Grab a pencil and pull up a chair, this is the place for poetry!
Reading in bed, what delight!
Yet this “me” time is never quite right
For as soon as I lay
I’m so pooped from the day
It’s as if someone snuffed out the light.
The grammar stickler in me worries that the use of “lay” is improper; I’ve left it, however, because of the rhyme. Where are my fellow mamas – hands up, and high five!
In the dusk of an Easter weekend
while nature held its breath
in vigil vigilant
the Saturday gloom of evening
gathered fistfuls of the
overabundant growth that
lined the path
Trees and brambles breathed
pressing in on either side
anticipating dawn’s fresh
dew of renewal
even while night prepared to fall
The briars offered up a rabbit
wily, listening
navigating the open void
between two sides of the road
for a moment, still,
then gone in a fluff and puff
back into the leafy garden
springtime born
This poem is in response to a weekly writing prompt I read on LadyJabberwocky’s blog. Thank you for reading! Y’all check out her blog and try the prompts!
The fine point of truth that joins
turning the refinement of forest titans
into the resolute skeleton that shelters
whole orchards of human souls
piecing the perching place of birds
together into the plane of refreshment
The spike that needs a strike to do its job
pneumatic’s fire, or hammer’s pound
upon the blunter end will do the trick
holding treasures to walls
stringing light from rooftops
poking holes that bind
disappearing within
leaving behind only
the gleam of a round face
This poem was in response to a prompt by JD Harms on Medium. Y’all check out his work! Thank you for reading!
Dance to your own drum, sing in your own key
I sing the song of America, my country, sweet land
the clay from which I was made
where my ancestors sailed before there was an island to receive them
and again, later, leaving their names upon the island’s wall
Believers, all of them
in the promise of freedom and rebirth
with passion enough to join a revolution
to stand up for the stricken
with courage enough
to weather the tyrant’s Tower
I sing the song of Texas, the proud state that raised me
for the hometown much maligned
for my grandparents, forging south
Believers, all of them
in our ability to strive and achieve
I sing for the hope that burns like a fire in the heart
stacking hard work and perseverance
layer on layer, year on year
for love, the mortar to hold the life of a family together
that produced a name to stand behind
and the treasure that grows the more it is given away
like a lucky penny in my pocket
I sing for the memory of the individuals who built this place
in their humanity, in all their triumphs and defeats
in their trials and errors, their rights and wrongs
I hear them singing back
how we are all one in our successes and failures
how the tides from this turbulent sea of liberty
rush out from our shores to touch the hands of the world
how the prize we seek hides like a pearl
not in the shell of desire
but in the glowing mantle of compassion and duty
I sing, because I still believe in the dream
This is the third poem in my series 3 at 43 – singing the song of another year of me. . . . from a couple years ago now. Self portrait photos plus self portrait poems! Thank you for reading!
Poked by a prompt
the shrill of an alarm
a slight jab at the sleeper
maybe it will prompt me
to poke others
who were waiting to awaken
whether they knew it or not
too much hibernation should be
promptly remedied
generate a little buzz
toss it out there and watch
the ripples ruffling feathers
truncating forty winks
nudge, nudge
nap time is over
Oh how I do love a provocative prompt! Who doesn’t? This poem was in response to something or another on Medium, I forget what since it was a couple of years ago. Thank you for reading!
Oh bum thou often subject of fine art
Whose shining cheeks would gleam out of the stone
Your symmetry has captured many hearts
Whose charm lies surely not in form alone
A cushion fine for man to sit upon
Your graces hid beneath a garment’s shroud
Yet not a welcome sight out on the lawn
And not fit to be seen among the crowd
The seat of punishment for naughty child
A paddle makes the tears fall swift and hard
Yet after meals of beans so meek and mild
Sweet air transforms the moon into a bard
So long as legs join hips and man can run
So long will we salute you, graceful buns
There’s a story behind this, of course, that includes me wanting to write a sonnet and asking the youngest member of the family for a topic: thus began my series of body sonnets! You never know when inspiration will sneak up and pop you on the derriere.
Funnily enough, this is the only poem of mine that was ever curated on Medium. It was also the start of what became a series of Body Sonnets, which in turn became a series of cyanotypes, and then became the second half of a book plus an exhibition and WOOHOO I did a reading at the opening!
Here’s the book
And here’s my YouTube where you can see me read a couple of the poems.
In these languid, hug-free days
of strictly enforced distance
my head against his heartbeat
delivers the echo of my footsteps
on the road home
this small act of communion
is the ground that brings me
back to my reference point
current passes between us
telegraphing messages conducted
through physical connection
this, my safety plane
providing the earth for my system to rest upon
the circuits click with the press of lips
transmitting positive voltage
from an infinite source
a little spark
to light the world
This is a poem from 2020, and here’s the caption I wrote for it on Medium, which – sadly – I feel is just as relevant as ever. Here we are a couple of years down the line, but do we really love each other? Did we ever? Can we ever? .. . . . . What the world needs now, is hugs, more hugs . . . . . I heard something from someone, sometime about how a hug that lasts more than 3 seconds builds up trust. I am looking forward to the day when I can hug my friends in greeting again. Right now, I’m just thankful I have a couple people in my house who are (mostly) receptive to hugs and snuggles (this may or may not include the cat).
PS today is the man in the photo’s birthday – happy birthday to you, love of my life!
Cleopatra rolled up in a rug
smuggled in to see Caesar
worming her way into infamy
Every day the light is changing
Slyly summer transforms
little by little into autumn
such small moves
we hardly even notice the fall
I realize it’s not quite the right time of year for this poem, but my copy-paste-repeat diligence from my Medium archive knows no boundaries and doesn’t care about the calendar! So here you go: musings on September in April. Thank you for reading!
Yoooo first post with the new design I feel like I should probably come up with some excuse for the fact that I said that I was going to change the website a bit and instead not only changed it entirely but also changed the whole story it was originally for, but… there isn’t really […]
Name changes — The Hermit Crab Tank
Updates and design changes – more like a total overhaul – of one of my fav blogs! Check it out ^^^
From a bird in a gilded cage
Pecking at the walls of invested desire
Feed the well a doubloon
It spits back an ingot
Vaults of piggies full to the brim
Generations of interest ensured
But coins in the mattress
Poke holes in retirement
Green paper walls
Tear and burn
Between the golden bars
Gleams a life with all the trappings
Luminous bowls in the lap of refreshment
Halcyon hours around the table of plenty
Midas knew the bright clink of the lock and key
Moments after his request was granted
Watch him as he measures
His radiant empowered days
J.D. Harms on Medium is a talented writer, gracious publication guru, and an endless wellspring of interesting prompts! This one was on idioms: I texted my daughter for one to write about, and what she sent me was gold. Y’all go check out JD’s work, and thank you for reading!
The Poetry Patio