It is Spring and I am back in the middle school after taking a year in the little grades. And while a handful of students in each class will moan when the poetry unit comes around, I get out my handy-dandy pencil and notebook and I write write write.
Limerick
There once was a mom who was cross
Took kids’ behavior as a loss
She sighed and she pouted
She cried and she shouted
Which only made her feel more cross.
Simile Poem
My pencil is like a tongue
because it says what my brain thinks
and cuts through to the quick with
quips that can make you feel like
you took a licking.
It is vulnerable to the teeth
and it can wear itself out with
the need to repeat a message
over and over to make its point
(dull point)
clear.
So Much Depends, Inspired by WIlliam Carlos Williams
So much depends upon
someone saying,
“Hard is okay.”
and being there
in the hard
as they are
in the easy.
So much depends upon
leaving a warm bed
only to
grab a cup of coffee
and climb back in
to the still warm bed
in one’s own space.
So much depends upon
the assumptions
being untrue
and reality
being everything good
because that reminds me
that my gut
is a gift.
Metaphor poem based on an age
23 was freedom
walking
at all hours
being
where I had to be
and
where I wanted
New York City
was
writing, learning, feeling,
and
desiring, knowing, living
and
earning a masters degree
City living is
dreaming
of my youth
no longer a likely option
because
dreams aren’t for now
Cookie
The
sun
is
the
belly
of
a
cat
soft
and
warm
and
as
I
put
my
face
nuzzled
deep
in
the
fur
I
tip
my
chin
up
taking
every
ray
I
can
hold
upon
my
cheeks.
Inspired by Clint Smith’s Something You Should Know
Something you should know
is when I was a child,
ready for happy and laughing and hugs,
I was teased for how I looked.
I was teased because I was overweight.
And even though I grew up
and I grew thinner,
I never stopped being fat in my mind.
To this day
I can love fiercely,
make others happy,
laugh for an hour straight
and feel successful in my life.
But.
The first quiet moment of introspection,
I will call myself the names from my childhood.
I will find fault in my appearance and
discomfort in my skin and
wonder why anything else matters
when e v e r y t h i n g else matters
so
much
more.
But.
Imprinted in my animal brain
is the importance,
my importance,
that only exists in my physical appearance
because that was the noise
that was carved into my thoughts.
And I may never be cured.
Because words matter.
And you should know
to choose your words.
Wisely.
Kindly.
Or maybe not at all.
Haiku
The buds will soon bloom
And with it comes a promise
That what blooms will die
Water in the woods
Dries after days of sunshine
No more Buddy baths
There is a sweet spot
That lies between warmth and bugs
I take my long walks
Daffodils are here
Announcing the loss of Da
His most loved flower
The cats dash outside
To hunt chipmunks, mice, and birds
Leaving me dead gifts
I open windows
My dog barks incessantly
I close them again
