Poem: Uninspired

Want to write a poem
And not sure what to say
Feeling uninspired
Exhausted from the day

Should I tell a story?
Should I make it sad?
Lies and disappointments
That’s all I ever had

At least for today with
Work and fewer smiles
Don’t do this you slaves!
Yeah, I’ll think on that awhile

Good to know I matter
I love to see the praise
Yeah and guess what?
Where’s my f**king raise?

Ah, but I digress
Not the point of this poem
Writing relieves the stress
With the comforts of home

So go forth and write!
Be lovely, fun and crazy!
(But don’t be like me,
I’m so f**king lazy!)

Bahaha…I miss rhyming, it’s so silly and fun! Hope everyone has a great night!

Happy writing!

Happy Mother’s Day, Grandma…I Miss You

I’ve been sitting here for the last half an hour on Wikipedia reading about Reba McEntire, about her recent divorce, her relationship with Kelly Clarkson, and the plot to Reba’s show, Malibu Country, which got cancelled about three years ago.

I haven’t suddenly become obsessed with Reba McEntire, (although I’ve always liked country music,) I’m stalling.

grandma roseA year ago today, May 8th, we lost someone special to us in our family. My grandmother, Dorothy, passed away from cancer. Today is Mother’s Day, but I’ll never get to say hello to her again.

Which is why…the stalling. I know I want to write something to honor her, but I don’t know where to begin. With all the poems I wrote about her in the past year? With our last conversation? The words of Reba McEntire’s song, “What Do You Say” keeps repeating itself in my head.

What do you say in a moment like this? When you can’t find the words to tell it like it is?”

My heart breaks a little. What do you say?

Dear Grandma,

I miss you.

Love, Amanda

There really isn’t much more to say. I said it all before in the poems I wrote for her: For Grandma, Not Goodbye, Baseball Memories, Up and Up, and Big Picture.

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My sister, Anna, me and Grandma in the back seat of the car on some road trip, over ten years ago; laughing and being goofy.

P.S.  I remember the last time we spoke, Grandma, I made you laugh. I told you something that Lilly had said, and I made you laugh. You were in pain, but my last moment with you…I made you laugh. One day, I’ll type out that conversation. I’ll put it in a memoir and tell everyone how much your house smelled like you, how it felt so quiet, and cold with you down for the count, and everyone wondering, “Is it time?”

But no, one spring afternoon at the end of April, while you were lying on the couch, too weak to get up, I made you laugh. And it warms my heart like nothing else.

I love you, Grandma.  Happy Mother’s Day.

Poem: Saturday Night

Pirated Deadpool
Ate pasta
Bread and sauce
And goodness
Broke the fourth wall
And eachother’s
Energy
Dead like Deadpool
But still got limbs
And hearts
And loneliness
Crawl into bed
With a good book
A book friend
Waiting to be held

:p This one is silliness! In case you didn’t catch it, we watched some Deadpool tonight. I love Ryan Reynolds, so great. The movie was awesome… Totally inappropriate for young ones, but still great.

Hope you guys are having a great night!

Silly Haikus and Pain Meds

Sore, hurt, shoulder pain

I wonder what will happen,

at work tomorrow…

 

Bones ache, and head dreams

of something soft and fluffy

flying clouds and pain

 

If I were a cloud

and you were something tasty

I’d eat you for lunch

 

sick and eating junk

they don’t taste like pills I know

sleepy drunk pain meds


I strained a muscle in my back/shoulder region on Wednesday, so today was spent in a sleepy drunk stupor…never taken those muscle relaxers before. Boy, do they make for an interesting time. Thought I’d try to express it in some haikus tonight.

Happy Writing!

Poem: Hold/These Arms

This was meant to be something else entirely. I’ve been watching some of Bindi Irwin’s dance routines from dancing with the stars. I don’t normally watch the show, but I’ve been cheering her on from the beginning. She’s such a wonderfully positive person, and I guess I was inspired by her.

Hold/These Arms

These are my arms
Every freckle, every scar
The heel of my hand
Bony, creased and wrinkled
These hands have been
Sanded down by desktops.
See the blue veins,
The purple, the red
Several tiny waterfalls
Sliding down
The pulse of my wrist

Further down
And inside
The skin is pale
A flick of the wrist
Some hair
And more freckles
These ones burned on
By the sun

These arms are thin
And always moving
Weakened by heavy loads,
Low blood sugar
And the flu.

Hold a candle to them
They burn
Hold a lamp
And the skin lightens
But put them up
Against life’s little troubles:
A broken down car, a
Sickness, a work drama

And show me someone
Who is suffering
And these arms will fold,
Beat back
and hold up the world
So they can rise above it

Poem: Freedom and the 4th

I kept thinking yesterday was Saturday because I had the day off, but today IS Saturday and it is also the 4th, and to me, that means family, freedom and fireworks! Oh, and hotdogs. I make sure I consume at least one hotdog around this time of year. Usually at a cook out. With pasta salads. And watermelon. And cupcake desserts.

Source: deviantart.com

Source: deviantart.com

Anyway, we wouldn’t be here celebrating the 4th, if it weren’t for the brave soldiers many years ago, who made that dream a reality.

Free our troops

Really free them

Each sacrifice is sacred

Each life is special

Don’t forget the lives

Our soldiers give up, but

Mostly: Pray they come home

Pray they come home safe!

I am eternally grateful to the men and women in service and the sacrifices that they have made and continue to make on a daily basis. Without them, we would not be here to celebrate the freedom we so desperately love on this independence day. Thank you all!

Happy July 4th everyone! 🙂

Poem: “For Grandma”

My family and I lost someone very special to us this month; my grandma of 88 years, passed away Friday, May 8th. While words don’t really do her justice – (I’ve never had this problem before!) It certainly doesn’t hurt to try.

So, I wrote a poem to honor her, which I read at her memorial service. Afterwards, everyone came up and told me how great it was, how “perfect” it was and fitting for her. But inside I felt empty. A part of me was pleased that everyone liked it, but I didn’t feel like I deserved it; it wasn’t good enough, it didn’t feel complete. But I think it was because, in this case, words can never really express how someone was in life, how much they mean to you, how much you ache and feel sorrow because they are gone.

I think there comes a time (even for a writer) when words just aren’t enough. No matter how much you try. Regardless, my grandma was a beautiful woman inside and out…and I did it to honor her.

grandma rose

(Or if you click on my beautiful picture you can see a larger image and read the poem there.)

It reads:

The woman who loved the color purple

had laughter on her lips

 

and everywhere she walked and talked

there was a purpose to her quips

 

She was always there to lend an ear

no judgement in her mind

 

She was always there for everyone

hard-working, mischievous and kind

 

The woman who loved to laugh and camp

had compassion in her eyes

 

She didn’t have to do everything

but by golly, she did try!

 

She was a woman of many names

and as busy as can be

 

But no matter what you called her

she was always “Grandma” to me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Poetry: I can write haiku, can you?

It’s snowing outside, tiny flakes coming down from the sky in all directions, swirling chaotically around cars and the pavement outside my window.

View from my office window.

View from my office window.

Naturally this makes me want to write, of course. I don’t know what it is…maybe because it’s warm in our apartment, I woke up refreshed (finally) after a good nights sleep and I have the day off from work.

Maybe there’s something in the way that snowy sleepy days naturally put me in a thoughtful mood, and thoughtful moods generally lead to writing…if I were a painter, I’d paint the heck out of a glorious snowy day, but alas, the best brush I have, is the brush of words on blank, blank paper.

And of course, the last sentence I just wrote had me thinking about haiku poems. It’s been ages since I’ve written one…not since college three years ago. I found a refresher at this website, here.

(From the website:) The haiku is a Japanese verse in three lines.  Line one has 5 syllables, line 2 has 7 syllables and line three has 5 syllables. Haiku is a mood poem and it doesn’t use any metaphors or similes.

wpid-img_20141127_165052481.jpg

View of the moon and snowy trees at my Grandma’s house, the evening of Thanksgiving.

I don’t usually think of myself as a poet. My advance poetry teacher in college said to me once, “You are definitely a fiction writer.” And that seemed to cement the idea in my brain. He didn’t mean to say that I was inept at poetry, just that eventually all writers make a choice, and I am a lover of stories and so naturally fiction was my style of choice.

But lately, I am constantly reminded by poetry why writing descriptive, lyrical words are so important. Why some fiction is just poetry in an extended form. In a single poem, an image is created in just a few words. I think poetry is a great way to remind fiction writers how important it is to show, not tell what is happening in the story, but to focus on the concise, and descriptive words.

Here’s some haiku of my own. Some silly, some serious, some not really haiku poems at all, but all poetry:

The bright yellow sun shines

through icicles hanging

on the windowsill

 

 

icicles remind

us to mind the cold weather

bundle up you beasts

 

 

dogs don’t like the snow

wagging their tails between gusts

shivering snow and wind

 

 

the snow swirls around the pavement

children walk by with parents

hands howling in their gloves

 

 

So much depends upon a red wheelbarrow…

(Just kidding! haha…can’t get this poem out of my head for some reason! For those that don’t know this is the start of a poem, “The Red Wheelbarrow,” by William Carlos Williams. I remember there were those that either loved it or hated it in my poetry class. There was a great debate that followed about it.)

And lastly, another haiku of my own:

 

The dead of winter

snow falls down on black pavement

eat lunch, eat sunlight

This has been a lot of fun for me this afternoon. Feel free to comment with your own, if you like!

Happy Writing!

Writing Prompt #38: “Oops”

Writing prompt # 38: You turn a corner at work and bump into a coworker, spilling your coffee on them.

“Oops,” you say, and laugh as coffee

spills down a mound of breasts

and a shirt now stained the color

of dirty milk

She was the bitch who told you to copy that file

as soon as possible  was the one

who told you, don’t forget there’s a meeting at 10

don’t forget to button your shirt

don’t forget about the coffee stains on your desk

don’t forget

don’t forget

well isn’t it funny you think

how you forgot to slow down around that corner

how you forgot to say “sorry” as you left her sputtering next to the copier

“Oops…don’t forget.”