NaMoWriPo #28: I was going to try for a few more poems tonight, but I just want to stop here as I'm outta gas. The next poem I publish here I'll work on it first not one of these quick takes.

I was listening to my son doing his nightly routine thinking about how his days are shaped by his “little marches”. He has done this type of comfort or need to walk/run for many years. He started doing it sometime once he started going to school and it has expanded over the years. The noises are comforting and communicate for him his mood and it is just his daily song. I love hearing him! Sometimes I do not hear it and I’ll be on the phone and someone will ask me about what the noise is and I’ll say, “Oh, that’s just my son. He’s happy.”

 Spectrum Exercise

Your heavy footfalls on wooden floors

One, two, three, four

He and I on a happy day a year ago!

Often a march or romp

This you do in the mornings

A slow slide across the floor

Mid-morning a bounce

That gets you out the door

To return in the afternoon

Up and down like a rushing wave

From your domicile to the living room

Round the kitchen and back

Cackling with giggles at invisible companions

Or a secret phrase or thought

It comes not in ones but twos

Threes or more

Stomping it out on the floor

Dancing wildly while laughing

In the evening it is time to pace

A race of words coming

Politics, weather is your tether

Your chase of thoughts

That swing round and round

As the ball is trapped 'round the pole

And words have run out

The soldier’s step

Returns and you are

Grunting and groaning

A gleeful tune

That is all your own

With song embedded

As sighs and slides of scales

Crooning loudly, fitting you together

filling in the cracks

that have formed as you dealt

with more than you thought you could or should

A putting away of the day

Contented to be at home

Headed to the winddown

You shut the door

Until tomorrow’s exercise resumes

 

NaMoWriPo #27

Give Me a Clue

In the mornings poems flow

On the way to work, I go

In the evening nothing’s there

Yes, the cupboard is completely bare

If only I could capture quick

Thoughts that are like a thrown stick

I have no faithful companion to retrieve them

If I did I wouldn’t run

Into problems walking from room to room

Feeling like an empty loom

Where someone forgets

As soon as she sits

To type this up for you

Then she hasn’t a clue

 NaMoWriPo #26: Perfunctory tonight, but I had to do it. I feel sooooooooo much better than a year ago! The picture is me sitting on my couch a couple of hours out of surgery feeling horrible with a long recovery ahead of me. Now, I’m really glad I went through with it as it is lovely to be pain-free! Many thanks to my husband, son, sister, and friends who kept me going during my recovery.

Shoulder Good as New

It has been a year

Since muscle was anchored and scraped

To be sewn back to where it had escaped

Afraid of the cure more than the pain

Was hard for me to explain

To people who don’t put up with such crap

They get it done before they snap

I on the other hand let it slide

Ignoring the inconvenient side

So, I can’t raise my left arm

What could be the harm?

Each month my shoulder

Feels more like a dead boulder

Except for the active ache

That keeps me constantly awake

So, I gave in and set the date

A year later I feel really great!

Normal feeling and function

has given me more gumption

To not postpone fixing pain

To repeat this cycle would be insane

 NaMoWriPo #25: The orchid I’ve somehow kept alive for 6 years now!

 

Orchid Choir

Green spidery legs

Sticking out from stick-like roots

Do not scream beauty

Curved brown branches

Change into velvety lime

Where first bulbs explode

Looking like strange alien pods

Waiting for small beings

To crawl out and greet us

One day the pods unfold

One at a time revealing

Round snow-colored petals

Who turns toward the sun

Greeting her revealing their freckles

Flecked with sharp pinks,

And tiny bits of orange

That seems to bounce

As each bud pops

They harmonize together

Giving grace to the room

 NaMoWriPo #24: I will say that this doesn’t happen as much anymore but when it does, this is how I feel. My adult autistic son handles so many things better than he used to but when he needs me, I feel it.

 Emergency Contact

Driving to get you

Your voice jarred

What was not new

From a space deep

That rose to the surface

The bruises that stay hidden

Until an emergency

That used to be a daily

Someone says, “Come now”

Back then voices of strangers, teachers, friends

This moment is yours

“come now” startled me

And I slid into a place

That cut down where

The whispered worries

Party all night

To say you are not all right

I stare at those tender patches

That appeared with the tears

Pushed by fears and panic

Borrowed from you

It bellows from me

As I race to be with you

NaMoWriPo #22 I’m just feeling a bit whiney with my husband embarking on a trip for the weekend. He’s headed to a funeral and anymore when we are separated, I think about the bigger gulf that happens when one of us will be alone ultimately and I dread it for either of us.

 Poem #23 is a dumping of things that happen in teaching special ed. Emotions are smooshed into a poem as I've got to put them somewhere.

 

Separation Anxiety

I don’t want to go to bed

Because you aren’t there

There’s no point in making dinner

As I am making it for one

Going out isn’t on my agenda

because I can’t converse with you

Gone are the things I want to do

Without my love, without my love

 

Elephant’s Room

Commentary comes in all forms

Fast and furious

Fueled by joy or anger

It can be a stranger

That delivers the final straw

They hold over you

Saying they’ll sue

For a tiny thing done

Or left undone

You are shunned

Put on hold

Slapped with cold

Hard, icy fingers

That squeezes the life

Out of what you enjoyed

You avoid doing more

Because of what is

Is being judged

Drug through the mud

Because it was issued

That you were not perfect

At “thus and so”

But you didn’t know

How to serve

In a way to save

The day for this person

That expected a lot

More than you sought to give

You live with an open heart

To make your little space as welcoming

That you can

To span further than rules

In schools that box kids in

You think it is a sin

Making your head spin

That they won’t forgive

Letting you in

Where these strangers have been

To resend pulling from the right bin

The one where the elephant lives

 NaMoWriPo #21: Too many thoughts tonight. “When a door closes a window opens,” I think is the saying. What happens when all you have is a closed door and the window never opens? That combined with these magazine covers I saw the other day in the drugstore made me think…

 Nine Lives

Time steals away on soft cat-like paws

Leaping lightly from surface to perch

To lurch to a halt

Lingering at the window

Silently hunting from safety

Desire pulsing for the prey

Just out of reach

It lays down

Resolved to watch

Tail twitching

Eyes dilated seeing everything

Wanting more now

It wriggles slightly

Settling in

Waiting patiently

For the door to open

Before what is taunting it

Gets away

 NaMoWriPo # 20: I’ve missed 5 days of poetry writing because my mind was too on fire with casting decisions and pure exhaustion. Still coming out of it, but I can’t hardly let this day float away without an attempt as it is Shakespeare’s Birthday plus the anniversary of the day, I kissed my love for the first time and never looked back!

 

As This Old Moon Wanes

Methinks the old moon

Looks down from her watery orb

Surrounded by a haze

That stays enhancing

Her glowy eye that shines so bright

She gazes at us

Our eyes have gone from electric

To well-washed glass

With pinpricks of imperfections and bubbles

In the corners

Yet center focus

From https://unsplash.com/@aronvisuals

That goes in and out

Searching for each other’s

Thoughts and sighs

Under yonder companion

The bold harbinger in the sky

That said “lean into love”

Where we cuddled for warmth

In the sharp April wind

Gazing up wondering

If we would do this ever again

Or wander away from this night

Wrapped up in the dark robe of night

Thrown over our shoulders

We didn’t move

Stood in the moon’s spotlight

Willing her to marry us

Blessing what future we imagined

But we have but slumbered here

Whilst these visions did appear

Better than our dreams, my dear

 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