A Poetic Life

Has it really been months since the last time I posted anything? Acutally, I post plenty of blogs for work, but I can't believe I haven't posted anything here since January. The good news is that work is great. The company is doing awesome and I am SO busy. The bad news is that it's been a few months since I've written any poetry. My heart and soul are screaming for a good release. Today I cleaned my house and cranked up an old Sheryl Crow CD. I was so close to queing up an old Patti Griffin CD but ran out of time before dinner. These are two artists who are poetic, honest, and are second only to my absolute favorite artist - Melissa Etheridge.

No matter what I do for a living, I will always be a poet. I don't know how to define what being a poet is, I just know that ever since I was 5 years old and wrote my first poem, I knew there was something different about me. Something different about the way I perceive things. Something different about the way I react to things. Something different about the way I cope, celebrate, and live.

The other day I pointed out to someone that it looked like one cloud was trying to catch up with another. That person said they'd never looked at the clouds long enough to realize anything like that.

Today I watched a father and son pull into a gas station. The boy looked around 8 years old. The father went into the gas station to pay while the boy eagerly hopped out of the car and started cleaning the front windshield with the squeegie. The father returned and helped the boy with a couple of hard-to-reach spots. It's the simple moments that pass by unnoticed or are taken for granted that I just happen to witness from the corner of my eye. A moment that reveals intention and emotion. A moment that inspires me to write a poem...

To Breed or not to Breed ...

Exactly a year ago today, a white and black stray cat became a part of our family. We named her Sugar. She is the smartest, funniest, best cat I have ever owned. I could bore you with a list of all her unique, talented ways like a parent talking about their child. At 40, I often think Sugar is as close as I will get to having a child.

So, how did I get here? Well, I've never been married and I've never had a pregnancy "oops." Having children was never on my list of "Must Do's." I've been waiting for that moment of yearning to have a child to happen like everyone told me it would. I got close to feeling it last year. I really let it sink into my bones for at least a few weeks. It was all I thought about along with stressing out over how to plan a wedding as soon as possible so we could get started on creating a pregnancy. I only accomplished making both of us crazy.

I talked to close friends and family about what I was thinking and their insight and support was what I needed.

If we decide to have a child, I know we'll make wonderful parents. If we decide not to have a child, I'm going to get a puppy.

Looking Closely

Have you ever looked closely at a flower petal? I have. And this is what I wrote about it.

The petal of a flower

easy to devour

Nourishment for the parasites.

Shaped like my heart
smoothly sliced apart

by careless or cruel hands.

Gentle on your lips

Passionate like your kiss

deep dark

and red.

Complicated beauty

understood simply

Exposed but unafraid

on your bed.

Veins

red and thick

with secrets

flowing in blood

too precious

to spill.

Until

You

My blood friend

I'll prick my finger's

end.

Image from FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Homemade Muppets, Best Friends, and Cocaine

My niece is in sixth grade. Last night I fell asleep trying to remember what is was like and who I was when I was in sixth grade. I started sixth grade with the group of kids I had grown up with since Kindergarten. But when my mom got hired in another city, we moved. I don't remember who my teacher was or what I learned. I only remember homemade muppets, my best friend, and a boy named Paul Cocaine.

We made the muppets (felt puppets) for a class project. The teacher assigned partners and mine was a boy named Tino. I didn't want to be partners with Tino. He was a boy?! But once the glue and yarn were placed before us things started looking up. Tino was mischevious and made me laugh. It was the most fun I'd ever had with a school project.

By the end of the year, one of the girls at my new school would become my new best friend. I hadn't had a best friend since first grade.

On one of the first days at my new school it started to rain at lunch time. We were told we would be eating in the classroom and that the yard duty lady would be checking in on us. A group of girls pushed their desks together and invited me to join them. I was having such a good time! Then a boy with blonde hair starting talking smack. I wanted to smack talk back but the group of girls I was with decided we would ignore him instead. I asked the group who the boy was and they said his name was Paul Cocaine. Seriously?! Then he started spitting food at us. Always tiny and fiesty, I decided it was time to take control. I told him to stop and the smack talking showdown began. We ended up standing up, facing each other. I said something he couldn't think of a comeback for so he pushed me so hard my back slammed against the chalkboard. I didn't have too much time to think about the pain from the chalkboard tray. Suddenly in slo-mo, his arm lifted, fist in the air, aimed at my face, approaching. My big sister reflexes activated, I used both of my hands to block his fist while my right foot slid across both of his legs beneath the knee sending him crashing to the ground and landing on his butt! Silence. Then a classroom of kids laughing at him. He stood up in a rage. Thankfully the yard duty lady had waddled in. We were both sent to the principal's office. By the end of the year, Paul had developed a baffling, albeit sweet, crush on me.

So who was I in sixth grade? I was a girl who had learned not to take life too seriously. To laugh in the midst of striving for accomplishments and success. I was a girl who learned life was so much sweeter when you had good friends to share it with. I was a girl who would not be intimidated into silence. I was someone who was willing to fight and defend. I was a girl who could earn respect just by being true to myself. I was, I am, me.

The Sound of Laughter

When my mother's mother passed away I wasn't ready to let her go. Even though I knew she was gone, there was a part of me that refused to accept it. In a daze I wrote this poem. My grandmother taught me many things. The most important, was to live my life without any regrets. She inspired me to speak my truth and to do whatever it was that my gut and my heart told me to do. I didn't want to end up looking back on my life wishing I had said or done anything differently. I didn't want to be an old woman who told the story the way I wished it had happened with the things I wished I had said or done. I still miss her. Most of all, I miss the sound of her laughter.

When Grandmother laughs

her earth shakes

Her hills and mountains

undulate

And a river of sound

flows from her mouth

Eh heh

Heh heh

Eh heh

Heh heh

The pools of water

in her eyes

Tidal wave leap

stream to her thighs

as she gasps to catch her breath

Hiccup

Hiccup

Hiccup

When Grandmother laughs

We all join in

shaking quaking

grinning skin

Howling gasping

coughing breath

No matter how much time goes by

It always feels like yesterday

Family gathered

while smiling I waited

Perched on the edge of a chair

My breath bated

Wondering hoping

Who will be the first

to make Grandmother laugh