Poems? July 6, 2008

Ten Poems

 

“You just have to compose ten poems by Wednesday”, the professor informs us, with a smile.

Ten poems?!, I think to myself, I’ve never written one poem!

 

Hours are spent with paper and pen.

Eventually, after painstaking effort of thought,

Words are written and positioned into the semblance of a poem.

 

Not sure what I’m doing, but hopefully, it’s poetry.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wonderland

 

The soft breeze blows,

Whispering to me,

Gently nudging me toward the mountain.

 

The robin’s egg ceiling above me

Allows gleaming beams of gold to fall upon my face,

Inviting me into the nature before me.

 

The birds call to me as well,

Singing a sweet song of salutation.

They welcome me back,

Greeting me with their melodies.

 

I step out onto the trail ahead,

The grit of dirt and rocks crunching beneath my boots,

Like the sound of hard snow being further compressed.

 

At once, I feel immersed in the unrefined beauty.

Recent rains have returned dazzling color to the desert floor.

A billowy blanket of brilliant green rolls over the landscape,

Dimpled with blazing yellow and deep purple flora.

 

I am fooled into believing I am alone.

A middle-aged couple with a sprite young Spaniel

Turns the corner just ahead,

Destroying my delightful deception.

 

They disappear quickly.

And I am back down the rabbit hole once more.

 

The Morning Exchange

 

Music is blaring from my nightstand.

Cats are pacing, roaring at my feet.

The alarm clock shouts 6:00 am.

 

Wait!

Maybe it’s actually Sunday.

Please, let it be Sunday.

No, no – it’s not Sunday.

 

Then, maybe it’s a holiday.

Isn’t Arbor Day a holiday?

I think it’s Arbor Day.

It’s got to be Arbor Day

I promise to go plant a tree if I can just get 20 more minutes of sleep.

Okay, so it’s not a holiday, either.

 

Actually, I think I might be getting sick.

Everyone at the office is sick right now,

I could be sick.

My throat is a tad scratchy

And I’m feeling a bit warm.

Alright, so I’m not sick, either.

 

Acknowledging my defeat,

I force my oyster eyes open,

And rip myself from my cocoon . . .

 

 

Resurrection

 

It used to begin the last Friday of November,

But now the torture begins before the Halloween candy is gone.

(With any luck at all, we’ll see green and red in conjunction with red, white, and blue this year.)

 

The madness!

The frenzy!

The hurried masses advancing upon every shopping mall within a 50-mile radius!

 

Buy it!

Charge it!

 

“Merry Christmas!”

“Happy Hanukah!”

“Happy Kwanzaa!”

“Oh screw it, Happy Holidays!”

 

From Halloween to New Year’s

Holiday hysteria consumes us,

Devouring our depleted souls.

 

Twinkling lights

Smiling children

Fresh-baked cookies

Turkey, ham, potatoes, green bean casserole

Family

Friends

Giving

Charity

Our spirits are revived once more.

 

 

 

 

 

Perfection

 

My hair is mostly gray,

You could feed a starving child

With the money I spend on dye.

But many women don’t have the luxury of gray hair,

Chemotherapy leaving its’ loathsome mark.

 

The glasses that sit upon my face

Were placed there twenty-five years ago.

But without them,

I could not type this

Or read my husband’s face.

 

My eyes are inferior in function,

And they lack beauty, too.

My mother says “chocolate”,

I say, “plain”.

But I know “plain” is better than “none”.

 

The modest chest bestowed upon me

Has never made a man look twice.

But rather “modest” than mastectomy.

 

My mother’s family appears to walk upon stilts,

While I walk upon stumps.

My father’s genetic code.

But many people would give an arm

To walk with my second-rate appendages.

Battle having ravaged their own.

 

I am thankful for my

Gray hair,

Poor eyesight,

Average eyes,

Flat chest,

Short legs,

PERFECTION.