Breathing and not breathing,
Stuffy but clear enough,
Inside bigger than the outside.
Brain foggy from lack of oxygen getting in.
Or is it lack of iron to move it around?
Same difference, to the bloodstream.
Is that chest tightness
The swelling from the microbes
Or the baby pushing the diaphragm?
Cough out all the mucous (and air),
Then try not breathe too deeply or too fast while refilling the lungs
Lest the coughing start up all over again.
Drink more water, and tea.
Yes, even more than before,
So be ready for twice as many bathroom visits.
Have a snack.
It's been over an hour since the last one, after all.
Maybe something warm to help soothe the throat.
Relax, but not too much.
The wrong angle makes it worse:
The coughing, the back pain, the tight-yet-loosening tendons.
Rest, but don't sit still too long.
Gotta stretch all those shifting joints and muscles
Or there will be no unassisted movement later.
Sleep, but only in short increments.
There's too much coughing and peeing and stretching
To manage a nap of meaningful length.
To conclude:
Try to remember that
The discomfort is temporary.
I feel yucky today, but I still wanted to at least attempt some poetry. So, poetry about feeling yucky is what you get. That's life sometimes.
Showing posts with label non-fiction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label non-fiction. Show all posts
11 April 2017
06 April 2017
Farm to Cup
Walking The Farm
I make an early rise to check on the trees, inherited from father four years ago.
The rains were heavy early in the year, a good sign.
The last trees father chose should be ready for their first harvest.
His influence still covers the hillside, encouraging and intimidating me.
The workers will be arriving soon, ready to pick the bright red fruit.
Many of them knew father, mourned with us.
I wonder if they have confidence in my abilities or worry as much about the future as I do.
Then comes a few weeks of stirring, rotating, and hoping for strong sun,
until the batches are the perfect parchment.
Father had a knack for knowing when it was time.
He'd get out of bed one morning and announce,
"Ready the hulling machines."
As a child, I loved to help with the manual sorting.
I think father liked giving me a small task near so many adults,
even if my work needed checking over.
Now, my favorite part is the sisal bags stacked up and ready to go.
It feels like an end to the hard part,
but in some ways the planning between seasons is the most difficult.
That's when I wish I could still ask for father's advice.
Cupper
Nose, roast, crack, rest.
Nose, slurp, repeat.
100 tastes a day
To find the perfect blend.
Every seed has a story
Of rainfall, sun, and wind.
The attitude and altitude
Of the farmer and the land
Influence the flavors
Of the beans in my hands.
Floral, chocolate, toasty,
Tangy, acidic, sweet.
Conversation of Questions
Heya!
How are you doing?
What can I get ya?
Big or small?
Extra shot?
Room for cream?
Anything else?
Here or to go?
Do you have a punch card?
Need a reciept?
Thanks!
Cup of Clouds
Swirling clouds of cream push to the bottom,
Half settling and half mixing,
A visual for the science behind density and solutions.
Rippled edges like afternoon tide pools.
Little peaks of color fighting to find equilibrium
Between layers of mahogany, burlap, and fresh cut pine.
Take a sip or give it a spin
To see more blending, more gradations.
Until it's all one,
Or all gone.
There are a steps left out, but four poems felt like enough for a series.
I make an early rise to check on the trees, inherited from father four years ago.
The rains were heavy early in the year, a good sign.
The last trees father chose should be ready for their first harvest.
His influence still covers the hillside, encouraging and intimidating me.
The workers will be arriving soon, ready to pick the bright red fruit.
Many of them knew father, mourned with us.
I wonder if they have confidence in my abilities or worry as much about the future as I do.
Then comes a few weeks of stirring, rotating, and hoping for strong sun,
until the batches are the perfect parchment.
Father had a knack for knowing when it was time.
He'd get out of bed one morning and announce,
"Ready the hulling machines."
As a child, I loved to help with the manual sorting.
I think father liked giving me a small task near so many adults,
even if my work needed checking over.
Now, my favorite part is the sisal bags stacked up and ready to go.
It feels like an end to the hard part,
but in some ways the planning between seasons is the most difficult.
That's when I wish I could still ask for father's advice.
Cupper
Nose, roast, crack, rest.
Nose, slurp, repeat.
100 tastes a day
To find the perfect blend.
Every seed has a story
Of rainfall, sun, and wind.
The attitude and altitude
Of the farmer and the land
Influence the flavors
Of the beans in my hands.
Floral, chocolate, toasty,
Tangy, acidic, sweet.
Conversation of Questions
Heya!
How are you doing?
What can I get ya?
Big or small?
Extra shot?
Room for cream?
Anything else?
Here or to go?
Do you have a punch card?
Need a reciept?
Thanks!
Cup of Clouds
Swirling clouds of cream push to the bottom,
Half settling and half mixing,
A visual for the science behind density and solutions.
Rippled edges like afternoon tide pools.
Little peaks of color fighting to find equilibrium
Between layers of mahogany, burlap, and fresh cut pine.
Take a sip or give it a spin
To see more blending, more gradations.
Until it's all one,
Or all gone.
There are a steps left out, but four poems felt like enough for a series.
05 April 2017
Palate
Two striped shirts walk into the coffee house
one white and navy, one black and white and tweedy
It's so cute in here! (Their first visit)
Loud voices, bright and happy
Friendly, unpushy sales (after ordering coffee)
Like approachable cheerleaders
Saying y'all
More casual than business, but still professional
Friends and colleagues
Easy laughter and a short sing along
Swirling sugar and cream
Sharing a little brightness on a rainy day
Palate is a local coffee house that I love visiting, and they're actually a non-profit.
one white and navy, one black and white and tweedy
It's so cute in here! (Their first visit)
Loud voices, bright and happy
Friendly, unpushy sales (after ordering coffee)
Like approachable cheerleaders
Saying y'all
More casual than business, but still professional
Friends and colleagues
Easy laughter and a short sing along
Swirling sugar and cream
Sharing a little brightness on a rainy day
Palate is a local coffee house that I love visiting, and they're actually a non-profit.
04 April 2017
Elegy
One time, she tripped my boyfriend with her oxygen cord.
She was playful like that,
Even using her misfortune to bring joy.
And she wasn't short on misfortune,
Especially as a child,
But she still managed to find good in the bad.
Her faith helped with that,
A faith she pieced together and struggled with over the years,
Making it stronger and more genuinely held than most I've seen.
She was pretty strong in her convictions overall,
Giving careful thought and time to making a decision
And then sticking with it.
Stubbornness is this way seems to be a family trait,
Or maybe she just trained us that way by example.
She set a pretty good example in most things, I think.
I'm grateful I got to live with her a while,
Even it was a result of the same event that gave her that oxygen cord.
The NaPoWriMo.net prompt April 3 was to write an elegy centered on a little known fact or something quirky about the person. Nothing came to me yesterday, but this morning, that first line popped up. The rest kinda came tumbling after.
She was playful like that,
Even using her misfortune to bring joy.
And she wasn't short on misfortune,
Especially as a child,
But she still managed to find good in the bad.
Her faith helped with that,
A faith she pieced together and struggled with over the years,
Making it stronger and more genuinely held than most I've seen.
She was pretty strong in her convictions overall,
Giving careful thought and time to making a decision
And then sticking with it.
Stubbornness is this way seems to be a family trait,
Or maybe she just trained us that way by example.
She set a pretty good example in most things, I think.
I'm grateful I got to live with her a while,
Even it was a result of the same event that gave her that oxygen cord.
The NaPoWriMo.net prompt April 3 was to write an elegy centered on a little known fact or something quirky about the person. Nothing came to me yesterday, but this morning, that first line popped up. The rest kinda came tumbling after.
02 April 2017
Growing Pains
Today, I have many growing pains.
My back hurts in three different places.
My chest hurts whenever I digest.
My thigh hurts if I lie on it too long.
My throat hurts from frequent heartburn.
My feet hurt if I ever stand still.
My side hurts when I sit at all.
My pelvis hurts without lots of stretching.
My head hurts if I get thirsty.
Growing a human can be uncomfortable.
My back hurts in three different places.
My chest hurts whenever I digest.
My thigh hurts if I lie on it too long.
My throat hurts from frequent heartburn.
My feet hurt if I ever stand still.
My side hurts when I sit at all.
My pelvis hurts without lots of stretching.
My head hurts if I get thirsty.
Growing a human can be uncomfortable.
21 May 2015
The Apostrophe Question
I always wonder where the apostrophe should go: inside the word or next to it.
Inside implies one mother.
Perhaps it means “motherhood’s day”
(but that didn't fit as nicely on the sign).
Maybe it means a more personal mother:
the day to remember and honor your specific mother.
But, everyone has more than one mother.
On a biological note, all mothers have mothers;
it’s mothers all the way down.
Then there are the surrogates:
teachers, friends, spiritual leaders, aunts.
Anyone that helps a person grow.
Outside makes it plural possessive.
The day of many mothers,
the day of any and all mothers,
the day of celebrating nurturing itself,
and Mother Nature itself
(another mother we all have).
These days, I wonder where I should go: inside the group or next to it.
I am between maiden and mother spiritually.
I am fairly old or still quite young,
depending on culture, time, and personal opinion.
I did not yet feel motherly or mom-like
(more like a still-developing proto-mom)
when I experienced miscarriage.
I don’t much feel like I lost a child,
more like a particular vision of the future --
a (now alternate) reality to which I’d become accustomed,
and of which I was growing quite fond.
But I wanted it,
I was preparing for it,
and I had (nearly) accepted it as part of my identity.
I’m caught between alternate versions of being.
The apostrophe and me - in or out?
The answer feels ambiguous at best.
Because I wonder about this every time I type Mother's Day, I have researched it. Officially, the apostrophe goes before the s. Here’s the brief wikipedia explanation.
23 September 2014
Haiku
Amid night's silence
I see no moonlight, and yet,
I feel her presence.
The green grasshopper
bounces endlessly against
the wall, so confused.
Lizards hide in cracks
between dirt, stone, and branches,
hoping for a meal.
Bumble bee pauses
on the vine's flowering tips,
tasting pure yellow.
As a result of living next to Busch Gardens, this is also part of my daily nature experiences:
Magnetic brakes screech,
timed ever so carefully
with humans screaming.
Happy Equinox
I see no moonlight, and yet,
I feel her presence.
The green grasshopper
bounces endlessly against
the wall, so confused.
Lizards hide in cracks
between dirt, stone, and branches,
hoping for a meal.
Bumble bee pauses
on the vine's flowering tips,
tasting pure yellow.
As a result of living next to Busch Gardens, this is also part of my daily nature experiences:
Magnetic brakes screech,
timed ever so carefully
with humans screaming.
Happy Equinox
26 August 2014
Learning
I have been taking a class called Learning How To Learn." It's about different techniques that can make learning easier, including ways to avoid procrastination and tricks for memorizing things. It was offered by Dr. Barbara Oakley and Dr. Terrence Sejnowski from the UC San Diego through Coursera. I have enjoyed the video lectures, short quizzes, and discussion forums. For the large assignment in the course, we are teaching others about what we learned. So I present to you three poems about learning.
The Focused and the Diffuse Modes of Learning
Learning needs focused thoughts:
intensity of new concepts.
Read and practice the problem.
Learning needs diffuse thoughts:
relaxed, creative solutions.
Put it to the back of your mind.
Learning needs both:
conscious and unconscious
working together,
making connections,
back and forth
to find the best results.
If you try too hard, you fail.
If you never concentrate, you fail.
If you can do both, you can be great.
Chunking
A chunk is a brick in a wall.
As you set each brick
and let the mortar dry,
you can stack up more.
A chunk is a link in a chain.
You can learn each concept,
link them together,
and make something to hold onto.
Sometimes, you learn the physical.
Foot here,
hand there,
eyes forward,
move feet,
learn into the turn.
Eventually, you ride the bike without thinking...too much.
You've linked the chain.
Sometimes, you learn the mental.
F is for force.
M is for mass.
A is for acceleration.
Newton is for physics.
f=ma
Eventually, you use the equation without thinking...too much.
You've built the wall.
With enough walls, you can make a building.
With enough chain links, you can make armor.
With enough equations, you can master physics.
Procrastination
Everyone procrastinates,
to make the negative feelings go away.
"That can wait another day;
for now I'd rather play."
But that only makes it worse,
with bigger problems
and bigger headaches.
Focus on the process.
Work on small parts,
just a little a day.
Focus for 25 minutes.
Work with a timer,
then five minutes of play.
Find a good place to work.
Limit the distractions,
best in a quiet place.
Cue, routine, reward, and belief.
Procrastination is all of these.
It's a habit that anyone can beat
with a little dedicated training.
Find the cue.
A text message perhaps?
Silence the thing.
Don't answer the phone;
just let it be.
Form a new routine.
The reward was the break.
It can wait
for the time relief.
To get the best results
with your new habits,
you must believe.
So don't procrastinate;
this habit can be beat.
You can find a better way
and have fewer worries.
Another MOOC learner has created a Hall Of Fame for in which to collect these final projects. If you're at all interested in Learning How To Learn or want to know more about various learning concepts, definitely go check it out here.
The Focused and the Diffuse Modes of Learning
Learning needs focused thoughts:
intensity of new concepts.
Read and practice the problem.
Learning needs diffuse thoughts:
relaxed, creative solutions.
Put it to the back of your mind.
Learning needs both:
conscious and unconscious
working together,
making connections,
back and forth
to find the best results.
If you try too hard, you fail.
If you never concentrate, you fail.
If you can do both, you can be great.
Chunking
A chunk is a brick in a wall.
As you set each brick
and let the mortar dry,
you can stack up more.
A chunk is a link in a chain.
You can learn each concept,
link them together,
and make something to hold onto.
Sometimes, you learn the physical.
Foot here,
hand there,
eyes forward,
move feet,
learn into the turn.
Eventually, you ride the bike without thinking...too much.
You've linked the chain.
Sometimes, you learn the mental.
F is for force.
M is for mass.
A is for acceleration.
Newton is for physics.
f=ma
Eventually, you use the equation without thinking...too much.
You've built the wall.
With enough walls, you can make a building.
With enough chain links, you can make armor.
With enough equations, you can master physics.
Procrastination
Everyone procrastinates,
to make the negative feelings go away.
"That can wait another day;
for now I'd rather play."
But that only makes it worse,
with bigger problems
and bigger headaches.
Focus on the process.
Work on small parts,
just a little a day.
Focus for 25 minutes.
Work with a timer,
then five minutes of play.
Find a good place to work.
Limit the distractions,
best in a quiet place.
Cue, routine, reward, and belief.
Procrastination is all of these.
It's a habit that anyone can beat
with a little dedicated training.
Find the cue.
A text message perhaps?
Silence the thing.
Don't answer the phone;
just let it be.
Form a new routine.
The reward was the break.
It can wait
for the time relief.
To get the best results
with your new habits,
you must believe.
So don't procrastinate;
this habit can be beat.
You can find a better way
and have fewer worries.
Another MOOC learner has created a Hall Of Fame for in which to collect these final projects. If you're at all interested in Learning How To Learn or want to know more about various learning concepts, definitely go check it out here.
28 July 2014
Secrets of Perseus
Indirectly searching
for the unobservable.
The majority is the abnormal,
viewable only from the side,
noticeable only from the pull.
Did you see it too?
Maybe it's really there.
Inspired by a recent news story about astronomical mysteries.
for the unobservable.
The majority is the abnormal,
viewable only from the side,
noticeable only from the pull.
Did you see it too?
Maybe it's really there.
Inspired by a recent news story about astronomical mysteries.
27 July 2014
Unexpectedly Alone
For a few moments,
I was post-apocalyptic.
In a place of many,
it was just me.
No one in the train.
No one in the hall.
No internet.
No cell phone.
Unexpectedly alone.
I was post-apocalyptic.
In a place of many,
it was just me.
No one in the train.
No one in the hall.
No internet.
No cell phone.
Unexpectedly alone.
07 April 2012
Quiet
Early morning, not ready to stir.
Others, still in bed, breathe softly.
The fan moves air along the walls.
Birds make calls to one another.
Leaves rustle in a soft breeze.
Bugs vibrate in search of mates.
Even in the morning's stillness,
Life is sound.
So I wrote yesterday, but I forgot to post. Ah well, at least I'm still writing during my vacation if not quite keeping up with posts.
Others, still in bed, breathe softly.
The fan moves air along the walls.
Birds make calls to one another.
Leaves rustle in a soft breeze.
Bugs vibrate in search of mates.
Even in the morning's stillness,
Life is sound.
So I wrote yesterday, but I forgot to post. Ah well, at least I'm still writing during my vacation if not quite keeping up with posts.
05 April 2012
St. George Street
Walking on the street,
people go around
as we amble,
browsing storefronts.
Chocolate shops,
ice cream parlors,
pizza dens, and
open air grilles
call us inside.
Smells wafting out
convince us to
take a long look.
We leave with a
pound of pralines
and caramel
for later.
We visited St. Augustine, FL today and walked along St. George. It's part historic district, part tourist trap, and part unique shops. It's a place I've visited a few times over the years, since it's close to my grandparents' place. If you're ever in northeast FL, I recommend it.
people go around
as we amble,
browsing storefronts.
Chocolate shops,
ice cream parlors,
pizza dens, and
open air grilles
call us inside.
Smells wafting out
convince us to
take a long look.
We leave with a
pound of pralines
and caramel
for later.
We visited St. Augustine, FL today and walked along St. George. It's part historic district, part tourist trap, and part unique shops. It's a place I've visited a few times over the years, since it's close to my grandparents' place. If you're ever in northeast FL, I recommend it.
25 January 2012
No Dumping
Outside,
in the middle of town,
there's a creek
and a few trees.
Scattered about
between fallen branches
and leaves,
there's Trash:
styrofoam cup
plastic bottle
aluminum foil pan
and paper bags of all sizes.
"No Dumping" - you must have missed the sign.
Didn't somebody ever show you how to use a trash can?
Water gives life to this planet.
Water gives life to you.
All you give the water
is your disrespect and your refuse.
Water doesn't come
from out of the faucet.
It isn't magic or modern sciene
bringing you refreshment.
Water does come
from out of the ground.
It flows through rivers and creeks,
just like this one.
It's not just the beauty you damage.
It's not just the environment you hurt.
You endanger your own life
when you pollute the water.
Earth will survive us.
Eventually every human will die,
and we will no longer be a
parasitic problem.
There is a creek near my house similar to the one described, and while walking the dog yesterday, I just felt compelled to write something.
in the middle of town,
there's a creek
and a few trees.
Scattered about
between fallen branches
and leaves,
there's Trash:
styrofoam cup
plastic bottle
aluminum foil pan
and paper bags of all sizes.
"No Dumping" - you must have missed the sign.
Didn't somebody ever show you how to use a trash can?
Water gives life to this planet.
Water gives life to you.
All you give the water
is your disrespect and your refuse.
Water doesn't come
from out of the faucet.
It isn't magic or modern sciene
bringing you refreshment.
Water does come
from out of the ground.
It flows through rivers and creeks,
just like this one.
It's not just the beauty you damage.
It's not just the environment you hurt.
You endanger your own life
when you pollute the water.
Earth will survive us.
Eventually every human will die,
and we will no longer be a
parasitic problem.
There is a creek near my house similar to the one described, and while walking the dog yesterday, I just felt compelled to write something.
10 January 2012
Knackebrod
Add the flour
mix the dough,
knead it til
it's ready to go
off to the side
to proof for a while.
I hope these make
my boyfriend smile.
Roll left and right,
roll up and down,mix the dough,
knead it til
it's ready to go
off to the side
to proof for a while.
I hope these make
my boyfriend smile.
Roll left and right,
flatten the dough,
make it round.
4 minutes this side,
2 minutes that.
The crackly bread
is oh so flat.
With some herring
or a bit of cheese,
the knackebrod
is sure to please.
Knackebrod translates to "crackly bread" from Swedish. In English speaking countries, they are commonly known as rye crackers, and Wasa is (I believe) the best selling brand of crispbread. My boyfriend is Swedish and loves pickled herring and cheese with rye crackers. I'm not so into the herring, but cheese and crackers is great.
27 November 2011
Wrestling
tumble
jump, roll
grab hold and spin around
get the other guy down
no matter who's won
dogs always have fun
Shared with Thursday Poets' Rally #57
Thanks to The Poetry Palace Community for the Perfect Poets Award for week 57! To see other winners for this week, visit here. I nominate Masked Are We and Myopic View.
jump, roll
grab hold and spin around
get the other guy down
no matter who's won
dogs always have fun
Shared with Thursday Poets' Rally #57
23 November 2011
Preparations
Half naked trees
losing their leaves
slowly undressing.
We cover up
and snuggle up
and eat it all up.
Both groups just try
ways to survive
the long winter's night.
Included in The Gooseberry Garden's Poetry Picnic Week 15
losing their leaves
slowly undressing.
We cover up
and snuggle up
and eat it all up.
Both groups just try
ways to survive
the long winter's night.
Included in The Gooseberry Garden's Poetry Picnic Week 15
10 November 2011
Poetry
As you many have noticed, this post is not a poem. Do not be alarmed, you are still at JP's Poetry. As part of National Blog Posting Month (NaBloPoMo), there are prompts Monday through Friday all month. Today's prompt asked bloggers to discuss their secret (or not so secret) passion.
For a long while, writing poetry was my secret passion. It wasn't a huge secret, but I certainly didn't volunteer to share my poetry with many people. As a kid, I often made up little songs and loved poetry units at school. I wrote some angsty stuff during my teen years, but it wasn't all bad. As college approached, things got busier at school and I didn't do much of anything related to words during my free time. If poetry came up as an option during classwork, I always chose that form of the project. Occasionally I would submit a poem to an online contest and even had half a dozen or so published in anthologies.
College was even busier. I managed to squeeze in some semi-regular journal writing, nearly daily reading of about five pages from a personal novel, and an occasional poem writing session. I wasn't feeling totally uncreative, but there was lots of science and learning happening. Plus, I was meeting new people, helping to run campus organizations, and having all kinds of new experiences.
I graduated in May 2010 and moved in with my boyfriend. Not finding much available in the way of work gave me some free time and a flexible schedule between chores. I wrote more often and read a lot more. I've even started helping to run the alumnae book club, taken up sewing, and learned how to meal plan on a budget. I heard about National Poetry Writing Month a few days before it started, and decided I'd set up a blog to help keep me accountable. I loved it. There weren't tons of visitors, but I was sharing my creativity, meeting other poets, and learning new forms and styles. After April, I wrote regularly for a while and then let life get in the way.
I'm glad to be back for another month of regular writing and posting. Sometimes I think about collecting some of my work and publishing a book. Making a little money from it would be nice, but mostly there's something magical in seeing your work published.
Mind you, poetry isn't my only passion. I love biology, especially aquatic ecology. And I enjoy helping others learn. I even have waves of other creative pursuits: sewing, painting, cooking, and crocheting. Some days are more creative than others, but creativity is an important part of life. Creating something, even if you don't think of it as art, helps replenish the soul.
What about you, do you have a secret passion? Did you or do you keep it to yourself?
For a long while, writing poetry was my secret passion. It wasn't a huge secret, but I certainly didn't volunteer to share my poetry with many people. As a kid, I often made up little songs and loved poetry units at school. I wrote some angsty stuff during my teen years, but it wasn't all bad. As college approached, things got busier at school and I didn't do much of anything related to words during my free time. If poetry came up as an option during classwork, I always chose that form of the project. Occasionally I would submit a poem to an online contest and even had half a dozen or so published in anthologies.
College was even busier. I managed to squeeze in some semi-regular journal writing, nearly daily reading of about five pages from a personal novel, and an occasional poem writing session. I wasn't feeling totally uncreative, but there was lots of science and learning happening. Plus, I was meeting new people, helping to run campus organizations, and having all kinds of new experiences.
I graduated in May 2010 and moved in with my boyfriend. Not finding much available in the way of work gave me some free time and a flexible schedule between chores. I wrote more often and read a lot more. I've even started helping to run the alumnae book club, taken up sewing, and learned how to meal plan on a budget. I heard about National Poetry Writing Month a few days before it started, and decided I'd set up a blog to help keep me accountable. I loved it. There weren't tons of visitors, but I was sharing my creativity, meeting other poets, and learning new forms and styles. After April, I wrote regularly for a while and then let life get in the way.
I'm glad to be back for another month of regular writing and posting. Sometimes I think about collecting some of my work and publishing a book. Making a little money from it would be nice, but mostly there's something magical in seeing your work published.
Mind you, poetry isn't my only passion. I love biology, especially aquatic ecology. And I enjoy helping others learn. I even have waves of other creative pursuits: sewing, painting, cooking, and crocheting. Some days are more creative than others, but creativity is an important part of life. Creating something, even if you don't think of it as art, helps replenish the soul.
What about you, do you have a secret passion? Did you or do you keep it to yourself?
01 November 2011
Dog Park
It is now National Blog Posting Month 2011 or NaBloPoMo!
A bunch of people all decide to write a blog every day for a month. Due to popularity, it happens every month with a different theme. November is the traditional month with lots more bloggers and prizes. Here is the blogroll which (currently) has over 600 blogs!
A bunch of people all decide to write a blog every day for a month. Due to popularity, it happens every month with a different theme. November is the traditional month with lots more bloggers and prizes. Here is the blogroll which (currently) has over 600 blogs!
Today when we went to the park,
One dog couldn't hold in his bark.
Another played fetch with her ball,
And one didn't move much at all.
When it started to pour,
People ran for the door.
No one wanted to play
On a cold, rainy day.
 |
| Thank you Poetry Rally! |
I wrote a poem
about my dog's favorite place
Thanks for the award!
Other winners and their poems here.
I nominate LifeSpect: Tender Power for this week's award.
05 October 2011
Trees in the Yard
I've always loved plants.
And I've always asked questions.
Behind our yard was a forest.
Or, it looked like a forest to me.
Pine trees so crowded
I couldn't see the road,
though I could hear cars
in nighttime's quiet.
Needles were always falling
into the yard, sometimes cones.
In summer, their pollen
painted everything yellow.
Why don't the pine needles fall
like the trees in the front?
Mom said they were just
different types of trees.
The front trees were in fact
three Bradford Pears.
Trees with leaves hanging
low enough to investigate.
They had beautiful, tiny,
detailed flowers I could study.
They smelled heartily.
I cherish that smell even now.
The pines were felled
to put in more houses.
The Bradfords died slowly;
the species is short-lived.
Every time I smell or see
those beautiful flowers
and when pollen coats cars,
childhood memories flow.
BlogHer Prompt: Things your childhood home is between
The front yard and the back yard :)
And I've always asked questions.
Behind our yard was a forest.
Or, it looked like a forest to me.
Pine trees so crowded
I couldn't see the road,
though I could hear cars
in nighttime's quiet.
Needles were always falling
into the yard, sometimes cones.
In summer, their pollen
painted everything yellow.
Why don't the pine needles fall
like the trees in the front?
Mom said they were just
different types of trees.
The front trees were in fact
three Bradford Pears.
Trees with leaves hanging
low enough to investigate.
They had beautiful, tiny,
detailed flowers I could study.
They smelled heartily.
I cherish that smell even now.
The pines were felled
to put in more houses.
The Bradfords died slowly;
the species is short-lived.
Every time I smell or see
those beautiful flowers
and when pollen coats cars,
childhood memories flow.
BlogHer Prompt: Things your childhood home is between
The front yard and the back yard :)
04 October 2011
Three Years Between Us
It was my whole lifetime,
unimaginably long.
Then it was just enough
to be amazingly cute,
my own real live babydoll.
For a while, it was quite
intolerably annoying.
You were always on my nerves.
A few years more brought
friendly cooperation
and increased peace.
For now, we still feel
the difference,
but only occasionally.
Over our lifetimes,
the same three years will
become increasingly smaller.
Eventually they will be
unimaginably short.
I have a younger brother who was born on my third birthday. I've always loved him, but there were long stretches where I didn't like him one bit. Fortunately, we've grown closer over the years and even enjoy spending time with each other's friends.
BlogHer Prompt: talk about siblings
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)