My Bed is a Planet
My bed is a planet peopled by
my cat and me. Other planets
spin by but she curls up on my lap
next to my computer and she and I
explore the universe.
Poetry Page
100 days of summer
Friday, October 12, 2012
99/100 days of summer
Spinning to the End
The world, a helicopter seed spinning,
out of control, but in somewhat of a pattern,
a bit graceful, but definitely landing.
Round and round we go, not knowing
when and where it will stop but we know
it will stop. Will we be ready or crushed
underfoot like a dry helicopter seed?
The world, a helicopter seed spinning,
out of control, but in somewhat of a pattern,
a bit graceful, but definitely landing.
Round and round we go, not knowing
when and where it will stop but we know
it will stop. Will we be ready or crushed
underfoot like a dry helicopter seed?
98/100 days of summer
Better
Views
Trees
hide the better views,
so they
say, but I say
trees
are the views—
tall
thick oaks like beloved grandfathers
lovely
golden aspens shaking castanets
weeping
willows swaying like hula dancers
cottonwoods
with seeded fluff like children blowing bubbles
pine
trees, ever green and pointing up, godly reminders,
poplars,
maples, elm, tulip, hickory, birch, ash, larkspur—
all lovely views within
themselves. See, really see, the
trees.
97/100 days of summer
Ready on the Set
I’m not sure who I am or what I want.
Sometimes it feels like I’m an actor
in a bad movie, eager for a new one.
Sometimes it feels like I’m directing
my own movie, but everyone has forgotten
their lines. Sometimes it feels like
the commercial break—time to turn down
the volume, get a snack and wait
for something interesting to happen.
But sometimes I feel like the spunky,
driven protagonist, giving it all I’ve got,
knowing the end will turn out well.
I’m not sure who I am or what I want.
Sometimes it feels like I’m an actor
in a bad movie, eager for a new one.
Sometimes it feels like I’m directing
my own movie, but everyone has forgotten
their lines. Sometimes it feels like
the commercial break—time to turn down
the volume, get a snack and wait
for something interesting to happen.
But sometimes I feel like the spunky,
driven protagonist, giving it all I’ve got,
knowing the end will turn out well.
96/100 days of summer
Wishes
She’s
been thinking about things that don’t need thinking
about.
Fantasies may occupy the moment but don’t make
a bad
marriage better. If she needs to wish something, she
needs to
wish for the ability to respect him as he is and
to
understand that her own happiness isn’t her main concern.
She made
a vow that involves more than herself. Just like she
loves her
children no matter what, she needs to
love him simply
because he’s her husband
and that’s the only reason she needs.
95/100 days of summer
Another World
Each summer, the seven of us packed into a station wagon
with our things under an upside-down row boat on top,
and snacks and bread bags full of sandwiches in a metal cooler
and we’d escape like refugees in the middle of the night.
The youngest squeezed between our parents in the front
while the older four stuffed into the back leaning our heads
on each other’s shoulders one way until one of us would say,
“Lean!” and we’d switch and lean the other way.
On the way to Delaware, from Pennsylvania,
we’d always tell our parents to wake us up
when we crossed the Bay Bridge. They never did.
I wondered why until I was a parent myself.
We arrived at the cabins in Laurel, Delaware
as the day dawned. They faced a sandy area
and then the lake with docks, boats and a swimming beach.
For a week we lived in a different world from trees and hills,
having the time of our lives: swimming, fishing,
playing hide and seek with locals and other vacationers.
We’d also go to the ocean and sun burn despite Mom’s best efforts.
Then we’d return home where it looked strange, grassy and beachless.
Each summer, the seven of us packed into a station wagon
with our things under an upside-down row boat on top,
and snacks and bread bags full of sandwiches in a metal cooler
and we’d escape like refugees in the middle of the night.
The youngest squeezed between our parents in the front
while the older four stuffed into the back leaning our heads
on each other’s shoulders one way until one of us would say,
“Lean!” and we’d switch and lean the other way.
On the way to Delaware, from Pennsylvania,
we’d always tell our parents to wake us up
when we crossed the Bay Bridge. They never did.
I wondered why until I was a parent myself.
We arrived at the cabins in Laurel, Delaware
as the day dawned. They faced a sandy area
and then the lake with docks, boats and a swimming beach.
For a week we lived in a different world from trees and hills,
having the time of our lives: swimming, fishing,
playing hide and seek with locals and other vacationers.
We’d also go to the ocean and sun burn despite Mom’s best efforts.
Then we’d return home where it looked strange, grassy and beachless.
94/100 days of summer
Sister
Love
“It was
amazing,”
my
widow sister proclaimed.
“After
the call,
sisters
from across the country
were
on my doorstep the next day.”
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