MARCH SNOW
This snowstorm’s not exactly late,
In fact, they happen all the time.
This sort of thing’s what we expect
For living in a Northern clime.
Nevertheless, that doesn’t mean
It’s something we appreciate–
Wouldn’t it be more comforting
If winter had a closing date?
FORGET MATILDA
Winter Prompt #19
No problem. I never, ever
remember her. Waking at 4 a.m.,
that old fear clutching—I am not
remembering Matilda. Walking
by the sea, filling my pocket
with white pebbles, admiring
the pair of osprey hovering
beyond the tide-line, I do not
think of Matilda. Stretching
my ice-cleats over my boots,
clipping the leash on the dogs’ collar,
following the ways of rabbits
through the snow—no Matilda.
Singing lonesome madrigals,
buying onions and soap,
drinking coffee with my husband,
feeding the cats,
reading to our grandson—
Matilda never enters my mind.
I have long list of sorrows,
but the one thing I do not regret —
I never remember Matilda.
(and then this happened)
DOTE
Winter Prompt #15
Today, the given word is “dote.”
Perhaps I’ll write about a goat?
Or something I wrote about before?
A Dr. Suessy sort of note?
I will not write about a goat.
I will not write about a stoat
or a note in Dr. Suess’s style.
How about a winter coat?
Is a stoat anything like a weasel?
Do weasels eat oats?
People make winter coats from weasel fur,
but only when it’s white. In winter.
Maybe weasels eat groats?
This is ridiculous. A kind of compote
of rhyming words on this white page.
Don’t quote me, please.
Compote, compose, compost. . .
Take the mote out of my eye,
and don’t quote me, unless to say,
“It’s all she wrote.”
With the mote removed, I can see!
Do you know that anecdote?
Anyhow, “It’s all she wrote.”
I’ll end this with an antidote.
This needs work.
“Leisure”
What is this life if busy as hell
We have no time to sit and smell?
No time to sit beside the bogs
And smell as long as cats or dogs,
No time to scent when fields we pass
Where some one stopped to drag his ass,
No time to find, as though alone,
Where someone chucked a chicken bone,
No time to ponder every track
Of each deer passing onward, back,
To use your nose to best avail
To search the neighbor’s garbage pail,
No time to sit and contemplate
What each and every neighbor ate.
A poor life this, if busy as hell
We have no time to sit and smell.
I wrote this somewhat iffy poem ages ago—a parody of one of my favorite old poems, “Leisure,” by William Henry Davies— when we had an airedale. We have another dog now, and it still applies.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
~Prompt–for a book you haven’t written
First of all, I must thank my parents.
Without them, I would be normal,
and this book would not
have been possible.
My husband did not
comment on it, or even read it.
In fact, for the past eight months,
he has been living
in a tent in the woods.
I love you, sweetie.
Words cannot express
my gratitude.
My children are grown
so I thank them for not
getting in my way
(except for two hysterical
phone calls which only
kept me awake nights
for a week or so).
I am grateful to my agent,
despite her claim that
I was the direct cause
of her most recent breakdown.
I am not responsible for everything,
but she is responsible
for finding a home for my work.
All my editors—every single
one of them—have been
marvelous.
The Spring St. Poets
have provided occasionally helpful
feedback and comic relief for years.
Thanks, guys!
It takes a village
to produce a book, so I owe
a great deal to my neighbors
who put up with my midnight
hurdy-gurdy/bagpipe fests
and afternoon target practices,
and only called the police three times.
These poems
are for them.
MP March 1, 2017
DAILY NOTES
greenleaf too limp to carry
loose empires coming Sunday
no mungs avail
keep demoing rasp
and sometimes demo straw
Found at the Food Coöp.
POMP
The word plumps.
Gold-chained, well-fed Aldermen
stalk in solemn procession.
Corsetted contralto Presidents
of Ladies’ Literary Societies
squint through lorgnettes.
Lord Bishops finger their pectoral
crosses with aplomb.
April prompt #34
A DR. SEUSS INSPIRED POEM
Kari’s #6
I do not like beets or old goat cheese
on a winter day, in a summer breeze.
I do not wear a pirate hat
or dress my grandson like a cat.
I like to stand out in the rain.
I want to sing about a train.
I think I am a silly goose
for trying to write like Dr. Seuss.
april 28 prompt
You have been sent to apologize to a foreign power on behalf of our government.
Do it in a limerick.
Ray’s #4
(Except I cheated and wrote it nearly a week ago while walking in the woods and when I drew another one, I put it back because I wanted this one today since I have to go to an all-day Tai Chi workshop again and call my mother’s old friend in Norway first.)
TO THE WORLD IN GENERAL:
SORRY.
AT LEAST WE’RE MODERATELY ENTERTAINING.
PROBABLY.
Here in this country called US
The system is all in a muss.
The rich guys control it,
Politicians extol it,
‘cept Bernie, who’s making a fuss.
. . . because I’ve been thinking about it for a few days. With sincere apologies to the ghost of Samuel Beckett.
Cast:
Walker: tall & thin … he has salt & pepper hair … he walks, gazing up & away from the road, always … never looking ahead, behind, or down
Bigfoot
SCENE: A road, with a single evergreen tree just to the left of center. Bigfoot is sitting on the ground under the tree. Walker enters and stands beside Bigfoot.
8767 (cat typing) Bigfoot: Nothing to be done.
Walker: Oh, well, but perhaps. . . Have you seen her?
Bigfoot: No. Have you?
Walker: I have not seen her.
Bigfoot: She is not in the sky. I do not believe that she is in the sky.
Walker: The last time I saw her, she was in the sky. It was a sunny day, a shiny day. Five crows flew together across the road, flying in the same direction. North. The wind was from the south.
Bigfoot: What was she doing then?
Walker: With the crows. She was flying with the crows. Her arms were outstretched and her hair was flying like crow wings.
Bigfoot: Will she come back?
Walker: She will come back, so I am watching for her. All the time I’m watching for her.
Bigfoot: I, too, am watching. Not in the sky. I am not watching in the sky.
Walker: Are you happy now?
Bigfoot: Now? No. I am unhappy. Since the wind shifted to the south, I have been unhappy. The south wind carries the scent of oranges, and the scent of oranges always makes me cry.
Walker: Ah yes. Oranges. But is there not a scent of lemon?
Bigfoot: No lemon. Not yet. Not this time of year. I’ve been thinking about killing myself.
Walker: Will you do that?
Bigfoot: Perhaps. Perhaps if I do not see her. Or if I do not see the crows. Or if the wind does not change.
Walker: The crows will return. I am sure of that. Crows always return. Perhaps they will not be the same crows, but they will be crows,, flying hard through the sky. When the wind changes, you will see that there will be crows.
Bigfoot: Then perhaps I can live. He stands up.
Walker: Will you go on?
Bigfoot: I might stay here. I might go on. Are you going on?
Walker: Yes. I am going on. It is time for me to go on. The wind is changing.
Bigfoot: Is it from the north?
Walker: No. It is not yet from the north. This wind is from the south west. Tonight, maybe tomorrow, the wind will blow from the north.
Bigfoot: I think the smell of oranges is diminishing.
Walker: Then perhaps you can live.
Bigfoot: Then perhaps I can live.
Walker: Are you going on then?
Bigfoot: I think I am not going on. I think I shall stay here. He sits down. I like this tree. There is an essence of life in this tree. Perhaps if I stay here she will feel encouraged to return. Or the crows will be encouraged. In the meantime, nothing happens but the scent of oranges diminishing.
Walker: Perhaps you could go on.
Bigfoot: If I go on, will something happen?
Walker: Your feet will move. That is something.
Bigfoot: But is that enough?
Walker: I do not know if that is enough for you. For me it is enough.
Bigfoot: It would not be enough for me. I shall stay. Until the wind changes, I shall stay.
Walker: Do you have an umbrella?
Bigfoot: I do not have an umbrella. Should I have an umbrella?
Walker: Yes. You should have an umbrella if you will stay until the wind changes.
Bigfoot: For what reason?
Walker: When the wind changes, you may open the umbrella and the changed wind will take you somewhere else.
Bigfoot: Is something happening somewhere else?
Walker: Sometimes something is happening.
Bigfoot: I do not have an umbrella. Perhaps I should go along. He stands.
Walker: We could look for her together.
Bigfoot: I could look on the ground and between the trees.
Walker: I will continue to look at the sky. I think she will come from the sky. When the crows return.
Bigfoot: When the wind changes.
Walker: Yes. Shall we go?
Bigfoot: Yes. Let’s go.
They do not move.
Curtain.
GladErrand 