Chestnuts Roasting in My Mind (Memoir Challenge Thoughts)

Earlier this year, I had the idea to play along with JaneAnn Mclachlan’s October Memoir Challenge, hoping it would help me overcome an emotional block I’ve been struggling with for several months.

This marks the year I have finally started feeling like my dad’s death is real. Could that be the cause? Whenever I think that could be it, I am brought right back to him and the denial again. He can’t be gone because he’s right here in everything around me. Yesterday it was classical music. Today it’s chestnuts.

Chestnut Brains

They look a little like brains, don’t they?

They are full of flavor and memory; full of being barefoot in a flannel nightie next to the fireplace, waiting for them to roast. Full of excitement of knowing my whole family would be together. Full of placing cookies and milk in the garage for Santa Claus. (I’m not sure why we put them there though I suppose it was near the fireplace.) 

What are your favorite holiday memories?

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My Life in Your Circus

The below poem was written for this week's Poetic Asides prompt: 

"For this week’s prompt, write a circus poem. It could be a three-ring circus, media circus, flea circus, or any other interpretation. It could be about people in the circus or those watching the circus. It could be about animals, clowns, tents, vendors, peanuts, etc."

(Don’t) Take Me to the Circus

Please do not clown
around with my heart, force
me to balance bowling pins

(and your insecurities)

on my head or chin, toss

me peanuts to make up

for your lack
of attention (when
I was nuts about you), make me
travel your tightrope without being

there to catch me when I fell
(for you). Spend some time walking
in my over-sized

shoes. You will see

I became my own ring-

master when you left me.

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Mother Sky

The sky showed its spine this morning.

Sky's Spine

There was a fire somewhere nearby; I wonder if that had something to do with it. Here's the layer of smoke covering a neighborhood adjacent to my daughter's school.

Smoke Disguised As Clouds

Have a wonderful day!

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Tanka For Two (A Somonka)

Still Photographs

You rise every
day, my face in your pocket,
rubbing flesh red, raw.
I’m a sore spot you can’t feel.
I’m a prize you don’t dare keep.

You pushed me away,
greedy wants, needs, and wishes.
No me left to give.
I dream of you in black-and-
white. You’re my little secret.


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Yes, Women and Men Do Think Differently

I'm sure you know this already. We are different creatures. It's nice to keep that in mind before jumping to conclusions. 

The below poem is composed in the fun poetic form called somonka, written for the prompt at Poetic Asides. There may be a bit of truth in these words.

She Thought, He Thought

Every morning
I wake to coffee dripping
from your hands to my
heart. It stays in the kitchen.
You leave me an empty mug.

I tiptoe around
the house letting you sleep in
while I dress for work.
Coffee waits for your waking,
a pot of love and longing.

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Eighteen Feet - Sea Monsters Do Exist

This poem is written for the Poetic Asides prompt, "Fishy," and in honor of the sea creature found off the coast of California. 

What Lives Under the Water?

Oh, sea monster found

off the coast of Catalina,
your weighty carcass carried
by sea sand and waves
the way it did when you were
swimming. Sixteen
people hoisted you out, clutching
at eely skin, your power
plucked away by seedy depths
of death's grasp, planting
gripping nightmares of sea
creatures in all who dare dip
with risk of mystifying
creatures, set to visit
during closed-eyed midnight
dips, shock us back to the reality
we are not the lone
commanding inhabitants
of this great planet.

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If You Forget Me, Read This

Written in response to the most recent Poetic Asides prompt: 

For this week’s prompt, take the phrase “If You (blank),” replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write the poem. Possible titles might include: “If You Dare,” “If You Read Poetry,” “If Your Friends Jump,” etc.

Read Letters Never Sent

If You Forget Me, Read This

Let this pen warm your finger-
tips with energy
of the living, your eyes,
gaze down upon blank
poems waiting to be filled
with lines of longing
and left behind. Let the air
I breathe in recycle
from your lungs to pop-
lar trees swaying their way
through to my love-
less forest. Let the blue(s)
played by my skies
accompany jazzy sunset lover’s
embrace beside
while sealing away dripping
kisses in envelopes
of perfumed droplets, blood-
shot tears shed at the loss
of something I only
ever had in my mind.
Let yourself take
it all in and know you
have never been.
Let yourself know
you will never be
forgotten.


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