Quite the Catch

When she caught 

a tiny piece
of herself
she thought had not
survived
goodbye,
her mind mush-
roomed
from the natural high
of her enlightenment.

But like a butterfly
in a net, she couldn’t bear
to set it free,
for fear
it would fly
far far away,
enjoy
its release,
leave her alone
with her former self.

She Keeps Those Parts Locked Up

Here is the prompt for Day Sixteen (copied from Writer's Digest):

Time for our third Two for Tuesday of the month! Pick one prompt or use both…your choice!

1. Write a catch poem. Catch a cold, a ball, a fish, or someone’s eye.
2. Write a release poem. Release your anger, a ball, a fish, or someone’s head (from a head lock while wrestling, of course).

*****

The Growth Chart

The view from
every angle
was of my mama’s
measurement chart
etched like an inscription
on a tombstone
into the door jamb
of the living
room, not to record
my growth
through the years,
but to report
the date of each
time someone
passed through
to the other side.

She called our living
room
the dying
room. But with each
entry of elimination,
my mother said
we all grew
a little.

Her Actions Were a Grave Mistake

Here is the prompt for Day Thirteen (copied from Writer's Digest):

For today’s prompt, write a view poem. Wherever you’re at, you have a view: maybe of a river or sunset. Maybe of a cubicle or a copy machine. Even the blind have a view of darkness, nothingness, or some other -ness. And that’s just being literal, because everyone has views on sports, politics, poetry, etc

*****

Oxymoron (A Poem for Day Sixteen of PAD)

Here is the prompt (for day sixteen) copied from Poetic Asides: For today’s prompt, write a favorite poem. Maybe that sounds a bit silly, but what I mean is to write a poem about something that’s your favorite. A favorite teacher. Favorite movie. Favorite ice cream flavor. I don’t know, because I have my own list of favorites. Only you can do you…and your favorites. Who knows? Maybe this will end up being your favorite prompt this month.

Sometimes My Favorite Place is the Beach

Oxymoron

My favorite saying
is that I have
no favorites. I love
everything and
everyone
just the same . . .
except
any foods
containing
meat and
spring time
overrun
by summertime
heat, and then
there’s those workers
who are underpaid
for the color
of their skin
or because
of their age.
I suppose
there’s another
thing, too. Scammers
who prey on
the emotions
of others
or take advantage
of lonely
elderly widows.
Karma is karma,
and whatever
they do
will come
right back
to them
     unless
my
irritation
butts in. Then karma’s
arrows will shoot
back to me to interfere
with my philosophy
to not take favorites
but instead
to favor
everyone
for their individuality
     and 
respect their 
     position
on their 
     own life’s 
rungs. 


*****

Provisions for a Disorganized System - a Poem for Day Sixteen of PAD

Here is the prompt for day sixteen of the April PAD Challenge:

For today’s prompt, take the phrase “(blank) System,” replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write your poem. Possible titles could include: “Weather System,” “Solar System,” “Writing System,” “Ecological System,” or any number of other takes on systems.

Ah, Let's Just Get Takeout

Provisions for a Disorganized System

In my pantry where cans 

of green beans dated
1989 have been kicked
     into place
underneath dried lentils
and other leg-
                       umes,
and held prisoner
by some vile,
separated
salad dressing, and questionable
soda crackers
in a box with one torn corner,
you’d agree that I never
managed to become
self-organizing.
Therefore, I am not
part of the living
system.

***

You Blow (a Poem for Day Sixteen of PAD)

The prompt for day sixteen of the Poetic Asides PAD Challenge is science. 

I'm Just a Shadow Now

You Blow

I was your failed science ex-

periment—your volcano
that didn’t blow
the way
that you intended.
Now you sit home
alone
each night,
pouring vinegar
and baking soda down
your drains along with
contaminated remains
of love’s wasted
chardonnay. 

*****

Your Absence Smells like (a Poem for Day Sixteen of PAD)

Hmm . . . I sense a pattern. Midnight approaches and I haven't yet written my poem for the challenge. So here I am again posting when I should be sleeping. 

This poem isn't quite what I wanted to create, but I'm too tired to fight it.

Day Sixteen of PAD:

For today’s prompt, write an elegy. An elegy doesn’t have specific formal rules. Rather, it’s a poem for someone who has died. In fact, elegies are defined as “love poems for the dead” in John Drury’s The Poetry Dictionary. Of course, we’re all poets here, which means everything can be bent. So yes, it’s perfectly fine if you take this another direction–for instance, I once wrote an elegy for card catalogs. Have at it!

Can They Smell Your Absence?

Your Absence Smells Like

Cozy smells like thickened casings
of your arms wrapped
around the parts of me
you left behind. Sometimes
I sit, waiting for your appearance,
cross-elbowed, back slumped over
above folded legs, staring
into mirror’s warbled reflection, irises
shifting colors like mood rings.

My life smells like waiting for a sign
you haven’t left me, like you promised
you never would, your bones hardened,
have become cement statues decorating
rose gardens you tended in my youth. Staked
into ashen soil, you try hard to hang on
to vine-y leaves before disintegration
takes over, makes me smell the death
I don’t ever want to face.


*****