Summer

 Treading water

With egg beater legs

In the  deep end

of the pool,

My mind drifts far

and away

to a vanilla

mountain

In grandma’s kitchen

She and

I ate

from a bowl.

Advertisements
Aside

Somebunny Special

I want to help him,
mother him,
(infect him like the rest of us).
Poor little boy
can’t
draw a dumb bunny.
I hop over,
scratch out
an Easter rabbit
on white paper;
one ear up and
one ear down
for the needy spectacled
special boy.
Teacher says,
“Let him do his own work.”
Don’t say that.
Let me be special
(too).

Trifecta Writing Challenge INFECT 1: to contaminate with a disease-producing substance or agent (as bacteria) 2a : to communicate a pathogen or a disease to b : of a pathogenic organism : to invade (an individual or organ) usually by penetration c : of a computer virus : to become transmitted and copied to (as a computer) 3a : contaminate, corrupt    b : to work upon or seize upon so as to induce sympathy, belief, or support <trying to infect their salespeople with their enthusiasm>

  • Your response must be between 33 and 333 words.
  • You must use the 3rd definition of the given word in your post.
  • The word itself needs to be included in your response.

Spring Cleaning

Because I don’t

come right out

and say it,

I will not say

I cleaned the garage

today.

I will draw

your attention to

the rakes and shovels

hugging each other;

and that’s how

you’ll know

I love you.

A Tisket, A Tasket

To the little girl in kindergarten
I turned to say, “I beg your pardon?”
She said, “Dippity dapple,
I’m Iris Eve Apple.”
“Don’t be cute.  I’m here as your warden.”

Ahh, substitute teaching…you always have to be on your toes, especially with kindergarteners who are prone to step on them or touch them if they see polish on the nails. I taught so many cute kids this week in grades K-4.  “Cute,” by all other measures until their regular teacher stepped out for a day… or two.  A poster in the kindergarten room read, “Teaching kindergarten is like putting 100 corks into a bathtub and then trying to keep them all down at one time.”  Well, that drowning metaphor was, um, inappropriate (but interesting).  I think substitute teaching is similar, except that there’s that one kid who brings bubble bath and slips it into the tub, so the teacher cannot  see the corks anymore. All the teacher hears is giggling. Try to manage that…sub!  Blindly entering a fragile ecosystem can be tricky, but if I were counting miracles, I would count these:

  • The boy who hid in his cubby because other kids called him Justin Bieber finally came out
  • Nobody was harmed in what turned into a mosh pit of ring-around-the-rosy
  • I didn’t contract lice or the flu from notorious room 22
  • No one threw up or peed their pants
  • They cried “encore, encore” to my singing voice
  • Two kids told me, “I love you”

Because of the Ducks (For my Husband)

Reading your letters reminded me
you were a half an hour late and the seat
belts weren’t in proper working order.
You couldn’t smell my perfume and that’s
when you told me you couldn’t smell
anything at all.  There was too much smoke
in the restaurant and if it was ‘Anchor Inn’
why was it Mexican? And if it was Tom Hanks,
why was the movie so bad?  No hugs,
or kisses; just spaghetti straps, mixed
berries, Golden Dragon, the Lonely Guy,
strawberries, bananas and chocolate.
                         We got lost,
popped the clutch and got a speeding ticket.
Why did we order that shake?! The car wouldn’t
run on love, so we coasted.  Jumbles and
prayers; bonding moments.  If I didn’t see it-
you said you would buy me some glue.  We threw
bread to the geese at the pond that night.
You got scared and ran when they charged. 
You swore they were just big ducks and I laughed.
You were trying so hard not to play the fool
And I– I remember why I love you.

I am a Poem (a Haiku for Rambly)

Put me together

Invent another language

Workmanship is poem

Come On Kid, Spit!

There’s a blond-haired boy about 3-years old
Running through the basement in complete glee
With a green toothbrush sticking out between
His pursed lips now covered in white foam and drool.

I stop him, because that’s my job in this 3-roomed basement.
My job is to guide these kids who come in a running.
I stop him and try to talk him into going
To the bathroom to spit.

There’s a car on his shirt and the numbers: 2, 3 & 4.
I say it like that to him,
“I see numbers 2, 3 & 4 on your shirt.”
He says, “It’s two hundred, thirty-four!”

I don’t grab his hand, because that would be too obvious.
I put my palm behind his right elbow and gently nudge him along.
There’s the bathroom. We’re in the room with the bathroom.
The other room has a couch and the other one holds the toys.

We’re in the room with the bathroom and there’s a stodgy lady there.
The woman’s blocking our way to get in to spit, so I ask her if she’ll let us in.
She finds a small round silver lock, like the kind on a lock box and fiddles with it.
She tries to unlock it, but it doesn’t work.

No bother.  I see another door to the right.
I know there’s more than one way into the bathroom
And I don’t need a lady or a key to get in.
“Come on kid, let’s spit.”

My Poetry Menu

IMG_4453What I’m doing here is shoveling it in just like I do in my blog! Like any well-balanced diet, the poetry I bring to the table springs from a variety of genres and forms. I’m hoping you enjoy nibbling from the poetry forms I’m learning to cook up as a sous chef in the poetry kitchen.

What I’ve been doing lately is eating up and spitting out (excuse the bad metaphor) my newfound favorite book “In the Palm of Your Hand” by Steve Kowit. It’s a lively guide for the practicing poet and I’ve been holding my own personal workshop right here in my kitchen.

I’ve found Haikus to be like little appetizers; so simple and easy to make and eat. Haikus are a savory swallow for most of you, while some of you prefer the entrees: prose poems, sonnets, photograph poems, cut-ups, cross-outs, magical/metered, chance or found poems. It’s fun to see who likes what, so please be a doll and leave your comments for your waitress to give to the chef!

One thing I’m doing is making a menu that’s a bit easier to read.  I’ve scraped almost everything onto a heaping Poetry plate, but with so many different kinds of poetry, I think it would be more palatable if that were broken down a bit. I’d love nothing more than for all of us to be eating well at angieinspired and enjoying what comes out of the kitchen!  So, ‘Bon Appetit’ or, here’s a bib for that spit-up.  Not sure which one fits. I’m off to reorganize my shelves.

What-Nots (A Daydream)

Dad bought half an encyclopedia set.  A-F.  A sucker for what-not sellers.  We smelled bald-headed flowers and torn sails on sea-faring vessels, and loved it. Columned ledgers cuffed together by bumpy sweaters were some salty scented highlights.  The what-nots meandered off with eliptical clipper whales to a graveyard of bungled tentacled arrows on a rose wind surface.ship

 

Image

Be Resourceful: Tie a Knot

Because nobody should be over-dependent on
superglue or safety pins, everybody ought to know
a few knots;  bends, hitches, bindings, loops,
mats, plaits, rings and slings, overhand or thumb.
Even Neolithic man could tie a clove hitch as many
a Kansan will knot the tail of a dairy cow for a snow plow
given a certain degree of ingenuity and a lick of common sense!