Exit, Stage Left

It’s the tinkle of an ice-cream truck

outside a clouded window, the wishing

for an intervention, but not really.

Did you say something?

It’s the goosebumps radiating

from your very core to the tips of you

at just the thought.

I didn’t hear you.

It’s surreptitious snacking, secrets

best kept buried. It’s what you think

you want but can never have.

Can you repeat that?

Heavens to Murgatroyd! It’s who you love.

For Kerry’s prompt to the Real Toads: Can You Hear Me?

Chills

Summertime sweater
reminds me of my backbone
quickly goosebumping--

Patience is a Virtue

I’m here, still here, and not going anywhere, but please be patient, gentle readers. I’m working on patience, and on being gentle with myself, too. I’ve never been particularly virtuous on either score.

I started a new job two weeks ago. A wonderful job! I’m pleased beyond measure about this change. The clouds seem to be clearing. I’m hopeful that I’ll be in a new groove soon, and that the pretty words will flow more regularly. Meanwhile, working on patience and gentleness.

A meme popped up over on Facebook with a wonderful quote from Sandra Bullock:

I’ve made peace with the fact that the things I thought were weaknesses or flaws were just me. I like them.

Love that. Working on that.

Rush Hour

Highway rocking chair

invites me to set a spell

inviting time-out

watching the traffic go by

to watch cars go by.

This Poem Wishes Things Were Different

This poem avoids negativity,

airs no grievances.

This poem cannot bear exposure.

This poem wishes

things were different,

cannot imagine a path

not paved with disapproval.

This poem settles.

This poem has lost 30 pounds,

doesn’t want to talk about it.

This poem needs a lunch break.

This poem is loosely based on Hanna’s Boomerang Metaphor.

On the Day a Plane Was Shot Down From the Sky

Contrails

dissipating

inspire starry wonder--

It’s as if the plane touched the ground.

Rushing

fear fills, spills messily over--

Are you okay, Mama?

None of us is

okay.

Wading Pool

What if red ants

with big long antennae

are endangered?

We need to rescue them

from the wading pool!

The girl in the flamingo swimsuit

hones her bug phobia,

tends it with extinction concerns.

A spider might travel your leg

if you remain

perfectly still,

as you are part of its landscape.

Maybe you are its destination,

or its angel.

You surely are mine.

Angel Tresses

Sun at your back,

I worry about burn

but you,

framed in rays

glinting on your curls

like a halo,

are irresistible.

I swish hair

across your back,

pepper your light with kisses.

Dot-to-Dot

Watercolor sky fades

to chalky greywinkle.

No burst of orange,

no shock of lust-light

to ward off shadows,

defy Indigo’s assault.

Close your awful eyes,

go back to sleep.

Late entry using Grapeling’s word list.

Nashawannuck

Meet me in the glint

where wind meets light

as memory fades

with your appetite for Blue

Only we two birds,

fledging low below clouds,

are finally ready to Dive--

pinched nose, holding hands

Once we’re deep under,

twine your legs round my legs--

your Heart withers so cold below,

don’t you dare let go.

Flash Fiction 55 at Real Toads.