Five Reasons Why We Divorced

 

1. The phase of the moon. 

      Full in perpetuity inside your head,

     disturbing your vision from behind,

     creating avid ghosts. 

     Me, caught in tides, no handhold,

     every current riding over my tongue,

    a deep-water language for one.

2. The snowdrops in the front garden.

     You, the monarch of sweet beginnings,

     pale with presentiments, failing

     and dying in the first strong light.

    Me, the Queen of January, lover

    of the silent empty street, made 

    nervous by crowds and heat. 

3. The thespian masks on our wall.

     You were the thousand-in-one,

     going for a glass of water and

     returning a complete stranger.

    Me, forgetting what was real or scripted,

    playing a part, blundering in borrowed limbs,

    smiling, crying, ad-libbing, hating it.

4. The crow feathers on my desk.

     You liked doves, wanted everything white,

     like living in a child's storybook, letting

    someone else absorb all the splinters.

    Me, a dark star happiest at height, 

    but having foresworn the breeze

    except the one in my dreams. I called

   all night, lips never moving at all.

5. The child between us and of us.

     The Viking funeral you loaded

     your guilt upon, disguised as

     kindness, consuming itself brightly.

    Me, trying to be sober, trying 

   to be better than the mother

   I had myself, and failing, failing,

   until our child needed me most

and I swam out to him, with my real face, and a ticket out of there. 

________

for What's Going On? Fifteen Reasons 

Don't forget that the Word Garden Word List is still open through Sunday. 

Music: Roberta Flack Just Like A Woman

   

     

I'll Wipe That Enigmatic Half Smile Right Off Your Face, Chica

 

Mona Lisa and I sit at my kitchen table, sharing croissants.

(I have no kitchen table.)

I'm about sick of her stupid smile.

(Mona Lisa isn't even here.)

My dog wanders up and asks if there'll be anything else.

(My dog can't talk.)

I slip a revolver out from my skirts and lay it on the table.

(I'm wearing sleep pants. I own no guns.)

Sorry, says Mona Lisa. She says that all day long.

(Paintings don't speak.) 

I blow her brains out.

(She has no brains. That's why she's annoying.)

I clean up, then marry my dog.

(You can't marry a dog.) 

I whisper in his ear that the gun was unloaded.

(There was no gun, no Mona Lisa, no table.)

I hope you enjoyed this poem.

(Poem?)

______

for Word Garden Word List--Inspector Pancakes Helps the President of France.

Music: Donovan There Is a Mountain

Word Garden Word List--Inspector Pancakes

Good afternoon, mes amis, and welcome to this week's Word List poetry prompt! I have a special treat in store for you, so unroll your rugs and take out your cushions, sit Indian-style in a half circle and we will start reading Inspector Pancakes Helps the President of France!

It seems that some scoundrel has stolen the President's croissants! Mon Dieu! He asks our intrepid hero, Inspector Pancakes, to help him find them. Being a dog, he will "sniff them out" most likely. What a wonderful children's story.

There's just one thing. The large print is, indeed, a charming tale for kids. However, the small print is a hard-boiled detective yarn, wildly unsuitable for young readers! Taken as a whole, Inspector Pancakes Helps the President of France is both charming and utterly wrong on so many levels. Myself, I much prefer the "G" rated version. Not to play favorites, though, I have taken all tastes into consideration with this week's List. The first 10 words are taken from the all-ages story. The second 10 are taken from the dark alleys of the small print.

What we do here is to use at least 3 of the 20 words provided to write an original poem of our own. Then just link, visit others, and sit back at your favorite Parisian cafe with half a croissant for you and half for the dog!

Your List:

cookies

croissants

dog

France

hero

important

Louvre

milk

Mona Lisa

pancakes

abandoned

brains

dangled

Gauloise

rabid

repercussions

revolver

slammed

switchblade

unloaded

 

Shark Adventure

 

Some sharks move to suburbia.

They are mutant land sharks, able to breath and speak in their

strange, halting pidgin. 

Their spawn, er, kids sign up for Little League

and eat burgers at picnic tables after the games--

A lot of burgers.

Okay all the burgers.

At little Maria's birthday party, there is a pinata. 

One of the shark kids bursts up from the lawn,

opens its gaping maw,

and consumes it whole, along with much of a maple tree. 

Version 1) Maria runs inside, crying.

Version 2) Maria starts writing "Mrs, Maria Shark" over and over

in her school notebook.

Some customs elude the sharks.

Someone brings over a bundt cake as a welcome gesture.

Mrs. Shark tries for an air kiss on the cheek but sends the woman to the hospital. 

It is awkward for everyone and permanent for the neighbor.

The sharks notice that PTA mothers' and golfing dads' smiles

have turned to scowls. 

Country Club sponsorships dry up. 

The sharks make a holiday visit to the community pool and everyone runs away screaming. 

The sharks start wearing disguises in the grocery store and at the bank.

"I am a harmless minnow," says one shark

from a few rows of dagger-like teeth.

During a visit to a local gallery, all the sharks wear berets

and funny eyeglass masks.

No one is fooled.

Realizing that things have gone too far for remedy,

the sharks shrug, as sharks will, 

and solve everything by eating the school principal, 

the HOA president, and the local chief of police, 

all in a single afternoon.

They pack up all their stuff and return to the sea

where people are not so judgy and unforgiving.

They playfully sink a fishing boat and eat all the occupants, fish, tackle, and the mast. 

They are home. Their stomachs are full. All is well.

Brody and Hooper may kiss their fantastic finned butts.

________

for Word Garden Word List--Shakespeare Bats Cleanup 

Music: Baby Shark (You're welcome!)

Word Garden Word List--Shakespeare Bats Cleanup

 

Happy Monday, my little seamheads! It is almost the end of winter, and down in Florida and out in Arizona, the baseball teams have gathered once again. Can spring be far away? In honor of the return of my first and truest love, your word list this week is taken from a fun little book called Shakespeare Bats Cleanup by Ron Koertge. 

The book is the poetic (?) musings of a young first baseman who finds himself felled by a case of mono, and with time on his hands, he starts writing. He may not have known a ballad from fruit salad when he began, but somehow a certain knack starts to appear. 

Says Koertge: One night my wife and I drove to Lake Elsinore to see a game. It was 10-zip in the fifth, so I started working on a poem. Not far away, while his father dunned him about batting stance and gumption, a boy of ten or eleven was writing something too. We exchanged a conspiratorial glance. On the way home, I told my wife I had an idea for a new book. 

Whether you've got chalk dust on the brain from baseball or blackboards, I hope you'll enjoy this List. What we do here is to use at least 3 of the 20 words provided in a new original poem of our own. Then just link up, visit others, and root, root, root, for the home team! This List is active through Sunday. 

Your List:

bamboo

baseball

beret

burgers

disguises

fable

fracas

gallery

garage

holiday

hospital

mutant

pinata

pine

radio

salute

scowls

sharks

Spanish

whiffy

Gray Area

 

Impossible things--when I was little

there weren't very many of them. 

I thought--I might be like a girl I read

about, who woke up speaking Italian

though she never had before.

I thought I might discover a talent for

playing the piano

or hitting a softball

or performing feats of memory.

As time went on--well, you know.

Good at this, not so much at that.

Lucky at neither cards nor love. 

You have--oh, where should I start?

(should I start?) 

gray eyes like my father's,

amused and kind, but in a woman's face. 

I like--how you look in that flannel shirt

of gray, blue, and white, with the maroon henley

underneath, and old blue jeans. 

I like--your bedroom with the pastel

gray walls and cream trim. Yes, I looked

on my way to wash my hands

with your milk & honey soap. 

I'm nervous--but in such a delicious way.

Should I tell you what I'm feeling? I could

ruin this bright beginning, I know...

Your hair--it looks good gray

I want to touch it, touch you,

but chances have gone wrong before.

It's a gray area--how you might react,

how these things are done 

when nothing is familiar or sure. 

Impossible things--Alice's Queen believed

in at least six of them before breakfast

I'm wondering, could you?

Would you--take a chance on Wonderland with me?

________

for What's Going On? Colors Passing Through

Music: Denise King Stuck On You

launch code

 

soul is constant

a bell whose rope is already pulled

ringing in my ears all day long.

my body is its dog

sticking close, loyal as hell,

but short-lived. 

stars are soul

that couldn't be contained

kissing the dark with intention.

one day my body

past all nursing past all curing

will open like an underground silo

and everything

will expand in an instant BOOM

wow, hi, i'm not

an ant, i'm

a piece o' god on fire across the sky--

icarus eat your heart out.

_________

for Word Garden Word List--Gerard Manley Hopkins 

Music: Shay Torrent Flying Fiddles