My Last Easter Dress

NanU is driving the bus again this week & has given us a mission “Of Excess. Of Far Too Much. Of Going Over the Edge.” If there was ever a time in my life that was “too much” it was the days surrounding my mother’s death. On Easter Sunday 2005, six days after her death, we held a Celebration of Life service. Several people had prepared remarks & then others just got up to talk about what my mom meant to them. I read a short essay about her & then I actually attempted to sing the last bit (...the memory that says “Mom” to me is the one where she would come into my room at night to tuck me in and sing, “When I was just a little girl, I asked my Mommy what will I be? Will I be pretty? Will I be rich? Here’s what she said to me: Que sera sera! Whatever will be will be. The future’s not ours to see. Que sera sera!”)

Knowing in advance that we were going to have this service I spent some time several weeks before her death thinking about what I would wear. This is what I ended up with.

My Last Easter Dress

I am choosing a dress

to wear to my

mother’s funeral.

I search the racks

for the correct.

The sober.

The dress

that shows

respect.

How can I choose

what to wear for you

when you’re not here

to give me that look?

What would you want

for this public tribute?

I know you don’t

want to talk about it.

So we don’t.

In the end

I make my wildly

inappropriate

choice and feel

a secret glee

because I hope

that you would

think it was

too much.

My final rebellion.

The Poetry Bus - Now with Explosions!

NanU is the most excellent bus driver this week & in keeping with the season has told use to write a poem about: "about bursting, exploding, restarting, getting it in gear, waking up."

I think that's a great prompt, which is why my poem isn't really about any of those things. Well, it's sort of about bursting and exploding. Anyway, after you've read my poem go to her site to read some other fabulous poems!

Spring

The caramel
macchiato
of winter
gives way to a
fizzy green goddess
health drink.
I open my eyes
and my arms wide,
breathing deeply
of this verdant
nourishment.
I can feel my chest
expand with joy
and something else –
something that is
not quite joy –
something I can
no longer contain…
Ahhh Chooo!

Ah Spring!

Yes, I took this picture of myself mid-sneeze. It's VERY hard to do. Just try it. And don't mock me!

The Poetry Bus is a Crooked Line

Here is my poem for the Poetry Bus. The fabulous all right lazy driver is ME! See here for the other riders and my prompt. I'm lazy because I'm using a poem I wrote for the Magpie Tales & One Shot Wednesday memes in January. So, sorry if you've already read it.

But before we get to my poem, here is one from a wonderful woman at my church. Betsy is a great person, and not just because she reads my blog. Ha! And I love her response to the prompt - don't you?

Crooked Line

I am a crooked line

I go where I want

do what I please

but then I risk

getting tangled.

But aren't crooked lines

easier to draw

than straight ones?

Yes, but perhaps 

I need a bit 

more structure.

BBK 4-8-2011

And here's mine:

Crooked Line

I am a crooked line

in all manner of things,

bumping hips with you
as we walk this road.
I veer into the wood
creating havoc
in the underbrush -
no stalker of prey, I.
Over and over
you rescue me
from thorns of
my own making.
There is a spring
in this wood.
Icy water in an
ancient tin dipper.
Thirst quenched,
smiling,
I let you lead
me home.

Look Out! The Poetry Bus is All Over the Road!

All right Bus riders, I'm at the wheel of TFE's Poetry Bus again. Please fasten those nonexistent seat belts & we'll be on our way. Thank you.

One of my very favorite poetry bus poems that I’ve written was the one where we had to all start with the same first line. So I’m copying that idea. There are no rules about the number of lines and rhyming or not rhyming. Simply write a poem that starts with this phrase:

I am a crooked line

I’m cheating, because I’ve stolen that line from a poem I wrote back in January. You may go looking for it if you want, but I’ll post it later (don’t want to influence you guys). So, write a poem, post it, come back here & give me your link in the comments. I’ll post all the links at the bottom of the page. Let's roll!

Wow - look who's first! Totalfeckineejit!
Jeanne Iris
Brian Miller
Helen
Lolamouse
Elaine
Betsy & Me!
M.A.S.
Niamh
Karen
Lucy
120 Socks
Jinksy
Dr. FTSE
Peter Goulding
Izzy
Enchanted Oak
Poetikat
Titus
Margaret

The Poetry Bus - The Boundless Sea

This week's bus driver is JoAnne of Titus the Dog. Titus, er, JoAnne is an excellent driver and poet. She has asked us to write about one of the following animals (for her own sneaky reasons - go here to see why): 1) The Dolphin; 2) The Gecko; 3) The Panther; 4) The Bushbaby; 5) The Archerfish; 6) The Kingfisher; 7) The Harrier; or 8) The Ring-tailed Lemur. 


I chose the Kingfisher, specifically the Sacred Kingfisher, because of what I read about it on Wikipedia.

Image from Wikipedia

The Boundless Sea


I don’t do water.
It’s alien and alive
with evil intention.
Really it is and so
thank you, but I
will just stand here
on the shore and watch
the brilliant Kingfisher
make its capricious
pronouncement
about who lives and dies
in the boundless sea.

The Poetry Bus - Hanging by a Vowel

MuseSwings is the bus driver this week & gave us three different prompts. I'm not sure I'm following the first one exactly correctly, but if you've followed the bus at all you'll see that not following the directions is, in fact, an important quality in a bus passenger. Here's what she asked:

Write a poem with illustration. Write and draw to your heart's content, and bring it along.

And here's what she got. 

E M P    T H Y

 

The gallows await for want of an A

(or is it an O?). Oh if I knew I

wouldn’t feel that noose

trapping the words in my head

(you expect me to talk with this thing on?).

You think I’m good with those words

but I’m not.

I watch your wretched face

and consider my verbal options

“Let’s go kick their teeth in,”

feels right, but is probably not

what you’re looking for.

Sigh. Will “I love you,” do?

Please note - these are original Bug drawings. Try to not be jealous. Now, go here to read other poems! That second prompt looked really interesting - go see who might use it!

Poetry Bus - Prime Fail

Uiscebots is the poetry bus driver this week & gave us an excellent task: 1. Go somewhere new. 2. Experience it. 3. Write about it. I was planning on going to the Columbus Arts & Crafts Museum to check out an exhibit that contains some of Ellen’s work, but Dr. M & I decided to save that for next week. Instead, I did something very different* than going to a museum.

After you’ve read my poem please go to Uiscebot’s blog to check out the other poets. We have a great bunch on the bus. Why, there’s practically no punching or taking of pictures while a person is asleep and their fly is unzipped (oh, wait – that was my 8^th grade field trip).

Prime Fail

An assault was planned.

Provisions laid by.

Route mapped.

It was in and out

precision at

its finest.

Within an hour

the troop withdrew

the field

only to find

its trusty steed

had gone lame.

The troop ate

a sandwich

and bought

some socks

while waiting

for the

cavalry.

*I went to a local outlet center to purchase some shoes. And ended up having the day from heck. My car died & I waited about 5 hours before it was towed home. If I liked to shop it might have been kind of fun, but I don’t. And there was the issue of many dollars being needed to fix the car. So my poem is just slightly different than I had planned for it to be. Sigh.

The Poetry Bus is on the Rampage!

The fabulous Watercats are driving the bus this week! Not only are they fabulous musicians, they have given us a fabulous prompt - and frankly I can't wait to see what they do with it. Here are the details:

1: PROTEST
2: IN A FOUR LINE POEM
3: WITH A RHYME THAT HAS A RHYTHM SUCH AS THUS;
     dum dum dunm dum dum dee dum
     dum de dum de dum dee dum
     dum de dum de dum dee dee
     dum de dum de dum de dee.
(or something).
My part of the process there-after is to turn (try to turn) alll.. (or as many as possible) of ye're verses in to PROTEST song... (this may or may not happen as quickly as I would hope).

So, here's my effort - as suggested by my father, this is a rant about the bail-out of the banking industry here in the US & the bonuses that some of the executives received as a result. It's actually kind of hard to do a four line rant - but here is mine:

There’s thieves and robbers in the land
Slick suits take money from my hand
“The bank can’t die it just can’t die”
Well, yes it can don’t buy that lie!

Now, make your way over to the Watercats site to check out the other rants!

Poetry Bus - Drinking at the Wheel

The most excellent Peter Goulding is driving the bus this week. He’s apparently my brother in self-deprecation, so I like him especially. Of course, unlike me, he is actually a very good writer. Just kidding! About the “unlike me” part, I mean, not about his writing. No yelling!

Okay moving on. He gave us a choice of three prompts. One was to write a poem about pancakes (in honor of Shrove Tuesday) in the voice of your favorite poet, & I was going to write like Dr. Seuss, but it’s Friday and apparently there’s no rhyming in my head on Friday. Another prompt was to write a poem in the style of a French rondeau, but again with the rhyming. Maybe later. 

So, I’m left with the third option, which was to write about Stupid Things Done When Drunk. Now, on the surface, since I don’t drink, you might think this one would be impossible for me. But I do recall one instance about 22 years ago. If you’ll notice, the first lines might indicate that I was planning to rhyme this thing, but in the spirit of being foggy in the head that notion just devolved into the effort below.

Fuzzy Navel*

I never was a drinker –

in fact I never am.

Could I hold my liquor?

Your guess is as good as mine.

I thought to tie one on

about a score ago

with a drink made from fruit –

that should be easy enough.

Two hours later

(making that awful

awful pucker face)

I took my last tiny sip

from my one drink,

imagined that my

lips tingled

and worried about

driving myself home.

Wander on over to Peter’s place to read some other great poems. But beware, once you’re finished you might have a powerful hankering for some pancakes.

*A fuzzy navel is a mixed drink made from peach schnapps and orange juice. Generally an equal amount of each component is used to concoct it, although quantities may vary. It can also be made with lemonade or a splash of vodka depending on the drinker's taste. By adding 1 or 1½ oz of vodka to the fuzzy navel you have what is called a hairy navel, the more "hair" referring to the increased strength of alcohol in the drink. From Wikipedia

The Poetry Bus Gets Fleeced!

TFE is driving the bus! He gave us some really intriguing pictures, with the stipulation that our poem had to be 14 lines long, and I thought I was writing a poem for the second picture. But when I came up for air my effort had nothing whatsoever to do with a couple of boys, a donkey and a dog. So I decided that it matched, vaguely, the prompt regarding the Van Morrison song. Here are our instructions:

“Plan B, Van Morrison has a song, 'You Don't Pull No Punches But You Don't Push The River' [go here to hear the song – it’s worth your while in my opinion]. In it he mentions 'The Veedon Fleece' I don't know what the feck that might be so write about whatever the Veedon Fleece may be to you and then whittle it down to FOURTEEN lines”

Like TFE I mostly prefer free verse for my own poetry, but I couldn’t resist the pull of the sonnet given the 14 line restriction. So, here you go, my take on the Veedon Fleece (which apparently was someone’s name, but I’m ignoring this & believing that it’s about finding something you’re searching for). After you read mine then go check out the other offerings here.

The Veedon Fleece

I want to help you drive the day away

To sink into your lonely shepherd’s mind

And find that corner tucked behind the gray

Where what I am, and what you are, unwind

The sheep are safe, locked in behind the gate

And I am here to draw you to the moon

Its waning light is bright enough to skate

Through fields and fens to find our midnight boon

Just wait my love until I loose your soul

It waits right there to be set free, unchained

It wings away just like a thought made whole

Unfettered by the care of this day’s pain

I watch the moon until it fills the sky

We watch the moon together, you and I

The Poetry Bus Gets Mean

120 Socks is driving this week & doing a fine job I must say. I hope I didn't leave the bus in too big of a mess. She gave us the choice of three prompts & I chose this one: I knew a woman who... You can read the other prompts here. But go here to check out all the riders this week.

Here's mine - yet another blast from my past. This one isn't quite so pleasant though.


I knew a woman who
wore bigotry like
a diamond ring that
she would hold out
to watch my reaction.

My eyes are
more of a window
to my soul
than most –
no secrets here
in these not
really baby browns.

That’s how I
know that
although
our skin was
the same color
and I wasn’t a
jewcatholicimmigrantgay
woman
she hated me
too.

Except for
that horror
in my not
really baby browns –

She loved that.

The Poetry Bus is on the Move...

[Note: To see the prompts & other passengers, go here. Highway Patrol officers go here.]

Did everyone read TFE's lovely biography of me? I'm apparently a shrimp these days (as if being 5'4" isn't shrimpy enough!). Ah well, at least Dr. M is quite tall enough for the both of us until science figures out how to restore me to my correct height.

So here is my effort for Monday's bus. Is it dangerous for the driver to be writing poetry too? You be the judge, but please keep in mind that I was in a very silly mood when I wrote this. I chose the middle picture prompt.

It’s kind of like -

a fish out of water -

a Yankee down South -

a frozen word from

a warm heart.

Your icy phrase

banishes me to the

cornfield until

spring.

I poke my head

around your

study door

and whisper with

great drama,

“Is it spring yet?”



The Bug is Driving the Bus

Here we go again! I'm behind the wheel & being dangerous in the curves - but I promise that you'll all arrive safely. Really!

It's Valentine's Day (or it will be on Monday - stop being so technical!), but you don't have to write any love sonnets or Conversation Heart verses. Unless you want to - go for it if that's what's on your mind. I'm listing three different picture prompts below which should hopefully stir some creative juices. I'm sorry that it's on the heels of last week's picture prompt, but not sorry enough to change it.

1. Our neighbors took this picture of the driveway across the street last week. What do you think is going on here? Make up a story about it!

2. Dr. M took this picture of furniture in the cornfield. Now that seemed extra odd to me. I supposed that perhaps a frigid tête-à-tête was going on. What do you think?

3. A closeup of the chair - I'm not sure why this icy furniture has grabbed my attention, but I would love to see what you have to say about it.

After you post your poem come back here & let me know & I'll post the link on this post. Good luck!

Here are our most excellent passengers:

Jeanne Iris

Me!

Swiss

Jeanne Iris again (don't miss it!)

Doctor FTSE

NanU

120 Socks

Karen

TotalFeckingEejit

Cad

Muse Swings

Enchanted Oak

Niahm

Peter Goulding

Crazy Field Mouse

Emerging Writer

Domestic Oub
Jinksy
Titus

The Poetry Bus - The Bug is All Wet

TotalFeckingEejit is driving his own bus this week! He had a fairly simple prompt:

Something a little different this week. There is a new website of Photography and writing HERE called Photograph Prose- 'The virtual collision of photographers and writers.' I saw it on Nuala Ní Chonchúirs blog HERE and put 3 photos in and a bit of prose, which they took, real quick and painless. So painless that I want you to visit the site have a look at the pics and words already exhibited then visit the 'UP exhibit' (clickable along the top of the page) and choose a picture to inspire some words.

After writing our poem we could upload it to the site, but Niamh stole my picture! Heh. I found the one I wanted to write about (taken by our fearless leader, no less) but I had to think about it too long & when I went back she’d already written a poem about it. Very funny. So, anyway, to see the picture that inspired the poem below, go here and read her poem, Alone at Last.

[Update: TFE sent me the picture so I could post it here - thanks TFE!]

My poem, in addition to being inspired by TFE’s photo, was inspired by Reya’s post The Great Turning. At the end of the post she had a poem by Rainer Maria Rilke, and the last verse grabbed my attention:

I circle around God, around the primordial tower.
I've been circling for thousands of years
and I still don't know: am I a falcon,
a storm, or a great song?

--Rainer Maria Rilke

There is power in the distance.

Does it harness the hot wind

of my failed argument?

There is no peace in this sea.

I shall sit and explain

it to you again.

Will it make more sense

now that the tide

has receded?

I am not a storm

or an ocean

or even a calm sky.

I am a catfish pond,

murky and sustaining.

And that’s all you

really need to know.

Remember to go back to TFE’s post to read what other bus passengers have written.

The Poetry Bus – the Heat is On

NanU is driving the bus this week & has asked us to write about something we like that other people might not like. I had posted my brilliant grapefruit poem last summer, but using it would be cheating because I hate grapefruit. Apparently a lot of people do like it. Strange.

So I decided to write about another thing that I like that I know at least one other person doesn't like (poor Dr. M). Please note: this poem is totally tongue-in-cheek; however, the sentiments expressed herein are absolutely true.

How warm is
too warm,
really?
A Bug at rest
likes to bake
until she is
just this side
of dry roasted.
Ah, glorious heat…
A Bug not at rest
requires a sudden
cessation of warmth.
A fan, perhaps?
Or open the door?
Let's turn on the air!
Get right on that Dr. M
would you please?

The Poetry Bus - Stormy Weather

TotalFeckinEejit is driving his own bus this week! He has given us the following prompt: 

Write a poem. Don't think, just feel. Sit yourself down,stay quiet, find silence, concentrate on your breathing, feel your chest rise and fall, your heart beating, blood pumping.You are alive, so alive.Breathe in and breathe out,count those breaths, slowly look into your heart, your soul, how are you? Who are you? Are you happy/sad/ lost/ found/ confused/ certain.Are you where you hoped to be, do you know yourself? Are you who you were? Who might you yet be. Where might you be? Forget what your brain tells you that you know,and forget what your brain tells you to think, listen to your breath,tell me how you feel and why you feel it. How many breaths have you taken in this life? Think of them, focus on them. How many breaths are still to be taken? Disengage the brain and write from the heart.Close your eyes examine your breath, examine your life and feel!

Well, it just so happens that last August in the midst of reading Eat Pray Love by Elizabeth Gilbert I wrote such a poem. I posted it for the One Shot Wednesday, so I apologize for the repeat for some of you.

Stormy Weather

I close my eyes.
Breathe in, breathe out.
Concentrate on that point
just over the horizon.
I imagine my thoughts
drifting by like clouds.
I imagine that I will
brush them aside
like some grand god.

Well, like some grand god
who takes each cloud
and examines it
minutely for chances
of rain or hail
or snow or sleet.
Because the weather
in my soul is always
tricky like that

I never get past these
turbulent clouds.
Is that all there is?
I am drifting in
a weather balloon
terrified that there
is nothing below me,
nothing within me.
Nothing at all.


Don't forget to make the rounds - read other responses to the prompt here.

The Poetry Bus – The Bug Sings Auld Lang Syne. Sort of.

Jeanne Iris is driving the bus this week & gave us three prompts. I picked the "Write your own version of 'Auld Lang Syne.' Post it as a verse and sing/play it on your blog player" one.

Auld Lang Syne for You and Me
 
Should you and I review this year
And for the old days pine?
Should you and I regret these days
And auld lang syne? 

Oh I with you my sweetest dear
And you with me.
Yes I with you my only dear
And you with me!

Sure 'twas dark and sometimes light
And sometimes smelt of brine
But you were there & so was I
For auld lang syne. 

Oh I with you my sweetest dear
And you with me.
Yes I with you my only dear
And you with me!

Well close your eyes and sleep this night
We'll bide this darksome time
And by my side you'll wake the morn
With auld lang syne. 

Oh I with you my sweetest dear
And you with me.
Yes I with you my only dear
And you with me!


If you dare, listen to me sing it, here:

Happy New Year Everyone!

The Poetry Bus and the Saucepan Christmas

The bus this week is being driven by Muse Swings who wants us to write a poem about the worst gift we ever received or gave. I have a terrible memory for things like this - apparently wanting to spare myself or the other party the humiliation. But then I remembered a picture of me opening a gift at Christmas in 2000. From my expression you can see that it wasn't the gift of my dreams.

Saucepan Christmas

Why it’s…
I hardly know what to say
A vessel of some sort?
It certainly is shiny!

Oh, it’s a pan
For the stovetop
For the oven
For my husband
To cook my dinner

Mystified,
But pleased with
Its beauty
I thank my
Mother-in-law.

For this to make sense, you should realize that Dr. M has always been the cook in this family. I know what to do with a pan, but you might not want to participate in the results.

The Poetry Bus Reaches for the Stars!

Weaver of Grass is driving the poetry bus this week. I love her blog – as I told her on one of her posts, reading it makes me feel warm & fuzzy. She has given us a pretty straightforward prompt, which of course sent me into a tailspin (What to write! What to write!). The prompt is STAR. Any kind of star (Meryl Streep or the one on your Christmas tree or one in the sky). See - too many choices!

Star light, star bright,
The first star I see tonight;
I wish I may, I wish I might,
Have the wish I wish tonight.

It’s always the one
wish thing.
Like those riddles
about foxes
and boats
and rivers
and chickens.
Why are there
so many rules?
Why can’t I wish
for all the things -
all the silly
and splendid
and honorable
and selfish
things.
Eyes shut tight,
paralyzed by
indecision,
I wish for
the moon.

The Poetry Bus – Gone to the Dogs

Titus the Dog is driving the poetry bus this week! Really – isn't he cute?

I'm pretty sure that he's not responsible for the prompts though – that would be Joanne, a rather brilliant writer in my opinion. She gave us two choices. The first one was to watch a piece of performance art that was pretty incredible. I recommend going to her site to watch it if you have time – it's about 10 minutes long.

The second prompt was this picture of an Essence Vessel. An Essence Vessel is hollow, with a cork in the back. You are to put things inside it that contain your essence – "a lock of hair, a song, or soil from where you were born."

This second prompt is the one that inspired me. And when I was done, I read the thing & said, "Hello College Dana!" I think if we check carefully you'll see that she wrote this about 25 years ago & had it messengered to me here in the future.

The Tour

Let's open the door &
look inside, shall we?
Better get your hip waders -
it's a bit damp in here.

In my hand I hold
a pair of glasses
and an unfinished book.
All of my sorrow
is stuffed into one small sack –
don't touch it!
Here is a cake instead.
Much better, don't you think?

Can I hear music? No?
Blessed silence surrounds.
Not for thinking!
It is cotton wool for the soul.
Nothing gets out.
Nothing goes in.

I don't much like it in here.
Someone should clean up
the clutter - all of those
unfinished fragments
and unopened boxes
of dreams.