
And go on to another task

I let out a deep sigh
Trying to determine whether to go to bed
Or to keep reading
Here at my desk instead

The Lazy Wind.*

So many traumas
ripping into lives and scattering happiness to the wind.
I read and cannot participate,
reaching the end of the story so far
with an aching heart.

What could I say to such as these?
My words would be a guttering wind
against tense tympanic membranes.
No more than tinnitus
and less than helpful.

Unlike the lazy wind I go through nothing
preferring to to take the long way round.


* A saying I have heard from early childhood - the lazy wind goes through everything not around.

Chocking out a breath
Forcing the vileness
Out of my lungs
Tortuous
Gasping
Wracking my
Every fibre

Damn I hate
Living through colds.

Khara, "felled" is adorable.

Banana has expressed my sentiments about all of you in her usual superb manner.

Taylor--nice to back searching with you. I still think you should put all the November ones together in a little chapbook, even if you just run them off at Kincko's. I would buy it. You could add this one in too.

in the midst
of it all,
a twenty year
old wound opens
and bleeds
fresh and I
see that I'm
still not through
it.

then a memory
of the stars,
when I could see
the stars, where I
grew up, in nowhere
proper, makes
me smile
and I'm not through
with that
either.

Hi! Just started reading the poems. At time, I’m not quite sure what to say, but here are a few musings. I’ll post more later, along with a poem? (but I have to feed the kidlets and the doglet right now.)

=D

Walt – OMG! I know all about the scooch onto the table thing. lol! You gave me a great backflash memory. Astonishing!

Daniel A. – I think you must have just written the most gorgeous metaphor I’ve ever read, with “If every word’s a diving board...” Brilliant!

Heiberg – lol about the IKEA catalogue. Another good laugh this AM. And yep – definitely awaiting news (with baited/bated breath) about PAD – but regardless of the outcome, I thoroughly enjoyed the experience. Happy? Yes.

Barbara – I’m not sure what to say. What an intense poem. Haunting.

Taylor – you’ve kind of named my worst nightmare. You really lived through that?

Theresa – you said it all so eloquently in Third Born.

Sara – another terribly haunting piece. I hope you found some peace now (no pun intended.)

Whoops. Forgot to put the title on that one. "Never been through nothin'"

While I'm here, a couple of shout outs to Barbara Young, Walt, Nancy, Khara, J. Alvey and Banana. Good Stuff all.

Baltimore

I have been through Baltimore.
In the rain, I've been through Baltimore.
At rush hour, in the rain I've been through Baltimore.
Baltimore's just an interstate
At rush hour
In the rain.

Robert: Have a great time out and much fun with the new IKEA catalogue, I am eagerly waiting for mine!!
And I’m back, finally! The last couples of months were a bit, uhm, challenging, fascinating, thrilling, and in fact still are as I am pregnant in the 3rd month. I am really curious about the outcome of the PAD but now I want to at least rejoin the prompts. I’ve been through a lot the last 3 years, good and bad, but this was the first thing that came to my mind...

Escape from Bristol, RI
Two large suitcases,
one black, one pink,
a small one in green
and a rucksack in red
I hauled along
from Bristol
over Boston
to Newark
and finally: Cologne
people thought
I had done Christmas shopping
I was stopped by the customs
but was let through hastily
when I burst into tears
because everything I carried along
in those bags
were the remains
of my life
while I dragged myself
through

Err, sorry, the title is "Escape from Bristol, RI" - somehow this editor munches my linebreaks...

Welcome home, Julia, and congratulations!

CANCER TWICE VISITED

the doctor should have said
You’d better sit down for this
But instead he blurted out
You have colon cancer
I let myself drop into a chair
In a kind of slow-motion tumble
As if someone had tossed me
Into where planets spin
I did not know if I’d survive

The second time cancer came
Another doctor said
Bad news and good news
You have prostate cancer
But it’s small and hasn’t spread
This time I stood and took it all in
Cancer had come back
Like an uninvited guest
I wonder now what it’s planning next

#

Khara, you're right: it is a dance.

I waltzed through a charmed childhood,
Surrounded by love;
Married my high school sweetheart,
Consummating in three beautiful children.
I often asked God why He had chosen
To bless me so richly.
Why He had never seen fit
To test my faith.

The wife is always the last to know.

Using Fake I.D.

I'm on line
at the bar
my first night in college.
My palms are sweaty
my legs like noodles
my heart racing.
I look at my new I.D.
over and over
trying to memorize
my newly invented date of birth.
What if it doesn't work?
Can I go to jail?
My parents will kill me!

The line is moving quickly
I fight the urge to run.
I'm counting the people ahead
I am number eight.
The guy at the door is very serious
he never smiles.
It's my turn now
I hand him my card.
He looks at it intently
then stares into my eyes.
Oh God
he knows he knows!
He hands me back my card
and waves me in.

D-I-V-O-R-C-E

Death of a marriage always a tragedy
Intact family sundered in two
Viciousness of human nature often revealed
Ordinary everyday life suspended in time
Restructuring, re-evaluating needed
Children in pain have a right to loving concern
Everyone deserves a second chance.

(Author's note: God is so good at the business of second chances. The second chance at our house is entering its 25th year, praise Him.)

Theresa, I see that we are on the same page. The God of second chances has just blessed Keith and I with our 18th year. And, yes ... praise Him!

Khara, I somehow missed your first post. Barbara's comment "threw" me, so I went back to check it out. "Mugged" is quite chilling. Good job on both.

Good one, Heather.

Julia, congratulations on your pregnancy.

@Marie Elena: Thanks!! And ouch, I can feel with you in your poem... Good that the God of Second Chances is with you!

@Linda: Thank you, too. :-)

Glad to read that others are also awaiting the PAD results. I was hoping that I had not somehow missed the posting. But I have already published a chapbook with the poems I was inspired to write by the April prompts, so I could not be happier with my own results!

Penny, thanks for the encouragement. I'll work on it. (Already have an old collection, 1995, essentially out of print now.)

RJ, luckily there were two fuel tanks.

Barbara, I especially love your Baltimore.

One Late Friday Afternoon in the City

One sunny springtime Friday afternoon,
after work,
I planned to meet
my then boyfriend
who played piano
and sang old classics

at a piano bar.

Handbag
and shell game merchants lined up
kiosk after kiosk
and table after table
along the North side
of Bryant Park

between 5th and 6th.

I would have whistled
if I could have whistled,
but I couldn’t
so I hummed instead and wove in and out of throngs
with my handbag on my shoulder
and a bottle

of champagne in my hand.

Also weaving
amidst the crowds
was a strange wandering man
with a strange look upon his face,
and most of the crowd
(like me)

avoided him at all cost.

At the corner
of 6th and 42nd Street
the light turned against me
so I had to wait
with my handbag
and my champagne

and my burgeoning lack of patience.


Throngs, crowds, swarms of humanity
joined me there
waiting for red to turn to green.
The man with the peculiar countenance
joined us
and without introduction or invitation

grabbed me.

Hitting notes (not-so-classic) in my upper register,
I jumped and swayed
and swung the bottle in a large arc,
and if my accoster hadn’t moved in any way,
nothing would have happened
except for my lone reaction...

but he did.

And with the force
of fear and anger and confusion
and with an awkward swish
worthy of a clumsy Musketeer,
I brought the dark green bottle
with a label printed in a foreign language

onto his head.

He wobbled
and quivered
and did an impromptu Texas two-step
and he looked off-kilter
but no more off-kilter
than he did

before any of this happened.

As the crowd looked on with curious disdain
and the strange man got his bearings
the light changed
and we all were off again,
off to our various destinations
or stop off points

along our way home. (If there was a home to go to, of course.)


I felt scared and guilty and relieved
when I arrived at the bar.
I told my then boyfriend the story of what happened.
He shook his head
in a small show of wide-eyed wonder
and then he played the piano nd sang for me

an old classic.

My Formative Years

No happy, safe, loved childhood
Constant worry kept me from eating
Fear kept me from sleeping
Always on guard for the hit, kick or slap
Schizophrenic family is the excuse for my abuse
"I only wanted 2 children" (I am number 5)
"We kept you out of responsibility, nice families don't give away babies"
"Why can't you be like..."
"You are so stupid"
"Don't tell or it will be worse next time"
"No one will believe you"
Words said in anger that will haunt forever
I left their house but not their abuse
I carried the baggage they gave me for years
Too many drinks
Too many drugs
Too many men (and no love)

There are things you can “go thru” but you will never be the same

Marriage – birth - motherhood- fatherhood
The event, the ceremony, once you were one
Now you are two. Additions change you.
Your days – some call them carefree- are
Not entirely planned by you. You adjust,
You learn, you find yourself happier.
(Or divorced, back to the single life again)

Additions usually make us happier. The
Subtractions – that which takes away –
Will also take away the person that we
Were before.

Death is the great subtractor. His verdict
Is final and cannot be appealed.
When someone you love is taken away
You lose yourself as well.

When you lose a parent, you are no longer
“someone’s child.” If you have children of
your own, responsibilities take on meanings
you hadn’t realized before. If you are
single and alone “orphan” is the word that
comes to mind.

You learn to carry on. Faced with a form
To fill out, you hesitate at the squares.
Once you checked “married” without a
Second thought. Now the one called
“widow” is the one that’s meant for you.

Lose a child and a part of you
Will never return. You will alternately
Implore death or beg him to take you, also.
Brothers and sisters quickly learn
Happy endings are for TV shows and
Storybooks.

There are some who compare life to a
Race. Hurdles loom in your way, you
Jump. Be strong, believe in luck, bad
Things happen to other people.

Not all the time. Beware.

"Water Stories"

Once we were wading
to Cockenoe Island.
The tide rushed up to our necks.

A September gale
came up in the Sound.
My father’s boat almost sank.

S. wanted to swim
without a life jacket.
The sailboat drifted away.

I heard a man call
from the waves off the beach.
I thought it was the wind.

Robert, you should be enjoying your vacation. Not working, nor worrying about us. Honestly, Walt promised to pay for that broken lamp, and Marie swears she did not invite those gang members to your home here for that wild party, not to mention that I will reimburse you completely for whatever the cost to your carpet. My dog really is very sorry, aren't you Dora? She just barked to prove how sorry she is. Wow, she's actually wagging her tail. OK, I think I have him fooled, who's going for the next beer run? PARTY TIME!!!!!!!!!!!!

No seriously, I honestly did not expect a prompt this week. I thought you would skip the week due to your vacation plans. You have a great vacation. And, I promise all will be as you left it when you return, well maybe almost as you left it. :-)

Ralph.

Hey, just read the prompt, I have been through all three of the above. If I write another poem that has to do with my ex, my wife will kill me, and then get the dog to dig a hole out back to stuff me in. Never wrote about the bankruptcy, that might be a challenge. The car wreck, well which one? Yes, unfortunately, for the first oh 10 years after we moved here from California I got into several car crashes, thankfully no one was hurt in any of them. Then I learned to drive New York style and I am proud to say I have not been in one real accident in over 22 years. Well there was that guy that rear ended me, but that does not count, as there was no damage and no injury. The police refused to take a report since there was really nothing to report.

Ralph, who promises to come up with a poem for this, after I write the poem for that last prompt involving my culture, that's been on my mind for 3 days now.

Immigration

How long will you stay?
Got a job.
And how’s that?
Got a visa in back
Of my passport.
And where will you live?
Well, we’re buying a house.
Where?
We’ve not bought it yet.
There’s the rub
And you feel like a louse
An unwanted intruder
You brood but pretend
It’s a smile
Mustn’t anger them while
They’re assessing your case.

How long will you stay?
And do you
Have farm products or food
From the places you’ve been
I’ve got chocolate
They take all my cases
And x-ray the lot.

How long will you stay?
I’m a citizen now
They don’t ask and they smile
And don’t anger me while
They’re directing me
Ma’am
Here’s a place in the line
Waiting
Say I’ve got chocolate
Delicious, what make?

Thing I’ve Been Through

Aside from your pants pockets and the drawer beside the fridge,
the glove compartment and a week’s worth of trash, aging
like good cheese or bad potatoes, I’ve wracked my brain,
felt beneath the sofa cushions, checked beneath the car mats,
all the places they might lurk, silently waiting for discovery.

Like Sherlock Holmes—or at least Nancy Drew, I’ve used
deductive reasoning, child psychology, and amateur self-taught
transcendental meditation: Where would I be if I were my keys?
Ommmmm.

I’ve retraced my steps and yours, recalled every single person
who has set a foot within the boundary of our yard. I’ve eyed
neighborhood dogs suspiciously, listened for the tell-tale jingle,
wondering if it could, perhaps, be more than rabies tags.

I’ve tried all the spare keys in the junk drawer, even the ones I
know are house keys, on the off-chance that one might fit.
I’ve even considered googling “how to hot wire a car,” but
knowing myself a visual learning, realize youtube is my best bet.

A veteran of losing things, of searching and finding, I’ve never
come to terms with that feeling in my gut when something’s lost.
At times, like picking off a scab, I’ve keep worrying in the back
of my mind long after what was lost is found, some part of my brain
unwilling to give up the search.

How do they do it, those who lose their children? I lose a day
over something I can replace for a nominal fee, something I may
run across a month from now, thinking I know I looked there.
What must they go through, hoping and fearing what they’ll find?

Tour Guide

I took a pleasure trip to a far away place
with a knowledgeable host
who gave me information that I needed
to understand what I was looking at.

Similar to the ritual in my part of America
that requires me to take a house tour
where the homeowner guides me
room through room
pointing out whose room is whose
and where the dogs like to hide.

Like I care.

When I go back to visit my mother
to her home that I have lived in,
I am still taken on the tour
room through room
to see the new to her knickknacks
recently acquired at the flee market.

Like I care.

Back at my house when visitors come
they stay in the living room.
There is no tour
room through room.
Instead, I carry everything out
showing them my artistic creations.

They must care.
They didn't go hide with the cats.

Rear-ended By A Firetruck

My car was in the shop
So I borrowed the wife's (Now ex-wife)
I promised no damage, not even a drop
Such is the case, or, at least my life's

I made through the day
The car was still OK
Then on the way home
The light turned yellow
the rear-view showed I was alone
how was I to know

I started to slow
Anticipating the inevitable Red
I should have chosen to go
I tried to do the right thing instead

Sitting quietly at the red light
I felt a sudden jolt,
then heard metal crunch from behind
I realized something was just not right
as her voice and my promise began to remind

Stepping out of the car
I suddenly realized I had been hit by a fire truck
I thought about a local bar
as an inner fear slowly struck

We decided to exchange information
Just as three police cars arrived on the scene
only serving to increase my frustration
Asking only what the fireman had seen

The officer asked for my license and registration
Then the clincher reared it's ugly head
Instantly making it more than a bad situation
You see, I had shown my old insurance ID instead

Having left the new cards at home
When asked, my cards were out of date
from the look on the officers face,
I might as well had been stoned
it was just one of those moments we all hate
as he gave me a summons to appear at his place
at a certain time, on a certain date

You would think that would be the end
not with my luck,
He issued a non insured ticket
with an address and the amount I had to send
told me not to drive, leaving me stuck

I am guessing he assumed the car could be driven
the only thing that car was good for would be some insects to live in
Though, the parts might be sold for scrap
for that car, it was a wrap

The officer then informed me,
I would have to notify my insurance company
acting as if, I were lying about being insured
and, as if that were not enough humility to be endured

The officer informed me,
that I could sue,
but, not only would I lose,
The city might find an excuse to fire me
but, his report would be ready for whatever I choose
as long as I was willing to pay a $10 fee

Then, I went to my insurance company
They of course put the blame on me
The car, a total loss
as the book value was far less then the cost

Then I had to face the wife (ex wife at this time)
She of course was extremely upset
having taught me yet another lesson in life
not to borrow based on promises, that I might have to forget

The insurance did however fight on my behalf
When all was said and done, the repair would cost over three grand
In the fight against the NYC Fire Department I actually won
Now, you have to understand,
they looked at book value and paid me for the loss, exactly one hundred dollars

As things turned out
the fireman was not where he was supposed to be
I don't know all of what that was about
but, it certainly helped me

Left two thousand nine hundred dollars short for the repair
The car ended up in the junkyard
but, the worst did not end there
No, not when fate had worked so hard
She had to show how much she would truly care

My wife (ex wife) would get the auto she would pick
Price would not be an issue
so, the next time my car was in the shop
it would be either car service or I would call in sick. . .

Ralph J. Fitcher, 8/06/09, experience I had, all unfortunately true. Oddly enough that had nothing to with the divorce.

Nancy and Patricia, loved the humor in both!

Ralph, hush. I TOLD you not to say anything to Robert about the p-a-r-t-y. And I'm sure I don't know a doggone thing about any gang members. Besides, GEEZ -- they were only gang member wannabeez. I mean, that's what I think. I wouldn't know. Now, you really better not go and mention the "For Sale" sign in his yard, ya hear?

P.S. Quite a story there!

Electrocution

The demon grabbed me by the shoulders
on a winter night in Boston.
I had just stepped from a stalled Green Line train,
six blocks from home, and decided to trudge
the rest of the way through the snow.
I stepped in an icy puddle
when suddenly it seized me from behind
and threw me to the ground.
I lay paralyzed in the freezing water,
a shudder running through my helpless body.
I knew what the demon was,
an invisible current that might kill me.
“Get me out!” I screamed.
Two cops directing traffic nearby grabbed my arms,
let go, grabbed me again, let go again –
the demon was trying to grab them back.
Finally, they wrested me to my feet,
shaken and wet but uninjured.
I refused a ride to the hospital,
but that night I filed myself under,
“Lucky to Be Alive”.
It turned out that a “floating ground” in the rails
caused the train to stop,
and stopped me in my tracks as well.
From that day forward, I respected electricity,
the faithful servant that could any moment
bite an ill-placed hand or worse,
a demon lurking behind that wall socket,
in that metal fence, around those rails.

Altering My Identity

So quickly it happened.
One minute, obliviously trimming
The blades of the sheers humming
As the tops of the blades of grass fell.
The next minute, contact
Blood streaming from my finger
The whorls forever torn
Never again matching the fingerprints
On file with the California DMV
Taken decades ago.

So slowly it happened.
Decades of being the adoring niece
One more Get Well card here
One less Birthday card there
One more funeral
One less phone number to call
Year upon year
As the tops of the family tree fell
Tears streaming from my eyes
My world forever torn
Never again matching the pictures
Taken decades ago.

“Loss”
My daughters’ daddy died recently
I never thought I would cry
But I did
I cried for two days
Not because there was any love lost
Between us
But because he was never there for her
He never came around
For holidays or her birthday
He missed out on everything
I guess somewhere in my mind
I always hoped that one day
He would come for her
And he would own up
To being her daddy
But that day never came
And now it never will

Robert - Hope you are enjoying your well-deserved vacation. Thanks for the great prompt.

R J Clarken - Many thanks for the mention. I still get goose bumps when I see my name on someone's list of shout-outs. Hope that never stops.

Marie Elena - Continued blessings to you and your own second chance. We are truly blessed women.

There are so many really intense personal stories laid bare already on this prompt that I am reluctant to comment individually. You are an amazing bunch, and I'm happy to be part of this company.

SNEAKING OUT TO A VACANT BOAT

Silent steps, spiral staircase descended
ear pressed against bathroom wall. Parents
voices have trailed off, snores have replaced
the silent space, refrigerator hummed, heart beat
raced. Sliding glass breezeway door left ajar,
prepared in advance for a soundless escape.

Retreating into the night, a stealthy flight
winged bare feet, shoes in hand to erase all
traces of leaf crinkle, pine needle bristle.
The driveway never seemed so long, my heart
never seemed so full of the thrill a secret
rendezvous with a teenaged will, naive but not.

Sand dollar full moon elates my senses, conscienceless
displaying bare skin, the night embraces. Wine sweetened
lips, removes all grips of modesty, infatuation rips away reality.
Dawn has spawned, new found guilt, felt despite the numbness
that wine spilt. Patterns of smoke spiral through a ceaseless
void, tired and desire reaches the point of imploring restraint.

Roaring engine echoed in the quietude of dawn startling
morning doves. Stealing the last of kisses love he dismisses.
I'm left reaching into the reserves of sober judgment trying
to find a shred of a straight line to walk down the pine
needle padded tar that now again, seems too far. Traversed
hoping with every fiber of being, that my folks were still in bed.

~Hannah Gosselin

Five Years

He asked her to dance and asked
for a Ferris wheel ride. He told her
he was interested in settling down
as he jetted off in the night. He
“forgot” to call and made her wait
wondering. But then made it all up
with a night on the town and a
pretty excuse about phones on the
road. He carried her along with
promises galore while she planned
out a wedding for years. He
neglected to mention all the other
women that she feared, but never
let herself believe. For five years
he strung her along, as she waited
and worried and hoped. Till she came
down with a case of common sense
and ran away to Cancun.

Wow you guys!! :)

Nikki, "sunrise spread a blanket the color of springtime dandelions..." that whole bit about the sky was awesome!
LA, "a moment in time, a lifetime in a moment," depth of parental love runs deep.
Walt, Thanks for being here and always being honest, I appreciate it.
Barbara, "dropped them into word shaped holes I could describe define almost taste but they were inaccessible" glad you got you're words back,
sometimes I have days like that.
Taylor, intense memory you're brave to do it again!
Heather, "killed parts of me so that new parts could shine through and I'm grateful for the light," beautiful writing!
Trudi, thank you for your gift shared here so eloquently, God smiles! :)
Theresa, "heaven's gift angel's breath,' truly gifts aren't they?
Nancy, "vicariously," sooo touching to say the least, whoever holds you near and dear are blessed.
Sara, "my eyelids closed as heavily drawn drapes.." powerful!
banana, nice work and my heart aches too.
Chev, truly superb, I love your style! :)
Salvatore, bless you're strength.
Marie, I am really enjoying your saying w/o saying really effective piece! :)
Khara very well done!
Welcome back Julia
Congrats anne
Sheila, chocolate IS powerful but not quite powerful enough, enjoyed this!
Allison, "I carried the baggage they gave me for years," strikes an all too familiar note, good work.
Marian, touching and perceptive I enjoy your work.
ann, loved your glimpse, sometimes less is so much more. :)
Ralph and Marie, thanks for the laugh you guys, and please save some keg for me lol jk !! :)

Awesome work ALL!!

My poem about going through divorce.

Mine

I have my own place now
with my own things;
At night I sleep in my own bed
with my own cat purring at my feet.

In the morning coffee drips
from my own coffee maker--
I pour it into my own mug
and stare out the valanced kitchen window
into my own small backyard.

I do things in my own time now
and in my own way;
Some would relish such freedom,
but I miss the responsibility of
tending to another,
the surrender of what was mine
into ours;
I long for the compromise
of a relationship,
and I grieve.

But my grief is my own.

Our Dying Solstice

We had it all
Pills, vials, fluids, needles, syringes
A twice-daily routine of keeping
"chronic renal failure" at bay.
Six pound white "domestic shorthair" feline turned tiger
when pills approached her mouth
but accepted the needles without
struggle. She even purred sometimes, and
always after.
One weekend blur, in and out of
Emergency. Saturday breathless,
Sunday seizures, panicked driving while sobbing
gasping tears.
Waiting room magazines, rereading lines
distractedly. Relief when we could take her
Home. Then Monday
she left quietly, held gently,
Small body seeming smaller without
Feistiness and
Soul.

Sue Tanida

PS thank you for the opportunity to air my grief--we lost her on the 27th of July.

Wonderful work, all. Thanks to Heather, RJ Clarken, and Hannah for the shout-outs.
Living always used to feel harder than dying. However, glad to report that is no longer
the case. I appreciate everything about life now, and all of you as well.
Thanks,

Sara, you give me hope for my daughter. Bless you.

Thank you Hannah.

All: Theresa wisely wrote, "There are so many really intense personal stories laid bare already on this prompt that I am reluctant to comment individually." I echo her sentiment exactly.

Marie, I thought Hannah was in charge of hiding that sign, so that Robert would not find it. Shhh, he might be listening in.

Ralph.

But now, I'm already going to eat my words above. I simply must mention:

Terri: "But my grief is my own" -- you could not have penned a better closing line to your poem.

Sue: Same with "Small body seeming smaller without fiestiness and soul."

Hannah: I felt the excitement and fear along with you. Well done.

Psst ... Fitch! Over here! Shhhhh ... see, Hannah dipped into the keg a bit too much and, well ... let's just say she was a bit forgetful.

Panic Attack
The wall, the inaccessible wall
I see nothing, I hear nothing, and I cannot concentrate.
I feel the anger, the fear, and the inability to cope with situations.
These are simple everyday feats that normal people perform.
I don’t understand the confusion, I cannot hide my shame.
This is depression and misery beyond control.
I need and yearn for understanding.
I pray.

My Favorite Christmas Story

My Christmases were wonderful, all filled with happy cheer.
But now I look toward the season with a tinge of fear.
Illness, the car, the kids, or pets, or surgery for eyes-
it seems that every year there is a horrible surprise.
Christmas changed for me and I lost the joy of Yule
one blizzardy, ice filled week when I ran out of fuel.

The oil truck was coming. I had called to hear them say
that they would stop and fill the tank before the holiday.
A logging camp took all they had. They never even phoned
to tell me in the freezing cold, I’d be all alone.
Wind screamed round the house, ice sparkled like bright jewels
that blizzardy, ice filled week when I ran out of fuel.

The kids slept over at the neighbours, I slept on a couch
pulled up to the fireplace, where for warmth I’d have to crouch.
Five days without the furnace, five nights without much rest.
The hot water tank burned oil, I was truly in a mess.
I kept the house from freezing; I was stubborn as a mule
that blizzardy, ice filled week when I ran out of fuel.

There was a terrific ice storm, trees popping in the cold.
A massive silver maple cracked in half, it just couldn’t hold.
It filled up my driveway, barely missed the house and dog.
Neighbours came with chain saws, turned that tree into a log.
The car was blocked, we missed Christmas Sunday School
that blizzardy, ice filled week when I ran out of fuel.

My sister came to visit, to share in our Christmas glee.
She wandered through the house and asked, “Where’s the Christmas tree?”
She bought a lovely little tree and helped to decorate
and then, hooray! the oil truck showed up at the gate.
They did not apologize but I managed to keep my cool
that blizzardy, ice filled week when I ran out of fuel.

Ah bliss! Our house was finally warm, the kids were both asleep.
One foot in the tub when I heard the crash and ran to see
the tree had fallen. I picked it up, got scratched everywhere.
The grand finale to the week made a story I now share.
It was quite hilarious, a twist of fate so cruel
that blizzardy, ice filled week when I ran out of fuel.

Fergetful...hiccup...I put id right where you said to...hiccup!

One Night at Fifty Below

It was imperative
I find her
That was all I knew;
From the mosque
The women were
not allowed
To follow the body,
from there
It was ferried
As if in
Great secrecy
To its
Destination,
the Islamic cemetery
And we, daughters
of Allah all
Even me,
the honorary one
Waited with feigned
patience for the
men to return
from their
appointed duties
and while we waited
we laid out the food
and prayed
at scheduled intervals

Later that night,
Filled with restlessness
Beyond anything containable,
I finally grabbed
my keys,
Warmed the Honda Civic
and without
telling my daughter
the only one
of my family
In town
at the time,
I set off,
determined to
find my friend
To learn where
now she slept
To bid her my own
final farewell

Ignoring all dire
weather warnings
Of black ice and
temperatures so cold
Exposed flesh would freeze
in under one minute
I went on my way,
Confident I would
be fine,
confident also
that I knew approximately
where this tiny cemetery
Was located
and a short time later
I found myself
turning down
A deeply rutted
country road,
Unpaved beneath
the snow
Rife with winter dangers;
I was spinning crazily
In no time, but
Being a mostly
Competent driver,
I convinced myself
It was all good
As I lowered my
Speed accordingly
Switched on
the high beams,
felt a twinge
Of worry
as I noted
side-ways snow
In their rays;
A blizzard starting up?
Hmm, where was that
Damned cemetery,
I remember thinking
As I accelerated
Into a wide curve
In the road

Accelerated as one
Usually would
Under normal circumstances,
Forgetting momentarily
That there was
Nothing normal that night
And as I rounded
The bend in the road,
The little car took
To the air
And shot off the road.

In seemingly slow motion,
I had time
To realize the extreme
Drop to the side
I was soaring out over,
Time to think,
‘so this is how it ends,
how stupid of me’
before the car landed
with a tremendous thunk
On the snowploughed furrow
Separating road from cliff;
The front half of the car
Dangling in mid-air,
The back-half,
Dangling over the road
And me?
I sat still, stunned,
Wondering; what now

Digging out my cellphone,
I noticed there was not
much juice left in it,
Tried a call to AMA
Got through but had trouble
Explaining where I was,
Since I really had no idea
– not good
They were backed up
four hours but said
they would try to send
some hel -- before
My phone died and
I was left sitting foolishly
With the useless bit
of technology
In my hand,
Starting to tremble now
The knowledge of how
close I had come
To ending life
Setting in;
How far I had
yet to go
Were I to get out
of this mess...
I noted the car was,
at least, still running,
still putting out heat
But, I had less than
a quarter tank of gas
how long, I wondered
Would that last?

It hadn’t escaped
my notice that
I had not seen
one vehicle, not one,
since pulling onto
This road,
however long ago
that was
I pulled my
coat sleeve back
to see the time
Oh dear – two-twenty
in the morning –
I didn’t hold out
a lot of hope
that another car would
be coming along
any time soon

And I was growing
oh-so-weary;
I dug out
Pen and paper,
Determined to write
a few lines
Before nodding off;
then cracked my
window slightly
No need to die
of carbon monoxide
Poisoning after all,
It wasn’t as if
I had been
Trying to kill myself,
was it? Well was it?

At least I could do
that for my family
Was my reasoning;
let them know
what I had
Been up to,
reassure them
that while foolish
I hadn’t been suicidal,
You know,
just in case

Concentrating on
my words,
I’m not sure
When I became aware
Of the noise –
But suddenly
my head whipped
Up and I scanned
The landscape
as far as I
could see

Omigod – headlights!
Was that a car
On my road?
It was, it was –
Would he see me
Perched way
Up here?
I didn’t know and I
Missing me
So ever so carefully
I opened the door,
Noticing how the car
teetered slightly,
back and forth,
on the windrow
Popping my seatbelt,
I virtually let myself
fall out
of the car,
just dumped myself out,
managing not
to move the car
anymore than
was necessary

Then, hands, feet, face –
all burning
with the cold,
I scrambled
down the side
of the cliff-like windrow
Landing on the road,
just as the car
came around the curve
that had catapulted
me off the edge
I raised my arms
over my head
and the driver slammed
on his brakes
and started to fish-tail

Oh Jesus – now,
he was going
to have an accident
But no,
he was driving a
four-wheel-drive
pick-up truck
And he quickly got it
under control
and stopped easily
The man leaped out
and came running over
to where I now sat
shaken and shaking,
in the snow
beside the road

“Lady – what the hell - ?”
Right then he spotted
my car and sized up
the situation
in a heartbeat,
said gruffly,
“Well – that looks
none too good,
c’mon, get in my truck –”

I guess I was
Looking at him
with some trepidation
All the warnings
and stories you hear
you know -
Stranger danger
and all that
The man just
shook his head,
“Listen – I just live
about a mile
up the road –
I’m going there
Now and you’re
Welcome to come
With me and call
for a tow,”
He brushed some
snow off his coat,
looked at me again.
“But, I’m getting back
in my truck
right now so
if you’re coming,
let’s get going.
My face is getting
numb and if you don’t
Mind me saying,
yours is looking
pretty bad.
You need
to get warm
And soon.”
I figured I had
nothing to lose
and was going
to ask him
About turning my car off
when I realized
it wasn’t running
any more.
Talk about your defining
moments – that was mine
There was no reason
to stay where I was,
and I knew
if I did, I would die
Long story short,
that man turned out
to be my angel
I fell asleep
at his farmhouse
and he took care
of everything;
The AMA tow-truck,
notifying my daughter
of where I was
And that I was all right
– he couldn’t keep her
from being upset that
I had taken off
without telling her
but he did more
Ameliorate things
Significantly,
More or less intimating that
We knew each other
And that I was ‘visiting’ him
When I had car trouble...
It seems, without me
Having to tell me
He sensed my troubles
Ran deeper than running
Off the road
In dreadful weather
In the middle
Of the night

Manics don’t
always sense
the triggers
for their mania
At that stage
I was not good
At predicting mine
So yes, I did this
I was there
and experienced it all
But thanks to my angel,
it didn’t cost me near
what it could have
Whenever I find myself
despairing of humanity
Or thinking the world
is going to hell
in the proverbial
Hand-basket (whatever that means...)
I try to recall
That night and that knight
and things seem lighter,
less bleak

Well expressed, Sammy. It's hard to see from the outside and difficult to remember when it's over.

Whoopee! Time to read and appreciate.

Daniel – thank you for making me think!
Walt – you paint such wonderful pictures. And thank you for your comment.
LA – a lifetime in a moment – oh, yes
Barbara – so glad you can find the words
Taylor – Leak in the Right Fuel Tank – such courage!
Heather – Amen!
Nikki- great images in First Flight
Theresa – Third Born – aww! Sincerely.
Nancy – you truly understand what it means to be a friend (never heard of a laptop going Rambo. Perfect description)
Sara – Beginning backwards......ouch
James – Hooray! You’re still here
Khara-love your poems! Still can’t get your line “read it like a hard-mouthed horse” out of my head (did I get that right?)
Banana – count your blessings!
Jolanta – hilarious comment on the common!? cold
Chev – a memory of the stars....oh, my
Julia – great poem, great news! Congratulations
Salvatore – a slow-motion tumble: wonderful description
Marie Elena – thank you for your shout out. Too bad the charmed childhood doesn’t last, huh?
Theresa & Marie Elena- more amens!
RJ – scared and guilty and relieved – oh yeah
Allison – you express so much pain from your childhood. I understand all that.
Nancy – what a sobering ending to a funny, funny poem
Patricia – can I come visit?
Ralph - how can anybody get hit by a fire truck? Great storytelling.
Bruce –so very glad you survived.
Kata – life kinda takes us by surprise, doesn’t it?
Hannah - sand dollar full moon – perfect!
Sue – I share your grief over your cat. So sorry.
Sammy- what a vivid picture of anxiety
SE – wow. What a night. Thanks

Wow! I made it through all the wonderful, terrific, amazing poems. Thank you all for sharing your talent.

Speaking of computers going Rambo: does anybody know why my keyboard misses keystrokes when I'm online, but behaves itself beautifully in Word? This is making me crazy.

Did you know that Rambo First Blood was filmed in Hope BC? That's where I live!

Hannah and Ralph: I'm gonna be really upset if I have to come over there and clean up before Robert comes back!

Marie Elena - you invited them over for the party? Walt will be sorry he's not here!

What's a chapbook?

Speaking of forgetful, thanks for feeling my poetry Marie.

Trudi, thank you for mentioning that line, I'm glad you liked it ! :) Interesting tid bit about Rambo! So fitting that you live in a place called Hope! Nice work today Trudi. :)

S.E., wow what an adventure, nice one.

Terri, I understand where you're coming from about the compromise of relationship, nice work.

Sue, sending healing thoughts in this time of grievance.

What the...a surprise party? Why the hell wasn't I invited?

Now don't you go pretending you weren't there, Mr. Wojtanik. We all know who was responsible for getting poor little innocent Hannah drunk.

I mean ...

What party?

Yes, Trudi, I really did get hit by a firetruck. His siren was not on, and I believe he was trying to beat the light that I slowed for. Ether way he was supposed to be in another place, not where he hit me.

Now about the cleanup, I have on good authority, (Sharon after several boiler makers)that you voluntered to clean-up Trudi. Are you trying to tell me I got bad info?

Hey, we need a cleanup in Robert's bedroom, Heather was hanging up her coat and spilled another drink. Ewww, this one is sticky. Thats gonna make a stain. On Roberts brand new carpet.
How did I know about it? No! I did not push Heather and make her spill her drink. hey, don't blame me for the mess. I did not do it, besides there were no witnesses.

psst. Don't worry Heather i will get you out of this, just take the rap so Robert does not find out I am responsible for the mess.

Ralph

Something
It doesn't happen overnight
Insidiously
It creeps in day by day
Til the time when you find you can't function and
The sadness just won't go away
Decisions become overwhelming to make
Planning for tomorrow is just too hard to take
But they say not to worry
You will get over it, soon,
Don't let things get you down
Get a cure from the pharmacy
Take some of those little pills
Just like half the people in town
Life is too short
Don't let it get you down.

Thanks, Trudi. And S.E., incredible. "Someone" was watching out for you that night.

Started to hit the sack about an hour ago, and got sidetracked. Good night, all.

Was I THAT obvious?

What a talented group of people! I am moved and grateful for peoples' condolences.

A chapbook (Trudi) is a collection of poems published as a slim volume. Here is a URL of a writing contest so you can see their guidelines of what goes into a typical chapbook.

http://writingcontests.wordpress.com/2009/07/28/the-ledge-2009-poetry-chapbook-competition/

Wait. Somebody has to clean up Trudi? I'm confused...
This must have something to do with Walt.

Say goodnight, Walt.

Two Herons

We danced around the eggshells
That kept us from caressing,
Words.

Chairs and tables,
Mattresses,
Manuevered in between us.

The past a chaperone,
The future: windows fogged,
The moments passing lost
In words

And in this awkward dance.

Ungainly creatures
Preening, primping,
Well askance,

Until
The moments blossomed into present,
Became an urgent current
Finally sweeping us away.

Good Night, Walt? Oh...right! Good night, Walt!

Through years and days
I'm sometimes wandered,
often lurched and fell.
They keep speeding by,
no matter.
I hang seemingly
suspended-
stasis a given-
while on the walls
of life's tunnel
speeding, spinning past,
glow vivid pictures
of love and adventure,
glory and grief.

For John Hughes

sometimes the little
things stick.
as we left
The Breakfast Club,
a buddy of mine
turned and said,
"did you like that
as much as I did?"
and I had. to a
couple of still
teenagers,
we had been
through it
and it felt
like truth.

I’ve been through:

Plentiful sun…
Perhaps more than my ration.
Just enough rain
To stir my compassion.

Love gained, then lost;
Caused trust to be broken,
Belief that “I love you’s”
Are done being spoken.

A thirteen-year marriage
Abruptly closed.
The love that once was
Has since decomposed.

In-laws-turned-outlaws;
For some I still pine.
My family once his,
And his family once mine.

Foreign-born terror
Appeared on our shore.
A long phase of peace,
Now an era of war.

Times of self doubt,
Though no more than most.
Times when I’ve felt
The desire to boast.

Loss of some loved ones,
Expected and not.
Heartache and sadness
That each death had brought.

New love born of trust,
I’d thought never could be;
A generous gift
God bestowed upon me.

Unspeakable pain
When my daughter fell ill.
Passionate prayer
For God’s healing and will.

Joy with each triumph,
Despair when she falls;
Heart-pounding fear
Of midnight phone calls.

We all go through life:
The good and the evil;
From wonderfully calm;
To horrific upheaval.

How then to handle
These varied affairs?
Envelop each
With a mantle of prayers.

Nice tribute, Chev. We've lost a great deal of talent in a short span of time, have we not?

Thank you to Hannah and to Trudi - twice!

Really enjoying everyone's work this week, but time to read is at a premium -- preparing for my daughter's shower ("sprinkle") tomorrow. Somehow the sprinkle has turned into a deluge. Anyone who is or knows an Italian gets my meaning:)

Alla famiglia! :)

He only helped me do keg-stands twice!! The rest was my own doing! Does anyone have an advil? lol ;)

Theresa, congrats on your daughter's "sprinkle" have fun! :)

Marie, exceptional piece especially liked the sound of the first stanza. :)

J. Alvey, I always enjoy your work "the moments blossomed into present..."

PM27, your last two lines speak loud and clear, that's what's important. :)

SIX O'CLOCK TRAIN

Haze of August sun
set low on the horizon
peaking the beginning
of a long stretch of paved
downhill, we hear the train
calling in the distance
announcing its presence
gripping the stroller
handle tight, I race
down the hill to meet
the train on the bridge
where it would pass.
Just in time, toddler
and in love with trains
his first time seeing
a real one, gripping
his little waist his
face is dripping with
a great shining grin.
Motioning the conductor
I manage to get a great
toot-toot and a trilled
hoot from us, waving our
greetings, the train
whooshes beneath the
bridge sending an
enormous wave of heat
and exhaust toward our
faces, sending blond hair
flying on a breeze of diesel.

~Hannah Gosselin

Hey, I really should have spent a little more time on my piece before I posted. I hope no one minds, I’m reposting the revised version.

SIX O'CLOCK TRAIN

Haze of August sun
set low on the horizon.
Peaking the beginning
of a long stretch of paved
downhill, we hear the train
calling in the distance
announcing its presence.
Gripping the stroller
handle tight, we tear
down the hill to meet
the train on the bridge
where it would pass.
Just in time. Toddler
and in love with trains,
first time seeing a real one,
gripping little waist,
his face is dripping with
a giant shining grin.
Motioning the conductor
I manage to get a great
toot-toot and a trilled
hoot from us. Waving
our greetings, the train
whooshes beneath the
bridge pushing an
enormous wave of heat
and exhaust toward our
faces, sending blond hair
flying on a breeze of diesel.

~Hannah Gosselin

Having Gone Through Sedona

The rocks of Sedona
are like toast in the morning,
not yet made vivid by the
early sun, dulled by clouds,
sheep-white in the distance,
hanging near Flagstaff.

The rocks of Sedona
are like cocoa in the afternoon,
enriched by the climbing light,
backed by a blue formica sky,
dotted by Ponderosa pines,
jutting from ridgelines.

The rocks of Sedona
are like corn dogs at dinner,
a soft, earthy glow from
the sun’s fading lines,
first more brown, then the rust,
concluding perfection.

Barbara - side effect - now THIS is a poem . praise be metaphor!:) loved it.

NO FUN

I’ve been through a million gazillion and one
Reasons I just cannot have any fun.
I’m restless and cranky and bored as a stone.
I really don’t like it when I’m all alone.
Somebody, somebody, come play with me.
I can only have fun when just me becomes we.


Back later to read more...

Marie Elena, bored as a toad
is sitting in dudgeon
and needs a good goad.
If she has to stay there she'll go off her nut;
Somebody help her to get off of her...
case of unendurable ennui.

(This happened about ten years ago.)


In Threes

The little sore grew just as mom always
feared it would, being diabetic. I came
from Colorado to Pennsylvania to be
with her in the hospital when she had
her leg amputated. I remember staring
at the empty spot where her leg should
have been, feeling numb. At the same
time my eighty-two year old mother-in-law
went walking her thirteen blocks in her
Cheyenne neighborhood, as she had done
every day for the past several years. But
this day, two chows, running loose, attacked
and chewed her up from head to toe.
The news story online showed the location.
It looked like a murder scene. On the way
back to Colorado I stayed a few days with her
at the hospital. Finally, I drove home. My
daughter was supposed to go on a trip with
her youth group but she had appendicitis
instead. So upon arriving in Colorado, we
spent our first days in yet another hospital.
After you and your loved ones go through
such things, it doesn’t seem right to complain
about back aches, inclement weather, or
boredom, but for some reason I still do.
Some problems are mosquitoes, some are
hungry lions. I’ve learned that whether
problems try to devour you or suck you dry
one drop of blood at a time, it helps to develop
a grateful heart for God’s comforts: the sisters
who gather round you, the friends who hug you,
the nurse who brings you tea with cream and sugar.

FIRESIDE SOLUTIONS

Crackle of fire,
heat emitted,
crimes committed.
From the booze you've retired,

for the night,
till the pain becomes unbearable.
You start thinking its controllable,
an emotional fight,

eased by liquid, anesthetized.
Momentarily till panging
turns to rage raining
on those which you’re most familiarized.

Not yet grown, not a child,
middle stature of birth order.
Bet you didn't expect those words, fodder
food that could've nourished. While

you sat back in your chair;
your belly full of homespun rations
set into motion by your parents fashions,
and your brother's dead stare.

Unexpected self afflicted death.
Your father's despair wreaked havoc,
the shrapnel of family tragic.
Alcoholism consumed family’s health.

Words of advice implored lovingly,
then your child, not quite grown
struck in the womb;
she pleaded despairingly.


You wouldn't give a murderer a gun would you?
What about a drink to an alcoholic?
A loaded gun,
certain demise.
Would you?

~Hannah Gosselin

Connie and Hannah, you've both done it again. Extraordinary writers, both.

Barbara, you made me laugh! That one was sparked by my cousin's little girl, who was always bored if she didn't have playmates available. Her parents used to tell her, "Don't have anymore fun now, Lisa." Cracked me up. :)

Barbara, I'd also re-read your "side effects" piece several times. My youngest daughter is epileptic, and I can relate to your poem to a degree. I just can't imagine how hard it is for a writer to lose words. Although I must say that it certainly does not show in your writing. My best to you.

Looks like it's been a quiet day out here today. Have a good night, all.

What Kind of Mother

What kind of mother
questions motherhood
at three in the morning
with a baby at her breast

the kind of mother
that is entirely unprepared
for the crying infant
looking for salvation

the kind of mother
that doubts her ability
to take care of another
when she's only a child herself

the kind of mother
who didn't have a mother
only a schizophrenic mess
that regretted her existence

that questioned her father
when he came home too late
and suspiciously watched him
as he drove to work

that sat in the dark
on the old front porch
alone with her cigarette
and her broken dreams

what kind of mother
realizes the treasure
that she holds in her arms
and determines to do better

that's the kind of mother I want to be

Khara - had to say I loved ' I Felled in Love" and so did my son when I read it to him. Thanks for that.

Thank you Marie! :)

Tina very well written, "and determines to do better," thank God for these kind of mother's, hope for the future's children.

Connie, trial does make the comfort so much sweeter, loved your piece by the way.

Happy Saturday, happy writing! :)

Miss you Walt. :( Hope everything's okay, I'd understand if you just need a breather but I can say for myself your voice is missed.

Sharper than a serpent's tooth...

The night is over at long last
and sun comes up as darkness fades
I'm not refreshed from sleep alas
for I've been peeing razor blades.

Every hour on the hour
the call has come to pass
water I've been swigging down
which turned to shards of glass.

Despite taking medication
I'm sick and tired and sadder
from avoiding dessiccation
and flushing out my bladder.

There would be a prize indeed
for whoever would delight us
by finding how to rid the word
of horrible cystitis!

Although strictly speaking it went through me rather than me going through it :)

Khara "felled in love" is a keeper.

Going through with love.


We walked beside the waterfall,
remember?
I thought the rocks along the edge
climbable-
not slick with moss or too massive.
I ventured
six or seven feet toward the top.
Remember
how you called me back, insisteng
"it's not safe."?
So little is, and that was not
my prime gauge
of what I might find worth doing.
But I came
back to you, and stay safely in
your orbit.

[when ever you are there to see,
and be scared]

Tina: bless you. Those two words don't relate the emotion I felt reading your piece, nor the sentiment I want to convey to you. But ... bless you.

Banana: ouchy ouchy ouchy! :(

Penny: love "going through."

Hannah: Missing his voice with you ...

One in Every Crowd

I’ve been through enough to know
There is One in every crowd.
If there’s not One in your crowd,
They are on their way.
I’ve been through enough to see
That The One shouldn’t set the pitch.
Tune your instrument.
Play your song.
Lead by example.
Enjoy the music.

A SELF-IMPOSED GAG ORDER

Two days bathed in silence,
the loss for words immense,
a search for some understanding
had left me rather tense.
Concerns of health and happiness
had laid my confidence bare,
a forty-eight hour hiatus,
had found no comfort there.
For everyday since April first
at least one poem came,
and my attempts at poetry
had given voice and name.
I had come to find communion
with others of my kind,
these two days into silence
had left me less than blind,
I see the “love” of faceless names,
supportive, warm and kind.
The passion of the compassionate,
the strength of every word,
has given cause to like my paws
and have my voice reheard.
And so dear friends and poets,
and others writing rhyme,
Walt has resurrected;
expect a damn good time.
Marie my dear, my guardian,
an angel without doubt,
and Darlin’ Hannah standing by
to bring my muse back out,
Theresa, De and Ralph and Dan,
my patient poet posse,
giving push to confidence
that had gotten rather messy.
Every poet pal aboard,
I’ve thanks for your concern,
This disappearance twice removed
has offered much to learn.
Rest assured, the voices heard
had set my mind at ease,
I’m returning from “vacation”,
with abundant words to please.
So let’s get back to business,
and blame the void on Walt,
(and Marie, you’ve got your “playmate” back -
so I expect a somersault!)


I'M BAAAAAAAAACK!

Empathetic Banana Throes

It’s said a passing
kidney stone is as
painful as childbirth.

True that, but only if
a child’s passage is
as over ground glass.

Certainly, though only
if waves of pain can
equal constant agony.

Of course, yet is the
sweet reward of baby
akin to expelled grains?

The Gamut
(Her Prepositional Phrase Phase)

She’s been through
Divorce
Childbirth
Loss
Fear
The wringer
The rain
The desert
Heartache
Heartbreak
Heart transplant
Rejection
Redemption
Hell
Back.

She’s been in
Love
Hate
Hot water
Dire straights
Trouble
Terror
The trenches
And the trauma ward.

She been out of
Luck
Tune
Touch
Time
And her ever lovin’ mind.

She’s been under
Age
Suspicion
Supervision
The influence
And his tyrannical thumb.

And she’s made it through it all
arrived on the other side
ready
to
just

Be.

And be thankful.

Pain and Gain

Suddenly, out of nowhere, she remembers the old Jane Fonda exercise videos when, as her strained stomach muscles began to scream bloody murder for mercy, good old Jane would calmly, slooooowly count down the excruciation factor:
‘5…
4…
3…
2…
and 1…’
See, you did it! You got through it! Very good!’

The heart is a muscle, isn’t it?

Where is her countdown? Can’t someone calculate for her how much time is left in this exercise in futility? And where’s the soothing, rhythmic voice reminding her to breathe?

Walt, great to have you back into full rhyming swing of things! :)
Daniel, that sounds excruciating! :(
De, two more great ones from you!! :)

Thanks, Hannah. I'm late to the party this week, as I have been "through" Kindergarten graduation, the last day of school, a dear friend's birthday celebration, and my sis in law's baby shower. Whew! No time to read yet; can't wait to get caught up.

Walt--I;m a great believer in fasts of all sorts, but next time tell us what you're doing! Good comeback.
Connie--really liked it!
Marie-loved "One in every crowd

5.august.09
Sleep deprivation

It’s day time.
I’m not sure what day
But we’re behind schedule
And it will be night soon,
Not that cycles
Of the sun and moon matter;
They happen so fast
My eyes cannot adjust,
Just register the change,
But that’s enough
Considering how they shake
Trying to keep up with
Pieces of each
While I move in slow motion
Around this location where
Colors and sounds turn grey
And all sensations fade,
Replaced with scenes of
Yesterday and tomorrow
And like tripping on my own conscious
The comedown and high coincide
Constantly, for days sometimes,
Creating a three acre singularity,
Where even sleep
Is often just a dream,
Stealing my life
One week at a time
Before I realize
It might still be Monday
And maybe the last few days
Of hallucinating
Was really all in my head.

HEART’S CRUSADE

Inexplicable waylay,
life events,
strung together as
a careening flip-book.
Carefully etched
in a larger than
life, doodle-pad.
Endless tirades
people with personal
facades, emitting
acrid air.

Thrumming out the
swiftly flipping
pictures, people
from a distance
colored lavishly,
hearts colors flag me;
world of wonders.
Measured, weighed
on a kind mind, minute
healing crusade.

A little girl whose
heart's hurt;
her family's torn apart.
Emotional guts splayed
wide open, talking to
strangers, hoping
for sympathy.
"It hurts here,"
she makes a fist
and balls it
to her chest.

Eight years old
and life's
overwhelming.
I do my best
to ease her mind,
give her heart rest;
listening to her
sad but true story.
I seize the opportunity
carefully laid out before me.

"I'm sorry this has happened
to you, there's a way to
let all this pain go.
Ask Jesus to take it from you,
He'll bring peace to this place
in your heart,"
I say balling my fist to my chest.
"Start by letting go of the pain,"
I release the grip of my fist,
physically releasing
the negative emotion.

"God's love and peace
will fall on you as rain
cleansing the hurt
filling your heart
with fresh hope."
I smile, into her being.
"I'll try to do that,"
she says with tears
in her eyes.

As we left my son,
who's two and a half
said "mama she's sad."
I’m astounded by his
perceptiveness and
caring expression.

He awoke from a nap as
I'm writing this, he said,
"playground mama?"
I question him,
"are you remembering
the playground?"

"Yes," he responds.
"Did you know
I was writing about
the sad girl?"
I ask him.
"Yes," he says.
"It's okay for
people to be sad
but it's not good
to hold onto the sadness,"
I tell him, looking into
his serious blue eyes.
He smiles.

Innocence carries a
perceptibility, a unique
sixth sense ability.
Shape and size
of a child like
faith; untainted
by world ways.

~Hannah Gosselin

Daniel - thanks for the empathy :) Appreciated and commiserations.

Not sure if it's OK to say here - but I'm busy putting together my first ever poetry book at the moment.
Which is gruelling work. Much harder than writing the poems. I'm struggling hard with fonts, layouts, cover designs and which order to put the poems in. Trying to pick 60 ish from nearly 400 - ouch!

Then I'm going to be a complete reckless idiot and proof read my own work!! But I'll pass it on to my son before finally deeming it 'fit'.

It's not so bad - because I'm planning to produce 7 books in the next few months. This is the Yellow book as a starter - as it is the colour of bananas and seemed as good a colour to begin with.

My back is killing me. So no more for tonight. I'm up to poem 56 so only 4 more to go and then I can start putting them in order.

Glad to see you're online again Walt. The place is sort of quiet without you :)

WOW!!! banana, you're ambitious, wish I had half the ambition you do! Anyway good luck and good job, moving forward in the poetic world. :)

banana, truth is, between all the hub-bub, I've been quietly putting my ducks in a row as well (not to your ambitious numbers!) and maybe your drive will inspire me to get my arse in gear and do the "grand plan". Good luck and keep us posted!

Hannah & Walt - thanks for the good wishes. Not sure about moving forward in the poetic world though ;)
I'll have seven books and I think I have maybe ten people who might buy them and be glad they exist and that's enough for me to want to finish the project.

Plus I'll never have to wonder again what to give anyone for birthdays or Christmas LOL

I often flop
Instead of flip;
And if I skate,
I’ll surely slip.

I cannot walk
Without a fall
So this is why
I always crawl.

And now I see
My playmate, Walt
Expects a flippin’
Somersault?!

The only
Somersault he’ll see
Is just above,
As typed by me.

I hope he knows
He made me cheer
And that I’m grinning
Ear to ear!

More excellence from Hannah, Daniel, De, and also Jared.

Penny, thanks for the kudos!

Hannah, it is no surprise that you have a perseptive, tender-hearted little one.

Banana: one autographed copy, please?

TYPO! TYPO! Meant perceptive, of course. Even my typing is un-coordinated.

banana, I'm with Marie on that one!

Walt good luck to you in your endeavors as well!

You two are making me feel like a slacker. I don't even know where to start!

Marie, you have me crackin up with your flippin somersault!! :)
and thanks for reading and commenting, your a dear.

Yeah, you're right! You can't even type in any synchronized fashion, a somersault was too much to ask. But the ear-to-ear is more compliment than I deserve. Coming from you, it's golden.

:) "Marie my dear, my guardian, an angel without doubt" ... Speaking of "more compliment than I deserve." But thanks. You're a peach.

Orange and fuzzy?

So, I am not the only one with peaches on the brain today.



Stealing Sweetness

.

Gluttons for the lush peach light,

we devour the sunset,

pit to peel

before we dive

into blackberry night.

Orange and fuzzy? Perhaps as opposed to purple and furry? The next Barney sensation?

Ooooooo ... LOVE it, Barbara! Delicious and very cool.

"I love glue.
Glue loves me,
a stick together fam-a-lee..."

I may be a peach,
but together, we're a pear!

IN INCREMENTS OF FEAT

Projecting my energies
seemingly effortlessly.
Attentively heeding
surges in an unseen
always felt fashion.

Spurts of body
flailing, imploring,
as a pale green,
pine bound
inch worm;

the next twig of
a knurled branch,
the next shred of a
scrap of a light.

Reaching
desperately
into thin air,
mission to expand
warmth of heart.
Calling to appreciative
pleasure, nature woos
me into healing arms.

~Hannah Gosselin

It's now cemented in my mind ... you're bananas. ;)

Oops. That last comment was meant for The Orange Fuzzy One, Hannah. LOL!

Incements is lovely and haunting ... certainly not bananas. And a good Sunday morning to you both!

Wish the three of us could sit together on nice front porch swing with a good cup-o-joe before beginning our day. Aaaaaahhhhh ... lovely thought.

Barbara, sensory delight, beautiful!

You guys have got me drooling, time for a delightful fruit salad! :)

Have a blessed day ALL!

Four of us? Still there, Barbara?

Marie, I've entertained the very thought myself...I would love that!

:) As Hannah says, have a blessed day ALL!

I'll bring the fruit salad if you bring your poetry! I'd like my coffee with a lil' cream, please! :)

Thanks Marie!

Ugh, coming in late... just got back from a weeklong roadtrip where there were many Thing To Get Through. There have been a lot of car poems already, so this is just one more, but it was definitely the most memorable: first time mountain driving in the rain. After this I'll have to start catching up on reading, but it looks like there are some great ones as usual...!

FALLING ROCK

I navigate the turns in driving rain,
the sign of the cross punctuated by curse
after
curse as we take the hairpins at twenty holding our
breaths
my eyes fixed on the road, yours to the side as though
your gaze can carry the weight
of these mountains.

I could say I've never done this before,
tell you how God and caffeine
are the only things that keep us
from
plummeting
off the peaks of the
Tuscaroras, swerving expertly around the
boulders and scree in our lane, with perfect
timing.

But I like it when you think I have it
all under control. I'm less concerned with landslides
than I am about the meteors of fortune that burst upon
our clasped hands, our friendly faces.
The future that is shown in a rock crystal ball
is as changeable as this road, winding downhill,
slick and unsteady. The nature of who we are can
change in an instant.

So I keep my mouth shut in concentration.
Your left hand grips my thigh, your right the handle
above the door.
Don't worry, I say, if we can just make it to the
bottom
then
we can get through anything. Even, I unsay,
our relationship. I half-believe it as I gun it up
to forty
until the next curve sideswipes us and we just
barely
make it, spraying gravel in the faces of those
in our wake.

Joseph, I was wondering where your eloquent voice was this week. That sounds like an intense road trip in more ways than one! ;)

Hey, Joseph, glad to see you back. Rock crystal is just too appropriate.

Kiddos I'd join the kaffekaltsch if it's cooler there than here. They're saying 100 today, so I'm having my americano on the rocks.

Wow, Walt, thank you for the mention. :-)

Ralph.

I am going to be changing my pen name again soon, but only for my more bizarre poems.
The new name to look out for is Brett Miles. I make up good names don't I.
This one came from Brett Maverick, and Niles Crane. When someone at a party kept calling him Miles instead of Niles.


Ralph.

Barbara: Gesundheit.

Joseph: Yikes! What's with the near-misses this week? All ya'll need to be careful out there.

Fitch: VERY cool name. Thanks for the heads up. But there's a glitch. I just "found" Fitch. Switch from Fitch? WHICHFITCHISWHICH?

Thanks Marie Elena, Hannah, and Penny!

Let Go

The sitter calls
A meeting unavoidable
I look at my son
Thinking of my empty wallet
Servers need busy restaurants
Not like the one
I serve in
I dial the number
No answer
Text the manager
Text the cook
My little guy eats nut O’s
Watching Curious George
Oblivious
My left arm throbs
Shoulder, elbow and wrist
Damaged by a hard floor
I was almost as good a server
With only one arm
I dial, leave my message
Apologizing
Helpless
I find my way from the emergency room
With unfortunate news
Checking in with my bosses
Responsible
I like my boss
The phone rings
She says, “I’m letting you go”
You’re unreliable
I don’t argue or
Defend myself
I think of the bill that will arrive from the hospital
The bills that provide shelter
I think of my son.


DEVAH 2009

Oh, I’ve been through the ringer
Got the scars inside and out
To prove the journey
Hasn’t been easy.

Gosh, where do you begin
When you start looking back
Because you certainly
Don’t want the past

To catch back up with you.

Thanks, Marie Elena.
Still in mourning over no time to read...life calls a little too loudly this week.

Dear Brett--nice to meet you, but I hate to think of a personality that is a combination of those two--each wonderful, but in no way similar--gentlemen. But you DID say it for your more bizarre poems. Did the rascals blow your cover again?

Banana-yes--yellow is a very good color. I wish you well, and I sympathize. I thought the hard part was done when the poems were written, too {;). Don't let anybody edit, but get all the proof readers you can--its os embracing to find this stuff after its printed.
I'm currently putting together one just for family that is just about family memories, with pictures of the folks remembered. The "Grandpa's Pipe" that I did for the April PAD inspired it.

THE INLAWS

Gathered for parties,
unfortunate union,
not the least interested
in this horrid communion,
the family of her
who carries my name,
I sit there in silence,
it's a pity; a shame.
These people annoy me
and have all these years,
their inane conversation
surely bores me to tears.
My nerves are a shambles
I'm feeling quite harried here,
an unwanted bonus
from the day that I married her.

CARNIVAL

Carnival Sunday
the parish event,
community service
some good time spent,
working the festival,
a fund-raising venture,
done for another year
an annual adventure.

I take mine black, no sugar! Yes, a Bohemian!

Shooting a Machine Gun

I just didn’t see why we had to go
But I was 12, hardly an age to say no
To my macho, do-no-wrong big bro
Who is currently inside a bait shop
Asking an old man to point on his map
As I sit in this truck, loathing this trip

And Jim. He’s not my brother by blood
But by a government-funded program.
My mother said, <i>be grateful to have him
To help you walk down the right road
Rather than the road of hopeless rebellion</i>
The one my own brother chose, <i>that hellion.</i>

The squeaky door slams shut, and Jim
Cranks up U2 and we head nowhere fast
In between Rabbit Hash and Hell, a farm
Where he said we’d have fun, but I must
Confess I wanted to run when I heard guns
Pound my ear drums, suck air from my lungs.

The machine guns, perched in a line,
<i>Let’s get on two</i>, Jim said, pointing down
the row of scary guns to the second one.
He was a soldier, his National Guard battalion
Waiting in the wings to fight a flood with guns.
When he so effortlessly, casually fires, I turn

Away, wish I was far away, long gone, out
Of this hailstorm of gun speak, scope, safety,
Ammo, and the sounds and smells, the soot
Of gunpowder, too much for me, but still, yet
A challenge awaits: <i>Jay, over here, come sit,
Hold it like this, look through here, and softly

Put your finger on the trigger, take a breath,
Then pull it. </i>The reverb, the attack put me back
On my butt, tears sliding down my face, no luck
That we could leave after that, because the path,
Said Jim, was too far to walk back to the truck
Alone, and he wasn’t done putting trees to death.

Well, you can see in my poem that I tried to put the dialogue in italics. Hopefully the <i> and </i> tags aren't too intrusive when you read it!

Walt, I thought you were Polish?? But Jim tells me that there are, indeed, Bohemians in Buffalo, which sounds like a title for something along the lines of a Road To... movie.

J. In our family it was only double barreled shotguns. Not nearly so intense, and requiring reloading by hand.

Barbara, you're right! We tried that, (entitle "Road to Hell"), but we had a hard time carting Hope and Crosby's corpses around the east side, go figure! So all the Bohemians left except me and Ani DiFranco coming home from time to time.

THE SUMMER OF NON-CONFORMITY

temperate weather less than stellar,
probably warmer in my cellar,
sitting on beaches, a lame attempt,
seems any sunshine is exempt.
rain abundant for rice paddies,
I'd settle for just an hour in Hades.
mowing my lawn with a wet/dry vac,
damn, I'm prayer for summer to come back,
my pigment has a prison pall,
too much time spent in the mall.
I would be a better man
had I chance to hone my tan.
temperate weather, where'd you go?
I hope they're not predicting snow!

Way to Gogh, van Wendt! Soggy summer sux.

Way to Gogh? HA! More Good fun with names.

DEVAH, I feel for you.

My New Destiny

Shattered, tattered and scattered
were my hopes and dreams.
Loveless, hopeless and powerless
was my life; with low self-esteem.
Darkness, baroness, nonetheless
was my spirit, void of any gleam.

Then one day I changed,
my life was now rearranged.
My hopes and dreams were now back,
to them, I would give no slack.
Self-esteem returned when I admitted defeat.
My new guide was God, and my life was sweet.
He gives me light, which I follow faithfully.
And I am now happy with my new destiny.

Beautiful, LKH.

Play Day

It was that fateful day
You know the one
when Robert went away
Off on vacation
leaving us alone to play

Oh, Robert remembered us
With a prompt about something we went through
he left with all of the trust
that a watchful parent might do

And, did we honor that trust
Hell, NO
We did what good boys and girls do
It was party time

Walt brought the scotch
Heather found some ice
While Marie kept watch
with a beer in hand

This was the plan
If Robert came home early
Now you have to understand
She would ring that bell

The sound would tell
It was time for an emergency cleanup
Then poor Barbara fell
Too much Tequila and Rye

Oh that just started it all
First the lamp she broke
and though she did not get hurt from the fall
The crash caused the neighbors to call the cops

All I heard was just this
Turn that sound down, this all stops
Not sure what I had missed
I turned to Patti, who was staring at De
Both were just blitzed

Then it happened the final straw
Right in front of the cops
Little Rover, came back with some seeds on his paw
Connie had fired up the bong

Realizing it was time to go
before that cop took us away
off to jail you know
We all started to run

Ralph broke an antique vase
that is in his haste
Hannah a wall mirror
that defined our predicament
just a little clearer

Joseph tore a hole in Roberts favorite chair
Then tried to cover it
with banana_the_poet's hair
Danial the sensible one was just having a fit

As he kept saying over and over again
Oh lord, this is it
Robert's gonna kill me when
I dare not think about it

As if that was not enough
Penny, had the munchies from all that beer
into the microwave she shoved some stuff
After the loud BOOM what she had done became clear

Connie was the first on the scene
She helped with the mess
but, some things never truly come clean
well, the rest you might guess

Chev, Walt, and Sue
they thought they knew
Just what they needed to do
Just then, all of the fuses blew

It was about that time
that the roof did cave in
what was on everyone's mind
What's gonna happen next?

The house was ready to be condemned
Water shooting into the sky from Robert's kitchen sink
From where did all of this trouble stem
Well, lets all take a moment to stop and think. . .

Brett Miles, 8/10/09, A poem of having been through an imaginary mess. Robert, I hope you have take this as the joke it was meant to be. :-) If anyone is offended by having their name in here, I apologize in advance.

Mr. Miles: That was not beer. That was apple juice. Just ask Fitch.

Patti,your piece states quite well what I thought about dredging up the past, nice poem.

I echo Marie, Laurie that was beautifully put, bless you.

concerning "Play Day"
It wasn't me, you see, it was Hannahballistic!! Nobody read the note on my vest that stated specifically: "Do not feed liquor, lest she become the twisted sister!!" lol ;-)

Hannah: Giggling over here! ;)

GETTING INKED

Rich ink spills
from needles,
splaying,
displaying
images aquatic.

Creations, elation
seahorses, lovers
blunt nose, to nose;
coral and ledge
framing their love.

Replenished, renewed
rejuvenated, releasing
deeply seated
emotions.

Our favorite band plays,
our hearts meet in the midst.
Tapping into the reserves
of patience.

Teaching myself
to beseech within
myself, a higher power;
desire to live passionately.

~Hannah Gosselin

Authors note: My hubby is a gifted artist, www.myspace.com/marco's madness
my piece is not on his space yet but we've been working on an aquatic sleeve! :)

Fitch claims,"...with enough Vodka to kill the sweetness!" By my calcs, there isn't enough Vodka in the world to kill THAT much sweetness! I'm just saying. And so she "suffers".

And "HannahBowle" Lechter, is that Chianti I smell? Got Liver?

With all these "new" names showing up, makes you miss Iain, Ringo, Mooshead and the lot, even more! And Miles to Gogh before he sleeps!

Four daze of madness coming to a close, hopefully things can get back to paranormal around here!

Did somebody feed Robert's goldfish Pizza?

I see that I missed the party.

What am I talking about? This place is always rocking.

I beg pardon.
I did not fall: I was pushed.
I did not see who it was, granted, but
I did distinctly felt a more than subtle nudge.
(and after that one time with the joint going one way and the lemon and the bottle passing in the other direction...no it wasn't tequila)

Walt, most of my left one's left!! lol ;)

Welcome back Robert!! :) Thanks for letting us rock at your house, fantastic party!

STAND UP AND BE LAUGHED AT

Slinking to the edge of the stage
where the microphone stands, stoic and intimidating still,
I look out to the glare of lights,
blinding as if being burned by a million laser lines,
and I swallow a sip of bottled refreshment
as if taking bitter medicine.

All these blank faces yearning for laughter, the best medicine,
throw down the gauntlet as I stand knock-kneed on the stage,
swilling their adult refreshment;
their hands perfectly still
while by the bar, the lines
get muted by the dimmed lights.

Now, I am bathed with spotlights,
sick to my stomach where no medicine
or “lines”
can push me past the stage
where my nerves are still
and my soul is “quenched” by courageous refreshment.

So, I sip again and pop a fresh mint,
knowing the lights
will not be stilled
until I am “on”; dispensing humor’s medicine.
So at this stage,
I begin my routine with my opening line.

The blank stares soften and the lines
around their eyes show their glee; refreshment
for the “funny looking” funny man on stage.
No longer frazzled by the lights.
No longer in need of medicine.
No longer is the audience still.

For in the still
of this mass of humorists standing in line
to take their dose of the “Open Mike” medicine,
I have served the best refreshment,
according to their applause and guffaws; blinded by the light,
and asked to come back next week to this stage.

The “last comic standing” has left . The stage is still.
The rows of lights leave bright tracer lines when I close my eyes.
My soul has been validated; such refreshment, a healing medicine.

Hannah, Two kidneys (L&R), one liver. Either way, my cholesterol just shot through the roof. Sorry Robert, I tried to stop them, but NO ONE listens to me. (Marie, take a peek, is he buying the BS?)

Seventies’ SurRealities

Focused on the flag flying upside-down,
I walked warily up to the “Pink Palace” perched “high” on The Hill.
Upon emerging from the elegant entrance into the lavish lobby,
I noticed the display doll had been moved, mugged probably,
Her robes rumpled and crucifix copped again.
No lamps lit the vaulted halls - eerily, queerly quiet this day.
Dark recesses seemed darker as I crept carefully toward
The Director’s draped door which
Suddenly swung open wide to reveal the red rugs,
Tongues of tawdry, plush pile that stretched
To the desk decorated with a lone lampshade held up by a lady’s leg.
Ugly Ogre, NOT the Director, raised his hoary head
To inform me, importantly, “He’s dead. Done in.
She shot him late last night. FBI fops and other Feds
Are winging their way out here. Go with someone to
Quickly clear out the love lair. Get the gold. Grab the goods. Get out!”

Up the secret stairway, stepped over the snoring
Padre who was likely sleeping off his favorite snort
(While his partner priest was probably panhandling the patrons)
To the second stairwell; slipped through the door into
The halls haunted by retirees relegated to roam as wraiths in this Black Hole –
Fame, fortunes and families had forsaken them.
Their susurrations and shuffling made me shudder.
We worked fast and returned rapidly to the Blushing Building on The Hill.

Big Boy; Bad Boy; “Acting” Director now, sent us to the Sanctuary
To abandon all the booty behind the altar, saying,
“Do it or die, you dolts!” The delivery done, we stealthily slipped
Along the columned aisles, through the Chapel, then charged across the street.
Slimy Slob; Slimy Snake, said “Go! Now!
But be back by my side tomorrow morning. It’ll be MY business
As usual. Do you understand, underling?”
I exited, exhausted; escaped. I assessed, then activated my alternatives.
The plan was in position. Surprise would reign supreme!
I never knew what went down or heard what happened;
Just knew I need never return or be subjected to the surreality ever again.

Thank you Penny, it is a pleasure to meet you as well.

Brett

Okay Walt you caught me having a dense moment!!! lOl :) I know we only have one liver, I was just caught up in the whole left left playing with words thing! :)

EXPRESS LINE


The conveyor hums as I thumb the tabloids
in the impulse rack, smirking over each star’s fall

from overdose or crossed affair.
My Coke and glazed donuts should fit in here

but the lady ahead lets her thirty-nine items
spill past the limit of Fifteen or Less.

The checker eyes the violation: all stops.
Servant and served each flints her face

and dares the other to strike a spark. Yet each
dumb-shows the expected gestures

the clerk pushing goods past the enraged scanner
as the customer draws her stiletto pen

and each transacts a bland decapitation,
sharping their eyes to the other’s throat.

The check is accepted. I clutch the near neck
of my two-liter club, ready to settle accounts.

Psst! Walt! I don't think he's buying it. Any of it. And sorry it took me so long to figure that out. It's just that my left liver is all out of wack, and you know what THAT is like.

And speaking of out of whack, what's the deal with the last three posts under the "Rebirth" thread?

"Rebirth" thread? What am I missing? My right brain has joined a commune.

The rebirthof colors thread (old). Check it out - very strange stuff! Unless it's just my third ear acting up again.

Dark and ominous, I'll give you that. Rather cultish. We have attracted some different souls here!

Apparently. I wonder if that's why that thread is now closed out for comments. Our Robert is no slouch. And speaking of slouching, my center eye is doing just that. Must be time to hit the sack.

Say Good Night, Marie! Ha, sort of reminds me of that old Crystal Gayle song, "Don't it make my third eye blue!"

Or, as my Deanna said from her car seat years ago, "Mom, do donuts make my brown eyes blue?"

Well, I'm finding my refresh button isn't all that refreshing. Especially on a muggy night like tonight.

Good night, Marie.

Wake up, Marie. Wake up, Walt. It is a refreshing new Tuesday. Only one more day to the new prompt. Keep all appendages inside the ride at all times.

Good morning, Patricia! :)

I’ve been through everything,
Searched high and low.
Where did I leave it?
Just don’t know.
You might think I’m insane,
But this I’ll guarantee:
That inanimate object
Is playing tricks on me.


Well, Patricia, maybe I'm not really awake yet after all...

Riding Shotgun

In time this moment
with fade from my consciousness
with no awareness
of my sensitivity
like arriving at the store
having no memory
of how I drove there.

But I drove on a different road
so I must attempt to acquire
the out-of-body Zen experience
needed by prostitutes
and battered women
who must detach themselves
from what men are doing
to their bodies.

I lie here
swollen and drugged
from a hypodermic needle
in preparation for a root canal.

The dentist drives the drill home.

You guys are awesome my second stomach is aching from laughter, my third left cheek is in a hitch and my fourth extra right side is in stitches!! ;)

Oh, poor poor Patricia. I've never had a root canal, and certainly don't want one. Nice job on the poem -- really didn't know where it was taking me until the end. :)

Hannah, you started it! ;) Gotta love this place, eh?

will fade from my consciousness... Forgive my error. Lip still swollen and words coming out wrong. (No. Not actually typing with my lips.)

Patricia: How many fingers am I holding up? (Not including my third pinky to the right...)

Oh man!! I certainly do love this place from the bottom of my third heart located in the heel of my right foot! :)

Nice Poem Patricia and nice mental picture of you typing with your lips!! lol ;)

'Morning Patricia, Marie, Hannah,...

Patricia, I'm behind Marie. She holding up the index finger and thumb on her left hand, and two fingers and the first AND third pinky to the right. Shhh, don't tell her I told you.

Hannah, I've been having second thoughts about your left liver. I hear this second hand from Marie. If you can be in the right mind to do something, what's left to talk about? Am I right?

Marie, Marie, Marie... you are the playful scamp aren't you. We have Hannah going here. We have her convinced she only has one liver when her problem, if you wanna call it that, is that she has a left and write mind (and possibly two left feet!) But all considered, the three of you ladies are all good eggs. Sunny-side up.

Mornin' Walt! You are goooooooooood!

I think all this talk about extra body parts is messing with my first brain twice removed. Is anyone else seeing an indication that there are 3 separate threads posted for August 2009? But not actually seeing a third thread?

Marie,
My mother taught me not to make obscene gestures with my fingers. You should stop that.

Hush, Patricia. You won't remember a thing once you wake up. And I'll deny it with all my lips. Speaking of which, how many lips am I holding up?

If my mother isn't watching, I could remind you that most women do have more than one pair. Save me from that visual.

I'd like to have a word with your dentist, young lady.

Too true, too true, I guess what's left is the mess you've left in my write brain. Which explains a lot about why Marie's being profane and on top of that seeing ghost threads! Patricia remains numb lipped and all, typing of mother's wishes. So that being said my left liver and two left feet are left at a loss of write words to write. Regress I just might, speakin of eggs you'll never guess what happened to me! I burnt three eggs sunny side up, forgot them in my left write brain , while I was busy complaining about the pain in my fourth side. No joke!!

Boy, I'm glad I'm not the only one that thought that, Patricia!! lol

pretty clear it's Tuesday.

Ha--the code for that was GASPY--pretty descriptiove

Is it getting warm in here, or is it all of you?

Don't look at me - I made an innocent, benign comment. :) <---See those innocent eyes and sweet smile?

Clear indeed, Penny. Sorry. ;)

Okay so I'm bending the rules (breaking prompt, sorry Robert) but if anybody asks the ballistic twisted sister did it!


THICK OF IT

Beneath the pines,

pools of pitch
sticky needle
clusters.

Pine perfumed plume.

Thick and rich
amber puddles,
extravagant yet subtle.

Amidst the meadow,

August haze
unkempt grass,
creating mazes.

Deep in dense depths,

trail traversed
garter snakes
and field mice.

Layout of land,

rich diversity,
terrain unites
nature’s spliced.

Hedged by wild blueberry,

rocky crag, thick
gray marbled ledge,
shriek of osprey fledgling.

~Hannah Gosselin

Bravo, twisted sister. :)

Thank you, thank you very much!! :) That's a number I like to call: "Gods great Earth!"

Hannah, The imagery makes me want to take a walk in the woods. Liking: terrain unifies nature's spliced. I will have to settle for a few laps in my back yard.

MULTI-FACETED

1. I, FATHER

Dear old Dad,
once removed,
Keeper of the peace,
holder of the keys
to the future.
Strong willed and
of soft heart
where my girls
are concerned.
Fixer of toys,
healer, doling wisdom,
compassion's accomplice,
progenitor, provider,
guardian, protector,
problem dissector,
man of a thousand faces,
but only one purpose,
Father.

2. I, MUSICIAN

Strike a familiar chord,
taking notes and getting
as much out of my instrument
as I am capable. God-given gifts,
once squandered, and now a renewed
passion. I've got the music in me
and everyday is a new song.
Pushing the keys of life
to hear their voice and timber,
a melodic diversion to
the marathon of life.
Singing to beat the band,
Singing to the beat of the band,
Thoughts set to music.
Musician.

3. I, CARPENTER

Birch
Wood.
Skilled trade.
Knotty pine.
Measure twice, cut once.
Caution, carpenter on board.
By the yard it's hard, but by
the inch, it's a cinch.
Did I nail
that one?
Screwed
up.

4. I, COMEDIAN

Leave them laughing so I'm told,
yet, I'm not completely sold,
if my humor leaves them cold?

So I venture, me the joker,
through this verbal hand of poker,
this dealing card, this funny broker.

Tales of my latest gaff,
told in ways to make 'em laugh,
audience doubled up in half.

Another angle of my life,
jovial, despite my strive,
Will someone PLEASE, take my wife?

Comic genius or comic foil,
with my wile I tend to toil,
delivering a ruckus royal.

Cosmic comic, joke reliable,
off my nut, certifiable,
a humorous vent, that's undeniable.

5. I, POET

I always had a way with words,
at least I always tried,
and hoped they'd capture feelings
I had locked away inside.
Every time I found a rhyme
to paint the things I thought,
conveying with emotion
the very words I've wrought.
My metered mirth menagerie,
my heartfelt thoughts of love,
the heartbreak and the ecstasy,
all fit the prompt above.
I offer all, releasing me
and setting my passions free,
a preponderance of poetry
as far as the eye can see.

Ladies and Gentlemen, "Elfish" has left the building!

Walt, you always do an outstanding job of painting the picture of who you are.

Or

Coloring who you are.

Tell that to Elfish.

Nice one Walt--especially liked the carpenter. Here's my 'caprenter'one

Thirty A.D.

What did Jesus wear
in the yard of Joseph's shop
to cut, smooth, and measure
the sweet smelling wood?
When cousin John tipped him
into the water,
was he bronzed from the elbows down?
Was his neck red?

okay--its now LATE on Tuesday, and if we're breaking prompt, here's one inspired by thoughts about the tongue in the book of James

Bronco Busting

Oh this beast that James would have me bridle:
a well fed stallion, pestered by flies,
rearing, stomping and tossing its head,
running wild, ignoring my cries.

Thanks a bunch, Patricia, I'm glad my piece rustled up that yearning. :)

Penny, outstanding, "Bronco Busting," was vivid! Thanks for being a rebel with me, what better piece to do it with than one about keeping the tongue in line.

Walt, "Facets," excellent, honest self-portrayals :)and by the way I resemble that statement, a bit elfish in height(a mere five ft. two in.), funny that it didn't even occur to me the "Elvisness" of that comment! lol

Hannah,
We're a matched set. I'm 5'2" as well!

Robert Welcome home. I am truly sorry about what we did to your home, but hey it was one heckofa party.

Brett

Well, now I feel like Amazon woman @ 5'6".

IDENTITY CRISIS
(What's in a name?)

They call me Walt.
I didn't request it,
but just the same
you could have guessed it
came from my father,
my grandfather too,
I'm proud of my moniker
and those two guys too.

It carries some weight,
I guess it's okay,
a thrice named fellow
with something to say.
Even at times where
I feel quite pathetic,
The words still arrive
to express it poetic.

And all of these poets,
the tall and the small,
arise to the prompts
with each Wednesday's call.
For some crazy reason
they search for my tag,
expecting my poems
to be in the bag.

But this week, a struggle
to wrestle my muse,
Had a big problem
with the words that I'd choose.
So I disappear for
a couple of days, see,
to keep myself from
going to crazy.

Each day I'd read
they were missing my work,
and honest to tell
I felt like a jerk,
for to keep me away
from my meter and rhyme,
would guarantee
a terrible time.

So like Ralph, I'd taken
a new nom de plume,
which allowed me to
secretly stay in the room.
A fly on the Wal,
was the posture I took,
remaining unnoticed
with each worried look.

My work was still there
for you others to see,
though through some deception
you didn't "see" me.
So I looked to Brett,
and Ralph did agree,
"What's in a name?"
words identified me.

So whether I'm "Castlebaum",
or "Vincent van Wendt",
there is no mistaking
my poetic bent.
Surprised no one noticed
my verbiage style,
even though they still
made you all smile.


They call me Walt.
Not everything seems as it appears!

Hmmmmm, Amazonia Elena! Has a nice ring to it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1NvgLkuEtkA

snicker.

Well now that was just mean. HOWEVER ... "Stand Up" DID make me stand up and take notice. I started a number of times to post that I thought "his" work was yours at first. But now who will believe me? And what stopped me? Not quite certain. An uneasy feeling that it might insult one of the two of you, for some reason. Sheeeeeesh! Can't trust anybody around here, eh?

Calamity

You wedge the laundry basket between your arms,
secure a can of soda and chips under fingers on one hand,
on the other you form a link, pinky to pinky with your four
year old daughter. You wait by the curb and gauge
traffic flow as your thumb and palm pinch the vending machine
treasures earned by your big girl who helped to fold and fluff.
Then you break the finger bond because it is all about to slip
from your hands, and firmly say: "you start to walk
when mommy starts to walk." Faster than your mind
can route it, your baby rushes out to the street.
Your heart screams before your eyes do.
A shadowy brute knocks on an unemployed
place inside, feeding you the most rotten
concept your thoughts have had to stomach,
and it serves you by the mindful, but reflexes worm behind
because they’re too troubled to get to the car that banged
on her chest, tossing her 10 feet in the air,
causing her backside to crash on the concrete.
On the sideline of undecided images there’s the basket
on the street with the days of the week panties, elastic
waist jeans and the flowery t-shirts’ fold still uninterrupted.
The can of soda is safe on the other side of the street.

DEATH

Death,
I have seen you,
I have experienced you,
I have been through you.

I have walked beside you.

You and I are old acquaintances,
although I don't like you very much;
in fact,
I don't want to see you again
until the end of my life,
and if I have my way,
if I can make my own plans,
I will plan the day I see you.

I'm not going to ask you
to come into my life
like I have in the past,
but should I be in a situation
of illness or injury,
to where I know the date of my demise,
it will be then that I ask to see you
once again.

Until then,
please stay away from me
and my family.

You have been much too present of late,
and you have caused an extreme amount of sorrow
to those I love.

Death,
I understand more than most
that you exist during the course of a lifetime.

You just chose to appear
in my daughter's life,
by taking away her second child
during its incubation.

That was a cruel
and vicious thing to do.

I know you are a part
of the cycle of life,
but I don't see your reasoning
for taking this child,
or hurting mine.

Death,
why couldn't you
have taken me?

I already know you.

Sorry. The "A.E." was a tease; not intended to be mean. The names were experiments in futility. Wanted to see if it was me or the words. The silence spoke volumes. Brought me back down to earth. I'm not the poet I thought I was. Oh well, merely sub-human will have to do, I guess.

Mortality

It happened in August
On a very fine day
I was watering a plant
The kids were at play
They came at me with force
And stung me, their prey
My life almost ended
On a very fine day
It happened in August.

Patricia, interesting, two elfish writers, I like it, accompanied by our prolific Amazonian guardian!

I'm with Marie and while I thought the names were off the wall out of the ordinary hadn't penned them for you. Still good work, though you can't blame us for being loyal and supportive. That doesn't change the quality and worth of the writer.

To be honest, Ralph's little look at this hand while I jab you with a left is what got us. Seems you two may have plotted this...Not to mention you 've had me hammered on keg beer all week!! lol ;)

Yoly , heart wrenching and traumatic, my heart goes out to you.

Linda, my heart also feels for your life trying situation. Very well written.

That must have been so scary, Michelle, I've always been in awe of those who have deathly allergic reactions, intense courage prevails.

We have just proven why editors read our work without our names on them. It is easy to bring the 'connotation' of our names to our work. Hopefully, you have seen that your name brings with it the memories of your earlier work. We enjoyed it before, and continue to look for it hoping for more of the same. I hope you see that as a compliment. Thinking back to the April PAD, I remember all the days that went by before someone made that first call out to me. I was so excited, I broke open a bottle of wine to celebrate. I have actually copied EVERY shout out given my writing over all these months until it felt that I had enough to value my work myself. Funny how validation from others is so important. Even though I had been writing for years, it took the kindness of this forum for me to call myself a poet. I realize, because it is true about how I share this space, that there are MANY writers and poems that touch me profoundly that I don't comment on, so now I don't expect comments coming back. There are many days when I just read and absorb the different styles. I laugh and cry over the poems posted, and sometimes it is those that are 'too close' that I am hesitant to comment on because I may reveal too much of my personal pain in my response. I love the shout outs, and the playful banter in between, but I also enjoy trying to build a picture of who you all are by your names and your work. It is a puzzle, getting a few pieces connected at a time. I hope we all keep writing and supporting each other here, whatever names we use. I, for one, value you all.

Barbara, Randi Newman? I don't mind if you pick me up to say hello! :)

Patricia, very well stated, and to be maybe a little generic I echo your sentiments almost exactly! What I mean is that you have put a paper weight on some feelings I've felt since the "beginning" days of PAD. Thank you for your sincere honesty, it means a great deal to me. I’ve admired your work since the good ol' April days!

As so many have stated before me, it appears we ALL have those moments of self-doubt, even me. But since the third day in April I've been able to rely on "loyal and supportive" from Marie, and you, Patricia, De and Ralph, Nikki and Theresa, and... I can honestly say (yes, there is nothing but honesty here) that there was absolutely no coercion between Ralph and myself. Just a strange thought we both picked up on. But after thought, I reversed my assessment of the "experiment". It is indeed an honor to be given that grand of a compliment from writers as wonderful as yourselves. You've all made me what I am with your support and readership. And lest I forget, true friendship. In the asking of the question, "Is that all there is?", I can answer with, "sometimes, isn't that enough?" It surely is. Thanks to all of you who make a difference in my work. You help make it worth while. My sincerest apologies for the rouse.

Funny, I was thinking today about my own need for validation. Like stopping in with some nice folks at customer service to be stamped: certified.

Oh, and at 5'3, I've a place in my heart for the song.

Walt, et al: I had a late night on the phone last night with my NYC daughter. She put in a very rough night. I have to leave in a few moments for work -- an all-day seminar ahead. Overnight company this evening -- not sure when I'll get back here. I hopped on PA a moment, and see that some feelings were stated and worked through last night. Walt, I’m glad your initial disappointment in the result of your experiment is dissipating. Just a thought before I head out the door…

Some express themselves by putting brush to canvas. Most likely, this is where the expression “stroke of genius” originated (?) But does every stroke laid on canvas by a master fall under the category of genius? Does every draft, every sketch, every piece hold equal appeal? Is every piece spell-binding of its own right? No. Does that make the master artist less than a master? Less than a genius? Absolutely not. Do we stand up and take notice if the signature is that of a master? Certainly.

What we do here is “draft” poetry. Some daily. Some several daily. Is there genius in each and every line penned by the hand of a master? No. Does that make him or her less than a master? Less than a genius? Absolutely not. Do we stand up and take notice if the signature is that of a master? Certainly.

Walt, you’ve rightfully earned respect with your signature. That’s an honor to be cherished, my friend.

Happy writing, all. Enjoy the new prompt. I'll catch you when I can.

Patricia - You have said it ALL! Thank you for that. I love discovering kindred spirits. This place is amazing!!

Not knowing what was referenced by "rebirth of color thread" (Marie), I went back and looked at "what I'd been through". Funny how colors DO stand out sometimes. Thank you for raising my awareness to that aspect. "Dark" is a shade, too, but "cult" (Walt), no. "Dark times" is most accurate, and I'm glad I "went through" them, survived, learned - and here I am today, interacting with y'all!!

W

Marie--We could have our own Amazon comic book! I'm 5' 61/2, but shrinking. (yes mother--I'll stand up straighter)

Walt--I have to admit, now that I know it was you, that I had trouble concentrating on Vincent's poem, what with laughing over his name. Pretty tricky of you to comment on your own poem.

Patricia--amen

Vincent, "my pigment is a prison pall," had me laughing with this line.

Marie, I hope everything is okay with your daughter, I'll keep her in prayer. I'm so glad that you stopped in to express such valuable thought with us this morning :) see you soon!

Barbara, I enjoyed his song too, I just wasn't sure if I had the right site. Welcome to the elfish writers association! Tell me where I can get this stamp!! It's hard not to feel the need for validation at times.

Penny, you and Marie serve well as Amazonian women, writing giants! ;)
BTW, glad you mentioned Walt commenting on his own poem, that is what tricked me fer sure!

Willy, I think you may have missed it, the thread appears to have three comments posted about prescription drugs and random stuff(the last three), all the same good thoughts on growth and I'm happy you are here with us all too.

Walt, thank you for your honesty. Don't feel too bad, it was an interesting "study," I knew that Vince's writing had a familiar ring to it and that it wasn't Ralph's writing, just the same you got me! :)
You and everyone here also help me to be a more confident writer. I value our friendship here and sometimes it's just what I need. Thanks a bunch!

(This is a week late, but I need to get back into a good habit.)

Been Through

I've not been through this before.
I've started in,
Maybe made it half-way,
But never through this.
Dark, murky sometimes,
There's always a little light;
Brighter lights ahead.
There's always brightness
Making this dark less scary.
I'm going through this,
Right to the end.
I've started in;
I'll never do this again.

Revised

Calamity
(Two Weeks Before Her Birthday)

You lodge a laundry basket in your arms,
press the grape soda can and chips between
your palm and thumb. On the other hand you
form a pinky link with your 3 1/2 year old daughter,
wait by the curb and gauge traffic flow. Vending
machine treasures earned by your big girl who helped
fold and fluff begin to slip. You break the chain
and say: ”you start to walk when mommy starts to walk."
Faster than your mind can route it, she rushes out
to the street. The heart screams before your eyes do.
A slide of looped lives fast-track’s in black and white.
Then a shadowy brute beats on a barren place inside
feeding you the most rotten concept your thoughts
have had to stomach, serving fear by the pound-
reflexes lock like a security device- you’re unable
to command legs to run to the car that hit
her girly chest, tossing her 10 feet in the air,
causing her backside to crash on the concrete.
On the sideline of undecided images, possibly
near a Chevy Nova, there’s the basket parked
with the days of the week panties, elastic waist
jeans and flowery t-shirts’ fold still uninterrupted.
The soda can is on the other side of the street,
unharmed.

Thank you, Hannah. ; )

Peace,

Sept 11
by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

I remember where I was
the morning of Sept 11th,
when smoke billowed out of towers
and made faces at the Manhattan skyline
110 stories above God,
raining concrete and steel
glass and soft tissue
amid pavement, parked cars, and rooftops,
millions of tv screens the world over.
200 jumped to their deaths rather than
give in to the resulting fires,
hundreds more killed by the impact,
while the rest perished, trapped
by toxic smoke and debris
after the towers collapsed
just hours after the first plane hit.

This was the day
my humanity was ripped from me
by Al-Qaeda claws,
3000 plus dead
6000 plus injured,
innocents sacrificed on the altar of religion
and perception of American values
while the World took stock of their lives,
and I of mine.
Stunned, numbed, crushed, embittered
I held my breath and
lit candles for weeks,
unable to eat
unable to sleep
the television blaring 24/7
while a great city bled
and a great country grieved
in the arms of sympathetic great nations,
and everyone wondered aloud
how could Hatred be so charismatic?
And a President cautioned patience
and implored his countrymen not
to take revenge against his fellow
Muslim-American neighbor while
I nervously started locking my door.
I cried and raged and
lost my terrorist virginity
as Ground Zero became
the new Arlington cemetery
of our generation
and those still around me
the new casualties of war.

© 2009 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

(“I remember asking my father about where he was, and what he was doing the day Pearl Harbor happened. In this poem I tried to imagine what I would say when asked by a younger generation years from now, the same question about living through Sept 11th.” --JLS)