(Poem 2 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
Will my awakening
shock me like a lightning strike
send sizzling energy
bolting from my fingertips
and announce to all in
earshot that I am alive?
Will my awakening
descend gentle as
falling snow and land
on my eyelashes
spinning a new reality
forever in a moment?
Or will my awakening
happen in my sleep
while I dream, a bit of
saliva drooled onto my pillow
and I have no idea it
even happened?
@Genuine Joe’s mid-day – 2nd poem of the year
(Poem 1 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
David is beautiful,
especially when reading
through smudgy glasses
wrapped in my thread-bare sweater
because he didn’t think he needed
a coat for our date
and is now sacrificing his comfort
so we can sit outside where it is
breezy and cool and
a homeless man is making
him uncomfortable by sitting not
far from us spitting on the floor
every so often.
David is beautiful,
especially when he
does not complain about
his terrible hot chocolate
that was not even stirred properly
so he got an entire swig
of molten grossness near the end,
and his cinnamon concoction is
hard as a rock and
I can tell he doesn’t like it.
David is beautiful,
especially when letting me
read my novel out loud to him
that is mixing mythologies
like nobody’s business,
but he listens anyway
because my son mistakenly bought
it for him when I was the one
who wanted it for research I was doing
on I can’t remember what,
and no matter because I love
an excuse to read out loud
because it is one of my favorite
things to do in the whole world.
David is beautiful
when he would rather be
playing his video games and
watching his shows or building
something out of nothing
in his studio but instead
sits with me, Anderson Lane traffic
buzzing by, grackles hoping for
handouts, drinking water from
a dog dish,
the sun doing little to warm him,
but he knows I love Genuine Joe’s
for tea and writing
so much that he bought
me a gift card
and brought me here
and waited in a long line
to get me pumpkin bread
and hot tea
while I sat and read
to my heart’s content.
@Genuine Joe’s mid-day 1st poem of the year
Shacks who shriek, spiders who skate,
werewolves teach, moons deflate.
Scheming rat and wild dog howl,
soul-sucking beasts, murder most foul.
If what you fear most is simply fear,
the time-turned solution is plain and clear.
Face the truths that make you quake,
be it darkness or heights, failure or snake.
Retrace your steps past trauma and pain –
executioner’s blade, monsters on a train.
Save yourself with the strength you find.
Be your own hero; leave the past behind.
Stand up to the demon who threatens joy,
be it anger, depression, the urge to destroy.
The time-turned solution is plain and clear
if what you fear most is simply fear.
Tonight I watched Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban with friends. The twists and turns are quite complex in this story line, but all converge to elucidate themes of facing fear, unmasking the truth, and fighting for justice for the wrongly accused. It is very well done and inspires poetry for me when I watch it.
Riddle for a name,
secrets lay blame.
Speak in snake
for everyone’s sake.
Chambers of cave
and porcelain grave
where myrtle trees grow
and willows blow.
Bad business afoot,
full confidence put,
help always found,
if you ask around.
Spider trails lead
to answers indeed,
but questions grow
increasing woe.
Medusa-like eyes
leave us petrified,
unless evil reject
and sight reflect.
Then blinded beast,
with anger increased,
will wound to kill
lest Phoenix tears heal.
The book destroy,
this truth employ:
all blood is pure,
of that I’m sure.
My friends and I are watching all the movies…all the Magical Beasts and all the Harry Potters. This was the poem I wrote while watching Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets.
Mahogany suede-scented candle
lifts my prayers heavenward
petitions spit like sparks out
to the beyond where golden stars
balance on black silk with shiny
pearl strings of galaxies in a coil
teakwood, oil, flame, light
magic cradled in Japanese pottery
hands pressed clay together
in meditative knowing aligning
time, place, now, never
where all the answers sit
comfortably together unbothered
by the questions.
Dust more valuable than gold,
treasures worth their weight
in memory.
Antique steamer trunks
stacked at the foot of the bed
hold space, time –
capsules layered with matter.
I have been buying trunks on Marketplace to use as storage. I never liked the plastic totes and cardboard boxes I used to keep my items in. These feel full of mystery and history. They even inspire poetry.
Photo by Karolina Grabowska: https://www.pexels.com/photo/woman-sitting-on-the-couch-wiping-her-sweat-with-tissue-7195033/
It has been a year to the day since my last post and I am in a very different place emotionally. Last year, I was much more hopeful and excited about healing, beginning a new school year, finishing my Master’s, and the restful summer I had experienced. Today, I am tired…tired of the Texas heat, tired of dealing with the nonsense required in the teaching field, tired of living paycheck to paycheck, tired of being unable to afford the medical care I need to be healthy and thrive, tired of not having the time or energy to write.
I have decided that I do not like the road I am traveling and need to make some changes. I have wished and dreamed of making change but kept my focus on priorities that are not in line with the reality of the new adventures I want to pursue. I hereby declare that I am no longer putting energy into goals that line up with my previous pursuits. I am going to do what is required of me day to day to meet my obligations, but I am going to reserve the purist, most energetic, liveliest parts of myself for my creative pursuits and begin in earnest to create the reality I yearn for.
All I know is that I want to work remotely, write, be creative, and make enough money to be comfortable and pay for my medical needs. I’m putting it out there and beginning my journey. I’m tired of being tired.
(Photo by David Mao on Unsplash)
I have had a wonderful summer of healing from hip replacement surgery, finishing my Master’s degree in English and Creative Writing, taking long restful naps, and sipping tea while I immerse myself in story.
Tomorrow I return to work sharing my passion for the written word with others as an English Literary Arts and Reading teacher to secondary students (grades 6-12.) My goal this school year is to foster a classroom that encourages both reading and writing as methods of discovery, escape, healing, and growth. Whether the students decide to join me on this journey is another story. I will share weekly moments of triumph and failure as the year unfolds. This will be my 23rd year in education, but my first year of approaching the subject matter in this way. I am excited about the opportunity to try something new.
Wish my students and me luck! It should be quite the adventure.
If the Goblet of Fire
spits out your name
expect to face dragons
and battle sea creatures
You’re doomed if you do
and doomed if you don’t
for the game is rigged
and no one really wins
Contenders end up in a
graveyard of darkness
Save who you can
as you fight for your life
because you will face
suffering greater than any
you have ever known
Persist through the mazes
of self-doubt and despair
Stay true to your values
remember your friends
Speak truth to oppressors
stare down the barrel
of hatred’s unrepentance
to earn peace in the end
This poem was written during a Harry Potter marathon with my friend Debbie M. while watching the fourth movie Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.
What is your greatest fear?
Finish it with silliness.
Spiders stumbling in roller skates,
tyrants donning absurd apparel,
cobras turned jack-in-the-box,
full moon a deflating balloon.
A bit of whimsy bordering on
nonsense disarms the boogeyman.
Don’t wait for your father –
he’s not coming.
Save yourself with joy,
for laughter is fear’s nemesis.
This poem was written during a Harry Potter marathon with my friend Debbie M. while watching the third movie Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban.
