Friday, November 8, 2019

Oh, Fedora

I adored your
soft, wide brim
& indented crown,
your heat-pressed
          felt,
your playboy
          flare,
your one-
          of-a-kind
reputation.

But that
was then.
Now, I’ve learned
to wear
my hair
down.


Photo of Fedora by Peter Suneson
I Still Wear You Once in a While


For today’s prompt, pick an article of clothing, make it the title of your poem, and then, write your poem. It could be as general as “Ankle-cut Socks” or “Bell-bottoms.” Or get more specific like “My Bearcats Hoodie” or “Reebok Pump High Top Shoes.”

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Wednesday, November 6, 2019

For Good Measure


When you nick-
named her
Simpleton,
she built a secret
pleasure dome 
comprised of
       down
                 &
                   out-
                   ward
                   thrust
and a whispering
walkway to sustain
hymns & mantras
she chants
to soothe herself.
She no longer takes it
personally
that you friend-
zoned her
for life; she's been left
content, detained
in her self-made
Heaven
on Earth.

Photo of the Pantheon by Paul Duvall
She's Become the Light

Today is our first Two-for-Tuesday prompt day. Pick one prompt for your poem today, or write a poem for each prompt, or write one poem that works with both. Today’s prompts are:
  1. Write a pleasure poem, and/or…
  2. Write a displeasure poem.
* * * 


Monday, November 4, 2019

One Nightstand


Hidden inside these walnut-
finished solid oak
drawers, guarded by half-
moon pulls,
live remnants
from another life-
time when you & I braved a night
entwine,
locked
together like a dovetail joint,
confessed our affection
under a single streetlight
     at Taylor & John.

But the next day
you torqued my slides
& sent me off track
when you decided
we were misaligned
     & you moved on.




Photo of Nightstand by Tracy Olson
My Nightstand is Nothing Special (to You)

For today’s prompt, take the phrase “Night (blank),” replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write your poem. Possible titles might include: “Night Hawk,” “Night Rider,” “Night and Day,” “Night Watchman,” or even “Nightmare.”


* * * 




Sunday, November 3, 2019

Granny’s Special Surprise


For my birthday, she brandished 
one long, bony finger,
summoned me in-
          side, sidled be-
          side my hungry
          taste
               buds,
slathered my platter
with exceptional brownies,
crafted under super-
          vised care
of knobby knuckles
& one loose stringy
gray hair. Her smile revealed
one tooth had gone missing,
dotted out by a smear
of chocolate frosted inking.
She nodded & asked,
“How do you like them, dear?
Do you feel funny?”
I confessed I’d never
been a consumer
of nature’s sedatives
or potions.
She said, “Silly, that’s not
what I meant. These goodies
were assembled
with some of my friends
who couldn’t escape,
so I stirred them right in.
For your birthday all year,
remember this adage of three—
     see no weevils,
     hear no weevils,
     speak no weevils—
because they’ve departed,
gifting you with pure
unadulterated
protein & a message
from beyond."

Live life to the fullest
even if that means
hiding undercover
in somebody’s
cupboard in a sack
of flour—cowpea,
granary, or rice.
Pick your poison,
for the fate
of our family tree
foretells
that no matter your vice,
you’ll never live twice.

Photo of brownies by diamondjoy
Granny's Special-Ingredient Brownies


For today’s prompt, write a poem of threes. Your poem could be about the number three or feature three of something, for sure, but it could also do some other things. For instance, your poem could be composed of tercets (or three-line stanzas), have three syllables per line, or be a three-line poem (like a haiku or lune). Or write about tricycles or triangles or any number (though mostly the number three) of other plays on three.
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Saturday, November 2, 2019

A Letter to My Other Half

Why can’t we
ever agree?
I say yes.
You say no.
I say A.
You say Z.
Some call us
opposites,
but we’re a perfect
match.
You’re the heater
to my cold hands,
the push
to my pause,
the miracle cream
to my wrinkles,
the pen
to my pad.
When we’re
old & senile,
I suppose
then
we’ll see
that
all along we agreed
on everything
between
A & Z.



Photo of Wolf Pack by Quapaw from FreeImages
We Make the Perfect Pack

For today’s prompt, write an alpha poem. Of course, you could write a poem about an alpha male or alpha female (or some other play on alpha this or that). Or you can move into the realm of an alphabet poem–focusing on all 26 letters or just one (or a pair).


* * *


Friday, November 1, 2019

Death of the Old Self


Once upon a time,
she hitchhiked toward bright,
scampered with Buddhas
& gods
because she didn’t fit in-
                     side
anyone else’s box
                    (or mind).
She drifted like ash,
disembodied thoughts
with nowhere to go
but to the fiery bottom
of burned timber,
           brick,
                     & stone.
Now the dented base
of her metal urn rests
on a mantel
     & she wonders
(how she made that mistake)
     if there’s anyone
else
around
     and how she ever
    allowed herself
to snuff out
her own
               light.

Photo of Clay Vessel in Garden by Michael & Christa Richert
Spill My Ashes in the Garden Instead



For today’s prompt, write a once upon a time poem. The title of the poem could be “Once Upon a Time,” or the first words could be. Or you could do what I did in my attempt below: I pretended the words “once upon a time” preceded the first line of my poem.
* * * 



Saturday, July 6, 2019

Rest in Peace


I wrote the below poem in late November when my beloved India first started showing signs of deterioration. Loyal as she was, she had trouble saying goodbye. I had trouble saying goodbye. Yesterday, we finally did.


Resisting Arrest

Dog tracks line
the kitchen floor.
They smell of
blindness &
rotten teeth.
They lead to stains
of a future,
     buried, like her
cherished bone.

The dog rests
on the bedroom
floor, too tired
to make it to her
(death) bed,

too tired
to die today. 


It’s been a day since we parted. My heart still hurts. She was my guide through loss after loss—cancer, heart failure times two, cancer, cancer, cancer, people who fit into that whole seasons, reasons, and lifetime category, and on and on it went for what seemed like forever.

I have been working a lot today but decided to take a walk. Normally I see a few rabbits when I leave my house. But today they were everywhere. Next it was the lizards. To my right, to my left.

I got a little farther and my intuition told me to take a different route. And there it was. One of the pennies my father likes to leave in my path. Then the little tree. Another symbol I associate with him.

I started to feel a little better, yet soon India popped back into my head. My heart sagged with sadness again. Until nature, magical nature, swooped in to surprise me.

Some sort of winged beetle zoomed in front of me and landed on my sleeve, causing me to look up. 


There, staring at me, was this message, hand painted on a rock: Have faith and you will never walk alone.

A Gift from #LetsRockAmerica


From Dad? From India? That part doesn’t really matter. What matters is that I felt someone watching over me, an otherworldly presence. And I know that when I walk, all those who’ve flown from my life, still walk beside me.

My Sweet India


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