Dumped upon
and buried
under months
of icy glances,
beneath the layers
I’m frozen
solid as winter dirt.
Somehow I must
find the warmth
I need
to release
my hold on bitterness,
so I can freely grasp
the sunny daffodils,
who always know
when it’s time
to rise.
I Borrowed My Father’s Circular SawWhen I was young
my arms could curve
all the way to my father’s smile,
and his warmth encircled me
till I saw my dreams.
Then I turned my back
as I built my life,
eclipsing him into darkness,
yet I always knew where he was –
my ebb and flow of life.
Now the dimming stars
foretell his numbered days.
There seems no time to ask him,
“Can we extend our ladders
and demolish these growing clouds?”
Today begins the PAD (poem a day) challenge at Poetic Asides. Although my health is a day-to-day battle, I am attempting to compete again. Armed with an arsenal of medications, I am back in the trenches. I will be posting my poems here and at Poetic Asides. Please leave comments that would help me choose my TOP 5 for the month, as that is all I can finally submit at the end of the month. I appreciate all the support my friends, poet community, and family have given me to keep me going. THANKS!
PROMPT 1: Write a lonely poem.
Cat’s purr
enticing me
fighting to stay awake.
Chair knowing me
my weight pressing
our lonely embrace.
Clock mocking me
chiming in
filling my nothing day.
Cat seeking warmth again
playing with my furniture
with Shadows hiding the Sun.
Could I be losing
more than a game
as Pain becomes my friend?
Snow fell softly
into rounded mounds
then hardened.
Little critters
leave puncture wounds
as they scurry on.
They can search all day,
but find no food.
I am hoarding
my share.
Cheek cutting wind
turns my face
to find warmth.
I can search all day,
but find no affection.
I am snow,
dark shadowed
and blue.
So hardened.
I am strong now
sitting on the rocker.
My feet push against
the wooden plank floor
and I cuddle my elbows
inside of my sleeves.
Looking through the screen
to the hillside beyond,
the earth’s boney spine
curves up within its
fall sweater, too,
trying to find warmth.
The farmer has abandoned
the field and the waving arms
of dying corn
try to lure my eyes
into the depressions
between its rows.
But leaves are already
clinging in broken bits
to the bottom of my jeans.
I have traveled
through the maze.
I pick them off.
No sense wondering
what I left
clinging in the cornfield
now that I am
free.
My grandma’s radiator had a bleed valve
that had a little wicker woven tassel
hanging from its side.
She warned me not to touch it
’cause it was HOT!
Sometimes she let me watch her
turn the valve with the bleed key
releasing collected pressure
with a hissing steam.
sssssssss…
Grandma is no longer with me.
I’m afraid I need that key.
I feel the heating pressure
building next to me,
’cause you are HOT!
sssssssss…