Formerly & 4-Ever

The artist

who really knew how to ball

slammed his last dunk

posthumously orchestrating

an exultant wave

of humanity

slanging it all skyward

looney-tunes constellations

raining his name earthward

while we

continue marveling

on the free throw line

at the exquisite contradiction

our petite giant

of arrogant humility

bestowed upon us

with purpose and accidentally

stumbling it all back home

Sharing in the Imaginary Garden today.

At Six (-teen) (-ish)

To me, fair friend, you never can be old,

For as you were when first your eye I ey’d,

Such seems your beauty still.

              William Shakespeare, Sonnet 104

I recognize myself

in the epigraph

to your book of poems

wide-eyed

wishing to be remembered

as beautiful

like you are

Gone more than twenty years now

while I am feeling

painfully mortal

I was that girl too

attracting gazes

taking literally the admonishment

What you gonna do just sit there and watch?

Lately I’ve softened

let go

fallen into bed

abandoning grudges

because somehow

I know you

  (and Prince)

would have wanted me to

The violets are up in the backyard

their faces to morning sun

I am thinking of you

wishing for rain

I’ve completely lost my way in April, but this poem was prompted by Kerry’s prompt to the Real Toads recognizing Shakespeare’s birthday.

Also, today the runaway sentence turns six years old! Thank you, gentle readers, for encouraging me in this space for all these years.

Mid-April

April’s

off the rails

coughs & splutters

Poet's

gotta endeavor

not to worry too much

Greetings to my friends in the Imaginary Garden, where I'm sharing this plea in The Tuesday Platform.

What the Heck, Haiku

Thank goodness it’s International Haiku Poetry Day. Here are a few seasonal snippets:

mild uncertainty

turns in springtime air

to wild insecurity

* * * * *

windows wide to spring

cat fur smells like open air

bury your face there

* * * * *

spring air reminder

what happens to us is true

and discernible

And this one from last night, demonstrating my frame of mind:
 

cold medicine

on Saturday night

I know how to get down

If We Are Not Careful

Soon comes

the implosion

when distance

finally digests itself

secreting apprehension

like so much fertilizer

and I will be left

looking back

tending the fragile thing

that once

(or was it a dream)

was a firecracker

Photo by Karin Gustafson

Lucky (?) #13 in April, for Karin’s prompt to the Real Toads: REMAINS OF THIS MONTH

Editing to add this little haiku I scribbled last night and promptly forgot. You know, it helps with my goal for April!

wild, wild Friday night

new battery in her book-light

finds her own delight

Spring Clairvoyance

He said

about April

what anybody would say

about such a month

that it breeds color

to beat back shadows

scent to tempt

even the most staid merchant

   to hooky

That is what April does

and we all know it

Why else songs

celebrating winter’s end

in the muddy throes of April

Why else a new sign

ignoring an otherwise

portentous horoscope

in favor of new bloom

Only in April

is lilac-breath acceptable

even encouraged

So when he says April

   is for lovers

April carries my tune

   in its gut

I shall wait until then

   to sow my seeds

it is April’s garden

of which he sings

We all know the words

and sing along

Poem #12 for April, for Angie’s prompt to the Real Toads using a word list from The Waste Land by T. S. Eliot.
 
I’ve been so sick! Seems I’m turning a corner and starting to feel better, but catching up to produce 30 poems in April? We shall see.

Once I Was Ten Years Old

Once I was ten years old

and you are ten now

such a big girl now

It’s wrong

to call you big girl

you’re a young woman now

I don’t remember now

if I felt like a woman

when I was ten years old

but you grew up fast

You had to grow up fast

I think I grew up fast

but wanted youth to last

for you

Soon I’ll be 50 years old

Never thought I’d be so old

Don’t wanna be so old

Once I was ten years old

and you are ten now

I hope you keep playing

even as you’re aging

I don’t remember playing

Please, please keep on playing

I want to play with you

Can I play with you?

Let’s play

Number 11 in April, for this week’s Tuesday Platform, a quick (and somber, sorry) riff on Lukas Graham’s song 7 Years as presented by Kerry. I’m behind in my April madness! Am soooo sick, lost a whole day to bed yesterday, and was already behind, but I’ll catch up! 

*cough* *sniff* *sneeze*

Prayer

Come, my best girl

to our marriage bed

my whole world

from youth to death

And if I should die

before I rise

I’ve lived my life

reflected in your eyes

Running a bit behind in my poem-a-day-ing, for good reason--celebrating my daughter’s tenth birthday! Wow, wow, time flies and she is soooo grown up. At any rate, I will catch up here soon, with any luck. Fingers crossed.

If Birds Could Talk

Coffee

at the kitchen window

considering

writing lines about

a circus of sparrows

companionably chippering

up the rose hedge

peeking in my kitchen window

as if to say

what’s all the yammering about

in there

#9 for Hannah’s prompt in the Imaginary Garden. April! Ack!

Couldn't Find You Even If I Tried

Because

I knew you

under a pseudonym

eventually I lost you

to the hills of Virginia

I think

Sometimes

you went by Alice Paul

but that won’t help me now

Last time we spoke

you looked around my room

and said you kept

expecting a cat underfoot

I said you’re so right

#8 in April! For Sherry’s prompt to the Real Toads: SUFFRAGETTES

Charming

Link by link,

ticking down tyrannies

on ruby stones, wonderments via

Baltic amber. This bracelet is red,

  endlessly

counts fools until overwhelm sets in.

Occasional yellow

keeps balance.

For Susie’s prompt on Day 7 of Poetry Month: BRACELET

Hairstory

1.

Your hair

is a tall tale

fantastic

undercurrents

barely contained

2.

Yours

cascades

like headwaters

seeking confluence

in your heart

3.

And yours

strokes yesterday

behind your ears

overflows

in favor of someday

Number Six for Poetry Month! For Kerry’s Get Listed prompt to the Real Toads: COMPOUND WORD EDITION

Birds Fly

It’s time to whisper, as the birds have come

to folly us with song at morning’s breath

and tease our dream-scapes with relentless sun.

Wake up! They cry, the time for dreams is done!

Wake up your sleepy head, it’s well past death-

time, now whispering, and the birds have come

To bring us joy, to bring incessant fun

against our will, against our early breath,

to tease our dream-scapes off with endless sun.

Such sunny days are few, and only one

or two are worth this elegant throat-catch;

It’s time to whisper, as the birds have come.

Let’s turn our voices to forever-done,

tune in to birdsong, tune out all this mess,

embrace our dream-scapes and relentless sun

In exquisite display, my mourning one.

For you and me, forever-ness, unless

in time for whispers, sweet, sweet birds have come

to tease dream-scapes away with endless sun.

Poem Number Five for Poetry Month, sharing a VILLANELLE for Tuesday in the Imaginary Garden. If you can even believe it! My first ever, and probably my last.

Don’t hate the villain. Hate the villanelle!

Conversation

If you could talk to me,

what would you say?

Curiosity

in your small eyes,

you seem ready to chat.

If you’d hear, I’d tell you

about sand and shells,

mama scolding me

for swimming out past the buoy--

now she has me tethered

to shore.

Wish I could fly out

beyond beach towels

sand castles

mama

above the breakers

with you

Photo by Margaret Bednar

Number Four for Poetry Month! For Margaret’s prompt to the Real Toads: OCRACOKE ISLAND

Hoops

Every kid

in the neighborhood

is out

on the basketball court

Idyllic as hell

dribbling

hanging in clusters

under after-school sun

How’s it decided

who plays

and who hangs back

unlikely there’s a lottery

drawing straws seems dated

With a crack

from the god of thunder

everyone scatters

leaving one scrappy team

wet

shooting hoops

Flash 55 for Real Toads Day Number Three!