Author Archives: Dee

About Dee

I am a working wife, geek, and mother of two with opinions about just about everything which I plan to share here.

Imaginality

grounded in reality
anchored in maturity
unhampered by neutrality
I leave this planet gratefully
to worlds viewed in obscurity
must be my abnormality
I question it’s legality
maybe my irrationality
I tell you without formality
I cling to no modality
and throw myself at gravity
dive off the cliff of levity
on paper royal authority
weave a verbal tapestry
that takes me where I want to be

I Asked For Light

shine a little light in here
I asked the darkman, please
but he just smiled and pointed at
the stars and shook his head

shine a little light in here
I asked the lady in the moon
but she just kept on smiling
enigmatic when all I wanted
were answers

shine a little light in here
I asked the night that settled round
the night birds sang and evening bells rang
but night just kept on falling

shine a little light in here
the darkness gathers round
and I am huddled in the corner
fear and sheer determination
stay awake, keep watch it’s coming
what it is I do not know but darkness
gathers round and I am gathered to myself
in corners former courage gone
the warmth is stripped the
armor chipped and I will not survive
without a little light in here
can you I ask I wish I plead
the bleeding stops when crops
are in the barn door shut
but horses gone I am alone
in this dark can you light a little
light a candle tiny flame
to shame the deep and help me
sleep the cold the gold of glow
will show that I am here and safe
and warm and harm will never
darken more than I can handle
hold the candle up to sky
give lie to all the bad
you had the chance before
once more just try, just try

shine a little light in here
I asked for love and spent it dear
the price but twice returned and
candle lit, my hands cupped round
softly warmed but never burned
my back I turned to darkness
I will face the light and feel
the heat of tiny sun that shames the moon
and lessens dark and keeps my eyes
turned lightward fingers gentle
flame tenders, ray senders,
carried forward carried light
shared roundabout

Exercises in Brevity

I have been participating in a lot of contests at AllPoetry that require brevity – usually with an image or two word prompt and a 13 to 15 word limit.  The little pieces below are some of the results.

Darkness

cold wind blows
frost fencing in a
hurt heart
nothing grows
without sun

Higher

Growing,
stretching wings
I wasn’t born with.
I am trapped by gravity…
but not forever.

Snowsong

music muffled
by snow blankets
softly piling dreams
crystal layers
frozen stars
uncounted

My Father

the things he left behind
left more questions than
answers about a life

Seasons Fly

Sunday Scribbling prompt: guidance

tiny bird landed
on my porch today,
shivering feathers puffed
against the cold morning.
I explained the 33rd latitude
is too far north.
he cocked his head to one side
as though to say,
there is no snow
and bird feeders are near.

“easy food is not
always best in the long run.”
I replied.
He shook himself
and flew next door
to sit on a man-made perch
and fill himself
with seed
I waved, sad
to see him go.

My Mind Needs An Editor

AllPoetry Contest entry. Assignment: Write a letter to the editor about poetry – Bukowski style. Bit of a departure for me. I don’t think I would like him as a person and I may get yelled at for that. Usually when I read his work, I feel like he needed a good smack, but here it is anyway 🙂 Update: Won GOLD by the way 🙂

dear editor
(it says that on your door)

I come to this page
over and over
hoping for something
on fire or at least
smoldering
instead of cold stinking
morning after soot about “he
done me wrong and I don’t think
I can write again”
minimum requirements should
be could we sit down and
talk about it over a beer
for more than ten minutes
without one of us needing
to take a leak
or letting minds wander
to the waitress’ cleavage
there is more fire in that
shadow than this
rag ever prints
(make it my obituary –
I’ll pay extra)

yours,

smug, slightly bitchy poet

Rain Tears

image unknown origin (an allpoetry.com contest entry)

If every tear that ever fell
Became part of the cycle of rain
They would evaporate into
Our atmosphere and we
Would all breathe pain

A Responsive Reading

There are those who spend hours huddled
over bibles stirring as if they were cauldrons
filled with gallons of steaming condemnation
drinking from a fountain of self righteousness

There are those who wrap themselves in corsets
containing and prohibiting any human love
freezing out those not deemed suitable
walking two steps ahead of the lowly and unworthy

There are those who scratch words and prayers
on paper that bleed and they suffer oh how they suffer
for their Jesus. P.R. Men for God, the only ones
with hotline to heaven, key to the executive bathroom

There are those who are confused and tired
poor and hopeful, lost and broken, held in God’s hand
with a gentle touch, washed and whispered to
needing, fed, welcomed home, covered by grace

This Little Light of Mine

allpoetry.com contest Count To Eight

Create a rhyming poem
with 8 syllables per line
and 8 lines in length
based on this image.

I shall never live in darkness
though shadows hover round my room
I’ll make a little light to shine
to keep away the sense of doom

I will write away the darkness
I will write of the stars so fair
I’ll even write some light for you
I have got plenty more to share

According to Wikipedia:

This Little Light of Mine” is a gospel children’s song written by Harry Dixon Loes (1895-1965)

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/This_Little_Light_of_Mine

Nursing Home Nightmares

Three Word Wednesday  CCXVI: advance, pander, shuffle
The halls were that depressing shade of green you don’t see anywhere on earth except old schools and hospitals.  An old man that looked more like he should be a patient was continuously buffing the floors.

Jack shuffled along, sloppy slippers barely clinging to sockless feet.  Shoulders slumped, head down, hair thin and messy, dandruff flaked on the shoulders of his red plaid flannel robe.  One pocket hung half-off and he could have used a clean hanky.  His advance was watched by no one except crazy old Mrs. Klusendorf who was parked in her doorway, tied to a wheelchair.  She was surrounded by a cloud of eau de urine and regarded him suspiciously as she nodded and hummed to herself.

“Hey there, Mr. Thomas.  You are just in time for your meds.”  The smiling perky blonde nurse peered up at him and he let his lip curl half his mouth into a grotesque parody of a smile.  He nodded but didn’t speak.  She poured him a little drink of water and handed him the paper pill cup.

He turned up the cup and tucked the pills into his jaw and swallowed the water and did the half smile thing again, pandering to her nurture needs. She smiled back at him.  He pointed behind the desk.  She turned and looked.  “Oh yes!  We are starting to decorate for Christmas!  Won’t that be fun?”  She grinned at him as he thought about what it would be like to have his fingers around her neck, watching her face turn red as she struggled, and then blue as the lack of oxygen had it’s final effect.

He would help Mrs. Klusendorf tonight.  He nodded and waved to the nurse and shuffled back down the hall, patting old Klusy on the shoulder as he went by.  No one should be tied in a wheelchair.  It was nearly bedtime and then four hours before bed checks.  Plenty of time.

Who Knows Me

AllPoetry contest Prompt: Who are you?

I used to be young
skinny girl kind of snarky
loved the world and sang
the years with friends and
all the ideas my mind would
run though like a thousand
crystal streams

I grew up and had my babies
those were good years
but confusing
I lost me for awhile and
before I could find me
they were grown and off
looking for their own
I surprise them

now I am young again
though my outside
has not caught up
I dream and write and think
and wonder if I have ever
been me or just
a reflection of those
I love

I have wrapped up parts
put them away
like forgotten toys
some broken
some barely touched
many were loved once
some as ugly as the sweater
aunt Alice gave me for
Christmas

So now I am a little
snarky and a bit pissed
because time is passing
and I have wasted
I won’t ever be guilty of
that again…I will be me
in strength and weakness
joy and pain
I am wading in the water
again

Big Boy

AllPoetry Prompt: “I know why some animals eat their young”

“whatever” he said,
staring at me from under
lashes once curled round my finger
now lip curled, stance
all defensive,
shoulder slumped, hands
thrust into denim pockets,
after shave and cigarette clouds,
“I love you” whispered to his
back as it goes out the door.

my hands itch to gently
push hair back,
wish for ghost of the smile
that once came easy,
giggles at whatever I said.
curly hair baby shampoo
mixed with little boy smell,
nose rub, bear hug,
“I love you this much”
whispered as I closed the door.

Anger Kills

AllPoetry Contest Prompt: Mystery ’80s Lyrics Prompt: Alone above a raging sea that stole the only girl I loved, and drowned her deep inside of me
weird prompt for me – did not listen to The Cure and never had my girl stolen lol

and  I am full of anger,
roiling, boiling over, spilling all
around it makes a mess;
the test is how effects appear.
It killed the love.
It killed the hope.
That’s what it does,
A slippery slope
that once begun, control is lost
and further in the cost,
it takes more than it fills
the angry sea of me is what
it’s all about; my anger, my feelings,
my self, I shout: me, me, me,
and you are gone, but
I was so mad, I didn’t even notice.

November Wind

November wind does not sing,
it screams and wings to other
lands. The span of seasons
pushed by currents fervent,
branches cling to trees,
let go of leaves that fall
to pleas of wind and weather,
sigh and curl around themselves
then acquiesce to little death,
the red and gold of tearing
loose from summer’s mooring.

November wind seeps in and
mutters now of snow and bite,
of gray and white, and I am loosed
like leaves and scattered,
grounded. I will sigh and curl
before the fire banked to
bring warmth higher through
the longest night, til winter burns
through darkness gold in bones,
atones for sins untold and seasons turn
and I and leaves rise up and yearn.

An Old Child

allpoetry prompt – write a Triolet

not completely satisfied with this but it was interesting to play with – I will revise later. Not sure it is exactly correct in form.

An old child, who knows the past
with love tattooed on worn out flesh
and bones that carry memory cast
An old child who knows the past
where sunny days died all too fast
inward eyes see life afresh
An old child who knows the past
with love tattooed on worn out flesh

8 lines.
Two rhymes.
5 of the 8 lines are repeated or refrain lines.
First line repeats at the 4th and 7th lines.
Second line repeats at the 8th line.
Rhyme scheme (where an upper-case letter indicates the appearance of an identical line, while a lower-case letter indicates a rhyme with each line designated by the same lower-case or upper-case letter):
A
B
a – Rhymes with 1st line.
A – Identical to 1st line.
a – Rhymes with 1st line.
b – Rhymes with 2nd line.
A – Identical to 1st line.
B – Identical to 2nd line.

Creativity Stymied

allpoetry prompt – word bank: curtain, serpentine, sentinel, noble, unbound, crystal, finite, reverberate

form – etheree

circling,
serpentine thoughts
slither, a sentinel searching
for cohesive nerve connections;
unable to place two words together.
The curtains of the heart shut, no noble
endeavor this. Frustration unbound, needing
one crystal clear chorus, a prayer that
creativity won’t prove finite with
broken edges the mind ever
falls from, unending
reverberation of
failure.

Outside The Garden

allpoetry prompt – nightside of eden

We live out our days
on the nightside of eden,
banished from the garden.
Left to cold, dark, and pain

We wait impatient
for the last sunrise,
that signals homecoming;
that trumpets the gate song.

We toil for things that
never bring peace.
We love frail people
that forever disappoint.

We strive for growth
that never hits the mark;
a people breathing need
for a place we can’t remember.

We love imperfect,
with less desire than
needed to lift us
high enough to be loved.

We wait sleepless
through the long night,
shivering and longing
for the gardener to wake us.