Sunday, May 22, 2011

Fourth Week in May Poems


Arriving Home to My Priceless Inventions

Chaos explodes
in my humble abode
the minute I walk
through the door.

Four happy faces
to fill up the places
within my heart,
mind, and soul.

Made from our love
and some help from above.
Four magical beings
I cherish.

Their smiles and laughs
help me to relax
from the tired routine
I endured.

So I kick off my shoes
and chill with my brood
as each recounts
their adventures.

Some jokes and a story,
I have not a worry
for I am a darn
good inventor.

Do I Look Like That?

Mirror, mirror on the wall,
you don't tell the truth at all.
My smile must be brighter than
the one you reflect to me.
My hair, I'm sure, is softer
and shimmers like the sea.
My double chin, I just don't
have one, and
My skin is much more clear.
My nose is slender, as is
my firm, shapely rear.
And, I'm positive my waist
is cinched and my hips
are perfectly round.
I look nothing like the image
you portray I've found.
So, mirror, mirror on the wall,
I don't believe in you at all.

(Poetic Asides prompt: priorities)

Morning Priorities

At five a.m. the alarm starts to ring
inflicted from motivation the late night brings.
But in the morning priorities wane
and sleep is the only thing I don't disdain.
I hesitate for just a moment before
I slam my hand on the snooze once more
and sink back in to my slothful ways;
I'll be more productive on another day.

Priorities of a Middle School Teen

The bell is buzzing, beating, and bellowing in my ear,
a horrible, heinous, hideous sound I always used to fear.
But from years of obeying and observing, I know that it can wait,
it's only math, a mysterious monster, who cares if I am late?
A moment in the bathroom, darn my wild, woolly hair.
Fluff and frizz and frazzled, genes are just not fair.

I saunter into the classroom, greeted by an agitated, angry man.
I can tell by his irked, intense demeanor he's not my biggest fan.
He questions my priorities. I roll my daring, dazzling eyes.
I balk his blabbering bombast, wishing I could curl up and die.
He doesn't seem to get it. He's old, outdated, and obtuse.
With computers and calculators, what's the indispensable use?

My priorites are just as they should be for a fledgling, feminine teen.
My persona needs perfecting in this mind numbing, middle school scene.
So I am gonna smack on some lip gloss, and polish up my nails
in hopes of grabbing the attention of some magestic, marvelous male.
You'll see me in your classroom after the halls are hollow and clear,
and as you tolerantly teach I won't be listening; this just won't be my year.

Let it Shine

Let the sun shine.

I want to frolic in its warmth with my shoes off.
Soft grass refreshing and cool between my toes
as I dance to nature's song.

I want to watch little smiles and small feet
climb up grassing hills just to tumble back down again.

I want to drink sweet iced tea nestled on the porch
with a tattered paperback book.
Just the blue sky and a story to sink in to.

Let the sun shine.

Baking Cookies

It's a let's bake cookies kind of day.
Not just a few,
but a lot of cookies
to fill the house.
Cinnamon and sugar swirling around
with a hint of vanilla to tickle the nose.
The warmth from the oven
igniting the soul.
And when the cookies are done,
we'll eat one or two
with a little cold milk
and smile from you.

(Poetic Bloomings prompt "Fruits of Our Labors")

Writing My (Unpublished and Maybe Unpublishable) Novel

It was easy in the beginning.
The words magically appeared
in my head and ran through my
fingers to the keyboard and
jumped onto the screen.

But in the middle the words stalled,
a broken down car in the middle
of the intersection.
I looked both ways
and began to push.

Slow and steady,
pushing with all my might.
A few words beating out with each step.
Each shove building momentum
until that car really began to move
and I was running to keep up.

Each character began making
her own decisions and
I was merely recording their
lives as they unfurled.

Typing the last word felt like
winning the lottery until
I realized I was only just beginning.
Draft and draft after draft,
asking myself, "Does this make
sense? Do I need this part? Should
I change this word?"

Each decision painful.
Each drastic cut like severing a limb.
I wasn't just the author
I lived through each character.
The story was me.

The story is me.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

Poems About Weight

Pretty Face

Such a pretty face.
Is it a waste?
Lighting up the place,
a girl with no waist.
Blue eyes cause no chase
no propel men to make haste
to court her in this place.
Her body overrides leaving only distaste.

Better Not

Lick the spoon, not the bowl…
Lick the spoon, not the bowl…
As I eat my third dessert of the day,
Or is it four,
I lick the spoon
Getting every drop of ganache.
But my husband is watching,
I better not lick the bowl.


Stretch-marks are
road maps of my indiscretions.
Every drop gobbled,
every bite shoveled in,
never savored or relished

But my hunger will not be satiated.
My stomach engorged
yet I continue.

And they appear.
Tiny crevices,
fissures exposing my darkest secrets.

Belly Fat

How I hate the fat that encompasses my middle.
trying to escape the cotton of my shirt.
Desperate to flee my buttoned pants
which are suffocating the blubber beneath.
My bellybutton like a hidden treasure.

How I hate the fat that encompasses my middle.
Mostly, because I cannot hide.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Third Week in May Poems

This poem was inspired while reading The Skin I'm In by Sharon Flake. In it the teacher asks her students to write about what their face says.

What Does Your Face Say?

What does your face say?

My face says I'm fat.
It's not bad, it's just fact.

But passed my pudgy nose
and plump cheeks you'll see

the crease between my eyes
from squinting in the sun,

a smile a mile wide
plastered on for all to see

most days. But, when no one
is looking, you might glimpse

a frown. It's rarely found but
my lower teeth jut out a bit

passed the top ones as I ponder
life: past, present, or future.

My forehead leans down
causing my double chin

to pronounce the truth I usually
use my chubby face to shield.

What does your face say?

(an alouette and Poetic Bloomings prompt)

Garden of Truth

Can't be swept away
hidden, led astray.
Truth blooms and spreads with strong roots
gripping in the earth
causing smiles and mirth.
A treasure one cannot loot.

On the other hand
a lie will rip land
apart. Causing weeds to sprout
destroying the soil.
No amount of toil
can fix roots damaged by doubt.

So plant seeds that bloom
and a garden soon
will overflow with virtue.
A sanctuary
of joy. A very
enchanting, breathtaking view.

Tell it like it is poem (Poetic Asides prompt)

Boys are Boys

A boy is a boy
no doubt about that.
Especially as he laughs
when he farts,
curled up on my lap.

Both poems written to the prompt from Poetic Bloomings
(out of something bad, something good)

Rainbow Reminder

Rain tickles the treetops
and sprinkles the grass.
Not much, but enough to flood
our picnic plans. We scamper
inside and snuggle by the fire,
watching the rain dance across the ground
we drift into a trance inspired by the tinkling sound.

The rain lets up and the sun
breaks through the clouds. Inviting
us to come outside and look around.
Hand –in-hand we meander through the moist
grass. Shimmering drops reflecting the sun;
a rainbow grows in the sky where
this morning there was none.
Reminding us how sweet the rain can be
when with the one you love.

Blanket of Leftovers

Pink and red and blue,
Violet and gray and green.
Scraps of yarn
Remnants from projects
crafted with precision and love.
Now a hodgepodge of yarn
joined together and
surprisingly beautiful.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Tuesday, May 10, 2011

Second Week in May Poems


Bop: Childhood Lost

Hiding beneath the blankets
waiting for night to pass
by counting footsteps, counting breaths, counting creaks,
sounds of stairs being traversed
just in case it wasn’t the last time
he entered her room without permission.

A childhood lost in one night.

Small fingers clenched around
the bat by her side, concealed,
she’s ready to strike if she needs to.
Moon eyes glowing in the dark
dreading an eclipse; not ready to endure
the shadows creeping in the night.
Hoping for the sun to rise and
erase the cold with its warmth.

A childhood lost in one night.

Sleepless nights lead to daylight determination
to escape, evade, break away.
Befriending anyone who has a place she can stay.
She waits for the years to pass
by counting months, counting days, counting hours,
sounds of the sun rising on her freedom.

A childhood lost in one night.

Form poems to the Poetic Asides prompt "When you're not looking"


Don't Blink

Don’t blink
or turn you back
Needles can stick you.
Terrorists might attack.
Behind you there might be a trap.
Look both ways.
Intersections can be dangerous.
Nothing appears as it seems.
Kind of makes me think I should go ahead and blink.

Alphabet Poem

Always be cautious,
dangers escape.
Frightening, genuine horrors
invading, jostling, lurking.
oppressing possible queries.
Relinquishing self-worth to
undeniable, veritable,
yearning zoomed-in.

Blitz Poem

Pause Before Frustration

Don’t blink
Don’t pause
Pause causes pain
Pauses causes accidents
Accidents happen
Accidents harm
Harm seeps through
Harm remembers
Remembers the moment
Remembers the silence
Silence of disaster
Silence of moments lost
Lost from not looking
Lost from not wanting
Wanting to escape
Wanting to avoid
Avoid the memory
Avoid the loss
Loss of love
Loss of innocence
Innocence of a child
Innocence of a heart
Heart on fire
Heart broken
Broken wings
Broken bones
Bones of legs
Bones of life
Life evolved
Life enlightened
Enlightened by people
Enlightened by process
Process of hoping
Process of dreaming
Dreaming of love
Dreaming of escape
Escape from reality
Escape from death
Death of innovation
Death of intonation
Intonation of emotions
Intonation when reading
Reading in a vacuum
Reading in a bubble
Bubble of desire
Bubble of frustration
Frustration in waiting
Frustration in watching


Summer breeze ripples through
greening leaves.
Sun shimmers across the lake
inviting me to jump in.
I dive.
Ripples create concentric circles
each one leading into another until
they smooth and you can't even tell
I was there at all.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Sunday, May 1, 2011

First Week in May Poems

(Written to water poem prompt provided by Poetic Bloomings)

Summer Sprinklers

Tiny drops tickling
her shoulders,
spraying her belly.
Her arms flung wide
hugging the water.
She dances.

A blur of drenched hair
as she twirls around
the water spout;
pink polka dots whirring.

The sun kissing her face,
browning her delicate skin.
Green grass massaging
her bare feet.

She glances my way
tiny fingers beckoning.
And we giggle as we
fall to the earth and
smile at the blue sky.

5/4/11: A Poem for My Daughters
She is the Sun
(written using prompt "on the other hand" from Poetic Asides)

To me she is the shining sun
and I am the earth and each breath she takes
leads me in a new and adventurous way.
There has not been a day yet where she doesn’t shine.
Not a day where I don’t search for her warmth.
Not a day when she doesn’t mesmerize me
while I watch her setting; a magical swirl of
orange and red and yellow.
But to you, she is a child
and I am her mother and each breath she takes
is the same as any other.
There has not yet been a day when you noticed her shine.
Not a day when you searched for her warmth.
Not a day when she mesmerized you.
But she is more, and you’ll know when you meet her.

Shooting Stars

I thought I could capture the stars
with the words I so carefully crafted.
I thought maybe I could at least touch them,
feel the power in my hand, bask in their light.
I thought it would be enough as I waited,
eyes focused on their beauty, wishing
on the first one I saw, but no.
The stars did not embrace me,
instead I was a shooting star, exiled from
their greatness, banished from their constellation.
I thought I could capture the stars,
but their brilliant, sparkling light evaded me.

5/1/11 a "seed" poem
(Prompt from Poetic Bloomings)

Pensive Gardener

Tilled earth cool and loose beneath her feet,
sun massaging her freckled shoulders,
an empty canvas awaiting her.
She weighs the seeds in her palm,
searching for the exact place to begin
sowing her spring masterpiece.

Ode to a Starry Night

The vastness overwhelms me as I
lay upon the cool green grass.
Belly up, arms spear wide.
I bathe in the twinkle of each
constellation, each glimmering star
offering a sense of hope, of wonder,
of what life could hold in it's cookie jar.
I lay facing it's greatness and fill comfort
in it's possibilities.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad