Poetry Festival

I misread the schedule and arrived early this evening, to the Bridgewater International Poetry Festival. This festival started on Wednesday, with some inviting workshops during the day.

My day job meant I couldn’t attend any of those, sadly. Upon my arrival at the registration table this evening, I was greeted with, “You’re the last one!”

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Road-Trip Cinquains

My boys and I left today on a trip to visit my dad in S.C. I miss the opportunity to write with all that time on the road, but I can still create as I drive. Today I formulated some poems, scratching them down on a notepad on my lap with one hand. They aren’t very legible on the paper, of course, but since they came from my brain, I can still decipher them.

I was recently introduced to cinquains, a poetry form, on Fanstory.com. One version is a stanza composed of 5 lines, consisting of 2-4-6-8-2 syllables with no rhyme scheme. Other versions include rhyme schemes, but the ones I have written thus far do not. Here are the ones from today. They are each separate poems.

tapping
fingers counting
syllables for poems
needing to have the exact count
perfect

girls’ night
mother, daughter
watch Dancing With the Stars
fascinated by stars’ dancing
bonding

I smile
hearing my boys
laughing in the back seat
I savor the moment of joy
a gift

always
wanting freedom
wanting escape from doubts
striving instead to know I am
enough

cinquains
two, four, six, eight
followed by a two
each line carefully counted out
complete

 

 

Mom’s Accident, Pieces of My Heart

I have struggled to write about what is on my my heart and mind in this place, concerning Mom’s wreck. Sometimes my heart speaks best through poetry. Here are three poems that address facets of this. The second poem mentions blood, so be forewarned, if that is an issue for you.

Waiting

At the scene of the wreck
they would not let me
       go
                               to her.
Kept back
where I could not see.
My view was the
bottom of the van.

#####A WALL#####
Unseeing
Unbelieving
Was this really happening?
Continue reading “Mom’s Accident, Pieces of My Heart”

Don’t Cry

I dropped a box of pasta today
it was an amazing sight to see 
vermicelli was everywhere 
it even bounced off my knee 

I looked around and surveyed the mess 
but then I noticed something 
criss-crossing patterns of loveliness 
beauty that made my heart sing 

Smile on my face I bent to the task 
of collecting those strands near and far 
I thought of spilled milk, I did not cry 
Pasta, I bid you “au revoir.” 

At the Eye Doctor

E…S…O…V
1…or 2? 1…or 2?
Puff, jump!
Puff, jump!
Head back
Drip, drip
Look at the blinking light
Flash!
The other eye
Flash!

Wait here for the doctor
Swinging feet
Memorizing the room with time
Wishing I’d brought something to do
Where is the doctor?
Maybe they forgot me!
I’ve heard of that happening
I strain to listen
Is that workers wrapping up for the day?
Will I have to call 9-1-1?
Continue reading “At the Eye Doctor”

Eyes

Sometimes I am surprised by my younger self and what she saw or understood. That was before times of numbing myself to feeling. In some ways, my young self was wiser than some later versions of myself. Today I rediscovered this poem that I wrote. Judging by the handwriting and grammar, I think I was in middle school or early high school. It gives me hope for my writing now. If I could find depth then, I certainly should be able to tap into greater life experience and expression now.

 

Eyes

Can you see into those eyes?
To  the bitterness and defiance?
Look hard, for it is there.

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Coffee Shop

 

Young ladies taking group selfies

Young man studying his Bible

Trying to work on my book

Two college girls discussing the medical field

A business meeting

Friends catching up over coffee

Woman working on laptop

Man jogging by

She looks familiar

Distracted

Fascinated

Blogging instead!

20161229_1120160
in Shenandoah Joe

 

top photo by Carli Jeen (via Unsplash)