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