A storm charges and clears the air

Get used to me, little honey
Yeah, get used to me, my girl
Don’t  get broken up
When I just I can’t fill your cup
Your inflated expectations
Could ruin our relations
Accept what you got
What I am, and what I’m not
Yeah, get used to me, my girl

You have life to live, little honey
Free choices, they’re all yours
Quit looking to me
Or you won’t become free
You’ll have to make your own way
You have to see you’re okay
I’m not unsympathetic
But you’re just so frenetic
You have life to live, little honey

You’ve hurt me, but that’s all done, little honey
I won’t be keeping score
Life does that to us
There’s no need to fuss
There’s no real blame
No hangin’ on to shame
I’m fine, still lovin’
though you’re pushin’ and you’re shovin’
You’ve hurt me, but that’s all done, little honey

I’m proud of you, little honey,
So proud of you, my girl
The strength you show
Is needed, don’t you know
You’re a flame, you’re a force
Gonna go and set a course
People need your power
You’re gonna help them to flower
I’m proud of you, my girl

 

 

NaPoWriMo Day 21 – a poem with surreal images

Waking, I saw that by mistake in the night I had knocked my lower leg off.

There it lay on the dusty floor by the bedroom wall

like a pale, Caucasian ham.

How could this have happened?

Had I had an intense dream,

knocked it too hard against the wooden foot of the bed

breaking ligaments so that it fell with a thump on the floor

while I slept?

There was dried blood there,

partly wiped up, as if by me in my sleep.

This was significant.

Wearing a makeshift prosthesis,

I picked up and carried the severed appendage

asking around—had anyone heard anything?

No one had, or was overly concerned.

It would have to have this seen to.

I knew it was important to have all the parts.

That is all I remember, because I must have fainted.

And when I woke my leg was better,

though it clicks now when I walk.

 

NaPoWriMo Day 19 – abecedarian poem

Breaking some eggs

As if he wanted to know
better than just to hear me
call it out over the sound of the
dryer, that comfortable, clean
electric sound. But I answered
fairly loudly, but only just over the
general din: “No, I didn’t make it with
ham. I don’t eat ham anymore;
I didn’t want to make two, and
jam them both in that small pan.
Knock it off, will you, with the
lame questions? You said you were
making something for yourself.
Not about food, is it, anyway?
Out with it. What do you mean?
Play this game if you want, but
questions like that will get you nothing.
Reactions is all you want.”
Stirring the eggs, I glared at the
tile, splattered with months of
ugly grease. I poured the mixture
very slowly into the pan.
Why did everything
X- out the warmth?
Years of this, and I was finally, completely
zonked.

 

NaPoWriMo Day 18 – poem of loss

Salt and lemon

arpeggios from the living room

and the fireplace fan runs.

My love is ill, and I am all heaviness

“One, two, three,” says the piano teacher.

“These notes come in triplets.”

Three notes, three months,

Father, Son, and Holy Ghost

 

NaPoWriMo Day 17 – scene from an unusual perspective

New Girl

 

I hope I’m in the right place this time.

Why is she looking at me? Is it my top? Hair?

God, where will I sit? What if I take someone’s place?

He’s too hot to sit by. He’s a nerd, but I hope he’s not a creep.

As long as I can stay far away from that weird dude from the Fair who kept staring at me.

I can’t get a read on the teacher. Looks boring. Sounds ditsy.

I’m going to be so lost in this class—it’s so dumb that I have to be here.

I so need to check my phone, but I have to see if they’re uptight here.

Shit—I’m sweating—why is the heat on, and can’t there be any windows?

At least the smell of that guy will cover mine—phew!

Did she say something to me? A question? What?

Oh, thanks. This text weighs a ton!

Now stop looking at me, just look away, will you?

I’m just going to write in my notebook. Something, anything.

I have no idea what’s going on.

 

NaPoWriMo Day 16: list poem

Today’s List

A line of sixteen dots of light across the room from a half-raised window blind

Four crispy fish sticks with a dollop of mayonnaise, ketchup and sauerkraut

A row of fat binders on a high shelf, containing years of study notes

The soft roll of a patio door opening, and rain on thickening turf

A black dog expectantly angled below salmon in the pan.

A faraway train carrying a heavy, important load

A pool of yellow light on a quilted table runner

A spider descending along a green curtain

Three interruptions by a wondering child

Soft dark, as I move through, familiar

Unaccountable silence in my ears

A faded cotton pillowcase

Journal on the stand

Deep sigh

Sleep

 

NaPoWriMo Day 14: Playing with homophones

Underwhere, Deer Luvs?

 

Oar and oar the splashing came

and drenched my spatial loves

they wepped and lepped and cride four me

to know releaf fr’above.

The waves were hi and kohled and dark

end awl were pail and whaling

till won bye won, the leeks were sprung

and downwords all were saling.

Goodbuy, fare deers

Prey cry no more,

End udder finial prayers

Life is crewel,

Sci for not

Desend thoughs long, lassed stares

 

NaPoWriNo Day 6: Possibilities in my canoe

If my solo canoe has just the right balance

and weight to lean close balance

reach blade push deep dip curl

balance, not tip

If waves come straight on

Straight on, spray, glitter cut, slide through

cut, not side wallow, slosh, lurch, tip

If weeds wave deep, copper brown, distant

distant deep, not squeaking, wrapping, tangling

deep, dancing, waving on

If current is slow, unambiguous, settled

staid, not shifting, tidal, whirling, pushing

slow

If my arms, my wrists are strong

keen, clean, powerful, not trembling,

aching, burning, faltering

not faltering

not faltering

 

NaPoWriMo Day 5: Statement of Purpose

This poem is an adaptation of the Statement of Purpose of the Canadian Girls in Training (CGIT, a church based group for girls founded in 1915 in which I participated in the seventies).

As a foreign girl in America,

it is my purpose

to seek patriotism,

know the flag salute

And thus, with the help of public schools

become the resident alien

the economy would have me be.

 

NaPoWriMo Day 2: A poem that asks questions

Love in the second half of life

 

Will I overhear you only listening, your thoughts

better left unspoken, except to me?

Will you turn to me, eyes light up,

with bewilderment, and the shyness of a man?

After a while, will you hold my hand

Your warmth penetrating more than words?

Will I watch you talk with a brother, mother, daughter

Of old days and half-grown dreams?

Will I love the boy you were so long ago

Tenderly hold you wonder, and your pain?

Will we savor seasons, no more rushing?

Will time be flowing backwards, forwards, standing still?