Sheila's Dribs 'n Drabs

Riding a bike in the exhaust of cars On streets black-tarred where trees once bravely stood And climbing a hill. We couldn’t go on So flung our two-wheeled steed on grass While car-fumes passed like dragon-gas From wars in days of yore. Cucumber sandwiches for tea but they Belong to times long-gone as well And who could tell? We had French bread A long wide loaf and shared the green Cucumber passed from hand to hand While drivers wouldn’t understand But we were exhausted Riding a bike Two saddles two wheels two riders and Two trees to wave us on. The final ReadWritePoem prompt is whatever we want it to be, so I'm posting one of my poems from the PoeticAsides challenge, where the prompt was "exhausted."

There’s a column at the edge of the newspaper Where the news it quite over the edge And entertainment truly wedges More than a foot in the door. They hedge it in With wider columns and pictures that hide it away But each day I open the page and search inside Eager to read the strangeness it says and the curious view That it gives to my world. The paper’s unfurled Stretched over dishes and plates on the table. I’ve wedged That column at the edge between cereal and juice ’cause it wakes me up more pleasantly than the news. Written for ReadWritePoem #29 front page news

I used to write With mushroom clouds And endings to it all. I used to say How I would watch The day bombs start to fall. I well knew how To make friends cry Drew dragon’s tears from eyes. I’d share them all And call them all With haunting lonely sighs. I used to write An end to it And maybe still I will. But in the garden White caps rise And spill with summer’s fill. I used to write And weep, today I’ll try to smile for you. For see the shapely White on gray Are summer cloud’s renewed. Written for ReadWritePoem #28 - intuition - freewriting

Puppy dog flies Up up in the sky. Puppy lands with a sigh Proud and perky and why aren’t You pleased? Don’t you understand how he flies, puppy dog and the child? Or maybe you’re just jealous; you’re waiting while he Goes away so that you get to try. Flying’s not magic, he tells you, sweet son, it’s just fun Lifting wings to the sky as the dream’s just begun with Imagined white feathers adorning your long weary arms —goose-down armor the son says dear Mom— Ever raising you higher See Mama now, see how we fly. Puppy dog flies. Written for ReadWritePoem #27 - acrostic

Dig in your backpack they said In the back of the drawer In the box you’ve hid under your bed. Look on that old envelope Screwed up bank note That ancient deposit slip. Back of the hand? Maybe you wrote something there once But it’s long washed away. All those places we poets are meant to leave words Like seeds in the hope they’ll grow further If we let them wait. My words are buried and singing In the back of my mind. Kind of hard to dig there. But I’m growing fine cobwebs And musical spiders to spare Singing. Written for ReadWritePoem #26 get scrappy

The sky’s gone gray They didn’t say It was going to rain today. We’d planned to go See flowers and so It really isn’t fair. My Gran would say It’ll do okay There’s still enough blue there. But we just moan The clouds have grown The sunshine’s growing cold. My Gran would smile She often did The sun’ll come out in a while. Enough blue sky To patch a sailor’s Britches make them bright. I wonder if We get the choose The way that we grow old. Maybe we just Wake up one day And see the sky’s turned gray. Written for ReadWritePoem # 25 from the first thing someone said to me after reading the prompt.

In year of the farm They beat their swords to ploughshares Refraining from harm. With pruning hooks adorning spears They buried war in the rain In freedom’s reign. In the year of the gun They weren’t quite sure they’d won They argued law. Words kill and more They whispered, shouted till They’d had their fill Nations shall not lift up swords They said Unless they’re ours. Carrying the art of war in their arms Destroying field and farm They buried truth and promise under harm. In the year of the end Friend had the right, bore arms And ended them. Written for ReadWritePoem #24 based on a well-known phrase

If I measured the decibels of your tears I guess they’d be right up there with things That you shouldn’t do to your ears. I feed you with formula to keep you quiet From a bottle that measures how much of it goes inside If I measure your diaper I’ll know how you grow. You know there’s other formulas too So I’m going to work it out The rules for setting you down without making you shout. But the tears are loud so I pick you up again And your ears are beautiful. Sweet little child All of you is. Written for ReadWritePoem #23 - unlikely couple - analytical father falling in love with his child

The squalling clouds shed tears last night While sunshine painted pepper on the sky. Rainwater bled the light away To black and white and gray. Reverberating roadways crawled On fields of yesterday till colors all Were saffron rust and locked away In black and white and gray. By dizzied crow, fierce shoots appeared With tendrils green that flinched amid the fear Of yesteryear. I tried to pray For black and white and gray. The earth’s emporium, mustard-seed Of hope tomorrow wakening the tree Belabored hearts might turn away From black and white and gray. Then morning wakes And colorizes dreams. Written for readwritepoem # 22, a wordle of Reverberate Rust, Saffron, Pepper, Tomorrow, Emporium, Dizzy, Squall, Fierce, Crow, Flinch, Tendril: and earth day.

In the top corner of the bathroom By the shower There’s a web where a spider spends hours Just watching and waiting To stare at me. I’d scream of course If he were in the bath But mostly I cope by not looking up. I did the vacuuming today And could have blown him away but decided not to A stray thought suggesting Maybe spiders eat other creatures That might hide somewhere out of reach. I tell myself He’s only offering to help And clean away All the insects I still haven’t seen. I’m seriously hoping he’s not a she. Written for ReadWritePoem # 21 perfectly flawed

You put me on a pedestal My feet were made of clay You trusted me to be your all I slowly dripped away You tried to carve my name in lights Writ large across the sky Then learned I was afraid of heights A broken promise I You made me more than I could be And more than dreams could tell You were my all, you set me free Than bound me to your valiant pedestal. I’m just a statue fallen down I’m broken on the earth But now you lift me up I’ve found In you true love’s rebirth Written for ReadWritePoem #20 the hero poem, for my husband, my hero

When darkness grows When dreams slow down To drops and ticking clocks When shadows bleed away The words you want to say To me When all you’ve ever heard is lost In all you’ve wished and haven’t got When hopes become betrayal’s cost And anger’s sudden hurt is all you see When time won’t play your song no more Nor sing your tune So sore Your heart That’s when I’ve prayed for you Bright sunshine startles with its light Until the night’s Awake You say “Guess what” then I remember God Has always answered And His plan’s worked out okay Written for ReadWritePoem #19 sudden realization of the truth, inspired by startling answers to recent prayer

There’s a tiger in the grass She won’t let the lions pass You be careful not to sass That fearsome tiger in the grass There’s a lion cub at bay In the corner and I pray You won’t get too close they say Lions eat you by the way There’s a panther hear him roar As he slips behind the door And his eyes see far and sure Wait, he’s coming back for more There’s a little kitten crying For her dinner she was trying To be bigger now she’s flying Little winner, meow, me-ighing Better feed our little cat. Written for ReadWritePoem #18 meow

I washed you long ago, and flowed To cleanse your hands and eyes. Releasing tendrils that had bound you tight I set you free. I washed you in my cleansing fire While sacred words dripped softly on your head Soothing your fears and though you cried The truth would set you free. I washed you slippery sliding under Bubbled foam and slithering fun I washed you pouring down like rain I washed your happy days and pain I washed you and I will again But will you come to me? You wash the hurt with soap and I Bring hope. Written for ReadWritePeom #17, elemental - I picked water.

I remember helping in the yard when I was small and roses broad and tall. Thorns long as needles pricked my skin, and petals gray as cobwebs daubed my hair. I remember hating roses then, mistaking their perfume for scents of soil for worms and beetles, grubs and toil, their color for despair. I remember wondering was it a sin to hate yard-work when God had made such a beautiful world to live in. Then I grew up. My husband brought me roses sweet as love with sprouting shoots I nurtured till new blossoms spread their beauty in my yard. Written for ReadWritePoem #16 scents and memories

Going to build a garden flower Going to grow a river tower Going to wash in sandy showers Going to find that sunshine. Going to make that battery wind me Going to run where lost can’t find me Stopping clocks that try to time me Entertaining sleep-shine. Going to weep with pearl-white tears that Shed the joys and shed the years I’m Going to reap with diamond shears I’m Counting sheep tomorrow. Going to ride across the rainbow Going to slide beneath the pain so I can hide and I can gain some Fun instead of sorrow. Going to fly! Written for ReadWritePoem #15 carrying a tune and practicing being silly, to the tune of Bobby Shaftoe

the father held the answers and the reasons in his heart seasons for hope the start of all things keeping promises too close for flower’s bloom, the towering gloom of forest, watchman’s doom was filled, o’erpowering dreams that waited till the world’s unraveling restart, rebuild and he the holy braid repeating all he’s fallen still for wind that blows the promise filling the seasons reasoning sweet answers keeping home-fires burning hope returning heart still yearning sends the one who understanding this flashes furious flame unleashed a breeze that forest’s trees can speak its words true hope eternally forsaken, newly heard. Written for ReadWritePoem #14: a CLEAVE poem: The left hand (bold) words form the first stanza. Right hand (unbold) words are the second. And the whole poem read normally is its own third stanza. At least, I think that's what the definition meant.

The churches fell to flowers long ago The people fled And beds of daffodils have measured waning hours And tears they shed. The stones broke into blossom long years gone Some said the sunlight lit them so they glowed Today they sign their names To season’s will. The windows broke of course, the shattered glass Is shredded underneath the overpass But if you close your eye the steeple shines With needled pines. His chapel fell but worshipers return From black and white to where the fires still burn And ashes on the ground are flowers that tell His tales again. Written for ReadWritePoem # 13, not quite starting with the line "His chapel fell into flowers long ago" from a poem by Norman Dubie.

The broken window won’t let me in. The slide’s on its side in the garden With carrots and turnips climbing through dreams Where broken glass refuses to let me pass. Childhood ends when your thumbs turn green. The broken window’s outside the house And shadows fill the rooms But a mouse is hiding underneath geranium blooms And the stadium roars for victories unseen. I think if I pretend I’m inside I’ll see the toys and games and realize That nothing’s changed. Old lady sits in her chair and knits While carrots and turnips and climbing frames Slide through her dreams. Written for ReadWritePoem # 12 - nonsense sentence secret code

There’s a moment there when colors meet the eye— Horizon slipping sideways and there’s tulip fields forever— There’s a moment when you have to decide If you’ll walk among the yellow or the red. There’s a moment there when shades of sunrise flounder— Everything you’ve missed surrounding everything you’ve seen— There’s a moment when you can’t decide— You stand among the flowers, transformed, transfixed. There’s a moment there when shoes stick in the mud You wish you’d gone the other way around where ground was firm So you imagine now. I’m wondering If all decisions end up soiled like this. Written for ReadWritePoem # 11 - writing to something you didn't choose - in this case, the right path through the tulip field

I’ll drive a rental car I guess, From strange hotel to carpark where I’ll ask the way Then see him cross the stage And if I’m really lucky Watch him smile. I’ll breathe the plastic scents I guess Of cleanly crowds and hear them cheer As on the stage Beneath the heated lights Each child is changed I’ll see them smile. We’ll eat in some hotel and then Our fingers bent we’ll pack the car With his possessions Record of his days Then as we head for home I hope he’ll smile. Maybe we’ll even talk The day he walks. Written for ReadWritePoem #10 - celebration

Dark walker crossing the deep divide You’ve made the chasm wide then campfire lit Where winter’s torches hide, where silence sits Entrancing darkness haunting deep divides. You’ve made the chasm wide, relit Heart-fire and soft-strummed music, fit the sound To stow with dancing marionnettes around This chasm where the campfire’s lit. With strumming music’s flitting sound Dark walking overhauling deep divides Recalling startled night’s domain was mine His talons strumming music’s hidden sound. Dark walkers crossing deep divides With winter’s torch to hide in summer’s pail Be-fringed with poet’s dance the shadows hail My name limp-writ beneath where music hides. written for ReadWritePoem #9, including 12 words from a list - flap, winter, torch, pail, jug, strum, lever, massage, octopus, marionette, stow, pumice, rug, jam, limp, campfire, startle, wattle, bruise, chimney, tome, talon, fringe, walker

“Fingers was made before forks,” my Granddad said Back when I still believed that storks Made babies. “I like him,” he said when I brought a young man home. We scratched our names in sand Till the tide came in. Fingers tap computer keys But my heart’s key Was a letter from the young man, penned to me. Fingers came before pens as well, And dreams switching from child’s to mine Remind me Granddad’s gone. Perhaps I’ll write his name in sand Next time the tide comes in. Then child and man and I will dine, with forks in hand. Written for ReadWritePoem #8, unusual metaphors for love

In sun-cut shadow Dark-haired half-unseen he seemed The one, not who I Thought, a stranger, loved him though He’d never change. In sun-lit day my Eyes need to adjust to see Change cannot mend it Still the changeling arrow blends Two into one. Sun holds my heart he Keeps my soul protected stills My fear, no more I’ll Catch a stranger’s eye or hide Unseen, fills me. In sun-cut shadow I’m not who he thought me still As one together Bought a promise, future hope Found love we sought. Sunlight will wake The changing hope makes both More than before. ReadWritePoem #7 said we should write a tanka about an amusing romantic episode. I guess I lost the rules along the way.

On keeping a picture of my dog as a screensaver. Desktop, the screen- Saver, it seems Alright. She used to wait; Me typing; her fate My plight. Face turned away; Eyes turned; they say Goodbye. Why do I keep Her picture? See, Still mine. Look in her eyes— Still black and white, Still shine. Memories can’t feel Memories can’t steal The time. Image refreshed Background redressed Hey there. Dark against light Dream against night Not fair. Can’t hear her paws Can’t see her—pause— Not there. Can’t feel her fur Watching her stir Aware. Till one last time, One last sad line, Despair. Desktop: The screen Saver still seems alright. Written for ReadWritePoem #6, converse with images

That blank stare, was it mine or yours? And you’re still there. I thought we’d said goodbye. I watched your empty eyes then as you left That half-felt wave Like words still not quite penned upon the page. I watched your empty gestures, wondered still Were they once filled With love for me? That blank stare. You’re still there. Okay, I’m trying to talk to you. If you’d just answer once or twice maybe Don’t look at me like I’m not there Like you just couldn’t care Less. That blank stare. The muse demanding poetry Of me. It isn’t fair. Written for ReadWritePoem #5 give your poetry a personality

If life was a picture, flowers would bloom, And people would gather and talk in the room Of the shining outdoors. If life was a picture, they’d hang it on walls And people would gather in whispering halls Of the rich, not the poor. If life was a picture, the wise man would tell How its image reflected the future so well And he’d ask us to see. If life was a picture, the painter would cry And he’d paint himself into the scene and ask why Aren’t they talking to me. The cross on the frame signs His name. Written for ReadWritePoem #4 Inside Out

It’s not the dark that scares me. See, I’m walking without light. The night Is bright enough for me. It’s not the shadows. Watch them flee. They have no words to answer me. They haven’t heard my cry. It’s not the walls. They try to close Me in, surround on every side, But I just pass them by. It’s not the memories either. They Were just another night or day, Another time of life. Not this, nor that, but sudden snatch Of thought or light or image catches Fire, detaches me. He touched me Who should not desire Such sin. Written for ReadWritePoem , April 3rd prompt - something that scares you.

He used regular white Paper for his boat And folded it To make it float. He used regular blue Paper to make a kite To fly the sky. He used regular sand Paper to scratch The scars and lines away That marred his face When age took him too far From boats and kites. He used regular bright Paper in many vivid hues And typed His story all his did-s and done-s and do-es. They disappeared. He used regular news Paper to line the bench And cover hope and tears. One day we read he’d died, Just as he feared. Written for ReadWritePoem ’s April 2nd prompt; use something for which RWP is an acronym to inspire your poem.

Smile empty soul And they won’t see The tears behind your eyes. Unstable land won’t let you fall If you hold tight to memories of lies. Count on your fingers, toes; There’s 30 seconds to Mars and war And dreams that no one knows. You switched the TV on, opened the book, and read the chapter - V for victory For dying - And you cried. Ah, empty soul Did memories and lies agree on this That no one else should see your eyes? I read another chapter now Becoming I for mine And 30 seconds slowly ticking by To wonder why. Written for ReadWritePoem 's April 1st prompt: use five CD titles in a poem. Being musically, or albumly challenged, I read five album labels from the shelves in my son’s room and made this list. smile empty soul 30 seconds to Mars becoming i Chapter V unstable