How The Words Come

At Poetry Jam they asked to write about writing, compare it to something or tell how the writing comes to you.

When I Write

Sometimes the words come in pieces
Like broken candy canes
Take them apart
And put them together again

This morning I thought
I've an orange toaster and a purple chair
The toaster's in the kitchen
Cause I like it there.

There are moments
That a true poem is born
When I have no hand
In how the piece is formed

These are the good ones
I don't let get away
I'm always surprised
When I read what they say

Controversy

in a time
when America
is called no lady
words fall loosely
with rules
and extremes

'Bible thumper'
'clam head'
'Godless'

'infidels'

'nigger'
'rag heads'

the names
fly easily
and cover
truth
with
wet blankets of blame

So we all
can be shamed
into a slush
of political correctness
that keeps
no one safe

One country
of hu-mans
cannot tolerate
the truth
of
freedom

the tribes weep
the melting pot
boils dry
as the minions
follow the most recent
in a long line of injustices

until we know
all are the same
we will fight
and place blame
not on truth
but on the newly downtrodden

For Imaginary Garden With Real Toads

Tommie Copper

I roll out of bed and hit the floor
my body ain't so good anymore
I can sit and I can stand
but I have to wait for someone's hand

the basketball knee
needs support
I pull on Tommie Copper
now i play sports

My back won't bend
it just hurts
I pull on my
compression shirt

I am weak
my shoulders are whacked
let me put on my sleeves
be right back

Compressed from stem to stern
these new girdles work I'll be durn!
I am old but encased with Tommie Copper
Will someone help me outta this rocker??

Disclaimer:  Tommie Copper did not reward me for this!

Poetry Jam Refrigerator

For Poetry Jam

My refrigerator can't talk

Or it would scream

Empty me 

Make me clean.

We have two rules

"If in doubt, throw it out"

"Please shut the doors"

I've added signs and more.

My family who does this

Can not see 

The chaos that reigns

Inside this poor beast.

Just in case on the door 

For all to see

Is the Poison Hotline

Placed there by me.

Poetry Jam Castle of Glass..

Playing with Poetry Jam...

Just a small thing
A spot on daily life
Like a rock ping
On a car window

Super glue and Duct Tape
Couldn't do the job
Life pushed that ping
From a dot to cracks
Far and wide

Holding the glass together
With bleeding fingertips
Hopelessness is obvious
In my slippery grip

The Mag 137-Draw A Fork

Our weekly writing challenge from Tess Kincaid at Magpie Tales is always a delight where we have to match our words to her choice of picture.  Give it a try or just read those who entered.  Either way you will not be disappointed nor bored.

It Must Be Time For Lunch Now, 1979, by Francesca Woodman

I must remember
Draw a fork
Draw a fork
If I draw a knife
They take me away
Where there aren't even spoons

It must be time for lunch now
My stomach growls in unison
With the voices
I must remember
Draw a fork
Draw a fork

THEY
The ones who take my knives
Do not know the damage a fork can do
I must remember
Draw a fork
Draw a fork

Through the pill fog I know
This innocent fork can end the nightmare
But I cannot give my secret away
I must remember
Draw a fork
Draw a fork.

This Reminds Me Of A Poem

Click to enlarge

I read it many years ago in a magazine with a black and white photo. I loved the poem no much, I remembered and Marcy's picture fits the poem. The author was unknown then and still is. Thank you, unknown author for sharing this poem.

I grew the rose
And so could you
The spiderweb was something
I could never do.


Created in night
Bejeweled with dew
The spider had the art
No gardener knew.

Sky Watch With Darkness

A lake lay before me

The land touched the sky

I thought of darkness

I wanted to cry

Why does the gloom

Wrap itself as if to stay

Just often enough

to keep completeness away

Last One, I Promise (Fingers Crossed Behind My Back)

A view of the farm from above

I have tortured you with my poetry now I will move on(within this post) with more entertaining(Hopefully!) and quite different thoughts.

To those who know me, you realize I started with an unknown purpose. I felt compelled to be here. Still do not know why. I thought it was to show the progress At The Farm. I have evolved, along with my blog, into something I cannot nor would I dare to name. Thanks, friends, for giving me wings.

The farm is still here. We are still working, though, not outside as much. It is hard to work when your eyes are frozen shut. I shall NOT speak of weather. I SHALL not speak of weather. Just sending warm wishes to all those in the cold.

I seem to have this problem now of waking extremely early. Do I crave the silence of the morning hours when no one else is awake? (I hear Marcy's numerous roosters crowing and think of dumplings, dressing and barbecue.) Do I practice solitude on purpose? Yes and yes. I seem to seek alone time and can think more clearly without the electronic noises that sing the house is awake!

Did I mention, I SHALL NOT SPEAK OF WEATHER?

I have photos from September through now to edit, burn and empty. I avoid this task until my computer moves to a crawl. I love pictures and Marcy keeps me supplied. She apologizes for using the same subject matter, dogs, horses, cows, cats, chickens, and a goat. I do not see the need to apologize. Her photos are great and tell the story while I am slaving at my lucky-to-have-a job-and-a-career heaven. (God, you do know I am joking? I have given You credit for having a sense of humor, so don't make me regret my words)

Beverly and Marcella, my wonderful sisters

More on Marcy...She has retired from many years of teaching those who resisted her wisdom. Marcy grows and plucks and prepares the most wonderful food for all of us to enjoy. Monday mornings I can always count on a very large bag in my car full of delectable things to eat at work.She nurtures us all, including the animals. Marcy is now kindly caring for grandson #3 while his mom is attending college. The wonders this women does for us are amazing. We should all be so lucky to have a sister like this!

Not only am I lucky to have one sister that is amazing, I have another, equally amazing! How lucky is that? Beverly is our doer, our organizer, our workaholic, our wonder! Beverly, who says she has lost her joy, provides us with joy every day. She brings the artist's eye and the dreamer's heart into our midst. An insurmountable task, in my opinion, can be taken by her, broken into little pieces and by doing each piece at a time, she completes the task with love and joy in her heart. Beverly takes my insecurities and molds them and reshapes them. She calls me artist and poet and makes it seem true. Ah, but she is truly the artist. Beverly paints, creates, motivates and encourages us. Her art is seen in every task she does.

Freshly written in a bout of insanity by me. You guessed it...another #%$#*#% poem!!!

~

1/16/2009

~

Please commit me

Behind those lockin' doors

I have heard life is good

Ya don't have to think no more!

~

I want me somodat nut candy

They hand out every day

Give me some of those little dollies

That make the world fade away!

~

Every day's the same

No surprises here

Tell me when to eat and sleep

Tell me what I fear!

~

Please permit me

Behind those locking doors

I have heard life is good

Don't wanta think no more!

The Barn

I have been cleaning. I ran across this piece I had written in February 1998. This is about the barn at my home place. Mom and Dad let me have a corn crib for my play house. I have no pictures. We still own that place but someone has stolen the barn a board at a time.

The Barn

Twenty years had passed
The barn had grown so small
Memories were lurking there
In the corn crib, lot and stall.

Echoes of my laughter
And even of my tears
Bounced from loft to chicken run
Not silenced by the years.

In this barn, I learned of birth
Of death and in between
Never questioned or considered
It could be cruel or mean.

To the barn, I talked aloud
Shouted questions to the walls
Searched for answers to everything
Silently the barn supplied them all.

Twenty years would pass again
Before I could finally see
The Barn was my cathedral
Where God talked to me.

Weeping Softly

Weeping softly

I mourned

Things that could have been

But never were.

Weeping softly

I mourned

People that were

and can never be again.

Weeping softly

I mourned

The in betweens of time

that will never return.

Weeping softly

I mourned....

Written by me.

Happy New Year!