You are currently browsing the monthly archive for August 2018.

Time takes all from us

on this merry go round ride,

getting nowhere, always passing

 

The same thing twice.

 

As we spin, we decay.

Not like the linear arrow

others thought time to be,

 

But revolutions of seasons,

holidays, birthdays –

spinning faster and farther-

 

the longer we’ve been

sitting on this metal horse.

 

(If you pack yourself

in vinegar, salt, some

spices – would you last

 

forever on a dusty basement

shelf?) The pimply faced

boy will pull the lever,

 

stop the rotation, say

we have to jump down

and climb off the platform,

 

there are others anxious to ride.

 

 

This is Poem #19 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I decided for one year to wake mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee on each day that I didn’t teach. I was working part-time then, so in the end I wrote 241 poems.  These are second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state.

I appreciate your feedback as these poems are not “finished,” and I intend to go back into many of them in the future.

Advertisements

Woody butts his forehead

against ours. Number five

on the list of ways

our cats show they love us.

 

He sits on a tall stool

while we sip wine, eat

olives, and cook

our dinner -purring

 

and content in a life

where he’s lost his tail

and his balance. His

soft fur and calming

 

purrs make each

day bearable. Our pets,

little fur people,  some

say.  Curled between

our bodies in the night;

 

Dreaming kitten dreams

between nightmares.

I wake at 3 a.m. and

he’s there, still, soft,

 

reassuring. Marge

Piercy titled her memoir

Sleeping with Cats,

and there’s a reason.

 

IMG_2635

This is Poem #18 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I decided for one year to wake mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee on each day that I didn’t teach. I was working part-time then, so in the end I wrote 241 poems.  These are second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state.

I appreciate your feedback as these poems are not “finished,” and I intend to go back into many of them in the future.

 

RIP Woody.

Maybe in this modern

world, we’re not meant

to be happy. Stop

drugging ourselves numb

 

to the world this is dying.

Sealions exit their sea –

for lack of food and

heated waters, enter

 

CA diners and beg

for cheeseburgers.

Not long until the food

chain infractions reach us;

but Soma makes us

 

wait and just see

what will be without

any effort to stop it.

 

These aquatic mammals

sent to assure

us, the world is dying,

but we’re too polluted

to care.

 

This is Poem #17 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I decided for one year to wake mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee on each day that I didn’t teach. I was working part-time then, so in the end I wrote 241 poems.  These are second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state.
This poem was a response to a news item that I’d recently encountered.  The drawing below accompanied the first draft.
zVbq2xSKQxy8x+GAo1nh7A
I appreciate your feedback as these poems are not “finished,” and I intend to go back into many of them in the future.

 

Happiness tips his hat in Central Park

 

Yesterday, you posted

A picture of happiness

As it walked upon

Proteins in the brain.

 

Joy strolled upon

Joy upon joy –

Green and orange

 

And filigree. Restore

Parasols in parks, stop

At the hot dog vendor, he’ll

Tip his hat to passersby –

 

Sorrow, contempt, wrath –

 

Will they respond

In kind? When

It rains does

 

Happiness take his

Umbrella or wear

Sunglasses when it’s

 

So bright that some sort

Of sunshine beams in

Though each Ear

Canal, nostril, his

Mouth? All  transit

Authorities letting information

 

From an outside world in. Determined,

Joy will indeed leave

His cane with cape and cap,

 

Trek the mountain unassisted.

 

This is Poem #16 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I decided for one year to wake mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee on each day that I didn’t teach. I was working part-time then, so in the end I wrote 241 poems.  These are second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state.

I appreciate your feedback as these poems are not “finished”, and I intend to go back into many of them in the future.

How could you allow

Yourself to become

Such a caricature

 

Of a human being –

Being nasty and mean

And letting your

 

Pointed face lead?

Under your tall, thin

Frame, flowers die.

 

But once removed –

The sun can shine

And new buds  –

 

Seeds planted

 

Before your shadow

Came – will push up

Through the loam

 

And years of compost,

Healthy, revived

In spring – to stretch

 

Green, vibrant, joyful.

Blonde Bitch, your

Reign of terror

 

Over this garden

Is over. You’re

The invasive species

 

Sprayed with Round-up.

Eradication makes room

for what is meant to be.

 

This is Poem #15 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I decided for one year to wake mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee on each day that I didn’t teach. I was working part-time then, so in the end I wrote 241 poems.  These are second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state.

I appreciate your feedback as these poems are not “finished” yet, and I intend to go back into many of them in the future.

This is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

 

 

Digging for Sanity Post 9/11

 

Pre-Bush, in the days

of Clinton, when

the economy was good

and terrorism

 

was still

something that happened

somewhere else, government

cheese was plenty

 

and given

generously by those

who could to those

who needed.

 

Then –  the toxic epidemic

of mediated selfishness

pushed back the man-made

construct of hope

for us all. The real

 

promise of America:

safety nets and ladders

in all states.

 

 

This is Poem #14 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I decided for one year to wake mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee on each day that I didn’t teach. I was working part-time then, so in the end I wrote 241 poems.  These are second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state.

 

I appreciate your feedback as these poems are not “finished” yet, and I intend to go back into many of them in the future.

It’s theoretical, really.

I mean, who carries

Around actual cash

 

Anymore? So, it’s all

On a computer somewhere,

This record of student

 

Loans, credit cards,

And mortgages. Waiting

To be hacked. Why

 

Doesn’t anyone steal

Debt the way

They reach into our

 

Bank accounts and purchase

Flat screen TVs at Walmart

Or Hawaiian vacations

 

And Charo? No, the tab

waits – the unclaimed

Date on Match.com,

 

The status update with no

Likes or shares. When

I logon to check,

 

The balance is always

There, blinking and

Reminding; a virtual

 

Anchor holding us back.

 

This is Poem #13 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I decided for one year to wake mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee on each day that I didn’t teach. I was working part-time then, so in the end I wrote 241 poems.  These are second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state. Feel free to critique.

 

for the Magnificent Seven

 

Answers says, “No,

I’m not letting you

In just yet. Suffer

 

A little longer here.”

Months from now –

I know I can look

 

Back at this – when

I’m in the Chamber

Of Certainty (no, there

 

is no such place) where

This limbo is past, and

Review the results.

 

Rest and know our

Actions were worth

The time here

 

Treading in the pool

With the inflatable

Ducky life raft

 

Allusive as always.

 

This is Poem #12 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I decided for one year to wake mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee on each day that I didn’t teach. I was working part-time then, so in the end I wrote 241 poems.  These are second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state. Feel free to critique.

 

As I’ve stated earlier, there had been some very bad things happening at work, but we were on the cusp of action and change. This poem and others upcoming reflect this time of uncertainty.

The old Victorian around the Arch

Hill Cemetery was my dream

Home – before they renovated

 

It – fixed the rotten

Clapboards in the tower

And painted it pink.

 

One day – I imagined –

I’d live there alone

from other humans but

 

With a gang of

Cats. The neighborhood

Children would be fearful

 

Of me in my worn, pink

Bathrobe and fuzzy slippers,

Wild hair, but some

 

Would slip in for homemade

Cookies and to sit with the cats

And my stories saved up inside.

 

This is Poem #11 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. These are second drafts of  pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state. Feel free to give critique.

Do not drop it

In a gang shower

They joke – but hope

 

Will help you wake

at 4am and actually

Want to get out of bed.

 

And will shrink

The amygdala

And let creation

 

And planning grow.

Flourish again.

Hope destroys

 

The Plague of Pessimism

She worked so hard

To spread around –

 

And infect each of us.

Hope the antidote;

Relearn to stand

 

At the front of a classroom,

Write on the chalkboard,

And teach in peace.

 

This is Poem #10 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. These are second drafts of  pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state. Feel free to give useful critique.

 

Some of these  poems are quite  “cringe-worthy” but I’m publishing them here anyway. Let it suffice to say, there had been some very bad things happening for a lot of us at work, but we were on the cusp of action and change. This poem and others upcoming reflect this time of uncertainty.

Goodreads

Lady Diction’s Calendar

August 2018
M T W T F S S
« Dec   Sep »
 12345
6789101112
13141516171819
20212223242526
2728293031  
Advertisements