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 todayAt 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.
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
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?
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
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
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.
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
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
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