Tart Pop Tart

Funeral
Let's talk about your funeral again.
You say no one will give a shit
But won't it be fun to make some plans?
Then write your own obituary--
Death will never be this scary.
Woe, woe, woe, woe.

I'm becoming introverted again.
Withdrawing is so easy
With the movies playing inside my head.
Always the protaginista,
Ready for my close-up, Mistah.
Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!

They're talkin' 'bout my problems again.
I've never known so many who
Could live a life without any sin.
A know-it-all, a pessimist--
The surface is not all of this.
No, no, no, no thank you.

Thank you for enlightening me.

27 Years

Weather Advisory

 Weekend Rains
The weekend rains are falling.
There's no good place to be.
The wind is ripping through
The roaring oak trees.
All morning I've been staring
Out of dirty windows
At red birds and fox squirrels--
They know exactly where the river goes;
At struggling flowers
In their tiny containers,
Protected from elements
But dreaming of danger;
At my face in the mud,
Dripping with Sunday.
I'm longing for sun
And pleading for Monday.

Two More

Just Say It!
I hear you
Stutter, mutter, stammer
As a crooked hammer
Clamors for the nail's head,
You never reach the point.
The words emerge disjointed,
Pointed east and west.
Tell me,
What are your coordinates?

Important Decisions
Rosy cheeks,
You promised forever;
You said you'd go on,
Painless as a heart transplant
That refused to take hold.

I have decided to be a teenager tomorrow.

Elastic mind,
You said it better;
You said it so wrong.
The conveyer belt slipped off
And tumbled out the back door.

I have decided to eat pie and ice cream for dinner.

garbledeegook

As you probably noticed, I have not kept up with the Poem a Day Challenge for April, as I fully anticipated. Even so, I feel like it was a success because it got me thinking creatively and writing more than usual.


This is my brain on life.

Red Line
My imagination is overflowing.
Or maybe imagination is the wrong word.
My frontal lobe is exploding.
I'm sure that is a better way to put it.

Airstream dreams, real estate schemes, poetic themes,
scholars and locals, hard lessons, low blows,
practices and rehearsals,
whoopie pies and thunder thighs,
kitty sand and coffee hands,
over-ambitions and a thousand decisions
that can change a life forever.

No wonder I keep walking
into a room, only to forget
what I walked in to do.

Happy Birthday To Me!

Every year I cry on my birthday. Sometimes it's out of the blue, sometimes it's after a few drinks, sometimes there seems to be no real reason for it, but it always feels a little sad. Sure enough, I had my annual cry today totally unexpectedly but, for a change, it felt propelled by joy. 2011 is the best.

Birthday Cry

One hot tear followed by another.

One more year, gone away so fast.

This year feels much different from the others;

I cried big tears of happiness this time.

Just for a little perspective, here's my 2010 birthday poem:

Happy Birthday

The older you get

The less people care

About all your troubles

And your welfare

You move right along

And then one day

No one can be found

To listen to you say

Your mom's not well

Your daddy's gone to hell

Your sister's joined the circus

And the cat's down the well

You pick up the phone

It musta gone dead

'Cause nobody's calling

They've all turned to lead

Happy Anniversary

Happy Birthday

Have a Merry Christmas

But you know we can't stay

Turn on the tube

For some imagination

They took away the frequency

Don't bother to change the station

Flip on the tunes

This one you remember

The words jump out

Of your mouth like embers

You feel the same

As you did back then

But your glasses are thicker

And your hair is thin

Look in the mirror

Look into yourself

I'll be damned

To put my soul on the shelf

Remember how you felt

Remember that was you

That made the moment sweet

That took in the view

The world's gone to hell

Without any trouble

The flames are encroaching

And licking the rubble

So climb on the rooftops

And shout it aloud

Say it with conviction

Til you part the clouds

Happy Anniversary

Happy fucking birthday

Have a Merry Christmas

And don't forget to pray

Cute, huh? :)

April Poem #5

Today's Poem A Day Challenge is to write a "What if?" poem. I wrote this one in iambic tetrameter. It's amazing how much easier it's getting to follow poetic forms just by doing a little every day.

If
If someone else had helped you out
of Market Street that summer day,
If I had not against my will
Gone out to your apartment on
Barnett and written on your arm
An invitation, "Call me, please!"
If you had never prank called me,
And had not waited patiently
For me to tie up my loose ends,
If we had played it safe and slow,
If we had acted logically,
Then to this day I wouldn't know
That cereal is good with orange
Juice late at night and words like fluff,
Elude and poonagie would have
No meaning in them whatsoever.

April Poem #4

Today's Poem A Day Challenge is to write a "Don't ___, ____" poem. So here's mine.

Don't Bitch, Work
Don't bitch, work
You're guaranteed a better day
Save all your groans and grumbles
For later at the roaring bar
Or quiet pages in your journal
For once the beast is off its leash
You'll never get it back

April Poem #3

I'm skipping to Day 4's prompt, which is to write about a particular type of person. I have been thinking about limericks lately so I decided to write one about a lazy person.  Limericks are short and usually tongue-in-cheek and are fun to write once you get going.  As with many poetry forms, there are rules to follow about meter and rhyming and whatnot. I have a hard time following rules, so bear with me.


I actually have four to share.

Lazy
You've been up for four hours still sitting.
Still dressed in pajamas, how fitting!
Get off your rump,
You lazy chump
Or out on the curb you'll be sitting.

And here is the first poem I remember writing. It was an assignment in my 5th grade language arts class:


Karen
There once was a girl named Karen.
All day long she ate heron.
She choked on a bone.
What a horrible tone!
And now there's no heron or Karen.

See? Fun! Here's another one about myself sixteen years later (Wow, has it really been that long?):

Karen Jane
There once was a gal named Karen Jane.
All day she chewed on sugar cane.
Then some got caught;
Her teeth did rot.
And boy, how she hollered in pain!

And a love poem:

Lost Love Limerick
Couldn't tell, was it me? Was it you?
Have we said our goodbyes so soon?
I let you in
And I'd do it again
'Cause there's no other lover like you.

Do try this at home!

April Poem #2

Playing catch-up! Today's prompt is to write a postcard poem. More about it here.


My love,

Here I sit contentedly as I write this from our balcony. I’m watching the cats nibble the plants and the wrens play tag in the bushes. A gentle breeze is rustling the trees and the sky is a little hazy. The clouds are moving defiantly and too lazy to make way for the balmy afternoon that is surely on its way. My dearest love, I do believe this day could only reach perfection if your presence I could gain in this empty chair beside me.

Arrive home safely, Me

April Poem #1

The Day 1 prompt is to write a "what got you here" poem. Read Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer for a more in-depth explanation.


How I Got Here


Quiet your rustling and lend me your ear
As I sing you the story of how I got here
I was born of yellow, blue, and brown
A tornado drove my seed in the ground
Not a drop of rain for forty days
A ball of fire set me ablaze
Grew up strong with the sideoats stems
Learned to bend and sway and wave like them
But a dandelion sprang up one day
And showed me I could fly away
So southward on the winds we roamed
In the fertile hills we found a home
A bouquet of every color and hue
I see reds and greens and violets too!
And here the seasons I will spend
Until we ride the winds again

A Poem A Day Keeps the Crazy at Bay

I am embarking on a Poem-A-Day endeavor. I ran across this blog today and decided to take the author up on his challenge to write one poem a day for the entire month of April. For some time now he has been challenging his followers to write a poem each week with his "Wednesday Poetry Prompts," in which he gives his readers a simple assignment of sorts, then invites them to post their poems in the comments section.  I fully expect to fail at writing a poem for all thirty days this month, but I figured it would be worth a shot. And hey, it's not even April yet and I've already gotten started! Check back for my daily efforts.


Since today happens to be Wednesday, I followed today's prompt, which is to write a poem involving sounds. Here is the result:

Sounds Good

Clickity clack, clickity clack

Go fingers on the keyboard.

Effortless in their transmissions,

The original digits of the digital age.

Pat, pat, pat…pat, pat, pat

Put the love into the dough.

Earn the right to roll it and stretch it;

Taste tender caresses in every bite.

Snap and crack, crackle and snap

Weary knuckles white as ash

Grip the wheel and guide the way home

While wearing proud reminders of a job well done.

A Sidewalk Ode, Irregular

So today was a stupid day. I hate being sick and I hate calling in to work, but I did what I had to do. So I went to the doctor and came home and took a good four hour nap. No complaints there. I finally got my pajama-wearing self into the car with my big list of medicines to take (something else I hate) and headed to Walgreen's. I wandered around in my stuffed-up haze for a while but I finally got my stuff and got out. When I got back in the car there was a handwritten note tucked under my windshield wiper that read, "Your back right tyre is flat." Sure enough, it was flat as a pancake.

What to do? I have no spare. My husband is out of town until tonight and I have few friends on my side of town so I couldn't very well call anyone. I tried a couple people anyway but they didn't answer, which was no surprise since it was during working hours. I spotted a cab driving by and called the number. I sat on hold forever. So I thought fuck it, I'm walking. I was wearing flip flops but I just happened to have a pair of real shoes in the back seat.

It kinda sucked because it was unexpected and the urban landscape was less than inviting, but it gave me a good hour in which to ponder the mysteries of life, encounter some interesting sights, and think of this poem. On the way, I was accosted by all manner of sounds and smells, honked at (twice), stared at, nearly hit by cars at every intersection, and offered a ride by an old man in a truck, which I politely declined. Although I was grumpy and feeling sick, it was nice to get a pedestrian's perspective of my busy neighborhood.  The title of this poem is ironic, now that I think about it, because there was actually no sidewalk for at least half of the two-mile trek.  Instead there were footpaths worn down by the hundreds of people who walk the route every day.


A Sidewalk Ode, Irregular

This ho-hum landscape of parking-lot trees
Brings me to my knees, where the gravel stings
And the fried chicken air lingers heavy.

Here,
None so fair and fares so well
As the fearless grackle who feasts
On parking lot pommes frites;
And lest we o’erlook the panhandler’s stealth,
Whose leathery skin and eyes of pain
Reliably paper-covered cans obtain.

This underworld, yes, right under this world—
The one we set on top—so easy to ignore.
Yet curious stop light eyes will scan,
Against the will of any man,
And search for a bit of soul.
But green lights go and before you know,
We’re released from the grip of the wild.

...This one's for the Super Moon...

Spring Fever
Technicalities whizzing by
Here I stand with my wandering eye
No intention to take them in
I begin to blur the lines
Get a whiff of the canvas
Blood, sweat, and tears
Paint a masterpiece to outlive the years
Beyond this pain, these rules, the shame
We feel the ache to be maternal
The hope of life eternal
Like weeds overthrowing sidewalks
Like moss creeping up building tops
Ever striving to reach the sky
Our tendrils gently bend and curl
Our bountiful arms unfold and unfurl
Step back and feel the breadth of it
Collapse into the depths of it

Shhh...

Inspired by the improv show Austin Secrets. You can read more about it here: 

http://www.hideouttheatre.com/shows/austinsecrets


The Secret

It grows like mold; it infects my mind

A secret so unkind

A stain upon the curtain

Firmly drawn between the lines

Every word and every breath

Reeks of what I can’t confess

I did it. I saw it. No one else did see

Intention, reaction, withdrawal from the scene

I’ve swallowed and swallowed

I’m bursting at the seams

Now I revel in the dark

The lights come up

The curtains part

Shadows unfold before my eyes

Across the room,

Hushed whimpers and cries

I delight in the game

I know no shame

The secret is out

But its power remains