Spider-webbing the
house
Seemingly everywhere,
catching the eye
semi-transparent
snares, crossing through
tickle lips fine
silken strands
swatted and
distracted. Hanging
particles, sun mote to
fall crumpled in
corners, snagged
on carpet nails,
hemming in the day.
Breaking my
concentration on the bills
dampening my will to
work.
That’s it. Pushed back
stool
scoots across linoleum.
Broom and
dustpan in hand,
shuffle up a pile
and toss them on this
page.
via WP for Windows app.
A Love Statement
“Momma I have something to ask you-
I love you. Color a fish in my notebook with me.”
Complimentary like orange and blue crayons
we sit golden heads bent, hands left to left wrapped
in an Esherian embrace.
For my friend Jessie who challenged my thoughts on grey days today.
Wool
Grey skies wrap
a blanket shoulder draped – Day.
Microscoping space-air-time
Into a manageable cocoon.
The fat – bottomed moon appears a
great slow blinking eye, lid
descending grace leaving
a white fringe eyelash coyness
as the clouds reform a homemade
woolen pirate patch blankly eyeing
this metamorphosing world.
(Feel free to suggest a title for this poem. I have tried several but none have stuck.)
Gray thunderheads pull the view into sharp focus
the still calm of humidity laden lindens and oaks
green grass turned blue as the thunder plays overhead.
In childhood when the world was awe inspiring
on summer days sticky with mosquitos and lightening bugs,
my mom would tell of God above tending his garden
that the thunder was him turning over his wheelbarrow
and all the potatoes he had in there would roll out.
On the farm running the harvested corn fields, chasing barn cats,
watching the snapping turtles temporarily housed in the old
bathtub turned cow watering trough; there was never a question
that God was a gardener and we his flowers tended.
I could look up at the fields of storm clouds
and watch those potatoes turn
to raindrops to blanket my nose, as I ran for shelter
in the kitchen warmed with baking banana bread.
Today, as a grown girl, thinking of you and me and this mess,
as the thunder rocks the house, shaking my
sense of wellbeing, I wonder what must become of the weeds.
Snow Horizon(Or, out the car window on the way to the airport)
Bleak desert
shifting
sheets of snow
blow go blow go
stretch to meet
monsters teasing stalk
the razors edge
horizon.
Our big willow out front is scheduled to be cut down today. It was hit by lightning and has quickly died. During the same storm a pine was struck out back that inspired the following fun little poem. (Hoping the formatting will post intact.)
A Line of Pines
Pines all-in-a-daisy-chain-straight-line backing the house but for an exceptable-pine-dropped-the-line,
which with a crack that jumped the dog into my bed
the lightning shattering bark unwinds
like Escher’s orange peels in perfect symmetry
falling shrouds the bare charred ground
leaving the puzzling HOA to decide
how to fell a dead dark pine that dared to step out of line.
Lake Marion
Water’s glass grace unwavering mirror
God’s face in robin’s blue eggshell skies.
Bearded slopes of pine
feather-dust down the mountain slope.
Counterpoint, the waters jagged heart
deep as danger drawn,
surface stilled,
only broken by circus stunt eaters
fingerlings surface launch rocket
returning rounds bound
with no parachutes.
Clouds build the time from full-
bodied forms of vapor
turned to urgent frowns as
storms roll like the train
rocking through the night.
Not-here-now-here-now-gone-again.
*Adding draft poems to the blog. Feel free to comment and suggest improvements.
tamingthemilemonster 