Verse Love26: Day 17: Leg of Love

 Today's Verse Love Host, Kratijah, hails from in Mauritius, and asks up to consider spices, "small and powerful, that can linger and fill the air of our thoughts."  I could write of the fresh olive oil and basil scents of Taormina or the flavors created at the Culinary Institute, both fabulous; instead, this is a scent that lingers forever in the "air of my thoughts"  from the tiny apartment where my grandmother spent her final years.

After complaining in the car, plodding, promising to behave or else,

The gated hoist would open slowly, the blistering odor of scorched meat 

Would announce your arrival as it invaded your pores,

Salted, basted, browned to her leathery perfection,

Served with slowly simmered, gooey gravy,

Representing her gratitude for you visit,

Before hanging up her apron,

Emerging from the kitchen

Closet, collapsing, exhausted,

A leg-of-love sweltering 

On the third floor, lingers 

Forever in my soul even if I 

Minced microscopic morsels,

Swallowed without chewing.

Verse Love 26: Day 16 Lap By Lap

Today's Verse Love Host, Stacey Joy asks us to write a poem about beginning again as in a new landscape, identity, or perspective. She asks us to write from perspective about what has changed, remain or what uncertainty might look like. I've been formulating these poems in my mind for longer than this prompt in the years of recovering from a late-in-life split from my spouse, home, family-as-it-was. I am sharing both an etheree and a haiku about swimming my way back.  I am still swimming

Had family, career, spouse, plan until,

On my own, edge of retirement, 

I floundered, thrashed, then, swam harder, 

Lap after lap, stroke by stroke,  

Confidence, Your story 

Isn't over, yet,

You are enough

Resilient 

Growing

Strong

Drowning in sadness,

Stroke, kick, breathe through pain, darkness

Stronger, braver me.

VerseLove26: Day 14: What Taxes?

This morning's Verse Love Host, Mo, challenges us to write about the complex emotions around taxes in 17 syllables- a haiku! As I love to tell writers, it is easier to write lots than to be concise. Neither taxes nor condensing to 17 syllable is a walk in the park but I really do wonder if there was a way to opt out of taxes if you are not satisfied with the work being done?

It does not make sense.

Those making millions will give

Back a few  pennies.

So they can invest,

Buy arches, paint, while others

Buy bombs, pay tariffs,

What if we did not

Pay until Congress does what

It needs to do now?  

SOL26: April14 That Tank Full

Today I am writing with Two Writing Teachers Slice of Life group sharing small moments of real life. Today's moment happened at my local Speedway in Northern New Jersey where state laws prohibit pumping your own gas. It will change in time, like local Blue Laws, but right now it provides jobs, 

This is not the most populous state, but it is the most densely populated. There are trains running into the big city, but cars rule the crowded roads in the 'burbs. 

Rising prices meant I noticed the Speedway's relatively good one and decided to join the line.  I noticed the guy attempting to manage six cars at six pumping stations coming and going. At first. he appeared to be limping but as I got closer I realized the bottom of his shoe flapping in spite of its duck tape wrapper. When I finally reached the front of my line, I asked for a fill of regular and gave him cash, to save a few cents on each gallon. "Fifty dollars regular?" he confirmed as he started the pump. I noticed his gaunt look. 

I let my mind drift for a bit, wondering about his world and why his shoes were dragging as you do when you are not the pumper. He returned with change and I suggested he keep it. I guess tipping has been impacted by rising prices as you would have thought the dollar was new Nikes. "You don't have to, Mama," he offered it back to me. 

I wanted to say, "Seriously, I cannot justify buying a cup of coffee when you need shoes to work," but I just nodded and let my mind drift to the impact of rising prices on real people in the real world.  It's possible he has new shoes at home and a 401B, but I would not bet a tank of gas on it.

Verse Love 26: April13: To Be a Peacemaker

This morning's Verse Love Host, Ann Burg, spoke to my heart this morning. She wrote, "This year, more than ever, I’ve been preoccupied with peace, not just those elusive personal moments of quiet time to read or write, but peace in the grand possibility of a kinder world and a healed planet.  She suggests we write a Haibun. Begin with a brief paragraph that describes a clarifying moment. Follow with a haiku which distills that moment into something more sublime. 

I have also been preoccupied by the dream of a kinder world in my own family and in our nation. Both situations have left me angry and distraught. I tried to write about the leader of the free world's words this morning; however, my anger is too close to rage.  Instead, this is about my family a subject that is still raw, and sadly, in its' small way, mirrors the bigger stage of worldwide disagreements.

"It was sad he did not even come to her Dad's funeral," she sighed as we caught up on a mutual acquaintance ,whose family had divided over some difference of opinion about who knows what.  I think I nodded in agreement, but her words still ricochet through my mind weeks later as I think about the permanent virulence that invaded my mother's small family after accusations led to anger. My grandfather watched my wedding from afar. I tear up thinking about greatly loved nieces and nephews whose once tiny hands I held in mine; yet, I have not seen them in years, harsh words.  Then, the dam opens as I think of the inability to say, "I am sorry," or "I didn't handle that well," within what remains of my own imperfect family. Yes, Ann, I share your preoccupied with the possibility of peace and healing and my own inability, so far, to create a kinder and healed world for even those closest to me.  I am still working on it.

Words hurt, mend, matter,

Time does not soften anger,

Be a peacemaker.

Verse Love 26: Day 12: It's a Treasure

Today’s Verse Love Host, Rita DiCarne asks us to consider what is on our mind or on our heart. It could be things we love, or hate! Today, I am writing about a specific part of love that I have long cherished: the relationships between members of an extended family across generations of children, grandchildren, cousins. If your are fortunate enough to gather, in real life or through words, even if rarely, these moments are a treasure of this life. 

I treasure those times we become one, greeting with

Hugs, good-nighting, more than once, cementing love,

And when

When they lean in, lost in the moment,

Before the story ends and they scamper off, laughing,

And when 

The crickets' song becomes the soundtrack of the shared

Stories, memories, before they head off on their own paths

And when 

They share hopes, dreams, reminders that 

Roots allow us to hold tight through challenging times

And when 

A smile, wave, nod or side hug is an a

Acknowledgement of the gift of presence,

And when

Their words, actions bring buried memories

Roaring back to the present even if no one else knows 

And when

A moment, as hard as it is to find, to make 

Creates a treasure.

Verse Love 26: Day 10: Wave Toward Home

Today's Verse Love Host, Susan Ahlbrand, asks us to write a poem TO a place, telling why it has made an imprint on your heart. I did not learn to love the magical powers of beaches as a child with one windy picnic at Jones Beach; yet, today, I have great love for rocky, sandy, loud, quiet beaches where I am at home.

It's an honor, a privilege,

To hear to your perpetual 

Relocation of sands in Bethany, 

To become one with your rhythm

As you tease toes in Cape May,

To savor seafood as you dance 

Among the rocks in Taormina,

To remember magical moments,

Created in Carmel, Assateague, 

To touch pink sands in Elbow Beach

Black sand, frigid water in Vikurfjara,

To feel your warm hug, peace,

Love, and know when near,

I am home. 

Verse Love Day 9: Stormville

Today's Verse Love Host, Brian Crandall, asks us to consider all the locations you’ve felt safest and consider memories, smells and feelings from these locations. I chose to write about a rural, mountain top location where I lived for many years 70 miles north of Midtown Manhattan. I really did have some wonderful years there, but my children have chosen neighbors, sidewalks, and nearby take out options.

Sylvan Lake Phones had humans overseeing

    Shared phone lines in the beginning, 

Then, pops confirmed a start of hunting season, bucks on

    Top of pick ups, hanging from trees, before breakfast ,

Once the power lines went down, we were 

    Out of water, heat, lights for days, weeks even,

Rural Route 2, for many years, was all Mailman Everett would

    Require, add Nathan Hale Drive if you want,

Most of us left the Post Office-General Store seeing double

    Mail with milk and marshmallows, a first for me,

Vacationing hikers trudged through backyards,

    Venerable Appalachian Trail summer warriors 

It was as snowy, windy as the name implied,

    It forced camaraderie on top of that mountain, a

Long way from groceries, gas, schools, friends,

    Lots of children of chip-makers 

Learned to play with neighbors or be lonely while the

    Looping interstate grew busier and noisier,

Even thinking about groceries, ballet, take out required

    Escaping to Hopewell Junction, where the action was?

      

      

Verse Love Day 8 Have A Good Day!

Today's Verse Love host, Linda, asks us to take a sentence from English and then "translate" the phrase into poetry, such as turn "I feel lost in the chaos of life.’ into a poetic phrase, ‘The heart wanders through the storm, seeking sunlight in shadows," like in Whitney Hanson’s, “In Poetry We Say…”. I drafted several poems in my head this morning, but that recurring comment we all say flippantly begged for a poem.

At the local coffee hut,

The refrain is repeated

Again, and again....

Have a good day! 

It's meaning......

May your gifts emerge amid

The meeting, interview,

Class, no matter the tone,

Even if your hopes and

Heart remain guarded.

May you find hope and peace

No matter what the diagnosis,

Prospectus, critique offers

Even as you dreams are

Dashed, again.

May you feel sunshine 

In spite of the storms

Through friends, family, a poem

Despite the challenges 

This day.

Verse Love: April 7: Much Mulch

Over at Verse Love today, our host, Luke Bensing asked us to pick an image and use alliteration in your first line and your last line. That’s it. Yet, my head is messy as a pile bark mulch that I sliced about a few minutes ago. 

Mostly, it's a multitude of sources for mulch

Multiplied many times so it will matter,

A bargain at Lowes, perhaps with budget

Busting delivery charges?

Or a pallet from Amazon that only a 

Fork-lift could raise?

Or a massive mountain dumped 

In plain sight, mocking me day and night?

It's probably not an intense need for mulch

Mocking my attempt to read, write or sleep.

Mulch prices misplace the mighty scary

Meaning of that threat that maybe,

Many more lives are in jeopardy,

Minutes after Jeopardy.