Category Archives: Poetry

A Country Wife . . . A Poem

country-woman

 

A country wife

Gravel under her feet

Rain clouds above her head

Wind whipping the willow at her side

 

She walked

She had done it again

 

Most called it cheating

She called it surviving

 

Red nails at her fingertips

Smeared make-up at her eyes

Despite watching the time

It had been an hour of instinct

 

She left him behind

Like every other time

And walked toward home in haste

 

He filled her in more ways than one

Something marriage could not

 

Raindrops – between her lashes

Pasted curly locks in place

Her lips formed an evil grin

She imagined his square handsome face

 

Back into the kitchen

Back to cooking peas

He would get his supper

She would go to bed pleased

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I’ve Been a Bad Girl . . . A Poem

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Rainy Sunday, Mother’s Day

Mama was at home

I took a shovel from the shed

And cracked her collarbone

 

Then I used the handle part

to gouge out her right eye

To my surprise it burst inside

then shed upon her cheek

 

Oh, Mama, silly woman

I told you I’d be back

to stop the strife

to end your life

then stuff you in a sack

 

 

Stairs to Nowhere – A Poem

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A quick glance. A pic on my phone. I saw stairs. And then they were gone.

Driving by.  Was saying a prayer. Then I see. Stairs that lead nowhere.

Neither to heaven nor to hell. Just some steps.

Just a pair. Steps that lead to open air.

Is that my fate? Are we all so gullible?

Clinging to what’s not there. Thinking we’re a holy heir?

That day brought clarity. Of the mystery.

Stairs that lead nowhere.

 

Just Another Day With Death – A Poem

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They call at two

They call at three

Makes no real difference to me.

The dead . . .

They care not what time I am forced to rise

They care for nothing

About nothing.

Where are my scrub pants

Dirty from the last prep

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Come, the dead urge me

They insist

I answer, after finding new pants

I’m coming.

Soon you will be

Lovely as can be

And all because of me.

Just another day with death.

death2

 

 

You Can Write That Book

 

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I woke at 3:30 this morning with a thought running through my head; write. I’ve been reading a book about how to get a first draft written in just 30 days. Well, I’m taking longer than 30 days but it’s working. Feels good to be on this decade-long project again with a fresh eye.

Are you one of the millions of Americans who think he/she has a good book in his/her head? If so, start it. Don’t sit paralyzed because you think you need an extensive outline or a dozen developed characters to start. Just begin writing and see where it takes you. If nothing else, you’ll enjoy the process. There are no hard and fast rules.

Writing has come naturally to me since I was a young girl. I churned out poetry, stories, and goofy limericks. Recently, I’ve penned some hilarious Senyru poems (like a haiku but funny and usually about people).

Want to share what you have written? Send me a note and maybe I can offer a suggestion or two. Let me know in the comments section below. I have many subscribers to this blog, so I can’t help all.

Take away? Please put your fingers to the keyboard and express yourself. I’ll leave you with a Senyru poem for the day (5-7-5 syllable lines). Have an awesome one!

Nurse Anne took samples

Samples of pee to the lab

Her work pissed her off

 

LOL! Sorry it’s tacky but it’s what I came up with in the moment. Bye, all . . .

What I Know is Nothing

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When I look up and into the sky blue sky

full of fluffy white fluffy clouds

Space is full of stuff – stuffed stuff or unstuffed

Beyond the blue and white above me are other planets, other skies, other guys

Naked, I shiver in the hot summer afternoon – but it’s a dry heat

In a coat, I shiver among snow drifts – but it’s a moist cool

Above my head are twinkling stars that twinkle like a star

Vastness of universe and limitations of my body and mind – not parallel like a parallel universe

What I know for sure is that I know nothing – like I know what I know, and it’s nothing

Sadness Has Shades – A Poem

 

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A painter uses color, texture -tangibles – to express herself.

I use words. My mind purges its stresses on white pages.

I sometimes think in gray.

Cloudy skies are the shade of sadness.

Sadness has shades, if you didn’t know it.

I’ve had sadness in blue shades. Blue, more intense than gray.

Gray has no passion, is sleepy and without great expression.

Blues offer bite. When dark, it’s angry sadness.

Light blue leaves room for improvement. Hope.

Black. Ever felt black?

Absorbing all light around you. Reflecting none.

Lack of light is black. I’ve felt black. I’ve lived black.

Black was the height of sadness, and all was dark.

Are you beige? Beige is boring. Not ugly but boring.

I lived beige for several years. It was a color of denial.

Same old. Same old. Beige. Sad but denying it.

Currently, I feel green. New growth is everywhere.

Soon it will be spring. Life has changed.

Green feels nice. Cooling and hopeful.

No sadness blankets this life.

But now and then, I do have other-color days.

Life is, after all,  a rainbow of colors.

Sadness can be in many colors and shades

But joy can, too.

Coloured air balloons

 

 

Alone

Where exactly is it? That ache that isn’t “real.”

The feeling of alone-ness

I hold and now reveal.

 

In the heart or chest somewhere

the heaviness sits hard

No respite for this weary soul

Yet, often, I’m off guard

 

Vices do I grab

To nothingness I hold

Weariness like weights

Inside me till I’m old

 

 

 

 

Spinning

I just spun around in my office chair – not once but over and over. My eyes closed tightly, my feet moving to keep the momentum. I was back in my childhood, when I’d spin on anything with a rope or chain. I was a notorious spinner on swings.

When I opened my eyes after going round in my office chair, I felt momentarily dizzy. Yet I smiled and remembered having a Kool-aid moustache, tousled ponytail, and tanned skin from spending days in the sun, playing, riding bikes . . . and spinning.

🙂