Thursday, September 22, 2011

The Best Surprise

(written for the Poetic Bloomings "Surprise" Prompt)

It wasn’t a surprise

by the time I mustered

up enough courage

to wander through the

store and purchase not one,

but two tests to confirm

you were growing

inside me.

It wasn’t a surprise

when your dad and I

looked at each other

in shock, we were

too young to react in any

other way.

It wasn’t a surprise

when I saw your image

for the first time,

that the mesmerizing

gray and black fuzzy

screen filled my belly

with warmth,

my eyes with joyful


It isn’t a surprise

that each moment

we spend together

causes my heart

to quadruple in size

because you are

you, after all.

It isn’t a surprise

that each year of

your life is my favorite

because life with

you has been one



Sunday, September 11, 2011

Proposal (a poem for two voices)

It has taken me forever just to get it looking this good...To see it larger, click on it.
This poem was inspired from the picture prompt on the Poetic Bloomings site. See this wonderful poetry site and get inspired to write your own poem.

Thursday, September 8, 2011

“He Stood and Laughed a While At His Reflection”

Years passed,
seconds ticked on a clock.
Never pausing to stop.
Never savoring the swish
of the leaves in a cool breeze.
Never wading in the water,
river flowing around his feet.
Rushing through life
always looking forward,
seeing only the destination.
Until he stopped.
No place to look but the clock;
seconds lingered, felt like days.
No visitors arrived,
no help to ease his pain.
Alone in the sterile room
he walked to the mirror,
it reflected a stranger and
he couldn’t help but laugh
if only to suppress the tears
from wasted, hurried, lonely years.

from “Carry Me Carrie” by Dr. Hook (Shel Silverstein is credited with writing the lyrics)

Written for Poetic Bloomings Prompt

True Love

but true.
One girl and
one boy; unique
entities merged to
become one. Parallel
lives established with “I do.”
Side-by-side, with a transversal
or intersecting line, hoping to
avoid complete perpendicular loss.

One of Those Days

Normally the day flies by
but today it drags,
draining every ounce of
energy from my body
until I am an empty shell;
zombie wandering.
My heart and mind on
vacation, and not the good kind
where the sun beats down
on shimmering water
and thoughts drift on ocean waves,
but the kind
where vast emptiness encompasses
Making normal tempting and
desirable and

She Waited For Me to Fail

I got somewhat distracted.
She way overreacted.
I shared a joke with a friend.
She dove right off the deep-end.
I laughed and said, “Kiss my ass!”
She sent me out of her class.
It wasn’t my fault, that scene.
She’s just too boring and mean.
I won’t return to this place.
She’ll be glad to miss my face.

Every story has two sides.


I don’t remember the
last time we talked
but your nervous laughter
and the awkward silence
I do remember the
last time I thought of you
wondering if I should call,
contemplating meeting you again.
But the past, a sheet of rain,
made the air too moist to rekindle anything.
Rekindle what, I wasn’t sure.
Our early days haunting my memories
but I know I loved you once.
And, I hope you loved me, too.
I think you did,
but you were unavailable
so I became unavailable.
I tried to escape the life I was born into
and reinvent myself, become the norm.
And it worked, at least on the surface.
And then you died
and I cried,
remembering our love again.

Chore Wars

Chore Wars

Full-time job, working mom finds it
hard to deal with such a slob; a
stay-at-home dad who lays around
while dishes pile up and toys litter the ground.

She sinks onto the couch,
too riled up to be of help.
He jumps up and striaghtens things
offers up an appeasing clean.

She makes their dinner, but
leaves the mess; can’t he understand
all her stress. She asks him to
wash some clothes.

He washes and folds a couple loads
then tucks kids in. He tucks her in too,
and kisses her head
as she sinks into their comfortable bed.

Inspired from “Chore Wars” by Ruth Davis Konigsberg in Time August 8, 2011 issue page 45

Written for Poetic Bloomings Prompt "Title and Deed"

Nove Otto Poems

Both written to fit the Nove Otto form highlighted by Poetic Bloomings

Football Fears

I think he may be just too small,
too young. It can’t be fun at all
to tackle and get pushed. Too late,
he has been hurled across the line.
We should have waited until nine
years old to pad him up, not eight.
Oh, no! He’s much too young. I can’t
watch. I hold my breathe while he pants
for air. He smiles wide, “Football’s great!”

Doomed Love

It became abundantly clear
after fierce fights fought that first year,
you and I were not meant to be.
We wanted to cling together.
Reprimanding like your mother,
I drove you away. The debris
of our love littered my heart.
Broken, we decided to part.
Our first great decision, indeed.