Before I post a thing, I must say a huge THANK YOU for all your good wishes!!! I am floored, and I had a good cry about it, because of all your goodwill. It must have helped, because the surgery went much better than expected, and I recovering well. I can't go back to work for 4-5 weeks, so the process is slow. But just reading all your comments -and the poems for me, no less!!! - have kept my spirits up. And I'm all fired up to get back to the poetry challenge.

Thank you so very much.

Elizabeth

Great news Elizabeth!! What a nice way to start the day.

Elizabeth,

Your recovery progress is an answer to prayer! God bless your continued recuperation.

Days 17-20 Poems

I don’t mean to be depressing or anything, but perhaps the pain medication brings out the darker view of life. Still, I wrote these all over the course of two days while also contemplating my slow recovery ahead of me. The gardens and the ravine outside my window have provided much inspiration. EKK

Day 17 prompt: Write in the third person

The Hunt

Light creeps through the valley
Meandering dusk, treading a careful
Path between the trees and settling
On the hastas and ferns with a peculiar glow.

The sky is fading orange and purple until
Only a peach-pink streak remains.
The birds grow quiet now, waiting for
The owl to declare its territory.

The owl now flaps her wings and settles
At the top of the tallest tree in the ravine.
The sky is gray now, with only the brightest stars
Poking through. The trees are a block of shadows.

The night hangs like a tapestry.
Crickets sing below, the stars humming
Above, and rabbits, silent as the foxes
Nibble on the dewy grass.

Elizabeth K. Keggi

**********

Day 18 Prompt: “There is no connection”

The Garden

There is no connection
between the near miss of the dragonfly
and the little blister on your index finger
later that afternoon.

There is no connection
between the bumblebee that brushed your hand
and the fever that swept you up that night.

The butterfly that landed on your outstretched finger
does not bestow good luck for three years.
The mosquito you nailed before it could suck your blood
will not wreck your karma for three generations.

There is no connection, no revenge, no reward.
The garden is impersonal somehow,
filled with beauty and sweet aromas
and with the marvelous machinery
of every little insect.

Elizabeth K. Keggi

**********

Day 19 Prompt: Memory of yourself you do not remember

1970

As the movers shuffled in and out
We were struck by their lack of intelligence
In the matter of packing the truck just so.
My mother and I stepped aside outside the door
to let them pass with a dresser in their grip.
I nearly stumbled into the garden.
“Ma’am,” said one of them as they paused,
“I don’t know if you know this,
but that’s marijuana you’re growing there.”
Later that day, they dropped the piano.

Elizabeth K. Keggi

**********

Day 20 Prompt: Love poem

Roses, I thought, but, no—

No, I shall give you a lilac bush.
It starts little and can grow for generations.
It blooms just once a year, but, oh,
The fragrance of those tiny petals
Caught by the June night—thick air,
Three-dimensional scent to wrap you,
Inhabit you, plague you with memories
Of last June—or was it the one before last?
The lilacs recall it all. I loved you once,
And the lilacs will tell you so
Every June, every year, just as I am
Condemned to remember you.

Elizabeth K. Keggi

This is untitled and unfinished but will get to that in May! I've got to work so wanted to at least post this little bit.


(so far, untitled)

Two little boys
Running up the stairs:
“Hey, your mom is awesome!”
“Yeah, she really is.”

I can’t stop smiling.

4-21-08

Candidate

She—the spouse—the one most likely to defend him:
“Anybody concerned about America
Shows passion about issues.”
The candidate stood for integrity.
The candidate told the truth.
His wife kept a modest profile,
supporting him through the campaign.
He answered questions with candor.
He spoke with spirit.
The media picked their favorites,
Their darling stories—sometimes slams,
Sometimes praises.
Was he among the features of the day?
Did he figure in the fray?
Did they wear a veneer of character away
From this candidate?
Did internet chains of libel
Bring his run to ruin?
Did he win?
Did the rest of us?

“Something’s going to happen”
She doesn’t know
If it’s good or bad
But something’s going to happen
She’s really feeling sad

“Hold it”
She’s got to get this call
“Just a minute”
It’s her kids
Her husband
Even the dog

She’s got to catch herself
Before they see her fall

He’s on the phone
Again

Picking, tearing away at her Soul
He’s angry
Forcing to get control

“They were really looking forward to seeing you”
“What are you DOING?”
“You need to come home!!!!!”

She knows what he really means
She’s deafened by his screams

His fits of rage
Getting in her face
Are becoming commonplace

She’s heard
More apologies
Than she can stand

“Something’s going to happen”
She doesn’t know
If it’s good or bad
But something’s going to happen
She’s really feeling sad


She doesn’t know
What to do

So for now
She’ll just go home

With her head
Hanging
Down

Elizabeth, great to have you back & beautiful poems. MWAH!

Elizabeth - fantastic news and your poems are incredible.

Corinne

The Plot Begins to Unravel

I tell you I didn't! I thought I did.
I remember my hands around her neck
Squeezing her throat, her fluttering eyelids.
Infuriated at the dreck
She'd made me write, the slop
I'd splattered on the paper
Scratched out as poetry, tip-top
But only good to make a taper
To light a candle to mourn
Her. I wish I'd never been born.

Heather - that one hit home.

I have to confess this one's got me. I am not sure what to write for it. I will come up with something though. Maybe the rising cost of medicare that was discussed where I had my oil changed this morning. Or my attempt to donate my daughters old bed, since no one wants it, shame since it's almost new.

The Bus

If water and fire existed as one,
and the winds blew north and south,
he thought out loud on a crowded bus;
and a man beside him barked at the phone,
“I said, Jerry, I can‘t talk right now, I’m in
a meeting. And he said, fine call me back later.”

If the earth swelled to twice its size
and the oceans faded away,
he thought to himself alone among many;
and a woman said to the person beside her,
“It’s a VW Beetle, and it’s Turbo; which is the
most expensive one by the way.”

Where would all the people go,
and how would they be fed,
he thought as the crowds dwindled away;
and the bus driver said,
“Let the people out,
let them out first.”

The Bus is FANTASTIC!!!! Love that, Marin :) Thanks Patti.

Rodney - I don't know if you have this out there but here we have "freecycle" an online website/email thing for giving things away free. It's specific to your area (county). Also you could try "craigslist" I think they might be all over the country. For selling things. Another avenue might be any local shelters you have might be interested. Good luck! Michelle

As its already late afternoon, I won´t have time to people watch (pity it’s my favourite hobby!) But I heard this phrase 25 years ago on a train passing through Holland to Germany. It was the end of the conversation and I had no context to put it in and it’s always stayed with me, wondering. Kinda makes it perfect, don’t ya think? I’ve put in quotes when it appears.


When the bottom falls out…

It could have been a market.
The bottom falls out of those…

And I once had a pair of jeans
that the behind wore through, although…?

Or a suitcase in the attic
hiding forgotten heirlooms and treasure?

Maybe a relationship that didn’t
work out in the end?

With a broken heart that left
A bottomless pit of despair…

I’d like to think it was expensive
a priceless Ming vase, perhaps?

But maybe just a carrier bag from
the local village store

T’would be disappointing but
replaceable, you’d think?

Likewise I imagine (for the lady was
quite posh with a plumy voice)

That hers came from Harrods,
don’t you know? Very chic!

But alas this five and twenty year on
I only have no doubt, that

She… “had one of those
but the bottom dropped out”

Thank you, Heather!!!

Retirement Woes

He said he was retired
worked for the city for over 20 years
He had the freedom he desired
now, his life was in full gear
collecting a nice pension
but, oh the cost of health care
certainly added a new dimension
to the income what was no longer there

He complained about Blue Cross/Blue Shield
maintained that the cost was just unreal
claiming every month a new deduction
was eroding his monthly check
leading to it’s destruction

That’s when she arrived
a former school safety officer
who had survived
there was little any could offer her
as she described
a cost of living raise of Two dollars
when the took what they gave ten fold
charging her Twenty dollars more for healthcare
She said, these days, the dollar is so hard to hold
now they dare, to take more for my healthcare

They discussed it some more
as I headed for the door
I had decided
I had enough to worry about
besides it would be 8 more years for me
these worries, I could do without
as, in plenty of time, in their shoes I would be. . .

©Rodney C. Walmer 4/21/08 Prompt #21 a poem about a conversation. I hope this qualifies.

Elizabeth, I am very happy to hear all went well, and you are back here with us.

Rod.

Overheard on the morning bus ride

So I put it up
on the website
it's all stuff
I wrote years ago
except for the
two newest
my attempt
to sound like
Merle Haggard

Merle was not
always the icon
he is now
he must have been
my age once

Maybe he will hear it
do you suppose
Merle ever goes
online?

I forgot to note that although I overheard my quote from a political candidate's wife, I wrote the poem as if it were an Everyman/woman sort of candidate, not with a particular person in mind. Hope that showed.

The Twenty-six at Forty-three

I snatched some
much needed time
to go to the library
sit in silence
and finish a picture-book manuscript,
ABC’s of the Bible. While I worked,
a couple sat at the next table,
talking in hushed whispers.
Their conversation, so interesting,
I tried my hardest to look engrossed in my work,
not paying them a bit of attention.
It must have worked, because they talked freely
and I could hear every word.
“So, you’re coming out of the closet?” she asked, with a laugh.
He chuckled nervously, “Yes, after all of these years.
I’m 43, and own my own successful business.”
“And you fooled all of those around you?”
“Yes, it was easy most of the time.
I played the tough guy in highschool
with the devil-may-care attitude.
My poor grades were why I went into business.
That turned out to be a good thing.
I had my secretary do most of the correspondence,
and at home, my wife took care of all the paper work.
The hardest was when the kids were learning to read.
I wanted so badly to help them, but I couldn’t give myself away.
What would they think of their father if they knew he couldn’t read?”
“Why do you want to learn now?”
“My oldest daughter is expecting her first.”
She laughed good-naturedly. “Congratulations, Gramps!”
“Can you have me reading before my grandchild reads?”
“Certainly,” she said. “We’ll meet every weekend.
You’ll be reading in no time. By the way,
read to your grandchild regularly and
have fun with it so he or she
won’t be coming to someone like me.”
As I looked at the ABC manuscript,
I marveled at the power of 26 letters,
and wondered what it would be like
to not be able to read until you were 43.


Amazing poems, Elizabeth. Glad to hear you're doing so well.
I enjoyed yesterday's poems, everyone.

Second attempt...


At the Coffee shop.

So, uninspired and unimpressed by
that which I had written
I popped across the street to get a cup of Joe
(to take away).
Well, it’s a funky modern sort of place
with designer seats and art, that I don’t get,
strewn across the walls.
And I heard this one guy say how he liked the stools
but his companion thought they clashed with his tie.
“Switch on the cigarette machine, darling”
shouted a business man across the room
(they have a lock-out now so kids can’t use them).
The waitress obliged and her colleague asked who
was having de-caff. The guy on the mobile phone
pointed at the tie that didn’t match the décor.
I thought, well yes, we know that, there’s no need to go
on about it but then saw that it was him.
With the de-caff I mean.
A couple of guys were already on the hard stuff!
Must have finished early for the day…
Me? Oh! I just ordered a black coffee
“Can I get that to go?”
And I did and did. Go I mean.
(All of which took place in Spanish).

Out and About

Out and about on a normal day
I can’t help but notice certain people
Whether driving, in line, or just passing by
They prove that we are a peculiar lot indeed
We humans, that is
For instance
We drive slow in the fast lane
Go against the arrows in parking lots
Walk three abreast in a two wide aisle
Glare with disdain when others want by
We can’t decide what’s to eat or drink
Until we’re at the front of the line
Holding everyone else at bay
Why’s the menu posted anyway?
We live with our cell phones at our ears
Wasting words one after another
And saying much of nothing
Just to keep our brains stimulated
We want to be different from everyone else
So we tattoo and color and wear strange clothes
Thus we end up looking like other groups of
Individuals doing their own thing together
We are a peculiar lot, indeed
We humans, that is
And most of us think we’re normal
Think again, my friend
And take notes
The next time you’re out and about

The Diary

“Oh I’ve got to go write about my day in my diary”
Said my daughter
“No one can ever read this!”
She said with emphasis

Hmm, I wonder what she’s writing
I wonder should I look
The next time she’s at school
Should I go get that book?

She’s only ten
What could it hurt
But would it be right?
I could go peeking this very night.

Oh what a quandary
What is a mother to do?
I must protect her
Knowledge is power, am I askew?

My love for her is the excuse
That’s the one I will use
Just one tiny peek
Oh, I am so weak.

I’ve got it, I know what to do
I’ll wait until tomorrow.
How easy is this, the day will be new
What a relief, sweet dreams, adieu.

April 21, 2008
© Michelle H.

Snooperazzi Field Day
By Bill Kirk

You’ve heard the stories
Of the sleazebag paparazzi
Who chase people, hound people,
Getting in their faces for the sake of
A fast buck paid by gossip mongers
Who actually think that the public
Is really interested in catching
The first glimpse of a celebrity’s
Something new—baby, booty,
Body part exposed—

Be the first on your block to
Hear or see a private snippet
And be then first to tell the story.
Now that’s what I’m talking about—
That’s news worth living for, waiting for, paying for.

Wouldn’t it be an awful lot easier
To be a casual snoop?
In fact, you don’t really even have to snoop at all.
It’s a snooperazzi field day,
What with all the cell phones being used—
And I mean everywhere.

“Jimmy just broke up with Sally.”

“Yeah, too bad. They been together
three whole weeks, too.”

“Oh, and did you hear that
John’s got to go in for
a colonoscopy next week?”

“Yeah, and he is really bummed about all that
Prep stuff and sitting on the john—“Ha!
That’s funny. Get it? John on the john?”

“Oh, yeah, that, too. John’s bummed. Ha!”

“Yeah, I had one of those once.
At least you don’t have to do
the enema stuff any more.”

“Hey, just a sec. I gotta look in the next stall
for some toilet paper.
Man, I hate it when this happens!”

“OK. Gotta run. I’ll check you later.”

“Oh, crap! I can’t believe
I’m goin’ in after that phone!”

“Hey, buddy. Any paper towels
down there by your sink? Nothing here either.”

“Well, No time to wash ‘em now any way.
Guess I’ll wash twice the next time. Ha!”

“ ‘Scuse me, Ma’am.
Can you hold this cell phone for me.
I gotta run my card through
To pay for these groceries.”

“Yeah. You, too, Ma’am. Have a great day.”

Glad to hear that the surgery went well, Elizabeth. Hope you have a speedy recovery :)

Stepped away

"Excuse me" she said
as she slipped out the door.
She knew that she just
couldn't take any more
of the veiled implications
and outright lies,
although they didn't
come as any surprise.
All the baseless assumptions
made at her expense,
with no coming
to her defense.
Tired of seeing
her life put on display,
her only recourse
was to just get away.

Welcome back Elizabeth!
Glad to see you and your wonderful poetry back with us.
Today is not a good day for me, so I am not sure if I will be writing a poem.
Debra

Listening to Life

As I passed by the
corner booth in the
all-night diner I heard
the girl say "be sure to
be on time" and he said
"I will be but you be sure
to have the bathtub filled
with spaghetti" and for the
first time in my life I realized
that adventures I didn't understand
were going on all around me.

Hey Debra, how's your mother in law doing, anyway?

Corinne

Elizabeth, welcome back! You made catch-up look soo-oo easy.
**********

“The Arrival”

Fatigue enveloping
doctor and nurses
from the early morning
arrival, our first grandchild.

Relieved we all were
that mother and baby
both made it through;
either, we could have lost.

We stood at the window
gazing in wonder
at the bundle
snugly wrapped in blue.

Hearing one say,
“He has his mother’s look,”
we smiled inside because
it definitely was his father’s he took.

Ok, so you now know that I hang out with a bunch of weirdos.

The Properties of Imaginary Space

Balloons in pink and green
rest still by the fronds of time
the emergent behavior of aliens
is not that of predation
in the constrained dynamics
of the way things are.

But the conversation moves on
and those in its wake
blink and wonder
when the coffee will be drunk
and whether the square root
of negative one is of any consequence
to the niche we fill.

Playing Favorites

The voices sound like
water tumbling over rocks,
murmurs at the edge
of understanding,
almost-words,
half-heard phrases,
then, clearly,
friends.
there is a connection.
Words formed into sentences,
into paragraphs,
sounds striking the eardrum
loud enough to be heard.

Corinne,
Thank you for asking...
Not too well. My hubby got to go see her Saturday, then his siblings had a birthday party for her yesterday and did not invite us. It's a mess....I guess that's why I have been writing a lot about family.
Debra

My poem for today is based on my conversations I have had with my friends today about my mil:(not sure is this cheating?)

Take It With a Grain of Salt

"Just take it with a grain of salt and move on", she said to me.
She was talking about my family....
The things that are taking place,
I shouldn't have to face....
"Just take it with a grain of salt and move on", she said again.
I'm not sure I even can...
"The devil is having a field day right now but the Lord will prevail."
"Remember God is in control and you will not fail."

Beth, I love it!

Margaret, your too, great!

And as usual there is some terrific work from lots of wonderful poets. Love you guys!

Yay, Elizabeth....so glad to hear you're doing well. And love your poems.

Fabulous Elizabeth. Isn't it wonderful how community works.
This challenge has been great for me for many reasons but the two biggest are:
i am writing everyday
i am letting my writing be seen.
Thanks

And now for today's challenge (the site won't let me put the spanish in italics, so you will just have to figure it out.)

Quien sabe?
Who knows?
I pick up a bit here
a bit there
(Isn't that what Tonto said
just about every week
to the Lone Ranger?)
what else did she say?
Quien sabe?


Poco a poco
Little by little
living in Mexico
has gotten through my
stiff United States
psyche so I can
be happy
poco a poco.

Ni modo.
No dice
it translates in my
Spanish English
English Spanish
dictionary
but what they mean is:
oh well
that's how it is
ni modo

Poco a poco
we pack to leave
Quien sabe
when we shall return
Ni modo
this not knowing.

Elevator Talk

Are we going up or down?
All the way up? I guess
I'll ride anyway; after all
it is Monday.
Get on! Get on! Hurry up!
You're wondering why
I called you here. . .

Normally, I'll only take
the elevator if I'm going up
and more than one floor.
I take the stairs then log it
as my daily exercise. Is it
fair to count when I'm
going down?

These elevators scare me anyway;
I always wondered: If I'm on an
elevator that starts to fall,
if I begin to jump up and down,
do I have a fifty-fifty chance
of being up when it hits
and surviving?

What a Week

Don’t they think we know anything?
These kids say four-twenty like it’s
Some secret code known only to Gen-Y.
The snickers they think go undetected
Don’t.
Why, I haven’t gone to work on four-
Twenty since Columbine; I haven’t flown
Since before nine-eleven,
Since Katie was born.
They may find amusement in that
Holiday that Hallmark forgot,
National Pot Smoking Day,
But those of us who catalog
These things think of
Hitler’s birthday, Waco,
Columbine. Knowing the eerie
Play of anniversaries, we hold
Our breaths—
At least one day until Earth Day arrives.
When our world goes green,
We don’t plan to dry it and
Keep it in a Ziploc.

The Pope's in Town

"Where are my papers?"
asked the lady with the wild eyes
who came to court with a sitting stool
to make sure her son, his many voices
making chaos in his head, gets a fair hearing.
But it's never fair,
not for her golden-hair boy,
held at Rikers for brandishing a knife
at a Starbucks in Midtown;
not for her,
and the class she'll almost certainly fail
because she can't keep her notes straight,
or finish the tests,
or keep track of papers.

Nor is it fair, during this glorious
springtime in Manhattan,
(did you hear the Pope was in town?)
the magnolia trees blooming on Fifth Avenue,
the crowds wildly waving flags
for the man in white,
who has a surprising look of delight
on his stern face,
that she must go home without her son.
"Where are my papers?" she asks the lawyer,
who tries to be patient,
knowing she can't save her son, nor can he.

I'm going to form my own line,
she says and smirks to her pal.

I stand there, waiting,
wondering if she'll step in front of me,
unapologetic.

They taste better than my sandwich.

Debra, sorry to hear it. People mean well, don't they, but in the end, it's so hard to let go of things. That sounds very painful.

On a lighter note, Robert, I'm feeling a little resentful of you just now, since I read your poem, I have the "Gotta Pick a Pocket or Two" song from the musical Oliver! in my head ALL MORNING!

The day of the "there is no connection" I ended up with an unrelated Simply Red song in my head, too. :)

I'm working on mine. My office mate is a real character, I pretty much have an ongoing commentary of her inner life all day to deal with every day, but today it's seeming more interesting and less annoying, as I try to feel like what it would be to hear some of the sentences out of context!

Corinne

Lost

I wish I had a lock
On my life, a sure direction,
A lodestar, a pinnacle, a transfiguration
Something to guide me,
Something to shoot for,
Yearn for, even bleed for
Anything rather than this endless wavering
Back and forth, up and down
Upside and inside and all around
Then I hear you say, conversation winding down,
"I'll be there tomorrow,
All I do is plug in your address,
The GPS does the rest"
I go to hang up the phone thinking
Is that all there is to it
If so, where is mine?

From Window to Window

Yes, I have been around doing some digging.
All my search is about poetry writing
and I am telling you, I am surprise
there is no measurement, there is no rhyme
and consequently, there is no sculpting.
I am wandering if I'll see something
like a Sonnet, Sestina or Quatrain,
or maybe some other form to portrait
the word and the art in one pot brewing.

I have the newest style, as you can tell
in twenty lines that from my thought they swell.

In every window out there I am looking
for any type of traditionalism
though, all places are packed with modernism,
the same is true for Spanish and English.
Into many books I am exploring
only to find a lot of frustration
from Spanish to English translations
without taste and with incorrect meanings.
In poetry we need a lot of snooping.

I tried to post this but to no avail. Hope it doesnt duplicate.

I love everyone's poems, and especially Alfred's 'Listening to Life". The ending was perfect. Made me smile. - Carol

The Desperate Mom

I sit and wait for my kids,
And I see her walk across the lot.
Her eyes are roaming everywhere,
Searching for a spot.
She is dressed to the hilt,
And not a hair's misplaced.
Her nails have been manicured,
There's a new look on her face.
She walks up to the president,
Of the PTA
And stands and waits beside her,
Hands on hips the right way.
She smiles and laughs,
Pretending to be real,
But deep inside,
She's out of pride-
Her shoe just lost a heel.

Out of Control

My heart sank at the news
I overheard in the hall -
Layoffs of one third the staff.
it's happened before,
it'll happen again.
My God, maybe even up to one-half.

That's the latest rumour
to make the rounds.
Let's see, four in the last
eight weeks.
One should either take in stride
or stay home, hidden
under the sheets.

If you took all the gossip
you heard every day
and sold it just for the thrill.
There'd never be layoffs,
only huge payoffs
down at the rumour mill.

HUH?

What you think you hear
Is not what is said
What is said
Is not what you hear

Hey Elizabeth! So wonderful to see your posts on here today. Glad to hear that you're doing so well.

Thanks for posting new poems, too! :)

(I've only got ten more Joker poems to go, and you throw me something like this... fantastic. xD. Hrm...)

Lost and Found

"Where did you find that,"
I hear the corpulent,
ethnic woman behind me sputter
indignantly at her quaking
rail thin child,
who is shaking so hard in fear
that I can feel the low key
vibrations of his baby teeth
crunching and disintegrating with
every tremble;
the boy clearly is more worried
about the backhand his
gelatinous familial matriarch
than he is of me; an intrepid
spy just so lucky to bear witness
to America's working class
and their spawn that knows their place.

"Give me that, Boy,"
I am just so fascinated by the nappy headed
boy, quivering and pleading as
he hands over the knife I so carelessly
discarded - covered in blood
lying on the subway floor -
to his mother, the woman made of all jowls
and fat stuffed rolls
so full to bursting
with her own self-image and importance
that she cannot see the smile on my face,
not that she was paying attention
to anything besides the way her son
had been crawling along the grimy floor,
making her look bad to all of the
invisible spectators in the railway car.

She screeches, loud and low,
a tremulous sound like that of the rusted
subway car's brakes on an acid trip
of epic proportions, and this woman
of equal proportions is falling from
her high horse, actually worried
that the blood on the blade belongs
to someone close by, I can tell by
the sputtering rambles spilling
forth with lines of spittle
frothing hot from her mouth.

(Note: I really... uh don't know where this came from. I'm really not this sadistic or judgmental in real life. Thought I ought to put that out there.)

"he boy clearly is more worried
about the backhand his
gelatinous familial matriarch possesses
than he is of me; an intrepid
spy just so lucky to bear witness
to America's working class
and their spawn that knows their place."

Is how the end of the first stanza is supposed to read. The possesses makes it all the more clear, sorry!

Elizabeth, welcome back! I don't know if it was supposed to, but 1970 made me bust out laughing in this freakishly silent Starbucks. Good job!

Flo’s Quake


Flo Fite felt the ground shake
while sitting in her car in front of Perkins restaurant
at 5:30 in the morning. “I didn’t know what was going on,”
she said, “but it didn’t scare me. I’m used to anything
happening early in the morning,”

which made the rest of us wonder
what this 69-year-old woman does on a normal early morning
that makes her so willing
to accept the unexpected.
Maybe she works the overnight shift at Perkins
and sees people everyday stumble in
still drunk or drunk again.
Or maybe she was waiting for someone,
although we still don’t know
if he came or what’s so odd about him
that she can expect anything to happen.

Or maybe the Perkins parking lot
is where Flo Fite communes with her god,
maybe the sunrise is her call to service,
maybe her chapel is a 2001 Chevy Cavalier,
and maybe she’s witnessed so many miracles so early in the morning
that a simple earth tremor is no longer enough to scare her.

Okay...technically, I was at the table when this took place, but I was in another conversation, so I guess it still qualifies as 'snooping...'
===============
$20 bucks an hour

"They had us in rooms,
Couldn't do nothing
We'd watch TV, read books
and they always took blood..."

she stretched out her arm
to show the track marks
tiny bruises speckled
like moldy grapes

"We couldn't do anything
they wanted to track
how the medicine went through
our bodies
constantly taking samples
our arms, legs..."

She let her sleeve fall.

"Was it worth it?" someone asked
She tilted her head.

"Well, I got a hundred fifty bucks."

She rose from the table,
swayed slightly
catching herself with a
pinpricked hand.
"I'd probably do it again,"
she told us,
tugging down the hem
of her floral dress.

Kimberly, como se dice por ahí,de puta madre, tia!

Corinne, happened to me: Love poem, 10CC, I'm not in love. Turned it around, Go Girl!!

Kateri, the joker rules!

“Is this the right place?”
“Shall we ask someone?”
“I don’t see his name.”
They stood next to the elevator
Scanning the listings.
I heard them before I saw them;
Turning down the steps as they came into view.
My inclination is to help.
But I’m in a rush
To get the car
My flip flops flapping.
We make eye contact and he looks away quickly.
She stares earnestly at the little plastic letters
On the black board.
I slip by them and open the door to the heat and the dust.
“Excuse me,” he calls out,
“Do you speak English?”
“We’re looking for a doctor,” she says.
I retrace my steps.
“I can help you,” I say.

THIEF

She walked through the store something wasn't right,
Constantly looking around as though not to be caught.
Around the corner quietly as I might,
My presence unknown I saw what I should not.

I told the cashier as to what went on,
She descreetly alerted security to watch her.
She walked out the door security caught the con,
Merchandise poketed in her fake fur.

Snoop 04-21-08

Reporters can be said to snoop
that’s the way the get the scoop

Days gone by there was the party line
you could hear many a secret oh so fine.

Christmas presents hid away
one little look not to far to stray.

Letter in the mail what does it say
just hold it to the light that’s the way

Baby on the way
boy or girl who’s to say

Is the cake done yet, take a look
never one to go by the book.

What’s the ending I do not know
Just turn to the last page there you go.

(OK, I tried to post this earlier, but the site went down. Let's try this again. I have three poems for today. Hope no one minds that. One of them, Voices in the Door, is not only inspired by today's prompt, but also by something one of my dotcomrades posted on Shelfari a few months ago. It has been dancing around in my head and finally found a place to land. Thanks Robert.)


The Voices in the Door

I try not to eavesdrop, but it is so hard. They
are always there, the voices in the door. No one
else hears them. They say I am crazy. But when
I put my ear to the wood, I clearly hear them
speaking. They whisper ever so softly. Sometimes
I hear my name. What do they want from me? I
stand listening for hours at a time, trying to catch
stray pieces of conversation. “We will…” That’s
all I hear. Something more; there has to be
something more. “Come to…” Snippets of what?
Orders? Requests? Statements? I tap on the wood,
trying to get their attention. They don’t seem to
listen, only speak. I don’t think they know I’m
here. “Now is the time.” Time for what? Should
I really be listening to the voices in the door?




Overheard Conversation/Mom and My Brother

“Did you try to see him?” I heard her ask,
and I think she was nervous. “Once. He
chased me away with a shotgun. Told me to
get off his property.” I’d heard them talk before
about my brother’s real father, not the name
on the birth certificate, but the husband
of her sister. They were divorced now, and
he lived on a small patch of land in a small
trailer. “Did he know who you were?” I don’t
know if they even remembered I was in the
back seat. “Yeah. I told him. He didn’t care.”
I sat in silence, like I had so many times as
a kid. “Well, you tried.” But here I was, an
adult and still sitting on the outside, “Yeah.
I tried at least. All I can do,” listening in.




Outside Looking In

We were together for the first time in over
20 years, just before Mom died. I stood
outside of the group, listening to my brothers
talk about years gone by. I didn’t belong here.
“Remember that gold bicycle?” Someone asked.
They laughed at a memory I couldn’t share.
Before my time. Many years before my birth.
“How about that time…” I tuned out. Bits of
conversation filtered through, but I paid no
attention. My brothers stood in the kitchen laughing
about the past. Their wives sat in the living room,
talking amongst themselves. I stood against the
wall, not belonging in either group, knowing when
it was all over, the one thing we had in common
would be gone, and we’d never speak again.

Lesson

a springtime egg hunt
the childcare center
wide open windows
yard’s expanse of grass
a mom and big sister
intent on helping
their little one
win
gather the most eggs
and how Mary Lou
took each egg they handed her
ran straight to one friend
and then another
and
filled all their baskets
with
such happy colors

©Jane Penland Hoover

First Driving Lesson

She is
Fifteen today
Learner permit in hand
“But it’s raining outside Mom,”
She says. I pass her keys
“Yes, it does that
Let’s go.”

©Jane Penland Hoover

Behind the Register

Lines form at all the cashiers.
Naturally my friend and I
Pick the wrong one

We’re next but the young cashier
Is busy flirting with the male cashier
To her right

The merchandise sits on the
Counter like a purchase mistake
That no one wants

“Ooh, I just got a paper cut.
Do you think it’s going to bleed?”
She asks the male,

Batting her eyelashes. Her nails are
Bent over the tops of her fingers
Like my dog’s claws

“Well, they don’t always bleed,”
He says. She lifts the afflicted finger
In the air and

Bravely rings up our purchase
All the while pushing at the
Cut. “Oh I know

It’s going to bleed and I hate
Blood. “If it bleeds,” he says,
“You can leave early.”

She smiles and deftly places the aging
Item in a bag, staples the receipt, and
Hopes for blood.

Overheard

“I borrowed her the money,”
she said.
“That’s not right,”
he said.
I awaited his grammar correction.
“She should pay you if you
borrowed her the money.”
I had to stifle my laugh.

April 21,2008 day 21

A Friendship Overheard


“Hurry up!” one said to the other
“What’s taking so long.”

Friendship is patience.

She moves her hands back and forth,
“I can’ get it to work!”

Friendship is explaining

“Come on will be late.”

Friendship is encouragement

“I’m not going till I finish!”

Friendship is understanding

“Okay, let me try.”

Friendship is compromise

“The seat did it on it’s own.”

Friendship is sharing

“Oh my gosh!” - laughter explodes -
“Try p-u-s-hing the handle”

Friendship is ah-oh moments

“Oops . . . I thought it was automatic.”

Friendship is laughing till your sides hurt.

Light Reading

Eyes closed, in a trance
Candlelight flickering
Opposite her
Lucy sat cross-legged
On her chair
"You're going to write," she intoned
"You're reading the wrong one," the other spat
Recorder snapped to off
Candles blown, crystals packed
"No. You are the one,“
Lucy whispered softly
Left
Opening the door.


©Jane Penland Hoover

Hello, again, everybody, and thanks for your welcome back. Today is not such a good today, and it's difficult to overhear anything when you're asleep or puttering around the place. So here's a snippet based on a NPR story about one of the candidates for Mayor of London.

But I Didn't Inhale

So tell me, Lord Poshness,
You who would seek to be the
Next Mayor of London, what about
The allegations that you did
Cocaine back in the 80's?
"All I'll say is that--
I sneezed."

We caught it in the nick of time

And that’s always good, it being
Sort of like a kid when you are
Lining them up to leave the house
And one has to go to the bathroom,
Or get a knapsack, or something…
Giving you the chance to forget
About it, but the idea of the nick
Of time seems to be like the place
Behind your knee, the elbow of
A tongs, where something small
And spherical would fit, comfortably,
And easily be caught, but if it were
Bigger than that, you’d have to go in
A completely different direction
Now wouldn’t you?

Lyn Sedwick

Elizabeth - So glad that you are back and that your surgery went well. Happy recovery!

Alfred - love it! Definitely made me laugh and I had to read to my husband who also enjoyed.

Kimberly - Ah! I love your poem. My daughter is half hispanic and one of my goals is to one day live in a Spanish speaking country and for her (and me!) to be able to learn the language in full - (rather than our stumbling attempts.)

Evening Walkers

“He wants you to pet him,”
The walker said
As she overtook
The old gentleman
On the pond-side path.

“Bet him?”
Stopped silent in his stance
Supporting cane leaning
Hands shaking hold.

“No, pet him,”
She tried again
Tugging at the leash
Legs squeezed as
The dog closed round

Interfering eavesdropping
Writer self I am
Rushed to rescue
And record this
Awkward scene.

Excited by my squatting low
The wet nose muzzled me
As she reversed the wrap

“No, I never met you before,”
The old man boomed,
Pointed his stick toward
The wagging tail
“May I
Pet your dog?”

Jane Penland Hoover
April 21, 2008

“Hon, have a dime?’

She hiked up sagging hose,
pink lines snaking up brown arms,
and as she bent over
her skirt bunched in the back

and her mouth split open
into a snaggled-tooth grin
and a crooked cackle that floated
over the low roar of vendors

hawking, “turkey wings
two bucks each” and “get your
dry roasteds here.” The man,
austere in grey pinstripes,

black wingtips, and a frown,
stepped ‘round her cairns
of blue plastic and brown paper
and rolling malt empties,

shaking his head with a “no money,
sorry”, fingering his back pocket
as he stood in line for a Mary
Mervis roast beef special.

Elizabeth, glad you are back and recovering. Opiates or not, your opems were lush and lovely. Peace, Linda

"Did I steal your seat?"
The lady asked the other.
The Other had come out
from the back of the clinic
and the Lady thought
she cries.
I stole her seat.
The Other shook her head
tears in her eyes
and sat elsewhere.

Everyone's poems are so good today. I thought this one was harder than usual. Did any of you?

Elizabeth--so great to see you back. your poems are great!

Here's my attempt...

"Rude Awakening"

The words from the pulpit
seared my heart,
and I promised myself (and God) that I'd do better.

I'd feel joy,
shower love,
reserve judgment,
think twice,
reach out.

Then, mere hours later, I overheard these words:
"I like God, just not his fan club."

And realized
(again)
that it's as hard as I thought it was.

She Could've Used a Friend

She was bawling, how could I not eavesdrop!
Kleenex in one hand, cell-phone the other
I stood wondering. Why did her heart pop?
Was it someone that hurt her? Her brother?

She was asking her friend, "What was that book?"
Something about having a better life
I'm in front of the self-help shelf, I look
I turn around, see her face: red with strife

She neared my aisle, and I was so scared
Should I give her room? Should I handle it?
She left. Me, never knowing how she fared
I could've helped her, now I've got regret

(And so I don't feel like I'm cheating, I'm going to start writing poems for all the previous prompts, too.)

The First Time My Heart Really Smiled (prompt #1)

And by that, I mean genuine smile
Probably only first in while
'Twas the very first time I talked to you
We laughed nice laughs and I didn't feel blue
I felt so good, I let my smile stretch
Hidden dimples, no longer of a wretch

4/21/08 –

Watching

I watched them from the corner of my eyes
Looking pass the wall, peeping through the blinds

I watched them even though they had no clue
I spied on their conversation until I turned blue

I watched them as they strolled innocently down the street
I followed slowly, walking softly upon my feet

I watched them on the porch as they played their little game
I moved in a little closer knowing it would ease the pain

I watched them all day never knowing they were secretly watching me
The small little kitten with the scared up little knee

Corinne,
Thanks..

To everyone:great poems today!
Debra

Living Out Loud

Two women were talking
I never use birth control
one says

not only do I wonder
after her motive
and why I am allowed to hear
but
how many children she has

are they educationally
disaffected
dysfunctional

do they roam the street
with red
blue
or yellow rags
hanging from their pockets

will there come a day
when one of hers
harms mine

I turn away
and stare
at the polish
on my Pay-less
shoes

Superheroes

I was in the car
with my Mom to run an errand
while my two young nephews
sat in the backseat.

Connor, the oldest,
was letting me know
he watched the Hulk movie
so I said I watched Superman.

Connor, with a smile,
said "Superman has muscles,
but the Hulk has muscles too.
The Hulk could beat Superman."

Walking the Stanford "Dish" Trail

“It’s paved.
Except for the time
I stepped on a snake,
it’s completely safe.”

I could picture the
doctor/amateur historian,
who’s research indicates that
John Wilkes Booth shot
an already dying man,
nose in a book stepping on
the aforementioned reptile.

He doesn’t seem the type
to scamper back in fright. No.
He would have examined it closely
maybe poked it with his book
before it slid away.

Carol Brian

Montreal Wins!

"Why can't they just die,"
is what I heard,
a whisper really,
mockingbird tattle
of a fan not thrilled.
Game seven, final lap,
stretched out supine,
begging seven Gods
for the end in sight.
"Why can't they just die?"
I heard it twice,
an ave sent to heaven
on a whim.
And then, a final
parting shot,
a holler to the heavens,
if you will,
"Die, Boston, Die!"
And then,
when all was said and done,
they did.

PAD #21 Snoop Poem

“Where People Watch Every Move”©
April 21, 2008

What must it be like
Encased in four walls
Two men in a cell
Prescribed boundaries
Defined paces
Running from wall to wall
No straight jackets here,
No pads,
Just clear thick Plexi-glass.
Where people watch every move
And men in white jackets
Criticize displayed inconsistencies.
One cannot leave until their time is done.
“Let”, “No let” us really
Imagine
What it must be like.
Heightened stress - - the challenge to beat the system
One man cries out demanding attention.
What is his intention?
He’s fumbling over the word, “Stroke.”
And I heard another say, Fancy “footwork
Is super important; the one who scores, serves.”
And this morning the newscaster announced on television,
Just today, “He was shopping in London today for new shoes.”
The challenge is to not be “Squash”ed, but to face the public
Squarely
And take a bow.
Sally DiUlus sdiulus@cefe.org

(My daughter's Squash teacher showed a dvd during class where David Palmer and Jonathan Power played in a Squash Match. It was fast and one of them, I can't remember which consistently had tantrums throughout his game.)



Welcome back Elizabeth... Your Love poem is quite beautiful and 1970, hmmm that reminds me of...

Iain - Your bottom falling out Poem was exquisite.

I appreciate everyone's continued contributions. Participating in this poetry blog has given me such a longing to read more works from each artist. Thank you all for contributing and thank you Robert for hosting and contributing also. Blessings to one and all!

THE SLEEPOVER

The door creaked open, the light broke through
To interrupt my sleep
And through the crack two little boys
Were trying hard to keep
Quiet as they peered in
To see if I might be awake
But still I lay there quietly
To see what action they would take
I told them plain the night before
"I must work tomorrow night
So be as quiet as you can”
"Sure", they said, "Alright"
Now, the one says to his brother
"Do you think she's slept enough?"
"I think so," came the reply
"Look, the sun is getting up"
“I can’t tell if her eyes are closed
The blanket is pulled over her head
Maybe I should try and take it off,
She really should get out of bed”
Then I pulled back the cover
And into my bed they did leap
“Great! You’re awake now, Nanny
It’s no fun here when you are asleep.”

Elizabeth--welcome back! So glad that you are recovering well--very impressive set of poems!

Robert--loved your poem and yesterday's too. I don't envy your job of picking highlights--all the poems are improving! Thank you so much for this challenge, I'm really enjoying it. Although this is not one of my best. . .



Shrimp

She asked, she tasted
She wrinkled her nose
"No roasted vegetables?"
"I'll try those"
Again unsatisfactory

Bam Bam behind the counter
Looked bored and unhappy
And just as I was going
To place my order
She pointed again
What is that?
Roasted vegetables with very hot spice
She wanted a small container of those
Weighed and priced
Then she looked at the sticker
"This isn't Shrimp Salad!"
No, Bam Bam replied
It isn't. Sorry for the mistake
She turned to me for support
Bam Bam is a nice person
I didn't want to partake
Of the snippy fest she was having
But when she said
"Six dollars was too much
for roasted vegetables!"
It made me laugh
And Bam Bam apologized again
I wanted to say "it's an honest mistake"
I wanted to tell her give him a break
Instead Bam bam turned away and all
I could do was get my two pounds of
Ham and go
But it bothered me all the way home
My lack of courage
My lack of voice
It's the little things
Like guilt pebbles
That stack up and weigh on my heart
How many times I stayed silent
When I wanted to speak my part

"sometimes a cigar is just a cigar"

I slid into a barstool at Morton's between a large man nursing a scotch - neat – and an older woman to my left complaining about how cold she felt despite the staggering heat outside.
"You're sitting under the a/c vent," the scotch man said, "It's blowing directly down onto you."
"Oh, thank you," she replied swirling her Reidel stemware half filled - the appropriate pour - of expensive red wine."
"I thought it was too much wine, but I do love it, drinking wine that is."
There were two empty barstools to her left and she slid down into the corner although I got the impression from her coy gaze
that she moved hesitantly despite the cold air. She tried to strike up a conversation but I was there to snoop, to observe
so I provided one word answers to her grammatical volleys.
Just as I thought I would have to give in and focus more attention on Caryn – “with a c and a y” she told me – an older gentleman, about 70, rolled in and planted himself between us.
Saved by the barfly I thought as the bartender brought him a Sam Adams without any words taking place. I went back to my eavesdropping, as I followed Jennifer the bartender with my eyes as she mixed martinis, answered the phone and directed traffic in her 4 by 10 foot vessel fronted by a gorgeous mahogany bar and anchored to the rear by an impressive collection of your usual suspects mixed with top shelf superstars.
"You're smoking a cigar," said the older guy to Caryn – “with a c and a y” – "I love cigars - I had to give them up 20 years ago, although I do cheat and have one once in awhile."
"Oh yes," the 50ish grandmother in waiting replied (I overheard earlier that he had 12 grandchildren and she was still waiting for her first) “I love a good cigar and when it burns down low I like to put it out and chew on it."
The older gentleman said something but I couldn't hear him.
I was too busy thinking about what Freud said about the cigar being a substitute for something else and coupled with her comment about chewing I grabbed my crotch and winced. Jennifer the bartender must have noticed because she stopped in front of me looking concerned, then leaned over and asked if everything was OK.
"Yes," I said, "a moment ago I simply forgot that sometimes a cigar is just a cigar."

(There were so many strange snippets I overheard today it seemed as if a number of them should be incorporated. None of them are from the same conversation; almost none of them are from the same person. Go figure.)

(And Elizabeth - glad you're recovering well!)

Coming Together

Gleeful Guy starts gathering them around.
“Com ‘ere, come ‘ere, come ‘ere…”
“See how comfortable these chairs are
when you *first* sit in them?”
He spins, leans back,
gleaming at the gathering cubical lemmings.
“Are you kidding?”
a nerdy lemming responds
bumping Gleeful Guy aside
to maniacally type away.
“Check out this video of a pole dancing class
that ends in a chick fight!”
“I’ve got one now,”
says the Blonde, sliding between them,
easily taking over. Then she
frowns, stares, sighs.
“Okay; that’s impossible.”
“Did you forget something…again?”
Pole Dancing Guy, dripping with sarcasm.
“She’s just twitterpated,” Gleeful Guy jumps in
thinking he’s chivalrous.
“Poor thing,” Disdainful Dame says
watching,
arms folded,
entranced by the whole thing anyway.
“Where is everybody?” the Boss’s voice rings out.
“I got an urgent message.”
Workers scatter like cockroaches,
caught
under sudden, harsh,
unexpected light,
while a distant voice says
“What do you mean you’re going on vacation?”

Hey, What's Up?
No more Hellos
How are yous
No fine thanks, and you?
Did you hear?
Not have you noticed
Then he said
She said
No more great weather we're having
That stinks
That sucks
No more that's a shame
And I'm,like,
Not then I noticed
Because do we ever notice anymore
Or does the world revolve
Around us
Instead of beside us
Are we a part of the world
Or drifting along

Messed Up

She’s cute,
but weird
and uneducated.
Desperate, too, I guess.

I tried to help
put her bike on the bus,
but she yelled,
“ I don’t need no help.”

She is petite and struggled
with that bike,
but when I reached for it
she glared at me.

OK I got back on the bus.
You would think I would
know enough to stop talking,
but she was cute, as I said.

“I’m trying to start a conversation
and she’ll say, Do you have a dollar?”
Does she want help or not.
Some way to meet a cute girl.

“I got it all messed up.”

People at work and on the bus and even in the produce section of the supermarket were quiet today. It took me a long time to overhear anything--and then I hit the jackpot and heard two. I couldn't combine them, so here are two attempts.

First Sight

"I was adopting a greyhound,"
lean and worn and ready
for me to walk on a red leash
and scratch behind the ears
and there he was, all legs
and so very thin--almost
a sadness, and he could just
fit into the back seat
of my little car, the window
cracked enough for his nose
and I managed to squeeze
in a sack of dog food, too.


Dealer's Choice

It wasn't in the cards, but they liked
to push their luck, roll their own,
tempt their fate and snap their fingers
as though losing was just another
way to win. They drew straws
and diagrams. They flirted
with Fridays and some days the law.
It was a walk in the park,
a piece of cake, just enough risk.
"Like they would ever get caught,
but who knows?"

Robert, I picked a news quote, not because I'm a hermit, but because nothing I overheard today inspired me like this quote from Sen. Obama (whom I greatly respect, so don't mind me, Barack supporters, if I poke a little fun at him and the political world at large).


Waffle

Someone accosts the candidate
in the diner with a salvo of political questions.
He doesn’t want to be bothered.
“Why can’t I just eat my waffle?” he pleads.

He’s having the candidate’s breakfast:
ham on the side, some egg –
you’ve got a little on your face, there, candidate –
no, on the left corner of your mouth – yeah, you got it.

Get used to this breakfast, sir, because if and when
you land in that big elliptical office,
you’ll find the force of your convictions
grilled to the limit – pressed and steamed,
crispy-crimped. You’ll have to concede, back-pedal,
renege, redefine. Yes, candidate you’ll have to
waffle almost every day.

Lunch at Moretti's, a one-act play

“You’ve made my day,” the waitress said.
“That will be $25,” replied the customer.
“What for?”
“For making your day,” he replied.
“You’re funny. Hey did you pick up your credit card?”
“I think so.”
“You’d better,” she laughed. “Or it’s mine.”
“You wouldn’t get far. Maybe Wal-Mart.”
“Believe me, I can do a lot of damage at Wal-Mart.”
“Wow,” the customer said as the waitress walked away.
“I want to marry her. And I would, if I wasn’t already married.”

Now we have a name for our poem, and words, sorry about my earlier failure. Working through it ...



Bone-a-fide

Two little boys
Running up the stairs,
Headed up to play cars,
Do some pretending,
Unaware anyone, especially me, was listening.

“Dude, your mom is awesome!”
“Yeah, she really is.”

My son, in that moment,
Gave me such a pat on the back
One I will take as often as it is offered.

He said, yeah, she’s great,
And we love her.

Me, the one working with
A mess I like to call ‘family’,
History,
Scars,
Therapy.
Me, the one doing the best I can.
I just got , well, I got:

Bone-a-fide.

And as a Mom,
Doing the best I can
With what I have to work with,

That’s all I can ask for
And more.

The Conversation Observation

"You what?"
"How could you?"
"What did he say?"

"I would have curled up right there!"
"It's tempting, I must admit."

"For Heaven's sake!"
"Are you out of your mind?"
"Rescue yourself for a change!"

"I am officially having a bad day!"
"That's why I hate Mondays!"

At the Haymarket Cafe

"When you're old enough,"
he addresses the baby held in a woman
(his grandmother's?) arms, "we're going to move to Russia."

"Will that be better?"

"We'll be rich. A hundred thousand new multi-millionaires
a day." The pretty 20-something across the table
stares at the baby, pays the pony-tailed man little mind.

"I speak Russian and play the piano.
I'm trying to find a place where I feel safe."

Haha, thank you Iain. I don't want people to think I actually go out and stab people for laughs, though.

I had to pull out my anatomy books for this eavesdropped conversation at Tai Chi this am.

Facets

"She has osteoprosis real bad.
And had to go to the emergency room.
She couldn't breathe and coughed so hard."

She has to have x-rays to see
if her vertebrae survived the trauma
of her costals heaving, expanding, putting

pressure on her transverse processes.
The ribs' shockwaves too much for the demi-
facets to handle. Are they broken? Shattered?

Will her bones return to dust?

"It is the most miserable place
in the world to live,"

the ghost in the room next door
shouts out at three a.m.,
and as soon as I'm awake enough
to think critically,
I wonder what he means by this.

Is he talking about
this nasty old building we're in -
replete with its mice
and its grime and its faucets that
require inhuman strength to turn
and its rattling heaters
still blowing full-blast in April?

Or does he mean this city,
this hellhole that was actually
just frozen over for
five whole months but is now
getting so damn humid
that it's still unbearable
on a whole new level?

Or maybe he feels
like nothing is worse
than just living in...
well, life.
But could living in death
be that much better?
He'd know. I wouldn't,

and as I lay here sweat-swaddled
in the too-warm night,
I think about walking next door
and politely knocking before
calling out to question,
"Is everything alright?"

Then I figure he's already
slipped back to sleep,
dreaming of earthy smells
and the squiggle of worms
and the depthless darkness
he'd come to think of as home.

“He said—She said”

Oh really? You don’t say….
What WAZ that all about anyway?
And how long will people continue
to listen.

YadaYadaYada.
BlahBlahBlah.
Okay. Mabye I got it wrong.
“She said—He said.”

A.C., you made me laugh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Good one.
Heather
Bless you, Patti.

Holy cow, everyone!! There's some amazing stuff here!!

Alfred, I laughed out loud. Have been struck in many other ways too many times to recount.

"You need a trip to Vegas. I'd love
to get you into trouble,"
she said, in that
smug voice we all take out when
we've been somewhere
someone else hasn't.
As though life would not be complete until then,
all efforts have fallen short.

Not thinking that her fun might not
be your fun.
Just dangling a secret
Where no temptation to hear it exists.

We're odd, like that.

Did something crawl into you too

You watch
The bird
On the wind
Soaring
High above the world
Looking down
On the ones it passed
On it’s way up.
You see the butterfly
Emerging from it cocoon
And taking flight
And the caterpillar
Crawling into its nest
Of silken fibers
Ready for its transformation
And you see the worm
Chewing its way
Into the heart
Of the peach
Hiding, destroying, corrupting
And you
You are that worm
Or did something
Crawl into you too?

You’re Not My Friend Anymore

The good morning song
is interrupted by fatal words
proclaiming the dissolution
of friendship between
one five year old and another.
In Kindergarten, solidarity
is a tenuous proposition
hinging on simple acts:
the reclaiming of an offered toy
a decline to share fruit roll ups
or the choice to sit next to
someone else.

Eavesdropping

Oh mannn,
I should be studying
So I said to her
You have got to stop now
And he was like wow
I can’t believe that
You’re kidding, right?

And God said to me…
While I was asleep last night
You won’t believe
So coffee? Next week?
Don’t forget!

It was one big circus
Dragging my ass
Not working anymore hours
This is NOT what I signed up for
Can’t find the time
I said “I quit!”

Honey-baked ham
Pound of prosciutto
Middle-sized container of potato salad
Yes and some of that sausage

Hey you got a new horn
Wheredja get it?
What page are we on?
Who can tell the difference?

Make mine mocha latte
Yes, whole milk
Yes whipped cream
And yes, I need a lid,
Thanks

She was like “No wayyy!”
I was like
Soo embarrassed
Gahd!
Will
This
Never
END

Elizabeth, I'm so happy that you enjoyed our comments. Your poems are so beautiful and they reflect the joy you have in seeing your surroundings. Recovery is always long and difficult, but it is a slow process and you have helped it with your writing. I'm praying you can go back to your old life soon.

Barbara

You know if I had been able to see this during the day I would have listened more closely to my office mates. I think this is going to be a bit of a hodgepodge.

Secrets in the office

Kevin said "There's free coffee today"
but I hung back continuing my calls
maybe not believing him.
I figured I'd go see about that and
sure enough it was free.

I filled the cup with hazelnut and
decaf and it got me through the
morning.

At lunch the new company in the
cafeteria caused such excitement
I felt like a little kid about to enter
MacDonalds for the first time.
A man behind me asked his friend
about the grllled portobellos. Were
they mushrooms. He'd never seen
mushrooms like these.

I used the plastic tongs provided
for each separate salad item
dangling floppy brown slices into
my clear plastic salad container on
top of field greens with cucumbers
and zucchini and long asparagus
pieces grilled too.

Lunch in the office and my
friend and I talk
about the pope, letting our
conversation meander around
pope issues and she brings up
abuse by priests and how the
pope wants to move on.

Rolling in and out of the topic
she asks me a question
did I have a dark secret in my
past. And I honestly told her
my story - not by a priest
No fourteen year old Jewish
girl knew a priest in those
days, but by a trusted family
friend, a psychologist, a pillar
of his community.

She tells me her story by a
trusted parent while drunk,
not abuse, but a beating
and I glance at my friend's
eyes and see the darkness
laid over her innocence
and think about all the
innocents who donned
that shadow and how it
lived inside of us
overshadowing ambition
and undercutting our
dreams.

She says I had to let it go
and to say he was an "asshole"
So I said it and we both said
it and cracked a smile.

Spss. Spss. Spss.

That's how I would spell it,
that funny noise my brother used to make
when pretending to make the small talk
of bridge club ladies in our living room
while we kids, banished to the back of the house,
giggled and played extremely loud games, solely for
the purpose of annoying Mom's guests.
"You be quiet down there!" she'd call to the four of us as we energetically re-enacted The Creature From the Black Lagoon on the upper and lower bunks of the bed.
"Knock it off. Do I have to come back there
and speak to you myself?!"
Little she or the ladies said was of interest to us
but we did stomp romping occasionally to listen for familiar words (like our names, and those of our friends) to see who might be in trouble, ha ha.
Mostly, though, we just got
"your bid"
and "these sandwiches are wonderful"
and the rare but
delicious "damn."

Oops ... too late on Monday night to be allowed to type anything serious!

The word "stomp" in my post of a couple of minutes ago should be "stop."

As in, I had better stop now before I make any more typos.

I wasn't home to eavesdrop on the TV today, and the conversations I heard I was involved in. So the only snippet I
actually overheard was, "You can keep him. We have plenty."
And I just couldn't get serious~


The Wallflower's Revenge

She's dressed with care,
Even done her hair,
Fairly sure she looks her best;
Yet she stands aside
And tries to hide,
Not mingling with the rest.
The other girls are chatting,
Eyelashes are batting,
As the group of boys around them grows;
But she just stands there fretting,
She feels her palms are sweating,
Tensing up from head right to her toes.
Oh it's worse than she had feared.
Those girls all think she's weird,
And they know she hasn't got a date.
Golly how her mom insisted,
Still she should have resisted,
Darn it all! She has to meet her fate.
She looks up at the door,
Good grief! Here comes one more,
The awful loser she cannot abide.
Oh wow, he's lame for sure,
But he's coming 'cross the floor!
And walking up to be right by her side!
Worse, Sweet Sue is passing by,
And stopping to say hi,
Sue leans to whisper so gently,
Dearie, don't be sad
or feel too awfully bad~
"You can keep him, we have plenty."
Uh oh, suddenly she sees red,
It all explodes inside her head!
She doesn't even see who's in the room.
She goes on the attack,
Her crumpled fist draws back,
Poor Sweet Sue goes down with a BOOM!
[Exit stage left]
###

And after that I too make my exit.


Shirley

HI everyone! I get my prompts late, so I have just received this one and read the poems listed. Amazing stuff. This challenge is amazing. I am not a poet. This was, sort of, an experiment for me. Trying something new. I have learned that writing a poem is easy. Writing a GOOD poem is not so easy. I think I've managed to write 3 goods ones out of 18 so far.

Bill Kirk, Snoopeazzi Field Day is so true. We all do it. That is how I found out the other year that an acquaintance was having her fourth child....from the pool man instead f her husband. In 2 weeks, the whole town knew.

Debra Elliot, I love your poems. Take it with a grain of salt...great stuff.

Elizabeth, those pain killers have only made you stronger. Your poems today are tops!

And Alfred, you have me wishing I had a bath tub. If I've given poetry a try, why not spaghetti. :-)

I'm going to go eavesdrop now so I have some inspiration.

Thanks for letting me take part!

A Secret Internet Affair

The two whisper urgently
About her predicament
About how he types covertly
Not letting his eyes slide
From the luminescent glare
Of the screen.
She types sneakily
Not letting her eyes
Meet those of others
They whisper to each other
As quickly and quietly
As they can
A forbidden love
They brings no ease
They live in a virtual world
That does nto allow
For reality.
She laments at how
He looks on
At his wife
Wondering what
She is smiling at.
Perhaps it is a photo of a holiday long past.
Perhaps it is of happier times.
Perhaps, just perhaps
It is of him.

Sorry line 14 should read "That brings no ease", not they...

Tonya, I'm in Spain, its lovely!

Connie, I thought your poem was about a gay man at first. Very inspriing. I can't remember a time when I couldn't read. Both my parents were teachers, and my older sisters taught us younger ones to read before we were in school.

I can read, but evidently I can't type or spell!

Check Please

When asked how he did it he said
"I had to check my fear at the door."

That is not to be confused
with checking your coat in a resteraunt
or your bags at the airport

Nor should you think
that checking your fear at the door
means it waits quietly for you
to return

remember this:
fear is a locksmith
fear is a detective's one way mirror
and you are the suspect it is watching
fear is the umbrella stand at the door
you trip over
even when it is not raining
fear is the child
who refuses to be left
behind

next time you check your fear
at the door
check again

Thank you Michelle, turns out it's illegal to donate any beds in NYC due to the major bedbug problem here. Shame, since the bed is almost new.

Rod.

Why Can’t I

But, why can’t I stay home with dad
“Because I said No”
I promise not to drive him mad
I don’t want to go
Grandma’s so boring
Besides, when she gets mad
she starts ignoring
Why can’t I stay home with dad
He’s more fun
I promise not to be bad
anyway, I’m not the only one
Dora, Misery and Wojo
get on his nerves
I don’t want to go
If I promise to be good
I’ll bet if you ask him he would
Go ask him, betcha’ he’ll say yes
I won’t just be good, I’ll be the very best . . .

©Rodney C. Walmer 4/22/08 conversation heard between my wife and daughter. Mostly my
daughter as you can tell. I made the words rhyme, but that’s the gist of the conversation, almost
word for word.

THE HAT

It seems hard to be a parent
Making hard decisions each day
I imagine it's especially challenging
when there is more than one
Always teetering on trying to be fair to each
I wonder if this was the dilemma of the woman at the outlet mall
Her son screaming accusations of favoritism at her
as they walked through the corridor
All he wanted was one baseball cap he protested
as the mother walked nonchalantly
He pointed out all the other items bestowed on
the seemingly favored child with no qualms by her
There are always five sides to a story
so I'm sure there was more than meets the eye
I just got a small glimpse into their lives
as I free and childless walked quietly by

Feelin' Guruvy

She lined her eyes with Kohl and peacock blue,
painted her mouth as a bruised flower
black Cleopatra wig shifting as she
scratched absently and took a long pull
on an ever-present Marlboro,
She had chosen to wear a saffron kaftan,
pale imitation of central star
around which the world could
tie their orbit,
to the mirror she practices
the voices of old bone and stones,
"I'm becoming quite the spiritual guru," she said
to everyone in particular

(Day 21 post)

Tense Issues

Do you mind if I come in and work?
I have tense issues.
Are you teaching now?
I have tense issues and really need help.

Yes, I see.
Let’s look at that first paragraph.
You just jump in
Rather than ease into it,

Sometimes I do just jump in,
Spill it all out.
I don’t know how to “ease in.”
I have tense issues.

Well, rather than start abruptly with
“This is what I’m saying,”
Begin broadly,
Eeeeeeeaase in.

Oh, okay, ease in.
But I gotta run back to the dorm
See you in a few minutes?
Will you still be here?

But agreement, do you understand agreement?
You know, you use “mothers” here
but how did “mother” become plural?
When did “mother” become plural?

I thought I understood,
But maybe I don’t understand.
Maybe I can just run back to the dorm for a minute.
Will you still be here?

Yes, you have agreement issues.
Which makes it sound really awkward.
Isn’t that a run-on sentence?
And tense again, isn’t that really awkward?

Yes, I have tense issues.
Will you still be here at four?
I have to run back to the dorm,
Just for a minute.

Congrats Elizabeth! Hope your recovery is quick! :o)

"He came by again today,
Wanting nine thousand."
What on Earth could
He need that money for?
I think drugs; G thinks
gambling. Maybe we're
both wrong and it's
Prostitution.

"People don’t make any sense around here"

Well of course they don’t!
What do you think this is?
Eden?
I think not
Evidently, people used to make sense
Until silly Eve ate that darned apple
What was she thinking?

Crunch.. and no sooner had
the juice run down her chin
that her clothes
fell off, or rather
she noticed that she had no clothes on
whereas before she had never noticed

Now she had to worry about
darned cellulite and saddlebags
and Adam
running around
with other babes in the garden
because now he was a lying cheat

People don’t make any sense around here

Do You Know What You Really Need?

There are so many things I don't know and
Sometimes it gives me such
Thrills to think what's out there
But I never go out there
I like to think of an invisible hand
Holding me down because then it's
Someone else's doing that causes
All my own undoing
Do I really need these distractions?
Money poured into a cauldron of trivial soup
And I spend all my time stirring
Stirring stirring
With my eyes on the horizon and
My hands moving, stirring, doing
But my legs don’t move
Maybe they need another quarter
Because there are no closed doors here
I live in a house without frame
All windows and doors open with skylights
In my encompassing roof
These are my footprints
I am here all the time
I don't know if I need to
Just burn the place down

"It's pretty much over..."

The beginning of the end of an ordeal miles long
To sing a song of sorrow for her tomorrows don't belong
To someone so dear & near and too close to the ending
Now the pains you keep inside is a voice that you're pretending
It's almost over, roll me over, play a song

Change in Status
Should I ask? Do I get to know?
If you are or are not, I suppose, I, well,
shouldn't butt in. Because things like this-
they're so fluid. How can I trust,
a line of text, a line of code
on your Facebook page, it can't be you coming out.
"it's complicated" does it mean
"I'm not ready to tell my friends I'm gay"
That might not be an option Facebook offers.
Maybe it's just a joke
for nosey people like me.

I am a day late, but here it is anyway. Off to look at today's prompt. :-)


Snatches of conversation
running through my mind,
interesting images
play games with the words,
twisting terribly together.

"Somewhere in Revelation...
There were people in a box
in Boston but I've never
smoked pot in my life.
I'm never doing that again.
I had the same response.
The kids were like Aaaaaa!
I never thought it would happen.
They tried for ten years and I
had given up. Were there games?
That was creepy. Some sequels
are better than the original.
I had the same response.
I love purple. There was pink
everywhere and I wondered,
Should I come down? He stole
one already you know.
You're being nice,
she'll say something even worse.
I'm a good liar. I'm very talented.
That'll come in handy.
I had the same response.
Somewhere in Revelation..."

Snatches of conversation
dancing through my brain,
interesting images
creating adventures with words,
twisting terribly together.

Stop Thief!

Bag full of goodies
frozen chocolate treats
put in the freezer to be enjoyed
later in the work day.
As the afternoon passes
my temptation wins out.
Barring interruption
I sneak into the fridge
to steal the object of my watering mouth.
Returning to my desk
encountered by the eye
of my every move.
Moments pass,
a rustling of the bag
draws my attention to the office kitchen;
the old lady, my nemesis, my boss
strolls by guiltily
holding something in her hand.
NO! Not Again!
She’s not only a snoop;
she’s a thief as well.

I was only out around people once yesterday, and that was before I knew what the prompt was, so I didn't really have my listening ears on. I had to pick something I heard on TV, but it was fun to put a new spin on it.

Heart Attack

It comes in the guise of a backache,
a fist in the spine, steel and fire.
Pian steals your breath, radiates
through your chest, down your arms,
a heavy ghost sitting on you.
A man in scrubs and a white coat
tells you, "You're under arrest."

LOVE

100 bulbs arrived that autumn
gifts from another world,
daffodils to bloom in spring
as they have each year since.
A yellow and white explosion
of blossoms, rarely weeded, tended,
colors that endure the cold, ice, snow
of winters, survive, say: ‘still here, still here’.
Reminders of my best girlfriend,
(yes, I still say girl even though we’re women),
a sign of friendship spanning
the country, California to Vermont.


Peggy Verdi PAD #20 LOVE

First of all, glad to hear your surgery went well Elizabeth. God speed!


Voice Purge

“You ain't nothin' but a punk ass boy!”
was only a portion of the venom I heard spewed
into the cellphone of a large teenage girl
wearing lime green sweat pants;
I shook my head in disgust and dismay as I
loaded my groceries into my car's trunk;
What an abuse of the English language
(not to mention the “punk ass boy's ears);
I sometimes wish I could mute the world.

The next day I went on a nature trail walk
all by my lonesome,
I wore no ipod, I didn't even hum to myself;
Purging myself from the human voice.

I heard many voices in many languages
but, fortunately, none of them human;
The baritone croak of bull frogs,
various chirps, twitters and trills
of jays, finches, wood thrush and the like,
The rush and surge of water cascading
over river rocks,
the plop of lazy snapping turtles
rolling off their nap-time logs.

My ears were soothed by the foreign whispers
from wind to oak leaf;
Purged from even my own thoughts.

I returned to my car and started the engine,
catching myself before I reached to turn on the radio;
I needed to stop by Kroger for a half gallon of milk
but I wasn't yet ready to hear even a kind
“Thank you. Have a nice day!”
The milk could wait 'til tomorrow.

“We’ll have some kind of opening something. Something will happen.”

Something doesn’t tell me anything.
Something could be one thing or nothing.
The world is full of somethings.
But please give me something, anything.
Everything is a something.
And something could be anything.
So please give me something that’s not anything.
And I’ll be able to figure out what the heck that something is.
It could be everything.

Something will happen?
I know something will happen!
But that something could be anything.
That something is everything.
If that something is nothing, that’s something.
I need to know if that something will be nothing.
I need to know if that something will be one thing or another thing.
I need to know if that something could be everything.

the more we take
the less we become,
she said
or wait, was it a he?
OK, so it was a car
but I got a distinct “she” vibe

but, back to the message
that’s something deep
something interesting,
something I’d like to think deeply ab-
oh, hang on, light changed …

HAWAIIAN EARRING

He spends his days developing
theories of of geometic topology, his nights
playing video poker and occaisionally
his wife coaxes him to step
out of the darkness to pour wine for guests
he won’t look directly in the eye.

“I’d do that,” he says of walking
the length of the Appalachian trail,
not to prove himself against the distance
or immerse himself in wildness, but
for the routine, to get up each morning
knowing you will walk thirty miles,
the only way is forward.

Mail Box Day

Today I Flew To My Mail Box
This Is A Time When I Walk
With A Hip Hop

I Opened My Mail Box And
I Found A Letter, I Found A Letter,
A Letter That Was Addressed To Me

But...But...But...Who Opened
My Letter, My Letter I Found
A Letter That Was Addressed To Me

I Tipped To Every Mail Box
I Sniffed For A Lingering Scent
I Pulled On Every Mail Box
Hoping To Find A New Finger Print
I Snooped To Hide But Slipped On
Dog Poop With Little To No Pride
I Ran Home Stinking And Forgetting
My Letter But Leaving My Shoes Outside

Sorry For The 21 Day Delay
H. Michelle Cooper

A Conversation

It's a library. Voices are low.
We set up in the children's section.
Andrew has his briefcase of books
and his funny storytelling hat.
I'm in my purple Goddess gown,
a fairy costume on this occasion.
Our chairs face a bunch of beanbags
pushed together, brightly patched.

We're early, no audience yet,
but in one beanbag two boys
cluster together. One's little,
maybe five. His brother, about 11,
reads to him very quietly
from a big flat book they both hold.
I can see from here it's mostly pictures,
colours sprawling all over the pages.

This conversation is not in words,
though words are being spoken,
It's in the older boy's tenderness,
cradling the little brother who cuddles up
into his curved side under the sheltering arm.
It's in the younger one's trust
as he wriggles himself into place
then rests in the warm, safe moment.

© Rosemary Nissen-Wade 2008

'thank you mommy'
the toddler's voice carried
as he stepped onto the escalator
she helped take that first step
on the moving machinery
that either enthralled or frightened children
i hoped for my wife to hear the same words
as she had before
when ours were toddlers
and she helped them take their first steps

Welcome back Elizabeth, yes the poems are beautiful!

And Marin, I too love The Bus. I think it's brilliant.

But really, everyone's writing terrific stuff!

The ballot box

I wondered then
If my advisor
Would support me
In the club election.
It seemed so important
That she should, then.

I knew her handwriting
When I saw it on the ballot
And of course, she voted
For my friend who worked
For another advisor,
Not for me.

I told myself,
That’s what you get for snooping
Where your nose didn’t belong.
But a chip of ice
Wouldn’t melt in my mind
Even for years afterward.

Today, would I read
Ballots looking for
The pain of sureness?
I think I’d hesitate
A lot longer and
Think about the cost
Of the ice if my
Suspicions were
Correct.

My trip to Phoenix was a disaster
I got this present for you in Sedona
This little bead of a bone cat that sleeps
Trimmed in rough polymer paint
With whiskers of black and cheeks of peach
a little old 96 year old woman makes these.
You can do with it what ever you want
I just used the string to get it to you
My daughter was mean
Said I was repeating myself
Said I couldn’t watch her children
I’m not trustworthy
I finally told her
“Bite me”

Parting Ways

Summer is almost here,
meaning another semester is almost gone.
Semesters are like measurements,
They calculate time spent
in learning institutions.
Some semesters are fun,
some semesters are drum,
but the worst kind of sememster
is the one
that counts down the days
'til friendships end.

Parenting

The wonders of an
overjoyed parent.
Rummaging the shelves
for that something special.
That something to turn the
kiddie’s frown upside down.
“Goosebumps”, “Warriors”, even
“The Sisters Grimm”.
Giving gifts of knowledge,
Gifts of lazy fun.
The love of a parent
Is obviously apparent.

:I seemed to hear you say …:

it only makes sense,
doesn’t it? It does
it crosses my mind to share
the secret I heard
in the ladies’ room
but ladies don’t eavesdrop and tell.
They talk about who
will be the next president
and lisp out phrases
regarding democrat asses
and nice pieces of elephant;
and one mumbles a joke
about Beowulf teaching poor social skills
and I laugh and unveil
my secret ear.

Elizabeth, I'm glad you're doing well.
The most interesting things I've overheard are the ramblings of a 3 year-old to a teen aged sibling. The toddler speaks first in each; the teen's speech is indented:


Growing-up

Can you get in this box?
I'm too big; I won't fit.
Are you gonna fit tomorrow?
No
Well, I will be big tomorrow!
Oh?
When you guys are little like me.
How big will you be"
Oh, just 16 to 40.
16 to 40 what?
16 to 40 feet.
That's what it says on my watch.
That's what I'll be tomorrow.
(Tomorrow will be here too soon...)

*******

Jellybeans

I want some of those things in the jar.
Jelly beans?
Yeah, can I have one?
No
Oh, are they for someone else?
Yeah
Who are they for?
Me
Oh, can I eat one for you?

Sorry, my spaces at the beginning of the lines didn't stay in the post. Hopefully it works anyway...

Conversations

I heard him say, “Stop, wait.”
Then his voice trailed off
as he ran the opposite way.

Out for a daily walk you
pass a lot of people and
if you will listen as you go
along you will hear lots of
sounds some of which are
disjointed conversations,
like the woman who
passed by saying “there
was blue”, and then she
was gone and you could
not hear the rest or the
little girl speaking to her
daddy saying “ apple was”
and that was that.

Listen next time and
see what conversations
you can hear.

Susan
April 21
Day 21

Misplaced Complaints

"I am so tired of hearing my mother
complain about the price of gas."
$3.57
$3.65
$3.68
Who cares what a gallon costs?
Not me.
Why doesn't my mother complain about my quiz grades?
55
60
45
Who cares?
I would,
If my mother did.

911 – Are you sure?

It was much too loud
To be a cat
So I went to check it out
Imagine my surprise
To see an alligator
Running the house about!

All I thought was
OH MY GAWD
And on the phone I got
To call the trusted
Folks I knew
Those guys at 911!

“What’s going on?”
She asked so calm
To which I did reply,
“There’s a gator in
my kitchen here
Hurry quick and send a guy!!”

“It’s HUGE,” I said.
“What’s huge? Four foot?”
I’d like to strangle her,
You think I’m going to
Measure it
Or become its new dinner?

“I don’t know!” I yelled.
You silly girl.
“I only saw the first half of it…”
You make me go back in there
I’m going to tell you
Just to shove it!

“You sure it couldn’t be
An iguana or large…”
“OH, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO!
Just half of it I saw back there
Behind the freezer
There’s more to show!

When they finally came
To catch this critter
Imagine our surprise
An eight foot gator
female they caught.
Iguana? No, twice the size!

"Where have you been?"

She looked at me
With pleading eyes
"Where have you been?"
She asked between sobs and sighs
Guilt written on my face
There was no room for lies
Everytime I do this to her
I see that a part of her dies
Long ago I adored this girl
Isn't it funny how time flies
I used to want to be with her
Instead of hanging with the guys
Now the time approaches
When she won't care about where's or why's
Lord knows that on me
She has wasted too many tries
This could very well be
The last of her cries
Cause if I hurt her again
She'll leave me with no good-byes

She Used to Work Here


“…she’s no longer with the company.”
given up a life of contact
for a life of solitude
prefers silence to companionship

Is that possible?
Can one be happy locked away
the quiet life of a hermit
Leaving the voices behind

a quite romantic idea
returning to the simple life
no arguments, no conflict
no relationships requiring effort

I need a measure of alone time
function well when I can escape
into a cocoon of my own
But there is loneliness there

that soon becomes unbearable
my heart cries out to connect
to know and be known
“…is she any different?”

TLS, April 2008

Welcome back, Elizabeth! Glad all went well. Great poems!

This is my favorite one of your poems, Robert.

Here is my late entry, as usual. My place of employment closed it's doors this week, so I'm a little discombobulated from being newly unemployed. Wish me luck!


Eavesdropping

“What we were looking for was something solid.”
That is what he said.

“Let’s give it a nice new finish.”
That is what she said.

What you may or may not expect is neither here nor there.
He and she passionately kissed, hugged lovingly, then walked away.

There’s nothing like dancing.
Such a beautiful form of expression,
in all its many styles and fashions.
Slow dancing elegant and sweet.
While fast dancing can be a hard beat to keep.
Innocent, sweet, dangerous, beautiful,
Sensuous, and erotic…all depends on
Those keeping the beat and the way others
Choose to interpret what they see.
One interpretation can create a whole
Knew meaning far from the original.
“Who knew that belly dancing was originally
a ritual preparation for childbirth.”

Overhead my daughter and her friend speaking about her normally serious (never smiles!) teacher and how she was actually human for 5 minutes. My daughter said, Ja. Ich dachte, bin ich in falscher Film oder was? (Yeah, I thought I am in the wrong film or what?) And this from a 9-year old. I had to laugh.
this is a quickly written rough draft (since I am 4 prompts behind!)



Take Two

Human nature is fairly predictable.
People have their own quips and quirks,
Distinctive personalities,
So much so that one can often
Play out of scene in his mind
Before it actually takes place.
But every once in a while,
To our surprise,
A character steps out
Of his given role,
Like the school bully
Who helps a defenseless bird
Fallen from it's mother's nest
Or the family comedian
Who suddenly speaks
Deep meaningful words
Out of the blue
Or even the overdemanding
Scrooge-of-a-boss
expressing his gratitude
and giving you due credits
in front of the entire team,
And you think to yourself,
"I am in the wrong film
Or what???!"
Then after the shock
Has rolled past you and
You've finally managed
To write the next line,
The reel snaps back into place
And the old classic begins anew
Before you can direct it otherwise.

NOT IN THE PICTURE

“You are not even in the picture.”
What picture?
It could be a photo -
a family photo
but she has a different father to the others
(a result of her mother’s affair)
so she couldn’t be in the photo
because she is only half
half daughter
half sister
half human
living half a life
a ghost somewhere in the background.
Perhaps if she is quiet enough
and hides behind her mother’s skirt
no-one will even notice her.
Perhaps she will just disappear.

© Maureen Sexton

mystery prize

we are being
led on a leash

all the way
to the back

of our cracker-
jack mailboxes

sniffing through
the sweet

and finding
it's just nuts

we are waiting
for the check

that balances
out distress; the economy

has gone
broke or broken

this supposed
free money, dangled

hopes and paper
above the masses

"is it the key
to controlling
all of mankind?"

we are fish
bound to find
the hook, wormless

the price
of lives and gas
is a series:

games greater
than equal-to
and less-than signs

let us wait
patient as dominoes
for the finger

to tip us right
over

Actually a lot of the lines here were taken from people's conversations that I overheard, but I didn't want to put them all in quotations cause I thought that would ruin the flow. Anyway, hope you like this.


Vampire slayer

I wish there was a way
to stop killing myself,
to stop making these nooses
from enjambed lines,
to stop putting my head
inside this plastic bag
of poisonous stanzas shaped
like my crumbling mind,
to stop loading these chambers
with hollow point words
meant to leave a hole
in my skull
the size of God.

I’m no longer a vampire.

No longer do I drink
from the bloody fountain
of my own insomnia,
the moon’s red face
an open mouth in the sky,
a drain for the stars
swimming like sperm
into the egg
of my inspiration.
People no longer have to ask,
“Is he dead?” or “Are you dead?”

They just know.

I cannot approve the return
of such suicidal gazes,
so much sadness
from despondent glances
that it cracks the mirrors of mothers
including my own.

I remember the year
I got her a record player
for her birthday,
an old time radio
locked in a cabinet
of dusty fingerprints and sounds
that reminded me
of Bruce Springsteen’s
raspy voice singing “Nebraska”.

Now, the needle is gone.

I’ve gotta get a new job.
I’ve gotta get a new life.
I’ve gotta find my way
out of this coffin
of waking dark
encasing my heart
beneath the bark
of this weeping willow
I have allowed myself
to become.

The roots run deep.

Follow me
out of this hollow grave,
dirty your hands
in the rain softened ground
of my depression.
Just make sure
you’re not wearing
a clean white shirt.

Flight Attending

Tons of metal in the sky
cradling human souls,
defying expectation only through the skill
of one or two.
The lesser of two middling choices
becomes their last meal.

Scarred by combat,
reluctant to try,
trying to forget,
straining to remember,
his choice is set.

One woman’s help,
the tower’s guidance,
and a reliance on those spoken
words of faith:

I just want to tell you both good luck
and we’re all counting on you.

OVERHEARD CONVERSATION

Normally I'm not a nosy person,
but sometimes I can't help but snoop.
The other day I couldn't resist,
listening in on your private conversation.
You were telling your friend about,
how you're cheating behind my back.
I even heard you laughing because,
you believed I would never find out.
You may think that you're very clever,
but here real soon you will realize,
how a scorned woman gets revenge.

sweet little pixie
tiny frail petite
whispers of her brother
as she takes her seat
staying close to baby
sharing all she knows
careful
easy does it
only heaven shows


by TK Kietero

playing catch-up. This one was fun, something I used to do all the time. And thanks to my little four-year-old friend (and her grandmother) for suppling me with the quotes I used!

Symphony

“I want a piece of quiet,”
you order, just like you order
a turkey sandwich on rye.
So I’ll try to pull out
the piece of quiet, right next
to the slice of serenity.
But my body resists the lock
of stillness—my toes tap,
my fingers drum, I click my pen
in time with the music
I hear in my head.
When you look up, I freeze,
waiting for another reprimand.
But you smile and wink,
“Oh, I love the sound of you.”

The short wave
started working
after midnight last night
appropriately
in short bursts

I went for Verve
Simon apologized
punched the guitarist
no votes for
Davy Crockett?

She says Butchie makes love
like Casanova
money like
Rockefeller
is she crazy that way?

Wait till Tom gets back
after that
I’ll change my vote
I can’t change the channel
and I can’t respond

at least it’s
other voices
at last I get a break
from the ones I hear
in my teeth

two girls in short-short skirts
wearing high-high heels
race against the traffic light
on the pedestrian crossing
heels clicking, one almost yells
"I hope someone notices me"

He said, "I met my hero today"
He saw Derek Brooks at the airport
"Mr. Brooks", he tells him, "you
are my hero on the field and off."

This man who saw his hero today,
made it through life
without a father but became the best of
fathers, the best of husband.
Perhaps knowing what not to do was
his great lesson.

He saw his hero today and I saw mine.
I told him, "I met my hero today, too."
I meet him every morning on the lanai
for coffee and talk, every night for
sharing and giving. I've always wanted
to tell you," you are my hero, to your
family and those whose lives you touch."

Revised Draft


Take Two

Human nature is fairly predictable.
People have their own quips and quirks,
distinctive personalities,
so much so that one can often
play out a scene in his mind
before it actually takes place.
But every once in a while,
to our surprise,
a character steps out
of his given role,
like the school bully
who helps a defenseless bird
fallen from it's mother's nest
or the overdemanding
Scrooge-of-a-boss
expressing his gratitude
and giving you due credit
in front of the entire team.
And you think to yourself,
"I am in the wrong film
or what???!"
Then after the shock
has rolled past and
you've finally managed
to write the next line,
the reel snaps back into place
and the old classic begins anew
before you can direct it otherwise.

Line above should read "Am I in the wrong film or what?" and NOT "I am in the wrong film or what?"

No Tea on the Face, Please!

Yummy strawberry decaf tea.
The girls drink at the table,
while their mom and I hover
around the counter.

‘Mom, did I eat clean?’

‘Well, honey…
please wipe the table’

‘But mom, did I keep my face clean?’
She lifts her little face up
for inspection.

Mom sighs,
‘yes honey, your face is clean!
Please though, go get a napkin
and wipe up what you spilled.’

I turn around and look.
She has spilled at least a
half cup of tea on the table.
Her face though,
is beautifully clean.

"The situation is hopeless"

They stood looking upon
the carcasses in front of them

It was a war zone, the path of a hurricane
Everywhere lay debris, bits of half-chewed flesh still hanging on the bone
What had once been the means of sustenance
lay mangled in putrid pasty mash, with globs of sickly orange mixed in for effect

Bits of blood-colored droplets splattered the pristine white cover
and what was once gleaming silver
now shone dully, obscured by the settling dust

The criminals lay in cages, deprived of their meal that day
as punishment, nay, retribution for the dashed hopes
of the family
as their bellies growled contentedly after the carnage
their salivating smiles belying their repentant looks

They would repeat the atrocity in a heartbeat.

"The situation is hopeless"
said one observer, trying to piece together a semblance
of order amidst the chaos

but it was futile

as the clean-up process began,
more than one glare was tossed to the guilty
more than one sigh mourned the loss of such magnificence

That was the year we had pizza for Thanksgiving.

I usually refrain from explaining my poems, but there's a guy I work with that punctuates his stories and anecdotes with 'here's the thing'. He always puffs his chest out or points at you to make sure that the thing he is announcing is just too good to miss. So, I've witnessed him do this to others as well as myself, so I'm counting it as 'snooping.' So there....


'Cause Here's the Thing

All you have to do is look interested
I'll babble on about things that might
seem uninteresting to you,
And I'll be completely oblivious.

'Cause here's the thing,
Nobody's more interesting than me
I'm in to everything you're not.
I'll interrupt interesting conversations
you're having with someone else

'Cause here's the thing,
I never learned social grace
I was too wrapped up in myself
to notice there are rules
Social rules that one learns by doing
'cept I never do it, so don't blame me

'Cause here's the thing,
You'll only know me for a short while,
And in that time some nugget of wisdom
or truth may sneak out of my mouth
It might take you a while to figure out

'Cause here's the thing,
Something I say will stick in your head
And as you roll it around in there, a
light bulb will come on
And you'll actually learn something from
the experience


-Justin M. Howe

The Eavesdropper

"I didn't mean to listen."
But you did, anyway.

Heard him say,
"You're a smart girl."

A conversation out of time
and out of place.

One man and two women:
a recipe for pain.

Afterwards, you listen again.
Masochism.

Ew

Oh, Juliet was played by a boy
Throughout the play
Monologueing all the time
In the end KISSING....
ROMEO! PLAYED BY A BOY!
A boy kissing a boy!
Creepy on SO many levels

Ew ew ew ew
Ewwwwwwwwwwwww!
Ew ew ew ew
Ewwwwwwwwwwwww!
Ew ew ew ew
Ewwwwwwwwwwwww!

I also heard that
Nuclear is pronounced
Noo-clee-ar not
Nu-cue-lar!

Etcetera is pronounced
Et-set-ura not
Ec-set-ura

It just freaks me mum out!

Duh!
The end!

Drink

You say “I’m thirsty.”
I take a swallow of the cool
amber drink and kiss you
slowly, carefully, letting a taste
of the liquid slip between
your lips, mingling in our mouths.
Nice, you say, and smile.
I kiss you again.

Day 21
Snooping

A humid day in April
Hopewell, Virginia
We three girls were searching
for movies for a girls' night.
A commotion in the front of the store
made us all stop and turn our heads.
The commotion was around a woman
and her son having entered the store,
out of breath and excited.
The boy...“You shoulda seen it!”
The mother... “It was unbelievable!”
The boy... “Cars were stacked on top of cars and all over the parking lot!”
The mother... “Traffic is backed up for miles!”
The boy... “Dad ran out of the mall, grabbed me out of the truck and ran back inside!”
The mother... “I have lived here all my life and never seen one!”
The boy... “We were lucky! A lot of other people got hurt!”
Tornado

Dating
They talk about
finding true love
some day
but wonder why
they have to put up
with crazies along the way
it's all in where you look
I'd like to say
the good guys are out there
but you have to look deeper
then the dimples inside of
their chins.

Whose pie is this?
Who left this pie?
The twitchy twitter-ladies
Clear up after the church affair
With sparrow souls.

Dollar Store Drama

So there I was hey
Just minding my business
Having a regular good time
At the Dollar Store
Man but I love these stores
With their shelves crammed
Full with tacky knock-offs
Scented candles, wrapping paper,
Exercise equipment, art supplies
A regular riot of merchandise
And all of it for about a buck
Yeah – calling them Dollar stores
Is a bit of a come on these days
Still it’s the cheapest place around
To get most everything
So, like I was saying
It was just a regular day
I am puttering around
near the back
Looking for some of those
little draw-string bags
You know the ones; cloth, solid coloured
We used them for our marbles
when we were kids
Wow, that’s dating me for sure
Anyhow, there’s this bunch of teens
in front of the bag shelf
So I ask them to please excuse me
and they do
And wouldn’t you know it
They’re scooping up the same bags I’m after
Must be doing a school project
Or something
I’m thinking ‘cause they’re picking up
every size there is
“How many bags do you need, ma’am?”
One kid asks me
He makes like he’s ready to hand me some
His voice is so soft; I have to strain to hear him
I only need about five,
Just enough to put some left-over flower seeds in
For my neighbours’, you know?
We always swap our extras every year
“No problemo,” He is smiling, his teeth very white.
He peels off a half-dozen of the size I point to,
hands them over.
I notice, as I take them
The forked tongue
of an angry-looking dragon
Snaking over
the back of his hand
I look up at the tall teen
and watch him watching me
His eyes are dark,
almost black, expressionless;
his smile doesn’t touch those eyes
Hmm – alrighty then
Time to go – I start making my way
to the front of the store.
Still, I can’t help
over-hearing the group.
I’m only catching bits and
pieces of their conversation but
reluctantly, I find myself
slowing down enough to listen.
“Yo – what d’ya think Snake? Trouble?”
“The old lady? Not a chance...”
“So, like – fuck – you got enough dimes yet? Man I wanna just book.”
“Slow up lil’ fool – you know we gotta wait for Large. He be here when he be here – ”
“Yeah but – “
“Yeah but nothin’- you want I should bust a cap in your skinny ass bro’?”
“Aw – Snake – chill man – you know I was just...hey man – that old broad is still – ”
The store grows silent
The gang is no longer
engaged in snappy repartee
I realize we,
they and me
are the only would-be
customers in the shop
I am now hugely interested
in some gardening gloves
way up high on a shelf
near where I’ve been
standing, listening.
Without thinking,
I pull the box of gloves
tumbling down
“Oh my God,” I say;
I trust I sound
distressed and
feeble-minded ,to boot.
I also try to paste
what I hope passes for
some sort of
guilty expression on
my face
(Not such a stretch
actually – I’m starting to sweat
and do feel guilty about
something, I’m just
not sure what.)
I shove gloves back
into the box
all willy-nilly
peeking at the front
the whole time
as if worried the owner
might catch me out
or something.
Of course, I’m still
really straining
to hear the boys
at the back.
“Shit man,” I think it was
Dragon-hand, or Snake,
whomever.
“That broad’s a retarded fool, she is.”
Then – lots of guffaws and chuckles –
If I wasn’t starting to suspect
something entirely different,
I’d have thought
they were just some
boys enjoying a dirty joke.
At the checkout,
the poor little Asian man
shakes so hard he can hardly
take my money
“Sir,” I speak softly,too softly I think
maybe he doesn’t hear me at first;
he doesn’t look up.
“Sir, do you know what’s going on
at the back of your store?”
I am practically whispering, facing the mall
away from the interior of the store.
“Every day, same thing” he sighs,
looking out at nothing, I’m sure,
but facing the mall also.
“Drugs?”It seems an inane thing to have to ask
But necessary to clarify still
I didn’t just fall off a turnip truck, see
I know what the boys in the back are doing
Them with their bags and their smart talk
“Drugs,” he sounds so defeated.
“No big deal. They take some bags.
Then they go after while. Nobody usually come when they here.”
I just stare at the top of his head
for a few moments.
Finally he looks up at me.
His eyes are pleading.
“You have a nice day now?”
It is more a question
than a benediction
“Would you like me to get security?”
I practically hiss at him,
furious that he would give into
these hoodlums so easily.
He smiles sadly at me,
“No missus, security make no difference. They no come no more anyhow.”
“Really?” I am, to say the least, flabbergasted.
“This the way it work,” he says to me with
such resignation, it makes my stomach ache.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, uselessly.
I can feel my eyes tearing
as I leave the store.
This is not supposed to be
the way it works I think.
Not where I come from, anyhow.
And where I come from,
is right here.
I am getting madder by the minute.
So, I find myself thinking,
let me see if I can see how else it works.
Tucking my purchase deep in my handbag,
I grab the escalator to
the second floor of the mall
I don’t ride it - no – my adrenalin is running
too high for that
I take it, hopping two steps at a time,
as if climbing a staircase
Without really formulating a plan,
I have a plan
At the top, just as I’d hoped – a bench
A bench, right where I can sit and observe,
Through the glass walls of the upper level,
The Dollar Store’s comings and goings
After thirty minutes, of inactivity
I am desperately wishing
I’d thought to grab a coffee
On the way to said bench when
Bingo – the small group of boys
– young men really
Drift out of the Dollar Store
and start down the mall.
With what I hope is
stealth-like efficiency,
I switch to the other side
of the upper level
where I can track the motley crew’s
progress through the
busy shopping complex.
They don’t go far, stop abruptly
right at the corner of the food court,
and gather round
the temporary tattoo palace.
Some of them lean against the kiosk;
most are barely talking.
It seems as if they are mainly
just looking around,
people watching.
To passersby, I’m sure they look like
any of a number of mall-rats;
sullen teenagers, skipping school
ho-hum, ho-hum, same old same old.
When they don’t move from the tattoo kiosk
for more than twenty minutes,
it occurs to me that they are
waiting for someone.
Omigod – I’m having an epiphany...
“Brilliant Sherlock,” I mutter to myself.
I hope this brain wave hasn’t washed
Over me too late.
All this time I’ve been fuming about
the look in the shop-keeper’s eyes
and his defeatist attitude when
he assumed that “this was just the way things work”
there’s been something niggling away
at the back of my aging brain.
Finally, it has worked its way through
to the frontal lobe, I guess.
For the love of Pete, I know someone
who helps ensure that
this is not the way things work
Not at all
I flip open my cell phone,
keeping my eyes fixed on the group
as I speed-dial my friend,
using a number I really
never thought I’d use but one
I’m absurdly delighted to have at hand.
Two rings and, “Detective Mike Jamison”
a familiar gruff voice is in my ear;
my name, I’m sure, shows up on his caller ID
“Hey you – what’s up?”
He knows I’m not
calling to chat
His voice is all business
“Maybe nothing,”
I am suddenly uncertain,
but plow ahead,
quickly outlining
the details of my morning.
“Okay” Mike sounds even more serious
if that’s possible,
“Just a sec – “
I hear him tell his partner
to put the cherry up
and head for the mall.
Then he’s back on the blower.
“This is what I want you to do,”
Mike sounds positively grim now.
“You have to promise me, okay?”
“Yeah, right – whatever you say – of course,”
What the hell, I am thinking.
“I want you to stay on the second level, turn right around
and go back the way you came, exit the mall and go home. “
He pauses, waiting, I’m guessing for me to agree.
“Hey!” He practically barks at me.
“I’m not kidding! Where did you leave your car?”
“It’s – it’s down at the Bay entrance...”
I am stuttering, for crying out loud.
Why is he mad at me, for Christ’s sake?
I’m one of the good guys, aren’t I?
“This might get ugly, fast,”
He must realize how harsh he sounds,
“Just promise me you’ll go home, okay?”
I sigh, “You’re the boss Mike, you know that.”
“Good girl,” He might as well be patting me
on the head. Good dog.
Oh well, I haven’t actually promised him anything.
Checking to see that the boys are still clumped
near the tattoo kiosk
I risk leaving briefly and duck into a nearby store.
In less than three minutes,
I reappear
I’m wearing a new blue, hooded sweatshirt; hood up,
and sporting a new pair of wrap-around sunglasses.
The nice saleslady has agreed
to stow my handbag
and my coat while I, ostensibly,
finish shopping in the mall.
I buy a copy of a newspaper,
sit back down on a bench
and get ready to watch.
Peeking over the paper
I start to get antsy.
A humongous guy I don’t
recognize from earlier
has arrived and the group
is very animated
I wonder if this is
the aforementioned “Large”.
I also wonder
where the hell the cops are.
The big guy and Dragon-hand
seem to be arguing;
lots of hand gesturing
and head wagging and such;
they kept shifting from
foot to foot,
kinda the way boxers do
when they’re getting ready
to throw a punch.
I see two more guys come
around the corner by the bank;
then all hell breaks loose
I know, I know
it’s just an expression
And a clichéd one at that
But if you were there
You would’ve said
the same thing
The two guys coming
around the corner
start yelling something
maybe at the group,
it’s hard to tell.
Then Dragon-hand and the Big guy
take out guns, big guns,
automatic weapons, I’m guessing.
The yelling guys draw guns too
and they crouch down and keep yelling
A good thing too the crouching, I mean
‘cause the spray from the AK47’s or whatever
would’ve made Swiss cheese of both of them.
Meanwhile, both Dragon-hand and the Big guy
get this silly-ass look on their faces and go down
Wham – just like that
Flat on their faces – down
From the other direction,
through the Food Court
comes Detective Jamison and his partner
and just like on TV
they are yelling, “Get down, everybody get down!”
Their guns are drawn and I realize
that it is likely the two of them
that felled Dragon-hand and the other guy.
The rest of the group are panicked
And again, just like you see on TV
they’re on their knees,
hands clasped behind their heads
And cops, both in uniform and out
Are showing up from everywhere
Arresting everyone in sight
EMS workers arrive and haul
away the injured drug dealers -
It looks like they might live to stand trial.
Not wanting to draw attention to myself
I stay still, watching
until everyone involved leaves.
Then, weary beyond belief,
I pick up my stuff
Trek back to my car,
and finally head home.
Mike calls that night,
I figure to thank me for the tip
Wrong.
“I thought I told you to go home,”
He sounds tired but not really angry.
“You’re really good Mike,” I tell him.
I am as impressed that he made me,
as they say on Law and Order
as I am that he got the bad guys.
“That’s why they pay me the big bucks,” he says.
I guess, I think, as I put the phone down.

S.E.Ingraham