I got behind
and catching up
is something like
grape stomping
in a swamp
getting so stuck in the
sweet muck
and no one sees it
so does it really happen
the wineclaydirt slurry
bogged. left. carnival of mud.

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first cuppa
with the rising sun
joyous and bright
cup two for discourage-
ment and woe
cup three for I Love Lucy
some laughs
fourth cuppa
to mute out the noise
bring on the joys
of so much good taste
and hot, steamy
give-without-taking
kind of cuppa

Lemon pie blues

Today hurt bad like cuts on my fingers
then slicing lemons for hours
your face, always disappointed, and
I would like to be the girl
to bring light to your eyes

How do I explain why it hurts more
to be misunderstood than kicked
honey, how I wish I could have you here
to protect me now
because I am feeling low

Feeling tired and wondering why
I never fit into this world of woe
come Sunday, everything
is going to feel alright
praise God on Sunday we will dance

and give happiness one more chance
come Sunday
everything is gonna feel alright

Where’s Dad?

A sad story that broke my heart. I am challenged by ‘little learner’–one of the first I followed on WordPress–to be more transparent, when life calls for it.

little learner

I don’t know where my father rests.
With no understanding he signed a form,
And when all breath left his breast
All had vanished, his body still warm.
His parents’ house. The family car.
His favourite books. A baby spoon.
His cribbage board, the well-stocked bar.
The TV set.  His vinyl tunes.
She took the lot and sold it all
Folded the money and drove away.
Without a word, She left a pall,
Not a thought for her unwitting prey.
By the time we heard that he was gone
There was nothing for us to put flowers on.

*************************************************************************************

glopo2019button1DAY FOUR:  4 April

Write a sad poem, but one that achieves sadness through simplicity.  Try playing with the sonnet form.

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He closed like a door
not slammed
the way we hear a warning shot
before the storm
but shut meticulously
carefully
to evoke no more than a soft click
easily missed

It was always the silence that did me in.
I put up with every violation
in a way that no one should
but I never stopped living
until the silence got me

sudden cold snap
an unexpected breeze
like when he left
only to turn around
to touch my face again
Monday
you have been called
blue
but I wave my wand
and call you gold
leaving the blues
in the can behind me

in my mirror

I didn’t plan
to dwell on death
navigating days
weeks months
trying to appear poised
but you are there
in my mirror
and it
feels unfair
to mark me

my forehead
my one difference
a birthmark
that some find ugly
but I like it best
a mark of myself
atop your Sicilian eyes
your mouth

they played games
in school
tempting death
in mirrors
late night slumber parties
chanting and reciting
always
I
in a corner
reading a book

respecting death
as something far away
that could not
touch me yet
each day
searching my mirror
for answers-
for your smile
among the living

three darts for a dollar

must be Friday again
there’s your ghost
sitting in the corner
telling jokes

inspired by waves and sand
and three seasons of greenery
that lie to us
that winter will not come

go ahead, pile it on
but it won’t do no good
your charming smile
all the poses
dusty shoes tell tales

all our Fridays memories
we are in too deep
the pleasing pints of new
we have swept into a pile
to be compacted
into a sterile cube

let’s have a smoke on it
and drink another down
to the good times we can’t have back

let’s have a smoke on it
and drink another down
to the good times we can’t have back

and won’t try
and won’t buy
another three chances