Category: poetry
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NaPoWriMo 7
The smell of engine oil, metal, of galvanized nails lined up in bins with a hanging scale and stacks of paper bags, not the plastic boxes, and reels of chains in all different sizes. My favorite: the key machine, with all those blanks hanging, waiting to be carved to fit your lock, and your lock,…
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NaPoWriMo 6: Ham-handed
I have been ham handed with so many things lately. Where did my digits go? My handy opposable thumbs? If only my hands were actual hams I could have a snack. Instead, it is my mind that is ham handed, rushing to conclusions, neglecting details. I get the tools to fix it – an…
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NaPoWriMo 4
I’m buckling down for the long haul laying in the supplies again measuring my life by how much there may be left to live, how many more times I might see the daffodils the buds, the weak green of early spring.
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NaPoWriMo 3: On Waking
On Waking The wren’s insistent calls to his mate just outside our window The door closing, clicking in the latch Dogs barking at seemingly nothing in their quest to be useful Dishes being put away, plates stacking loudly against each other The front door being slammed shut as they hurry for to the bus The…
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NaPoWriMo 2
That woman in the picture looks like me but she is older and really: it’s me. She could be my mother’s sister if we compared the two at 40. There are 25 years between us and I am, of course, her daughter, the only daughter of an only daughter. She is the seamstress daughter of…
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NaPoWriMo, 100 Day Project, An Old Poem
In keeping with November and NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month), where participants attempt to write a 50,000 word novel over the course of the month, April is NaPoWriMo, National Poetry Writing Month. I’m thinking about participating again to see if I can write more than the 12 poems I did in 2014. Are any of…
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People are rivers
(Although the end of that last quote is a tough one for someone with a mental illness – it’s impossible for me to smile and be carefree sometimes and I try not to blame myself/beat myself up for not being able to while still striving to smile & be carefree. It’s complicated.)
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TBT: Poetry Edition
I started college as a Creative Writing major; this is from a workshop in my sophomore year, 1992. It’s not exactly one of my favorites – some lines are spot on though – but I chose it because it’s very TBTish. Attic Afternoons Beauty Parlor was best. Pink curlers next to powders, creams, polishes borrowed…
Little Golden Notebook 