She writes what she speaks.
For my nephew
Her Pen Pal
Through the bay window
One eye may spy
Six humans, a chattering of chicks,
A Doberman duo, a duckling duet,
And one cat with a gimp.
Their lives orchestrated by
Slap shots, take downs, touch
Downs, layups, yellow cards,
Major scales, call times, and
Camping trips.
Still the boy finds time for
Dear Auntie,
To share about his day,
What’s keeping him busy,
How he celebrated Easter, and
That he relly enjoys when
She writes back.
The Ultimate Party Crasher
All impurities swept and mopped,
Tables ornamented with
Praying napkins in
Coordinating colors to
Match blue vases borrowed
From her sister’s summer wedding,
Now filled with flowers from
Miss Shelly’s stand at
Famers market.
Doorbells ring, guests arrive,
Stacking gifts, munching chips and dips,
And exchanging home renovation tips, concerning
Outdoor patios, stainless steel appliances,
And the latest candle scents.
Until he arrives,
The ultimate party crasher.
He’s never invited and never notices
How you’ve prepped and planned.
He sneaks in to suck and scavenge,
Slighting every party guest,
From person to person he
Indiscriminately pests, stealing
a taste from everyone’s plate.
And there’s nothing you can do
But wish you could,
Like him—fly.
Five Dollar Yoga
Her eyes rise as
a soft tide amid a forest
of dreams. Her ears hear
dishes clink on the other
side of Shavasana. She envisions
a couple clasping hands across
an expanse with four legs.
For the first time,
she can sense time tick as
the fan breathes. Her eyes
should be shut, but she’s pulled
to praise. To exhale an
offering—all she has,
kneeling before her only need.
Her hands rise from her side
to rest on a hopeful
vacancy. She’s waited
to be filled, and at present,
she is.
In response to the daily prompt: forest
Inspired by a true story
Instagramable
She thinks, “My life’s not
Instagramable, my socks
Not identical: one pink,
One blue. Where are my
Shoes?” (Underneath
The kitchen table
Crowned with
Unopened mail and hot
sauce packets)
Green Sistership
She feels at
Home. I tell her
She is, as we chop
Apples, avocados, and
Celery into bitable chunks of
Green sistership
Fertilized by
Long talks shared with
Each other
And heaven.
Photo by Thought Catalog on Unsplash
Cloaking Wisdom
I present to her my silvery
Wisdoms at the altar of
Assessment. She smirks,
“Disgusting,” digging
Her scepter into my feet.
I should know to
Mask them in
Spilled ink, cloaking the
Wires with black
Immutability,
Because gods only desire
The fair.
I Hate My Life
“I hate my life,”
I said,
Morning after morning,
Never noticing these words slip,
Drip like saliva
Leaked during the night, until
She said,
“You groan that daily.”
But my moans were not meant to
Precipitate harm; they deluged
Casually.
Yet, when those Hate-
Words were
Released my attitude bent from a
Rising altitude of
Exaggeration.
Who knew those
Instances were such
Impressionable periods of time,
Swallowed moments that go
Down once,
Like drool puddled in my pillow,
Never to be drawn
Out, an unforgiving
Well?
It is day 14 of Blogmas! I am sharing another poem.
I hope you all are getting that shopping done and having a merry time!
Does He Know
She walks in the
City snowed with
Warm light, smeared on
Wet pavement.
She peers beyond her
Taunting reflection to
Behold children caper and tug
On mothers’ and fathers’
Sleeves as they wait to greet
Santa. She wonders.
Does he know her
Christmas wish?
It is the 7th day of Blogmas, and I am feeling okay. Truly, I had no idea how hard it would be to write and post daily, but I’ve enjoyed the challenge. I look forward to the time I set aside to write.
Today, I am including another short, original poem. This past summer I took a creative writing class. Since then, I try to write bits of poetry every chance I can, typically on my phone. I wrote this poem a few months ago. It was not Christmas themed, so I had to make some modifications. I hope you enjoy!
I String Your Faults
I string your faults like
popcorn and cranberries
to ornament my fears
of you choosing her
like a child
picks a tree. I muffle
the bells carolling
You don’t love
me.
Happy Blogmas Day 6!
Six days ago, I created this page. My friend KaylaAnn briefly mentioned Blogmas, and I immediately thought, “Now’s my chance.” I’ve wanted to write; I’ve wanted to blog. But for whatever reason, I always found an excuse to avoid the plunge.
What made all the difference was her saying, let me help you get started. The next day, before I even knew what was happening, she had signed me up.
Since then, I’ve had several friends who have supported this new venture, my friend B. Golden in particular. We talk on the phone every “Thursday,” but for the past six days, every day has been Thursday, and now she’s writing more.
My brother even started blogging again.
I’m reminded of the Christmas tree lighting ceremony at my school last Wednesday. Each student was given a candle, and oh how those flecks of fire trickled from person to person.
To close this post, I’d like to end with Marianne Williamson’s “Our Deepest Fear.” I hope you take time to reflect on her words and become conscious of your own light and your ability to ignite others.
Our Deepest Fear
By Marianne Williamson
Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.
It is our light, not our darkness
That most frightens us.
We ask ourselves
Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?
Actually, who are you not to be?
You are a child of God.
Your playing small
Does not serve the world.
There’s nothing enlightened about shrinking
So that other people won’t feel insecure around you.
We are all meant to shine,
As children do.
We were born to make manifest
The glory of God that is within us.
It’s not just in some of us;
It’s in everyone.
And as we let our own light shine,
We unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.
As we’re liberated from our own fear,
Our presence automatically liberates others.
