I fail, miserably.
Tonight, it was
the mad dash
to the grocery store.
I had just run 6 miles
in the 80-degree dying day
and I smelt like it.
I looked like an extra
from a bad horror movie,
or an escapee
from the local asylum.
My hair was loose
and wild, a half-made
nest for the robins,
no doubt.
My makeup had
rearranged itself
in odd places
across my face.
I just needed coke,
chips, and who knows
what else.
No one was looking at me
and I wasn't looking at them,
until...
"Miss Jen!"
Ahh!
I've been spotted!
I spoke in mumbles
and the usual
babbling nonsense
and sculked away
after I met
the whole, unimpressed
family.
I managed a joke,
horrible and trying,
yet there was
mutual understanding
in all our fake chuckling.
I was wearing my black
bike shorts, Panama Rocks
tee shirt, pink sneakers,
and I smelt to high heaven.
I grabbed a jar of triple
succotash, as if
intentionally.
Earlier, I was well kept
and wearing a ladylike dress
to a friend's birthday party.
Then, I had it together.
Who can maintain
that level of normality
for a whole day?
I'm not going
to the grocery store
tomorrow.
It was a mistake
for me to bring Ben.
Eleven-year-old boys
and birds don’t go well
together.
I took two pairs
of binoculars
in the hopes that he
would bother to look
in a pair.
The sky was tumbling
it’s full gray clouds
in a frantic tussle
over our little wet
heads and peering eyes
that scoured the trees
for anything singing.
“There is no bid
fallout!” Ben complained
with his arms pulled
inside his tee shirt sleeves.
He looked cold
and cranky.
“Did you hear the goldfinch?”
“They all sound the same.
Can we go home now?
The same birds are in
our backyard.”
The rain dripped
unevenly off
the thousand petals
of a dogwood tree.
Is anyone other than me
seeing what I see
right now?
Miss Angela:
love is just a four-letter word
most people I know throw it
around like cheap,
worthless confetti.
I cannot express gratitude
with money
because I don’t have
much.
Manicures, hair styles
and fancy shoes
are not what make me
me. I wear a tee shirt
with Minnie.
Today I had a warm lunch
that you bought me.
I do recognize
great teachers
and extraordinary women,
you,
who remind me
that love is spelled
carefully.
Real beauty
is what you have
shown and shared
with me, in little
powerful ways
that resonate
in more ways
than money
can give me.
These little words
I hope express
what I cannot buy.
Just a little
poetry.
Sincerely,
Miss Jen
You you can the boy out of the bush
but you cant' take the bush out of the boy
That's Me
When first I left a country school , I couldn't wait
to move, to work and reside in a major city
Three years later, couldn't wait to return to the bush
as I felt remorse and a sense of self pity
A man of simplicity, is what I claim to be
Far away from bustle, noise and angst
returning to the bush, a longing to be free
Referring to attire, a pair of shorts and tee-shirt that will simply do
No collars, ties or business suits, done that,
as the barefoot bard, I don't even own one shoe
When our lovely female postie comes up our drive to deliver a confidential letter
I'm often standing in my best attire, my birthday suit (the only suit I own)
i have to quickly run upstairs, find a pair of shorts, she probably thinks I'm now looking so much better
And if you check out all the poems I have posted on the soup
you will note I only use the form of rhyme
As a sign of my simplicity
the only one that I'll, use for eternal time
disappointments
hurt the soul
with the most
resounding consistency.
For me, it was my father’s
little broken promises
that crack on pavement
like little glass figurines
that no one can hear, but me.
How, at almost 40,
when I should feel objectively
and not subjectively
like a child, during
our short conversations
do I revert to
a disappointed
twelve-year-old
in her mom’s
Mickey Mouse
maternity tee shirt
asking her dad
to come play outside
because her sisters
are younger, and of course
annoying.
I’m writing this at 6:40
in the morning.
My husband is strutting
around the kitchen,
purposefully,
making 8 o’clock coffee,
with the pour over
in his blindingly hideous
red Bills sweatshirt.
“Now that is a laugh
I love. Wait a minute,
are you poking fun
at me in this one?”
“No….”
“Let’s go back to Lake Lure
this summer.”
We want long sleeves sometimes.
But that’s what death is.
A short sleeve tee.
Folded away.
Layers of fabric of time.
Unfolding on my being.
Tugged over my head.
Too small somehow.
Death becomes whole.
Like a tee shirt with a hole, but can be salvaged.
We throw on a long sleeve jacket.
That’s what death is.
Tragic and worn everywhere.
Trying to keep warm but not overheated.
That’s what death is.
Could get thrown away easily.
Not knowing I am next in line.
Tragic.
Torn.
Folded up within.
I could die at any time.
That’s the magic of tee shirt weather.
Seventy Plus
Have been retired for 7 years
The best parts:
no work hassles
more time to write poetry
more time to play music
more time to work on my project list
(of course, AFTER the honey do list)
more time to volunteer
more time for naps
I can sit around in sweats and tee shirt
(in summer shorts and tee shirt)
But
The worst parts:
insomnia
not as much energy
in bed by 9PM
(I am a party pooper)
need hearing aids
my joints ache
have trouble remembering names
takes me longer to do my projects
(good excuse for not completing honey do list)
These are the best of times and the worst of times
If I can remember what the past times were like!
I am a Great-Grandmother
My Tee shirt tells me so
I only wear this shirt to bed
As I do not want others to know.
If I wore it out of doors
I think it would look pretentious
Some folk know I have many flaws
I find this contentious.
I could have been a grand dame,
Or maybe a diva of some note
I would have a great grand name
If I had married an emperor who captained a boat,
I was not born for greatness,
Or true grandness of any kind
Being grand
It could not be further from my mind.
After I married, I had children,
Five in all
Some of them had children
Seven at the last call,
The children call me Grandma
Mama for short
I became Grand overnight
Something I thought,
Would never happen to me
But then, those children grew up too
And had babies of their own
Which filled me with awe and delight
For the love shown
To these cuddly bundles of joy,
Two adorable, great little boys
Who have made me
A Great-Grandmother
Which I hope I will prove to be
One who sets an example to all
Who comes after me?
He walked into the interview
With his ball cap turned sideways
A tee shirt, shorts and sandals
So you’re looking for a job?
Yeah man…but I can’t work before 10 or after 4
And no weekends
jeans and a tee shirt
vivid imagination
undressed by his eyes
When you walked in
My gaze just froze
I watched you cross the floor
In focus on you
From afar
I stood there wanting more
To spend some time
And talk about
The whimsical and light
To laugh and look
Into your eyes
And lock in with your sight
All day, all night
I'd spend with you
I'll sleep sometime, not now
I wouldn't let
A moment pass
Not loving you somehow
My little bluebird
Fly to me
Alight now on my lap
I'll stroke your wings
You're tired now
So you just take a nap
And when you wake
All rested up
And ready then to soar
I'll fly with you
Anywhere
No longer wanting more
SOMETHING STRANGE
Ground floor of the
Engineering Building,
the elevator shaft wrapped
in a staircase, the entrance to
each on opposite sides
She was pretty, I thought, in a
blue hair, torn jeans counter-culture
sort of way, California sandals and a
colorful tee shirt, its clever slogans
over bouncing topography, her
black-rimmed glasses and overloaded
backpack signaling the intent to do
some serious work
She ignored the stairway, came striding
around to the elevator door, took one
look at me and without missing a beat,
completed the circuit and fairly fled
to the stairway like a curious squirrel
that discovered something strange
and then discerned the implications
My loss, I guess
I thought she was pretty!
ONE NIGHT STAND?
It seemed so simple at the start,
A one-night stand; no questions asked,
Then back to hum-drum daily life.
Her face, all innocent as she approached
And perched beside me at the bar.
“Would a gentleman buy a lady a drink?”
Lowering my gaze to the too tight tee shirt
And the all too short mini, I wondered
About the ‘lady’ bit
But then of course the ‘gentleman’ bit
Was a generous description.
A dry martini was her choice
(I would have sworn she’d say a G and T)
And so I joined her, even though
I’m normally a whiskey man.
And, as we sipped, the thought occurred to me
We must have seemed to all the world
A sophisticated pair
And afterwards, as you’ll have guessed,
We wound up in my bachelor pad
For a euphemistic cappuccino.
After which my memory is rather hazy,
Till I awoke with sunlight streaming through,
And the space beside me cold and empty.
A note by the kettle said a simple, “Thank you”
I thought that was the end of it, but no,
The nightmare had just begun
23rd September 2022
Chapter 1 Poetry Contest
Sponsor - Matt Caliri
Have you ever listened to those people who rant
and think, OMG They have the IQ of a crayon!*
You know you should walk away but you can't,
from listening to the attention seeking sycophant,
when all you really want to do is call him a moron.
*The first 2 lines were on a tee shirt.
When I searched for a picture of a moron, most of those
I found were of Trump. Not wanting to use that face, I
opted not to use another cartoon character. Sad, I know.
You may choose to envision another idiot.
In the gray dawn, ghostlike,
A mist rises over the lake
Like a floating whisper.
My shorts and tee shirt
Are damp and clammy
From hanging on the bedpost
Near the open window.
The dock is slippery, and
The yellow kayak slips
Soundlessly into the water.
The paddle barely ripples
The breathless surface.
I am adrift in my imagination.
I am a loon, skimming
The water with its haunting cry.
I am the Indian Hiawatha
In his birchbark canoe.
I am Jacques Marquette,
Exploring the Mississippi River,
Watching for Indians.
I am a lone leaf, drifting.
I am the wind and the air
And the thick gray fog.
I am the water itself,
Calm on the surface but
Teeming with life, as it
Wends its way to the sea.
I am the wind and the rain,
The sun and the clouds.
I am all things in this
Haunting, misty world.
As the fog slowly lifts,
Lightens, and turns golden,
I slip back into myself and
Paddle toward the shore.
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