Scientific Questions

If love was ground like corn

With pestle and mortar,

Would it taste good on pizza?

If love was manipulated

In a beaker or flask,

Would anyone drink it?

If love was blasted into pieces,

In an accidental incident,

Could forceps extract the bits?

And I’ve wondered, once or twice,

If love was ever viewed under a

Magnifying glass or held in a

Crucible cup over an open flame?

I’ve also wondered if love is a simple element,

Like say a frog, a flower, or a rock?

Oh, no matter.

No matter.  Forget all that.

What I really want to know is–

Does love cover over like purple sugar,

The way Kool-Aid does with white water

Briskly dancing inside the pitcher?

Related articles

• Love Letters by Richard Thomas (ceasecows.com)

Ironclad

It was the egg shell.
Translucent, birthing vessel.
Proof.  Life will go on.

Wingdings

Don’t know when the paradigm shifted, but I’ve got nerve.  Yep, that’s a less than sign next to the number three!  Shift.  Pucker. Punch.  That’ll send you for a loop, old-timer. Luv u;-)

(The Trifecta weekend prompt:  exactly 33 words, 30 of your own and three of the following:  topple     paradigm     underneath     nerve     honey     loop)

 

Surviving Home

In a house of blue

Lived a family of five.

Feeding times were regular.

Red meat and plated peas.

The family learned to swim,

(It was either that, or sink,)

When the house capsized

Into a colossal sea,

Harbor to an angry squid.

Oh yes!  There was panic, at first,

The inevitable flailing of arms–

A universal sign for help.

But with time and

Submersion,

The family acclimated and

Became bottom-feeders,

Clown fish,

Masquerading angel fish;

Anything to survive.

It’s sad, but probably due

To all the swimming

That they forgot their former legs

When the house spat them out.

Soggy landlubbers chomping at air,

Too big for little fishy mouths.

Suspension Bridge

Cables breaking free
Over a suspension bridge
Dust prepares to fly

I could only connect over a telephone wire, but I felt the need to vocalize my father’s fugitive words.  If he wasn’t brave enough to say it, I would.  “I’m sorry.”  I offered up a family cup that had been spilled, hoping at least to wet Grandma’s lips.

“I know,” Grandma steadily replied.  ”I know he is, even if he doesn’t say it.  He holds my hand the entire time we talk and he kisses it before he goes. He really blesses me.”

I wished I could have kissed her soft fleshy cheek right then, but I couldn’t.

“He’s my son, and I love him.” Grandma’s words were emphatic.

And just like that—Grandma buried the hatchet.

Immortal Morning

The cat meows

and scratches

at the morning,

You lie unfettered.

Your lips rest

and rattle

an indecipherable,

unspoken language.

My heart chimes in

with a pa-pump,

pa-pump;

pretending,

like always,

we’re immortal.

Brave Women

Tell me… One more time
How Grandma roller skated–
Hell-bent for Heaven.

If any image should be lasting, it’s the one of Grandma strapping on roller skates, throwing caution to the wind and her fragile bones to a higher power. When I think about it, that’s the best story I could pass on to my daughters. Be funny. Be coy. Be smart. Be trouble. Be happy.

But above all, be brave.

Don’t be stupid, though. My mom and I did affix a brown velour couch pillow to Grandma’s tush using my dad’s belt. We held her hand, ensuring she accomplished her lifelong wish to skate. The brevity of Grandma’s time on wheels was matched with the levity of her legacy. We laughed and tried to steady ourselves. I held and pressed the button down on the Polaroid camera. As long as I live, I hope to never forget that shining moment in time, in the backyard of my 4th Street home with grandma, mom and me.

Be brave. I now tell the same woman who cinched up Grandma’s belt.

Be brave. I tell myself. I’ve been spared another day, because mom still knows my name.

I’ll remind her tomorrow about the time we helped Grandma to skate. I’ll cinch my belt and skate around the catch in my throat when I call. I’ll remind her that it’s Mother’s Day and I’ll say “I love you, Mom.” We’ll both be brave.

http://haiku-heights.blogspot.com/

“Who Are These People?”

It was groveling time. My hubby showed up to dinner when the rest of us were halfway through. He mumbled, “I’m sorry,” after he inhaled his plate. Ten minutes later, when I was on the couch, he began his John Stewart impersonation–the sophomoric one with the high falsetto. Here we go. Mister comedian began to serenade me, “I’ve nominated you for an awaaaarrrrd!”

Well let’s have it then, dinner-ditcher. Let me hear you say I’m aces in the kitchen, and even better at holding my tongue. Tell me you’re the luckiest man alive and don’t deserve such a kind and supportive woman, or the low-calorie meal I prepared. Give it to me. Give. It. To. Me.

He could see I expected him to come up with some superlatives that would get him out of the doghouse, so he broke character and said, “No, really. You have an award. Who are these people who pop up on our iPad?”

“Huh? Let me see that.”

It seems Life On Wry nominated me for the WordPress Family Award. Wait, what? I swallowed my smirk and let my hubby off the hook. Someone in my blogging family–the one whose life mirrored my own, sandwiched between teenagers and Alzheimer’s–had whipped up a special after dinner treat for moi. Aren’t I lucky to be a part of the WordPress family? I told my hubby “these people” were “my other family,” the ones who weren’t late for dinner.

The founder of the The WordPress Family Award established the award because they felt that the WordPress family had taken them in and showed them love and care like a family, always there for them. Even though we may never meet in person, I feel like we are kindred spirits connected by the love of writing.

Here are the rules to accept the WordPress Family Award:

1. Display the award logo on your blog.
2. Link back to the person who nominated you.
3. Nominate 10 bloggers who’ve had an impact on your WordPress experience
4. Let them know you have awarded them
5. That is it. Just please pick 10 bloggers that have taken you in, and spread the love.

I hope you will stop over at my extended family’s bloggy homes. There’s always room at the table.

1. Lorisprayercloset
   
2. A Prayer Like Gravity
3. HumanTriumphant
4. Susan Daniels Poetry
5. Rarasaur
6. Meanwhile, Melody Muses…
7. Virtual Iridescence
8. Living The Story
9. T. W. Dittmer
10. “Ye Shall Know Me By My Fruits”

Related articles

• Feeling lucky? (lifeonwry.com)
• My WordPress Family! (transformedbythejourney.com)

Ghosts in the Dashboard

Eight dreaded drafts, sitting in limbo, staring back at me. My attention is drawn to what’s lurking in the draft section of my dashboard, and so I accept the writing challenge and  pull fragments from these ghosts to craft my very own “found poetry” from my dashboard detritus.  It turned out curiously creepy↓

Backwards logic is costly
Normal locomotion isn’t necessary
To tread water in the deep end
Of the outskirts of Wichita in
His obvious shiny red truck

Words buckle up like
An apple in agony as
He extracts a spoon for
Some middle-spun speak
On the abolition of optimism

On angels waltzing
In their underwear through
A wormhole of a heart
In nice concentric circles
(I don’t remember the words exactly)

Say nothing
Benign to fool
Or pumpkin to promise
I will eat my way
Out of the pan

I should dice him up
On the bench seat
And  let particles swirl
With fury inside,
Feeling nothing

Related articles

• The Ghosts in Your Dashboard (dailypost.wordpress.com)
• Daily Prompt: Seven Days Free (layedbacklife.wordpress.com)
• The Ghosts in my Dashboard….. (azshadeandsweetwater.wordpress.com)
• The Ghosts in Your Dashboard (queenofthewildfrontier.wordpress.com)
• The Ghosts in Your Dashboard
• Oh no, was I speeding? | Prayers and Promises
• “do you feel a thinking draft coming on?” yeth, I do | Lovin the Trip

The Grocery List

Milk, mayonnaise,
Self-control for
The short drive
To Sunday church.

Powdered sugar,
A vested interest
In the fellowship.
Or was that family?

Cotton balls, cooperation,
And one of those new
Frozen yogurt treats
For the strong and healthy.

Ten, or less, items;
Essentials in a basket.
Push the cart, undeterred
By that jammed-up wheel.

This poem was inspired by my sparse shopping list.