From Ruth

Thank you, Debbie, for reminding us about this.  I'm going to put a newer version on one I put one a while back and see if people (if anyone reads this) think it's less confusing.  I used present tense for action on clothesline, past tense for marriage stuff.  Tried to clean it up a little but it's still kind of odd.
................................................................................................................

The Physicist on the Hill, a Non-Love Poem

I drape a sweet scented sheet
on the line, and a beetle,
the same gravid shape
as the car of my ex, flops at the top
of the percale, then descends
with a buzz down the edge,

     like Bill's air-cooled Bug, as it rolled
     from the lab's steep-streeted hill

     to our home. Smug with his knack
     for making particles interact,
     Bill treated himself to a splash
     of good country red from France
     to suit the earthy chicken chasseur 
     he taught me to prepare.

     I salted, stirred, and served,
     then dinner devoured,

     he dropped to my limbs,
     slid down my skin,
     his heart not firing sparks enough to kindle
     my body nor warm the cold linen.

As bedclothes flap in the breeze,

the scarab reaches the place where fabric ceases,

scarcely hesitates,
then hastens out of my domain,

     like Bill in his Beetle

     who left me with a recipe
     for fowl and a squeamishness
     about my sheets. 

Dear

Dear

Your eyes so blue that when they meet with mine
I feel a hunger for your lips divine
Your lips so red I can not wait to kiss
You bring my heart a deep and loving bliss

I long to feel your loving heart so near
Come closer I long to hold you dear
I yearn to feel your body next to mine
When we're together feel our stars align

My love for you has grown throughout the years
A love for you is all so strong and clear
Your eyes so blue and when they meet with mine
I feel a hunger for your lips divine   By Debbie Iambic pentameter

The Christmas Room

I live in a Victorian house built in 1885. As do most people, I have bedrooms, bathrooms, a kitchen, a dining room and a living room. In addition, there is an extra room, a huge room, one with no apparent use. This is the room entered from the front porch. It has several unique features. There is a fireplace appearing as old as the house. There are three windows, the center one is a curved glass window. The front door has an etched glass window. As you enter through the front door, there is a smell that is unique to old houses. The doorway to the dining room features an intricately carved wooden accent gracing the top of the doorway. Like the room, it has no apparent use but adds greatly to the beauty and uniqueness of the room. In days past, this was known as gingerbread. The floors are hardwood, as is the large majestic staircase leading to the upstairs. For ten months of the year, the room serves to connect the living room to the dining room, a place to set parcels when entering or leaving through the front door, and to be home to a few pieces of antique furniture adorned with a few decorations from the most recent holiday.

The day after Thanksgiving, the room is transformed to the Christmas Room. Garland graces the stairway, fireplace and doorway. Stockings are hung on the handrail. The curved glass window is outlined with white Christmas lights and becomes a frame for a lit and decorated six foot tree. The tree is carefully decorated with treasures from years past, ornaments that bring back memories of previous holidays. Colored lights illuminate the angel-topped tree. The antiques are covered with decorations of the season including a Christmas village complete with working streetlights. Christmas dolls grace the mantel of the fireplace while Santa and his sleigh adorn the hutch. A manger scene comes to life on an antique sewing machine cabinet. The usual blankets and pillows are replaced with those colored red and green. A small lighted tree overlooks the village with the lighted houses and church. Christmas tins lie under the majestic tree. And bears, bears of every Christmas color perch in every available space. The fireplace glows with the look and feel of warmth. Old fashioned Christmas music is playing more often than it isn't.

To me, the room is magical, perfect for Christmas. It has the look, the sound and the feel of and old fashioned Christmas. The room provides me with a feeling of joy lasting well past the time others have put their decorations away. Taking down the Christmas decorations lends itself to a feeling of sadness until I start looking forward to decorating for next year when I will again have the Christmas Room.

Child of Mine by Debbie

FanStory.com

Child of Mine A warm embrace The feel of your lips on my face The joy of seeing you Brings in the day anew After you have been away It is wonderful to see you today I want to see you play In that carefree, happy way Oh, beautiful child of mine You make my life divine Recognized Author Notes For parents who are separated from their children due to separation or divorce.

---

Rose Bud by Debbie

Rose bud

Folded tight

Keeping out

Undesirable feelings

Rose bud

Signs of love

Caring, affection

Remains tightly folded

Rose bud

So precious

Vulnerable

Stays closed

Rose bud

Life here is good

It is safe to

Unlock your petals

Rose bud

Let the world in

Open your petals

To your fragile emotions

Rose bud

No reason not

To spread your petals

Enjoy life

Rose bud

You are valued

Unlock your petals

Reveal the beauty within

This is Ruth speaking

Okay, Rachael, I made a few changes, didn't follow too much of advice.  I know, kill your darlings; for Mel, make clear, but what can I say?   I'm too attached to old version?

I may use this for my once-a-month poetry group Wednesday and probably can't print it after that morning fairly early, so if anyone sees it before then, please don't put off commenting.

I rewrote last stanza more than once.  Have more versions, put in the most complicated and the simplest with a little "or" in between.  One better than the other?  I guess I like the sounds of the longer one but the rhythm probably stinks.  I should read out loud a couple of time.  Anyway, here is rewrite number one:

        RESEARCH 
 

She's plump and comfy as a German dumpling,

this issue of the West Rhine with fine flaxen

hair flying behind her like diaphanous

wings as she moves through the mosquito lab.

She pins a female under the microscope,

observes the scalloped abdomen swell until

the insect can't stand on its spindly legs;

it sinks into a satisfied stupor,

ending its whiny buzz and edgy urge to fly.                                       

Now it's time: The student grips her scalpel

and pulls apart the culex, probing tissue

for a mark of dark-stained strains of the West Nile.

Later, in her fevered bed, her lover's

limbs lay her flat.  After she feasts

and her abdomen fills with his fluids,

after glut and gratitude make her legs weak,

he rises and returns to his little family. Then the slump,

the dent in her soft mattress. Sinking in, she carves

stinging scrolls on her arm. In the erupting red,

will she find the radix of this toxic coupling?

or

he rises and returns to his little family. Then

she slumps into her soft mattress, carves

stinging scrolls on her arm. In the erupting red,

will she find the radix of this toxic coupling?

Mental Health

Are my thoughts spinning?

Am I up all night?

How do I know I'm doing well?

I've taken my medications every day for the last two weeks.

My mood has been stable.

I've gotten to my appointments and had to make bus arrangements for them.

I've stopped drinking coffee two weeks ago.

I drink tea as a caffeine substitute.

Despite having less caffeine I'm grateful for energy without a let down afterward.

I'm consistently having energy throughout the day.

Does my mind feel like it's going to explode?

Can I stay in bed throughout the night?

Do I have any symptoms ?

Mental Health

Is my head hot?

Does my stomach ache?

How do I know I'm doing well?

I've taken my medications every day for the last two weeks.

My mood has been stable.

I've gotten to my appointments and had to make bus arrangements for them.

I've stopped drinking coffee two weeks ago.

I drink tea as a caffeine substitute.

Despite having less caffeine I'm grateful for energy without a let down afterward.

I'm consistently having energy throughout the day.

Is there heat radiating from my head?

Is my stomach cramping?

Do I have any symptoms ?

The Greatest Gift

The Greatest Gift

Giving is the greatest gift you can receive. When you give to others, it will come back twice to you. A look on a face and a heartfelt thank you are so much more meaningful than

a materialistic gift you might receive.

Materialistic gifts are used or not, but rarely bring to mind the good things about the person who gave them to you.

An easy way to help others is a ‘random act of kindness.’

If the shopper in front of you is a quarter short, give them 25 cents.

You will both have a better day! Smile at the grumpy sales clerk as she checks you out and wish her a nice day, she just might have one. Compliment someone’s clothing. We all like to think we look nice. Answer the phone politely and maintain that attitude throughout the call. Even telemarketers have feelings. Be nice to bus drivers and people you meet on the street. One of my local stores has internet coupons weekly, but many shoppers do not have access to the internet. Each week, I make several copies of the coupons and hand them out while I shop at the store.

One of the best ways to help others is volunteering. There are literally hundreds of volunteer jobs in any area. Volunteering covers a lot of different possibilities. You can clean a park, tutor children or volunteer to work with the elderly.

My volunteer job is working at an adult daycare doing arts and crafts 16 hours a week. I am disabled and no longer able to get a job in my field, but by volunteering, I receive more enjoyment and satisfaction than at any job I have held. They look forward to me coming, and I for sure look forward to going there!

Faces.

Excellent A poem on the darkness of depression Faces by dejohnsrld Artwork by DaveChappell on FanArtReview.com Author View Author Tools:   FAQ:  What are certificates? | What are stars? | How do I become a ranked author?

Category:  General Poetry   Posted:  November 3, 2010      Views: 43

The Author

Faces I have many faces Excited and can't wait to explore Content to just sit and be Fearful the darkness will return Depressed, the darkness transcends Numb, unable to feel anything. That is the worst Unable to feel joy, pain Darkness, light Contented Nothing matters I don't matter. Lost in the darkness Wandering, wondering Hoping, wishing Waiting for the sun to Break through The clouds. A crack, A small sliver of light Breaks through the darkness Offering hope Warmth A chance to matter again.

From Ruth

I tried to write a "rainbow without the sense of sight" poem today, but couldn't finish, so if I do within the next week, will post it anyway, 'cause I will want some feedback.

For now here's an older one I haven't unearthed since last Feb./Mar.  Maybe someone can help me update?

                      RESEARCH 
 

She's plump and comfy as a German dumpling,

this issue of the West Rhine with fine flaxen

hair flying behind her like diaphanous

wings as she moves through the mosquito lab.

She pins a female under the microscope,

observes the scalloped abdomen swell until

the insect can't stand on its spindly legs;

it sinks into a satisfied stupor,

ending its whiny buzz and edgy urge to fly.                                       

Now it's time: The student grips her scalpel

and pulls apart the culex, probing tissue

for a mark of the dark West Nile virus.

Later, in her soft bed, after her married

lover's body lays her flat, after she feasts

and her abdomen fills with his fluids,

after glut and gratitude make her legs weak,

he rises and returns to his little family. Then,

in a shadowed corner she carves stinging scrolls

on her arm. In the erupting red,

can she find the radix of this toxic coupling?

The Patchwork Quilt of Life

The Patchwork Quilt of Life

Each square, a period of life

Some are rough as corduroy,

The difficult times

There wasn’t enough money for food

Some are soft as silk,

The romantic times

When he proposed marriage

Some are a bright and vibrant,

The excited times

Holidays, birthdays, vacations

Some are dark,

The sad times

Illness and death of those we are close to

Each square, its own tale,

The squares sewn and tied together

Show The Patchwork Quilt of Life

Fruit Salad

            I have no sight just taste and smell to describe a rainbow to you.  My famous fruit salad:
with red-ripened pieces of apple mixed with mandarin orange slices.
Both juicy to the pallette.
Next sun yellow bannanas mixed with perfected kiwi slices.
Mingled with brilliant blue berries and bright purple grapes.
Layer upon layer of colors similar to that of what a rainbow infuses.

new post from Ruth

Hi, I have been deciding since Sunday what to post.  I see now I should have posted sooner since Anna has been here.

I wanted to submit a short little poem to a recovery newsletter, and I keep changing the last three lines, so I'll put it on in it's current state.  I want something about "this moment" in there, that's the most important thing... kind of a mindfulness reminder.

I still may post something else new on Sunday since that is now my weekly "posting day," but I have been suffering indecision this week.  I'd like to get some feed back, suggestions for this, since I'd like to send it in soon (if I send it at all.)  Especially suggestions about the last three lines in which I just took out the word/concept "air" in this latest version and wonder if it should go back.  I guess I liked the sound of "silk, skin" and "breeze, breath" but don't know if sound should be as important as meaning.

I haven't been saving former versions, so would have to recreate.  If someone would like to make some suggestions for lines, that is fine with me.

   What Now?

It can come suddenly,

the storm, war, death--

or sunshine, peace, joy.

There are no promises

for what lies ahead.

But if you are alive,

can you feel the silk

of your skin, the breeze

of your breath, this moment?

Caitlin's and Timothy's Adventure

Recently Locusto realized that Animal Ville was suffering from both a money profit loss at the store and a food shortage. The lights grew dim and the vegetables were scarce in the wooden bins. Once spring arrived he, Lonny, and the Elvanies prepared the land for planting. From what little the store had in profits, Locusto bought two horses to pull the plow. His son Lonny named them Maverick and Chaos. In the grassy hillside Maverick and Chaos kicked up there feet and galloped shedding light that it may rain soon. Lonny fed them and made a water trough for them in separate stalls in the arena with Timothy Tiger.

They planted fields of lettuce heads, tomatoes, cucumbers, potatoes, green beans, and even planted a beautiful flower garden.. In the plowed , they grew corn and beans. By summer, the crops were abundant and the flowers flourished. Soon some of the Elvanian men and teens help to harvest along with Lonny. Lonny mainly took care of the gardens.

When Timothy Tiger found out the store profits were down, he came up with a brilliant idea. He figured since the his friends, the Elvanies, and the small creatures of Animal Ville had helped him through the grieving process of his wife; he'd like to return the favor. Timothy knew there was an old covered wagon in the Elvanian arena. He promised to take boatloads of their crops and floral arrangements that the Elvanian people worked on to neighboring cities. He decided to take Caitlin along to help do the processing of change.

Caitlin and Timothy Tiger started out early one morning. Timothy Tiger transported Caitlin in the back of the wagon where she took a nap or two from time to time. Caitlin's grand Elvanie paced coolers of sandwiches, pork, beef, steak and a water cooler to last the two throughout the trip. Timothy tried not to over work himself and tried to conserve his energy. However, by the end of the evening he was glad to have his steak strips, relax, and sleep before the next day journey.

It was late in the night when Timothy Tiger awoke from a dream. Lucinda was warning him that there were desperate robbers taking his inventory.. What actually woke him was Caitlin's cries out of fear for her life at hearing loud noises in the night. When Timothy realized that there were young starving children there, he roared a mighty roar and let Caitlin do the talking. The pillagers were taken aback by his boisterous voice, but then he graciously nosed out some of his own stash.

The younger children were so happy to have the satisfaction of a full tummy for once. In gratitude, they gave Timothy their cat named Boots. Boots was having her sixth birthday and she thought that Timothy was the best present ever. Timothy looked out after Boots as if she was his daughter. They would lick and bathe one another and have fun playing tag of war. Of course Timothy had the advantage given his size so it let Boots when half of the time.

Over the course of two weeks, Caitlin and Timothy made it through two major towns with several buying stores. The merchandise went from fresh produce to handmade sweaters to fresh homegrown flowers, it was not hard to choose. Store managers were glad to get fresh produce. Timothy and Caitlin made a profit for the Elvanie people of nearly 75%. Once the wagon was unloaded Timothy flew like the wind. Boots had to stay in the back with Caitlin holding him.

When Caitlin, Timothy, and Boots arrived back at Animal Ville all the Elvanies and small creatures from Animal Ville held a feast. The creatures of Animal Vile had their band sounding harmoniously in honor of Timothy's and Kaitlin's hard work. The table was decorated with all their competition ribbons fringing the table. In the center of the table there was a wild boar roasted to tender perfection. Locusto had shot wild boar when he was out hunting. It was the grandest of celebrations that had ever transpired in Animal Ville.

THE END

A New Poem From Debbie

Worn, rugged faces

have seen so much time,

so many places.

Hard work of many years,

so much experience

 so many tears.

Hollow, empty eyes of some,

occasionally brighten

when past memories come.

Dignified, respectable once they were,

called in the past

madam and sir.

Confused mind,

failing health

memories are their wealth.

Now prepare for the fate,

 after the years

 all they have is to wait.

Take time to pay them their due,

Because one day

This could be you.

This week from Ruth

Hi Folks,  I messaged with Anna and she suggested we post only one new or revised piece of work a week, using a "New Post" instead of comments on old posts.  That way things won't get overwhelming, and we don't have to search back through old comments to see if there is anything new. 

I am going to post a somewhat revised version of last week's "Non-Love Poem" for this week to see if anyone thinks I am more on the right track, and if it is less confusing.

I dropped the bit about the un-turned on car rolling down the hill, even though it was the impetus for this poem (since it's true) and I also thought it kind of went with the "not sparking hot enough" line. I tried to separate out the action a little, but I don't know if  it's enough to clear up the washline scene intertwined with the rest.

So any comments about this direction or a new direction it could take would be helpful.  I'd kind of like to use the theme about the observation of particles more, but haven't figured out where or how.  Or maybe it should be dropped, as well as the whole scientist thing.  (I did try to pick up "particles" with "sparks" later.)

 All comments/red lines and X's are welcome... Ruth
........................................................................

The Physicist on the Hill, a Non-Love Poem


I drape a sweet scented sheet
on the line, and a beetle,
the same iridescent black and gravid shape
as my husband's VW, flops at the top
of the white percale border, then descends
with a buzz along the edge,

     like the days when John, in his air-cooled Bug, rolls
     from the lab's steep-streeted hill
     to our home, smug with success for his knack
     of observing how particles interact.
     Then the scientist treats himself to a splash
     of good country red from France
     to complement the earthy chicken chasseur 
     he taught me to prepare,
     before he drops to my limbs,
     slides down my skin,
     his heart not firing sparks enough to kindle
     my body nor warm the cold linen.

Back on the hanging bedclothes,

the scarab reaches the point where the fabric stops,

scarcely hesitates,
then hastens out of my domain

     like John in his Beetle, who ultimately

     leaves me with a recipe
     for fowl and a squeamishness
     about my sheets. 

 ..........................................

For reference, so you won't have to look back, here's the first version:

The Scientist on the Hill, a Non-Love Poem


I drape a sweet scented sheet
on the line, and a beetle,
the same iridescent black and gravid shape
as my husband's VW, flops at the top
of the white percale border, then descends
in silence toward the ground,

     like John's Bug, engine unfired, rolls
     down the lab's steep-streeted hill
     to our house.  Smug with his success
     to save a few ounces of gas,
     with his strategic knack
     for coordination with traffic,
     John treats himself to a splash
     of good country red from France
     to complement the earthy chicken chasseur 
     he taught me to prepare,
     before he drops to my limbs,
     slides down my skin,
     his heart not sparking hot enough to kindle
     my body nor warm the cool linen.

When the scarab reaches the point
where the fabric ends, it scarcely hesitates,
then hastens out of my story
into the unknown world

     like John and his Beetle,
     leaving me with a recipe
     for fowl and a squeamishness
     about my sheets.

In the Days of Old

In The Days of Old

Life was much slower I am told.

My house built in 1885

By some miracle did survive.

It reflects the values of that year

Families determined to persevere.

The largeness of space

Due to the sparse population of this place.

Closets of a smaller size

Show the paucity of possessions considered wise.

  

Large families once considered wise

Revealed by the four large bedrooms of size.

An outhouse, wood burning stove and horse drawn carriage

The importance of family, friends and marriage.

When people were important and possessions few

Life was lived with what had to make do.

Relaxing and sharing around the fire

Now replaced with a busy pace so dire.

Today we spend so much time accumulating stuff

It makes a relaxing day at home tough.

So much to clean, so much to do

Maybe life was better when possessions were few.

Life today is so fast-paced

We lose so much in our haste.

Relationships, continuity, satisfaction for a job well done

Have been traded for a life too busy for almost everyone.

Busy,busy,fuss,fuss

This pace can get to the best of us.

I long for a life of slower pace

So I can take time to enjoy my place.

Each Day Begins Anew

EACH DAY BEGINS ANEW

Babies conceived, infants born,

First breath,

First smile,

First step,

A new beginning to life.

Seeds germinate,

Flower buds unfold,

Basking in sun,

Leaves blow in gentle breeze,

A new beginning to life.

Rosy-cheeked children,

Run, play, laugh,

Learn, grow,

Excited to be alive,

A new beginning to life. 

Animals born,

Take nourishment,

Bond with mother,

Take in new environment,

A new beginning to life.

Couples meet,

Court,

Fall in love,

Marry,

A new beginning to life.

Relationships grow,

Develop,

New friends meet,

Old friends enjoyed,

A new beginning to life.

Each day a new beginning,

New chance to make life desired,

Open heart to love,

Open eyes to beauty,

Open ears to music of life.

Each day a new beginning,

Laugh and be happy,

Love and be loved,

Do good for others,

Enjoy the good others do.

Each day a new beginning,

To go to bed,

Knowing that,

Tomorrow brings,

A new beginning to life.

Animal Ville Circus

Four miles south of where the Elavanies lived, the animal creatures had a sudden dilemma. Timothy Tiger was grieving from the sudden death of his wife, Lucinda. His sadness turned into uncontrollable anger and he went into Animal Ville roaring into the dark, foreboding night. He kept all the creatures awake at night, even the baby birds and other various animals couldn't be pacified while hearing Timothy's cry.
The creatures of Animal Ville had created a loud boisterous, but harmonious band over the Christmas holidays. They had formed a close working relationship with the Elvanies, especially throughout the holidays. The small creatures of Animal Ville had made the Elvanies' store profit grow by 20 percent for the seasonal year. They had trumpets blaring, their signal of distress to the Elvanies who immediately came to the aid of the creatures of Animal Ville.

The head Elvanie, by the name Locusto had earnest feelings of concern for his little friends and would do anything to help them. He was the owner of the store, which upon closing, he rounded up all the Elvanie men and went directly to Animal Ville to find out how he could help. Animal Ville was desolate by the uproar of Timothy Tiger. Locusto desperately tried to find Badgering Bob. Bob was hiding his little Bobby in a hollow log wrapped in a soft woolen blanket. This covering was so his son could get a good night sleep.

Locusto being the head Elvanie knew of a special brew he mixed up and put into the trough in the Grand Elvanie arena. He had the Elvanie men lead Timothy into the arena and he ate the special brew as though he had not eaten in days. The brew had a calming effect on Timothy and soon Locusto realized he could train Timothy to be a pet in the Animal Ville Circus. He even had the small creatures of Animal Ville feeding him snacks like steak strips without him biting their appendages off.

Locusto and small animals decided to make a small circus to add some excitement to Animal Ville. Timothy became the main attraction. Locusto held up rings of fire for Timothy to jump through. The squirrels had acorn-cheek stuffing contests in which Fred Sr. won first prize ribbon. The mice had busy mazes in which when they raced and reached their prize, good old time farmers' cheese.

As the day grew into darkness, the circus that the Elvanies were putting on grew into an uneasy mood. Timothy Tiger had just finished his rings of fire again, which of course he received first place. There was a blue circular platform, which he was about to jump onto when suddenly the ghost of Lucinda, his dead wife suddenly appeared. Her coloring was of an albino pink and scared the crowd. This did not scare Timothy, however; who knew how she reached such a color.

Timothy had to calm the crowd down by telling them the story of how Lucinda died. She was going about her own business out scouting for food. It was around Thanksgiving and she thought she had come across some cranberry sauce. The neighboring house had just had a baby and the male tiger looked threatening. As a safeguard, they put poison out; unfortunately, Lucinda ate the poison. Lucinda was normally a bright orange lion with a a sunshine yellow mane.

When leaving the arena, apparently a blizzard had taken place and two feet of snow had fallen. Inside the arena, the doors were closed and there were no windows, so the blizzard was a shock to the circus goers. Locusto had to send his son, Lonny in his snowmobile back to Animal Ville. Hi son went there to get his dad's pick up truck with the snowplow on the front of it to make a pathway.

Upon arriving back at the arena all the prizes and even a trophy was given to Timothy Tiger for his rings of fire trick. Soon Lonny has to work plowing a trail back to Animal Ville. All the little animals danced their way back home in celebration of their winnings. The squirrels placed their ribbons in the hollow of their trees. Soon ribbons decorated the landscapes of Animal Ville.

Elvanies

     Four miles north of Animal Ville, the Elvanies lived in a Willow Grove that had two varnished, pale, wooden floors. A store occupied the first floor which was structured with pale pine, where there were many types of homemade knitted sweaters and toys like wooden cargo trains the creatures of Animal Ville and the Elvanies liked and needed. Many of the older Elvanian women had taken up the trade of knitting beautiful, simplistic designs of snowflakes or animal picture-sweater patterns. The Elvsnies made sure they had their store stocked up on vegetables and meats and protective winter gear like woolen coats and bright mittens, needed items throughout the Holidays and the rest of the year.

      The younger Elvanian children had a fascination for the knitting they saw done in front of them throughout the night after dinner. The curiousity of Caitlin was so great that she asked her Grandelvanie mother to teach her the trade. The youth's style of knitting with her unique mixture and usage of color in vibrant pastels of yarn became the popular fad.  Soon the older Elvanian women began teaching all of the youths their knitting process.  The younger Elvanies created knitted bracelets, which they gave to their weaving teachers as thank you gifts. 

     The weaving room was on the second floor in the bedroom.  Upon going up the squeaky wooden steps to the second floor, one lands on the softness of the green-matted carpet representative of the grassland outdoors.  They have natural beds made from tree branches seamed together with vines.  The Elvanies made bunk beds for their children.  Throughout the day, the wives and grandmas home school the "vanies" (the children) while the husbands help tend the store downstairs.

 

A message and new poem from Ruth

I wanted to ask if there's any way new posts, including comments, can be flagged.  I am trying to post only one new piece a week, but as I work on some of the older ones, I am trying to keep most of my changes in the comments.  Now that we're getting so many posts, it's hard to figure out when something has a new comment without looking at each post and their comments.  I don't want to have to make a new post every time I try a little change in an older poem I'm working on.

I have some new comments on some of my older poems and intend to add more.  What to do?

Now, here is my new poem for the week--one I referred to, in one of those comments I mentioned above, as weird.  I'd like to know if it's comprehensible and interesting enough to others for me to pursue:


     The Scientist on the Hill, a Non-Love Poem


I drape a sweet scented sheet
on the line, and a beetle,
the same iridescent black and gravid shape
as my husband's VW, flops at the top
of the white percale border, then descends
in silence toward the ground,

     like John's Bug, engine unfired, rolls
     down the lab's steep-streeted hill
     to our house.  Smug with his success
     to save a few ounces of gas,
     with his strategic knack
     for coordination with traffic,
     John treats himself to a splash
     of good country red from France
     to complement the earthy chicken chasseur 
     he taught me to prepare,
     before he drops to my limbs,
     slides down my skin,
     his heart not sparking hot enough to kindle
     my body nor warm the cool linen.

When the scarab reaches the point
where the fabric ends, it scarcely hesitates,
then hastens out of my story
into the unknown world

     like John and his Beetle,
     leaving me with a recipe
     for fowl and a squeamishness
     about my sheets.

I Remember

Debbie Johnson

10/8/2010

I REMEMBER…

Walking in a forest in the fall with the leaves crunching under my feet,

Gliding gracefully around the skating rink 12 hours a week,

Running as fast as I can until my heart was pounding and my muscles ached,

Sometimes tripping and falling down. 

The feel of the dirt between my toes as I walk barefoot in the garden,

The feel of sand under my feet at the beach,

Being able to get in the car and drive myself somewhere instead of waiting for the handicapped bus,

Peaceful walks by a tinkling stream-feeling at one with nature,

When others looked at ME not just my disability,

When children didn’t look at me as a freak as their mother told them it wasn’t polite to stare,

Tending to my perennial garden as the first flowers of the season broke through the dirt,

Being able to walk upstairs,

Being able to reach my kitchen cabinets,

Taking my dog for a walk late in the evening when most of the town had already gone to bed,

Getting in and out of the bathtub with ease,

Using a ladder to hang a picture or replace a light bulb,

Having energy, now it seems most of it is sapped by my disability,

Shoe shopping and being able to try on both shoes, my one shoe is now just a cover for my foot,

Working out on my exercise equipment and do aerobics,

Being able to get up off the floor if I fell without someone to help me,

Having a whole lap to put things on-now I only have half a lap and anything placed there slides off,

Being able to carry something in both hands at the same time, now I require  one hand to steer my chair,

Working and earning a decent salary instead of subsisting on disability and relying on food banks for most of what I eat,

Being able to reach items from the top shelf at the store without having to track someone down to assist me,

I remember the morning I hit the semi head-on on the highway on my way to work. I don’t remember the actual impact or aftermath, but I will never forget that my left leg was amputated and I will never be able to walk again.

Wishing Life Away

Wishing Life Away by Deborah johnson – 10/8/2010

Wishing life away starts young, We can't wait until we am old enough to... In all our wishing and wanting, What about the children Waiting for love, hugs and kisses Wishing life away School comes We finally feel big until we realize there is Junior high and high school to get through Wishing life away Attending college The same thing happens We can’t wait to get a diploma Wishing life away   Armed with that and a resume, the job hunting begins An offer is made and accepted, “I'll keep this until I find a better job” Wishing life away Marriage and children follow Think of how often we can't wait For them to grow up Wishing life away Then think how many days We wish we could Have them back Wishing life away We work hard Can’t wait for The next vacation Wishing life away As we work We can’t wait for Retirement Wishing life away Once retirement comes We speak of what we had And wish that we had not Wished our lives away If we spent less of life wishing for what we don't have and more life focusing on what we do have and do, What a rewarding life we could have By not wishing life away

High speed, High Impact

High Speed, High Impact

It all started with a little crack. The crack developed tentacles as it spread very slowly and seemingly quietly, shattering my windshield, my life and nearly my whole being. That crack led me straight into a life unlike anything I had previously known, one that seemed incomprehensible before. That simple crack would leave no part of my life untouched. The lack of noise made the incident seem innocent enough, but it would turn my life upside down, never to be righted again.

In the latter half of February 2004, things began to be different, strange as though something other than me was in control of my life. I would wake up in the morning, or more likely afternoon, completely confused about who, when and where I was. Answers came after determined investigation. I was always late leaving and late returning. I thought I had a time management problem. I doubled up on planning, organizing, and doing what I was supposed to do. I was dizzy, my head swimming somewhere outside of my body.

People would notice was different and not so helpfully suggest that something was wrong. Usually these were told in second person, “Jane thinks you have been acting a bit odd lately.” It seemed like no one was concerned about me, but how I was reflecting upon them. I had had Major Depressive Disorder for years, but my wellness seemed to be of limited interest, how I was affecting others seemed to be their primary concern.

I had been assessed, interrogated and analyzed to no avail. The medical doctor thought it was a psychological problem. The psychiatrist thought it was a physical. I thought I was losing my mind. The police had stopped me more than once for suspected OWI and taken me to the hospital only to be pronounced “clean” with a recommendation to keep better hours and get more sleep.

Now sleep posed a major problem, I couldn’t get any and if I did, I would wake up dazed, confused and incoherent. My sleep pattern had become 60 hours awake followed by 18 hours of sleep. Nothing seemed to help with the sleep deprivation and confusion.

I was self-employed, divorced with limited financial resources. I had to work. My relationships were in ruin. My mother and sister had not spoken to me in years.. My work was precarious at best. It was all I could do to make it to work. My best friend was angry with me because I could not just “snap out of it.” My ex-husband was trying to be supportive while insisting something was terribly wrong.

One day I could not even stand up with a walker, let alone walk. Somehow I made it out of the house and to the ER. My potassium level was critically low and I was given IV’s to correct it. My balance improved and I was sent home to rest. I was told to take family medical leave which was denied by my employers.

My employers insisted I work. Three days after I was discharged from the hospital, the administrator at one of my nursing homes insisted I present myself to work the next morning. I felt I was unable to, but forced myself out of bed and left for work. My ex-husband tried to stop me, but I was determined I had to go. I later found out he followed me out of town trying to get me to turn around.

My last memory before the crack is getting in my car. The first memory after that is the need to go to the bathroom three days later and being told I had to stay in bed because I had broken my leg. Broken hardly describes it. The surgeon later told me I had shattered my femur, the bone in my upper leg. It was the worst he had ever seen.

I spent the next few days in and out of consciousness. I knew who I was, but I couldn’t remember where I was or what had happened. Even when this information was posted on a dry-erase board, I could not figure out the answers to these simple questions.

Ruth, Salad Days

Another week, another poem.  I'm trying to think "short," so the style is different for me:

                          Salad Days

Soft tortillas spread with creamy green avocado,

the Aztec love fruit-- and fragile young leaf

shoots, succulent smooth verdolaga, crowned

with rounds of fleshy red tomato.

Our first mouthful and the world tastes new.

It floats down our throats to our hearts,

which split open like ripe love apples,

spilling the sweet juice of youth.

Eat slowly. Before we know,

it's gone except for crumbs

and smudges, like the few

years we have left.

Wipe them away

with a white rag,

a shroud.
............................
I could move the first word, "the," of the second line up to the first line (and same with "shoots") to make the triangle style more precise, but I didn't like that.  Any opinions about that?  It wasn't intended to be a triangle in the first place, but it does diminish as it goes, which is also sort of the theme.  It just happened.

Nameless Revisited #2

Nameless

Debbie Johnson

Sept 14, 2010

My name was given to me,

An infant, no choice was had.

My Biblical name a chance to rejoice,

Spiritual mother expected perfection,

I should rise up and do my best.

Debra, most common girl’s name of 1962,

But the Deborah spelling made me feel inadequate, blue.

Biblical name emphasized, I felt I had to

Be perfectly honest and get an A on every test.

Much thought was given to changing my name

To have my own identity and leave the past.

I pondered a change to my middle name Ellen,

Not biblical, would I get to heaven?

I grew and realized many had this name.

It made me sad, I was not unique

I longed for a name of my own, not a variation of what many girls had.

Deb, Debbie, Debby, Deborah and Debra too much alike.

If folks aren’t careful when using these

I often don’t know if they are speaking of me

Or some other Debbie.

Most deal with the confusion by calling me Debbie J.

I guess for now I will keep it that way.

Lake Lavern

Bubbles filtrating up through the emerald-like lake

On a warm spring day, I scope out my surroundings

A man positioning his camera

as he beckons for the two swans to pose

The white swans preening themselves

next to a glistening maple tree

A father and his curly-haired daughter

feed the swans pieces of hot dog buns

Up in the sky a plane pulls a glider behind it

The sound of the Campanile chimes

a quarter after four

Breaking the stillness of silence

More from Ruth

Thank you, Anna.  This blog is getting clogged with all my posts.

Yes, I can see my untitled poem has a lot of problems.  I've done a first quick rewrite (note: a couple more since I first wrote this paragraph) and want to see if I'm on the right track.  I feel there are some great images and metaphors waiting to get into this one, but they are just out of my reach.  I already feel closer to the subject emotionally after the rewrite, so maybe I can go on with it.

Under that I will post the other poem I mentioned.  I'll have to go and find it in my files.  I haven't looked at it since before summer, but it's short!  And one reason I didn't want to workshop it:  I considered it finished.

(1)   (Okay, the truth, too cliche, sentimental?  Still working on it.  Other titles, anyone?)

                         Summer's End          ("Remnants of Summer"?)

The end of August is tinder dry. Your steps raise clouds

of golden dust that follow you to the house, hiding

your shadow. On the porch, sun-faded towels

are laid out to dry, and kid's sandals are matched in pairs,

two half-hearts, good luck charms for our marriage.

Inside, I watch from the window.  The oak table

is scattered with lined paper and yellow pencils.

I clear them for summer's last supper. We focus on fish

and rice; the children leave to grieve the start of school, 

though sparks of excitement crackle in the air.

High pitched voices vanish, and in the silence, we see

the day is dissolving to dusk, and we are alone,

together.  We carry glasses of wine out to the thinning

pale grass, to hail the last full moon before harvest,

to breathe in the blue haze of Russian sage.

The moon drops lustrous pearls in our pools

of blushing wine. Iridescent wings stitch

seams of shelter in the descending fabric of fall.

The force of the evening pulls us toward each other.         

Your blood stirs, my breath catches.

Alternate last line:  "We toast to the rest of our lives."

(2)

                  Holding On

July, the leaves are dense with chlorophyll,

a deep mid-summer green, and plums in hand

are sweet. My husband and I keep vigil:

We watch my swelling belly, firm and round,

a melon ripened while the fetus grows,

my sugared blood sustaining our shared bond.

My partner and I are forty and we know

the season soon will turn, descend to fall.

Now I want to feel the jutting elbows

and knees, blanketed in creamy wax, caul

encased and safe--away from the knock

at the worldly door--inside, behind snug walls.

The last time I'll be pregnant, I balk:

I'm five days overdue and culpable;

I've suspended earthly time, I sleepwalk...

A one way voyage through the birth canal--

our cleavage, breath from breath, will be final.

........................................................................

I notice fall descends in both of these--I'm repeating myself!