NaMoWriPo #19 This poem is a slice of my life as I am right now making it! I should dedicate this poem to my son who loves his Mama’s humble hummus. He lives off the stuff!

 

Hummus

Crisp peels with spring bright green sprigs

White smooth quarter-fat moons

Snap a spicey sent as I peel

Sounding like plastic pins

Dropped into the processor

That chops in chunks and bits

Crushing out the germane main

Gracious garlic sets the stage

Weather opening cans

Or having soaked and boiled

The chickpeas bounce

Happily, into the container

Like tiny basketballs dropped

For the team to gather up

Members fall in line

Ready for the practice

As the next layer

Topped with a crown

Of dark tan tahini

Slicked down

With greenish glowy olive oil

That looks like

Something to smear

On one’s face

Instead of on pita or veg

Mustn’t forget

The lemons or salt

That bring it all to life

The lush pucker juice

That topped with snowy prickles

Of the sea’s distilled kiss

It all jumps for joy

When I hit the button

It tangles and smooths

Into a tiny whirlpool

Yellowish over and under

Mixing, mushing, melding

Into the best in the world

Mama’s hummus!

Made twice every week

 NaMoWriPo #18: I got home at 10:30 p.m. and my bed is definitely calling me!

Past Bedtime

Eyelids sinking down

Like a garage door frozen

Motor strains to lift

 NaMoWriPo #17: Nothing but quick poems this week as I’m busy, tired, and fighting falling down into cynicaland too long.

 

Disengaged Ed

When teachers teach you

Listen well

Fears of the future they hope to quell

If you come in after the period bell

A day of reconning when you can’t spell

Except for four-letter words like hell

And then you’d wish you’d more to sell

 

NaMoWriPo #16: Finished up GreenStage’s auditions tonight and it was time well spent.

 

Director’s Sight

People came and went

Brains melted, words soared, lifted

Shakespeare will be pleased

 

NaMoWriPo #15: What a beautiful day it was today!

 

Spring’s Kiss

Brightness brings lightness

From my hibernating spirit

That sleepily opens one eye

To test if I can see

With the cascade of sunshine

Flooding into my dark cobwebby corners

Blurry, half-blinded and stumbling

Out to embrace

Crisp air perfumed with a hint

That the partially baked noon

Pries me outside

Like a new moonscape

A puff of pollen escapes

When I set my barefoot

To the cold damp porch

Wincing in glee

That it is just now tolerable

To stand in the newborn sunlight

That barely warms

With the promise more

Will arrive soon

 April 13, 2024 (wrote the poem before midnight!)

NaMoWriPo #14: Going up is a theatrical term that actors say when lines leave their brains. A moment of distraction on stage can make one go up or if the slippery phrase or unusual wording is barely in your grasp to begin with or it is tricky to keep inside you why you are doing what you are doing on stage, then you can lose those lines instantly even if you’ve done them many times before. Acting isn’t easy.

 Some folks find the memorization easy and the acting hard. Others, like me, find the memorization hard work, but the acting much easier to click into. My mind judges me for not finding the exact word and then it skips like on a record and I have a “brain fart” of forgetting the phrase in that moment. I am hard on myself and try not to be or I won’t remember anything. Breath is key. Going on is key. I’ve found this in life too that I need to keep going and breathing when I “go up” or when the words don’t quite make sense.

 The picture is from my most recent show, My Fair Lady with the Woodland Park Players this past month. I played Mrs. Higgins and there were nights I did have instances of going up but I kept breathing and got through it and am extremely proud that it had been 8 years since I'd done a full role on stage. The first picture is me on stage with Eliza, played by the incredible Amanda Cirie. The other two pictures are backstage with Freddy, played by the uber-talented Michael Sterling.

By CMT photos@ColinMadisonphoto

 Going Up

Perseverance doesn’t make perfect

Providence can steamroll

Closeup on pounds of makeup I wore

Flattening out blueprinted lives

Till the lines of roads

Crisscross what looks unnatural

Or like a cake that was decorated

By a drunken man

Who designed one thing

But it came out another

Currents cross wire

The brain spin

Out of control

Or slow to a crawl

My favorite costume!

What was there

Minutes before

And was so sure

Slipped off onto the floor

Or up beyond the last row

Breathe one and two

It returns as a clue

Settling back in

It must go on

Part of the show

 NaMoWriPo #13 comes from going to see the film Wicked Little Letters tonight. A wonderful British comedy with one of my favorite actors, Olivia Coleman. It has a very serious core in the movie that I tried to capture here in this poem.

 

Wicked Words

Welts from invisible sparring

Tossed about and jarring

Rusted chains locked

Bound beliefs stocked

Inside a stark interior

With no mirror

Clammers to express

her outward zest

she is told to hold

her inner gold

not to express what is bold

love whispered is cold

from the hand

of the man

that is a father

crushing his daughter

who has desires

and tires

of not speaking

she is leaking

learned hate

from this state

he spake

she quakes

to turn all around

she makes a sound

it is a dull roar

from her very core

 NaMoWriPo poem #12: Just thinking here listening to my trusty space heater in the chilly spring.

Turn Ons

A drone, constant hum

Emits from the warmth or cold

That keeps me just right

To stave off winter’s icy finger

That reaches my toes

Tingling surrounded by fuzzy slippers

Yet not enough

So, I hit the button

On my black tower

To buzz away the frost

Thinking of warmer climates

How those same toes would

Be in sandals

Wriggling in hot sand

Running to the water

Relieving them from certain searing

And the sea

Splashing over them

As the wave returns

Siphoning wet solid beach

A hole sinking deeper

My toes freeze

Delighted to be