100 Days of Poetry: Days 31-35

Awakening

Emerging from dark
Tentative breath, fragile hope
Unexpected peace

Nostalgia

Fresh bread
Hot apple pie
Lilies of the valley
Sudden summer rain on pavement
Inhale

Running

Resistance training after 50 can change your life
Well, isn't that nice!
A few bicep curls and shoulder presses
Add in some single leg squats and bench press
And I will be a new woman!
Never mind that my shoulder has decided to feel its age
Or that exercising indoors quite frankly bores me
I would rather run along the ridge
Zig zag down a steep, curvy trail
Jump over fallen trees
And power up mountains

I remember the thrill of cresting a hill
The conviction that I could run forever
The surge of energy at the end of a long run
The memories plague me as I tire on the smallest of slopes
And watch my friends dash into the distance
While I pant in frustration
And feel my legs refuse to engage

It must be age
Menopause
All in my head
Stress
Adrenal failure
Overtraining
Nutritional gaps
Lack of sleep
Depression
Whatever the name
The fatigue goes on and on
And on
When I cannot go on
My legs slowing
My heart heavy in my chest
The tears flowing in exasperation
The memories taunting me

Winter No More

Today, I sat wrapped in a blanket at my desk and watched snowflakes dart past my window
Just spitting snow, noncommittal and quite pointless, really
Nothing like the magic of snowman snow
I have decided to be done with winter
No more cold wind and grey skies
Switch snowflakes for birdsong
Bring on the sunshine
Peel off layers
Wear sunglasses
Sweat

Prayer

I pray every day
Multiple times
Just awake, I roll onto my side
Pull my knees into the semblance of a kneel
(No doubt, God is a little less than impressed with that bit of laziness)
And pray my way out of bed
A little gratitude
A little "bless me with courage"
Or "please give me energy"
And I'm off

Prayers on the food
Silent, quick
No creativity there
A duty prayer, mostly
Though I like the reminder of being indebted for my daily bread
Appreciate the power of simple gratitude

Family prayers
So often punctuated by giggles
And farts
Bonding over irreverence

Nighttime finds me at my bedside
Truly kneeling this time
Reviewing my day
Perhaps pleading for a child
For understanding
For the ability to love without condition
Sometimes, simply grateful for bedtime
Thrilled to close the curtains on another day
Anxious for a few stolen minutes of reading before sleep claims me

I have never mastered the elegance of prayer
The phrasing that demands attention from the heavens
I cannot imagine that my mutterings matter much to God
But I believe He listens
Occasionally chuckles
Often sighs in exasperation
And always, in some fashion,
Answers
And so,
I pray every day

100 Days of Poetry: Days 26-30

Last Week in Sevens

Gathering with friends, inspiring words, family time
Muffled footfalls, snowflakes melt in my eyes
One more snow day, too many movies
Easy run, easy conversation, catching my rhythm
Sometimes, we discuss marriage counseling on Valentine's
Remembering my professional self, honing my skills
Teenage girls make me smile. Daughters rock!

Ghost Writers

I am a ghost writer
Oh, it sounds tantalizing, doesn't it?
Spooky or perhaps ethereal
I envision writing about young lives halted
About tragedy
Or sweet reminiscence
Instead, I describe email management
Abrasive blasting techniques
And the always-enthralling realm of cyber hacking
(Nothing like a good old security breach to make the skin tingle)

I would wish for a true ghost writer
My grandmother, perhaps,
Dead now these 64 years
I know her only by reputation and the writings of others
Ah, to read her own story from her own pen!
She might chuckle and write the "real" tale of meeting Grandpa
Or describe the anguish of saying good-bye to her children
She might dispense altogether with weighty matters of illness and life cut short
And simply text me a quick Hello from the other side
Life is good here in the clouds, she might write
Had lunch with your aunt the other day
She's settling into heaven nicely
I would text back a pleasantry
(Hopefully witty or insightful)
And ask for advice
I expect she would tell me I'm doing fine
You'll figure it out, she would write
And so I will
Step by step here on the ground
Longing for a hint from above
Imagining scribbles from heaven

View from Below

A bald eagle soared high above me today
Circling the brilliant blue sky with majestic white tailfeathers and head
I wanted to see it as a sign from heaven
A harbinger of relief on the horizon

But just now I find I don't quite believe in signs from heaven
Can't find it in me to hope
I've grown accustomed to silence
Or perhaps the heavenly answers to my pleas
Fall on ears unable to hear

No one to talk to but God
And we speak different languages
I cry and beg and attempt to make my case
And...nothing
A quiet hug would do
A nod of understanding
A suggestion that just around the bend
The forest breaks out into expansive views

If only I had the view of the bald eagle
With majestic white tailfeathers
Circling the clear blue sky
Brilliant sunshine on his back

By Way of Introduction

During chilly, grey winter months
I cling to a lifeline of books
Audiobooks for driving and running
eBooks for guilty moments stolen from work and family
Anything to halt the stream of doubts and worries
Capturing quiet

I cherish family
Value friendship
And despise talking on the phone
Conversations enrich me
Solitude restores me

Confidence, even a touch of arrogance, attracts me
Quiet, unassuming strength inspires me
That, and wisdom
Creativity
Passion
Humility
Faith
Courage
A little audacity
A pinch of irreverence
Laughter in the eyes
Kindness radiating from a genuine smile
And hands poised to serve

I crave beauty
The view from a hard-won mountain peak
The thrill of an unexpected melody filling the nave of a cathedral
Light streaming through stained glass
The sparkle of a dew-kissed spider web just outside my kitchen window at sunrise
I need to gasp in awe
Grin in wonder
Find myself speechless at the view around the bend

Perhaps the occasional awe
The moments of splendor
The glimpse of faith
And the healing balm of stillness
Will be enough

Depression

Damn it! I'm sliding again.
Endless dreariness ahead of me
Persistent nagging of outdated insecurities
Realism askew
Every hopeful thought beat down
Sadness deepens
Sucker punch to the gut
Irritable, so very irritable
On the edge of losing control
Not the woman my family needs me to be

100 Days of Poetry: Days 21-25

Valentines Day 2019

New beginning toward an uncertain end
Pain likely
Work definite
Joy possible

What started on hazy summer days
Trailed through minefields of missed signals
Emotional baggage
Addiction
Judgment
Trust betrayed
Persistent memories better discarded
Stubborn pride
Disdain
Depression
Fear

We cannot return to the Eden of summer days
Rather, garden behind us, winding trail before us,
We begin a pilgrimage
Strangers with shared memories
Hesitant
Afraid
Battle scarred and yet newborn
Daring to hope

Perfect Afternoon Nap

Surrender to sleep
Mind quiet, for once, rare gift
Blissful solitude

Farewell, In Stages

Early signs:
45 minutes to address a letter
Midnight confusion in a hotel hallway
Standing in a nightgown, knocking on her own door
Stumbling on the path
Fingers long accustomed to sonatas
Now hover over the keys, unsure
Stories repeated
Friendly faces now unfamiliar
No more solitary walks
Then no more cooking
Phone calls grow shorter and shorter
Do you want to talk with your daughter?
No, I'm tired
Sleep
And more sleep
Heart attack forgotten
Why am I in the hospital, anyway?
Once fiercely independent
Now childlike
Where is Norman? endlessly
Her north star
Feet that once hiked mile upon mile now shuffle
Or fail entirely
Falling again
And again

I learn to announce myself
Learn not to ask questions
Questions like, Is it snowing?
Or, What did you have ‪for dinner tonight‬?
Hundreds of miles separate us
Each visit closes another door
Perhaps this next visit will be the one
The visit that finds me a stranger
Daughter no more

Favorite Dreams

Flying, of course
Because, really, is there any better feeling?
Powerful arms, beating back the air
Soaring over forests or cities
Or turning flips up by the ceiling
Zipping from room to room without touching the floor
Something about the view from above
Leaving the dust and detail behind and soaring
Freedom
Control
Distance

Or those lovely dreams of a secret door
Opening to a new wing of the house
Fully furnished
A little messy, lived in
But mine
My space to explore
My treasures to uncover in random cabinets and unexpected rooms
Delightful discovery
Potential
Home

Tuning

The oboe plays an A, and the orchestra follows suit,
Strings, horns, brass, wind
A glorious cacophony that stirs a dusty pile of memories
Orchestra room at the end of rehearsal
Each musician playing a different melody
All combining somehow into a messy mass of music

Dimming lights in a concert hall
The concert master points to each section in turn
More a call for audience focus than a useful tuning session
And yet
Mozart, Brahms, Dvorak, the lot of them
Would mean nothing to me without that first A from the oboe
Hanging in the air
Beckoning

100 Days of Poetry: Days 15-20

Meltdown

"F---!"
Over and over again until the urge subsides.
I wish I could conjure more vile words,
Something stronger,
More powerful,
Vile enough to chase the fury,
The fear.
This is not a new word,
Not rare enough to suit,
And my screaming merely leaves me hoarse,
Unsatiated,
Numb and without direction.
I fear
   routine that traps me
   a relationship slipping out of reach
   an eternity of sameness
   having nothing to hope for
   the inability to excel
   the trap of debt
   mediocrity
I fail even at rage.

Today Via the Senses

Chocolate chai to ease into the day

Hot enough to satisfy without scorching

Just enough cream to make the chocolate bloom

Spicy, smooth warmth in my throat

Hint of rose lingers in the office air

Sweetens an afternoon of budgeting

Suggests a promise of spring

Icy snow in chunks under my running shoes

Gray skies lift at the western edge

Golden ribbon just out of reach

Water streams over my face to strike my chest

Temperature just below the pain point

Burning away, just for a moment, the anxiety and discontent

Text chime

Happy grace note to end the day

Missionary photo warms this mother's heart

Life, Interrupted

We encountered a beautiful robin today

Or, rather, he encountered our window

Thunk

I thought perhaps a friend had tossed a snowball to catch our attention

Calling us out to play

But no snow sliding down the glass

Just a plump bird lying on the step

Almost lovely in repose

Neck at an odd angle

He was disoriented, I suppose

Thinking of home

Or marveling at the snowflakes

(A rare sight here)

And then, suddenly,

Thunk

And life abruptly halted

That is the death I would wish for

If I had a choice:

Flight, free and marvelous,

Interrupted without anticipation

Snow Day

Snow covers a multitude of sins
Flakes, fat and slow,
Blanket rust-cankered forms below
Snow covers a multitude of sins

Flakes, fat and slow,
Mute my delighted cries
Melt in my eyes
Flakes, fat and slow

Mute my delighted cries

As the world falls still
Hushed from house to hill
Mute, my delighted cries

As the world falls still
Blissful timing on an otherwise ordinary day
Magic hums, routines go astray
As the world falls still

Blissful timing on an otherwise ordinary day
Snow covers a multitude of sins
Discarded plans and unworthy might-have-beens
Blissful timing on an otherwise ordinary day

Snow covers a multitude of sins
Flakes, fat and slow,
Blanket rust-cankered forms below
Snow covers a multitude of sins

To Do List

• Buy milk (I know you aren't a fan, but you are aging, and your bones will thank you.)
• Take out the trash (Don't forget to toss those worries you stubbornly refuse to give up.)
• Call your mother (She still knows your voice, and that might not be the case next week.)
• Change the sheets (Nothing comforts like clean flannel on a cold night.)
• Mow the lawn (Just kidding! Try shoveling the driveway instead.)
• Go on a date (Seriously. Right now. You need it. He needs it. The rest of the list can wait.)

Toddler Dance

Hurtling through life
Hither and thither
A plethora of dreams spilling out of her pockets
Tumultuous hair flying
Eyes sparkling with jubilation
Naked arms flung with abandon
Fingers outstretched
Snatching the essence of joy
Whirling
Twirling
Spinning
Unwinding
Drowsy in an instant
Tumbling in a heap
Chubby hands curled beneath her cheek
Reposing on a jumble of scattered dreams
Grinning even in slumber

100 Days of Poetry: Days 1-14

Inspired by my artist friend, Jenny Loughmiller, and her 100 paintings in 100 days, I decided to write 100 poems in 100 days. I should note up front that I don't often write poetry and that my only formal poetry training consists of one or two classes with Dr. Robert Brewer (wonderful professor) at Utah State University over 30 years ago. With that caveat...

I had some technical difficulties at around Day 15. I was able to recover some, but not all, of the first 14 days of poems. It's just as well. The lost poems are mostly haikus written in the wee hours of the mornings while on vacation in New Orleans. These are the poems I recovered from the first two weeks.

Glitter

I bought sparkly earrings today
At Goodwill
For $3.
I walked in to buy a small wallet
To take on a trip I cannot afford
And hold money that I should spend on more sensible things
How, then, did I end up with glittering earrings
That hang nearly to my shoulders
And will likely fall apart the first time I wear them?
Sometimes a woman needs to sparkle,
If only for an hour,
In the middle of an otherwise unremarkable life.

Pride

My pain cuts too deep for empathy

You want to help, but you cannot
Watch my heroic struggle, witness my tragedy
Pity me, applaud my strength, standing tall
Silent tears glistening, face resolute, shoulders square
Do I inspire you? Wrench your heart?
My pain alone, my badge of honor.

(Assignment: choose one of the 7 deadly sins. Write a 7 line poem, 7 words each line.)

Aging

Apples
In January
Fruit laden trees
Forgotten branches gnarled, mossy
Empty of leaves, too old
It seems, to carry vibrant fruit.
And yet, unmistakable and bold,
Dozens of red apples
Defy winter frost
Carry life,
Promise

Green

My children ask my favorite color
Green, I say
The green of a gathering of ferns
Deep in the forest
Forgotten, almost, but not quite
Even by the sun.
A green that carries the scent of rich, loamy soil
And fresh spring rain,
A green that would sound like a cello
Playing low and mellow
That is, if it had a sound other than silence,
Broken by the sudden notes of a mourning dove at sunrise
"Green" seems a prosaic term for a color layered with promise and memory
But how else can I capture the breath of a thousand mornings,
The wonder of a clear mountain lake after a long hike
Or the color of peace?

Approaching Joy

Chasing joy
No longer sheltering beneath an umbrella
Welcoming rain on my face, chortling out loud
In sheer delight. Changing course in an instant,
One direction fast on the heels of another.
Then, halting for no reason to do...nothing
Not joy yet, but tuning in, approaching

Feet

The gene pool did me no favors when it comes to feet
Dad's digits curl this way and that
Mother's great toes lean against their neighbors for support,
Bunions rendering stylish shoes impossible.
Of all the traits to inherit, I got the bunions.
Brilliant musicianship? Kind heart?
No, just bunions
On size 9 feet, no less
With hair on the toes
Add a toenail broken half off by too small running shoes
Unsightly injustice

And yet,
I have danced across stages,
Climbed mountains,
Run trail after trail.
I have paced midnight floors with a baby in my arms,
Walked away from unproductive pain,
And stepped to the side of faith.
These feet stumble and fall out of rhythm
They ache for naked freedom
And they carry me forward, step by step.

New Orleans Mix Tape

"Ursulines Avenue!"
Muffled voice over the steady whoosh of the Canal streetcar on its track
Faint music grows louder, signals the approach to the French Quarter
Curbside brass bands channel Louis Armstrong
A single saxophone serenades tourists through a sugar haze at Café du Monde
Revelers call to friends
"Hurricanes at Pat O'Briens!"
Slow footsteps on cracked sidewalks
(No one walks quickly here)
An occasional Southern drawl against a backdrop of East Coast
And a smattering of French or Spanish or Czech
The world gathers here
To drink in the music, the bourbon
Competing tour guides on dimly lit street corners
Call out dramatic stories of ghosts, vampires and voodoo
A polyphonic mix tape for lives in time out