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