Really wasn’t your fault
this fury that overcame –
Words evoked onslaught,
a raging river of pain.
Didn’t mean to push you,
miscalculated my aim,
swimming in swamp waters
not a recommended game.
You floundered, gurgled,
cursed me by name –
our love story, now viral
brought an alligator fame.
(Image my own. Tale is totally fictional, I promise.)
I can’t remember a time
when elegance chose me
to sit in the front seat
ride along in style
She’d be clad in white
and I’m ever too messy
can’t control myself
might tarnish the upholstery
She’d want to go shopping
rings and jewels flashing
like Pretty Woman
after the haul
I’m second-hand
typically slink in and out
grabbing what I need and going
lest anyone see me – a disgrace
No, elegance does not choose me
moose built, ratty hair
likely forgot to wash my face
Class passes me by
But I’ll tell you this –
what I lack for on the outside
this heart is solid and sturdy
and I will not pass you by.
(Image my own)
Sloth-like she shuffles
each stride an argument
against unwilling muscles,
ignores spasms, lips pursed
in concentration, advances
Cockeyed he totters,
step…hop…step, poker-hot
stabs punctuating his effort
moves swiftly as if to out run
pain, face set in determination
They are out of sync, oddball
awkward sightseers, obstacles
for the fast-moving able-bodies
that whir past unable to fathom
motivation in crooked spines.
The race here is against time,
propelled by insatiable thirst,
they forage for snippets worthy
of hoarding, squirrels readying
for winter’s harsh call, days
when minds still alert will hunger
despite bodies inert, they will
dine on memory, boast about
the daring, reminisce fondly
over adventures hard won.
(A portrait of aging, first published in 2017. Image my own)
At every turn
a challenge – prefer scenic
forays, encounter
rocky climes – ironic twists,
stretching this reluctant soul
(Image my own)
Thank you so much to braveandrecklessblog.com for inspiring and featuring my poem: The Salt Grows Heavy. The challenge was to write a poem based on NPR’s Books We Love list.
Click here to read the poem.
The pot simmering on the stove
really should be boiling, but
baby needs changing, and
He-who-is-charged-
with-watching-the-children
is asleep in his chair…
Where to lay the infant –
her soiled and sodden diaper
threatening its own release –
when her siblings
have dragged all the bedding –
fort-intended, now abandoned
under foot?
Turkey is in the oven
legs trussed, flesh
buttered and salted…
Baby’s skin is red
her squirming legs
noncompliant
Dog offers his presence
curious nose intervening…
I leave the wriggling bundle
to dispose of offending nappy –
images of dog mouthing contents
beyond current capacity
Children’s giggles signal
misadventure, as bath water
spills into the room,
husband stirring,
“Smells good!” says he
pushing buttons
on the TV remote
Ankle deep in water
contents of pot now burning,
awareness dawns –
the forgotten baby
is now missing…
madness achieved.
(Another dream inspired nonsensical poem. Image my own)
Mama says wear red shoes
Gives a woman power
But I wobble and stumble
six inches makes me tower
So I trade in my stilettos
for a crimson pair of docs
and much to Ma’s dismay
some days I don crocs
It’s not the shoes that determine might
I tell her, but the soul in the fight.
(Photo: Mom and red accessories – shoes no doubt match. She is posing with her baby brother.)
It’s a bird’s perspective I envy –
the ability to perch up high,
balanced no matter the weather,
unaffected by the drama below –
I shall never know such calm,
being afraid of heights.
(Previously published 08/19. Image my own)
The Queen is in the swimming pool –
oversized stuffy with a crown
The well is overflowing
and I’m afraid I’m going to drown
Children in the backyard
Stay away from all that’s wet!
The baby is a-coming
and I’m not ready yet!
Please feed the offspring
while I scurry hurriedly about
back and forth to University
trying to gain some clout
Today is my birthday
although you’d never know
I’m so busy skirting circles
with no real place to go
Never have I been so rushed
to get to I know not where
perhaps if I could sit awhile
I’d get from here to there
The Queen is floating upside down
her cardboard crown deflating
It’s time I called off the charade
give this routine an updating
(Image mine. Nonsense poem inspired by a recent dream – sums things up pretty well, I’d say. Not my birthday.)
One Woman's Quest 