mostly poetry, miscellany
Three poems for one click. Happy New Year.
I know a guy who likes worms
He raises them fat and firm
Cute, smart and nerdy
He shares with the birdies
Forget about the germs
Come watch them squirm
Ennie Meanie Miney Moe
I want to date a guy named Joe
He works down at the corner store
I know he would love me more
than Moe
|Breakfast is happy
if toast falls butter side up
Not today loser
It’s hard to believe that it’s been six months since my “removal” surgery. Thank you to the people who have checked in with me to see how I’m doing. I know some people reading this won’t know what I’m talking about, surprise! My left foot is gone! And I’m OK.
Really. I am OK. I lived with significant daily pain in my foot and ankle for nine years. Then last summer, my foot and I began a downhill slide like a sled on packed snow. Until February a nice surgeon waved his scalpel like Cinderella’s Fairy Godmother waved her wand and took it away.
Of course real life is not a fairy tale and I won’t gloss over the tough parts. It’s been an adjustment. Everything takes more time to get done. And while the Big Pain is gone, I have arthritis in other joints. There’s also some of the mysterious phantom pain in the missing limb you may have heard of. It’s weird. but doesn’t happen often or last long. The important take away is that the left foot is burning in hell where it belongs and I’m happy it’s gone.
The first accomplishment was finding help because I live alone. I have two ladies who alternate days. They come in the morning six days a week for a couple of hours and help with a variety of things which includes personal care, housekeeping, laundry, errands and fetching things out of my reach.
The biggest feat has been conquering the driveway and the threshold. The picture here is my driveway looking out from the garage. The slope rises about a foot in elevation from street to house, which is something when you’re rolling. When I got home, I couldn’t wheel over the threshold to the house by myself and I couldn’t navigate the driveway. It took me months to believe I could do it and figure out how to do it.
Every morning in the garage, aka the gym, with my helper practicing and going farther each day. I can now get in and out of the house and run the driveway by myself. I can even take the recycling barrel (in picture) and the trash barrel down to the curb for pickup. I am now working on the sidewalk as it goes up and down over driveways and uneven ground.
So that’s my check-in. It’s all good folks. Stay safe out there.
How do you learn how to write poetry? In addition to reading it and, books and articles about it, I have learned the bones of poetry through attending workshops. If you are looking for a place to get started with poetry or you want to tune up your skills, consider taking this FREE, ONLINE two-part workshop.
The workshops are sponsored by the Orange County Public Library. You do not have to live in Orange County, OR North Carolina. You don’t even have to live in the United States! You don’t even have to be a poet! What? Sure. Anyone can get stuck in a writing rut. Boost your writing game by dabbling in another genre, .
Part One: Titles and Beginning Lines
Sunday, January 29th, 1:30-3:30 pm
Part Two: Turns and Endings
Sunday, February 26th, 1:30-3:30 pm
Go here for more info on the workshop and register (by the Thursday prior to each class):
https://orangecountync.librarycalendar.com/event/online-poetry-workshop-pam-baggett-part-1.
A note from the facilitator, Pam Bagette:
Please have several of your poems-in-progress available to work on during the workshops. If you can’t attend the first workshop, you’re still welcome to attend the second. Writers working at all levels and in other genres are welcome.
A note about Pam Baggett:
I met Pam at a poetry reading at a local bookstore. Naturally! North Carolina has a large and thriving poetry community and she is one of our stars. I own a copy of her poetry chapbook, Wild Horses, and I’ve been in her workshops. She’s a Pushcart Prize nominee and a 2017 recipient of the Ella Pratt Fountain Emerging Artists Grant.
In response to the Living Poetry Monday Poetry Prompt
Wasteland
America has a waste problem
We waste our people
by failing to stop gun violence
We waste our people
by fighting in the wrong wars
We waste our people
by incarcerating two million citizens
We are four percent of global population
and hold sixteen percent
of all incarcerated people in the world
We waste food
Over twenty million tons of it a year
The road to hell
is paved with rotting vegetables
and gallons of pudding in wrestling pits
I should cook more
instead I drop wrappers and cups
from the drive thru into the trash
We buy, buy, buy recklessly
and throw most of it away
wasting two million tons of trash a year
Don’t look at the plastic unicorn
on my shelf which serves no purpose
If I am not part of the solution
I am the problem
Let’s get radical.
What is a landfill but a cemetery in waiting
No one can live forever
but for those chasing immortality
we will bury you in used plastic
bags and bins sealed with duct tape
Your bones will outlast life on Earth
For more information:
https://www.dosomething.org/us/facts/11-facts-about-recycling
https://www.vera.org/ending-mass-incarceration
My lovely poetry colleague and friend, Lisa Tomey of Prolific Pulse has nominated me for a Pushcart Prize.
Since there’s no little “reblog” button on her page, please click here to read about it:
https://prolificpulse.blog/2022/10/18/pushcart-nominations-2022/
Today is a day that we accept ALL compliments received. Oh, we may grin or blush and give an ‘aww shucks.’ But we take it all in and say, "Thank you.”
Dear Diary,
It has been a long time since I have been here. July and August went by in ennui. Then I was held in a tower of medicine and learning, for 22 days. I was not a prisoner, but all of the attendants and guards wore masks and routinely assaulted me with needles, pokes and squeezy things. They called it “getting vitals.” It has left me weak, bruised, and disgruntled but I am happy to report that I am alive!
Every wounded writer needs a hero. I had two. My Lady knight in shining armor with flaxen hair, strength beyond knowing, and her trusty dog stayed in my guest room for a week. They kept me fed, watered and sane.
I look forward to more diary entries, new poetry in to return to life as normal.
Princess JeanMarie
My response to the Monday poetry prompt.
The machine age brought ease, comfort, new ways to war and a race to space. What will be our epigraph when at last we destroy ourselves?
Author’s Note: Don’t mistake me for a luddite. Some of my favorite things are electricity, WiFi, my devices…. You get the picture. But I worry sometimes about the ethical implications brought about by the leading edge of science. As to what the epigraph will be, that’s up to some alien archeologists to figure out.
Today’s poem was inspired by my friend eQuips’ blogpost, The Dichotomy of Sand. Be sure to check out her poem and her blog! The picture is Myrtle Beach, SC.
Sand
Eschew the microscope, forgo counting grains
Each one is unique and marvelous
but for now just enjoy the dichotomy
A house built on sand
will eventually collapse
A house built on sand
mixed with water and cement
will be last for centuries
Rest – lay down in soft sand
Burrow until every curve
is supported in natural comfort
And when it is time to go home
wash with care so the abrasive grit
takes away the grime of modern life
Accident Type: Unspecified Motorized Vehicle Incident
I was in a hurry and hit the throttle too hard.
The impact was so hard
I felt my body vibrate like a struck bell.
I was focused on the destination
and didn’t notice the pool of blood
I stood in until I was ready to sit.
Eww. This bathroom is disgusting.
Oh.
That’s mine.
I didn’t panic.
Left that for my cool, authoritative
In Case of Emergency contact person.
So. Much. Blood.
I stumped the pharmacist and paramedics.
Are you sure you’re not on blood thinners?
It wasn’t deep but I had been flayed
by a bathroom stall door
while driving my mobility scooter.
The thin sutures slipped out
of my leg like like topsoil blowing away
in the Dust Bowl.
The TEN heavier sutures poked into the air
from my shin like eyelashes
on a child’s monster drawing.
Changing the dressing stung
causing the thin skin between stitches
to roll up like wet tissue.
Hospital discharge notes indicated risk
of “poor cosmetic result.”
Please send thoughts, prayers and chocolate.
On day 1, 2 and 3
I wrote poetry
Nothing new on 4
I finished one from before
I didn’t write on day 5
My urge to poem took a dive
I didn’t poem on day 6
except that I wrote this
Day 11, 8 and 9
I poem’d just fine
Day 7 and 10 were dilly-dally
They won’t be included in the PAD tally
Day 12 prompt, write a counting poem
Doing that now, I’m in the zone
Day 13 there’s no poem on my plate
I’m not superstitious but why temp fate
Days 14 through 18 was a successful run
On Day 29, day 19 got done
Nothing written on day 20
I’m fine with that, I’ve got poems a plenty.
Day 21, I was back in the game
This month has been great, and a little lame
Poems for day 22 and 23
were not too shabby if you ask me
Day 24 was a political rant
I was angry but I won’t recant
Nothing new on day 25
Poetically speaking I was barely alive
Day 26, 27 and 28
I’ve got poems done on my plate
Day 29 became flash fiction
It counts and that’s my opinion
Day 30 I finished with three brief lines
It’s my work, and that is fine
The April ’22 total is 28 done
come back next year for more poetry fun
Words from JeanMarie 