Easter’s Eve

19 Apr

basket 2

Everything begins to bloom

Apple blossoms sprout


Tantalizing treats

E searches for her basket

Reach, baby, reach! Delish.

- an acrostic poem 
  by Miss E and Me

Oh, sunshiney day

Chocolate and jelly beans

I love that bunny

- Haiku by Kellysue


like to be outside

on Easter

in the forest

because it is peaceful

- a 5 W's Poem by Miss E

Thank you to my family, who chimed in over dinner to help me reach my “30 poems in 30 days” goal.

basket o eggs


17 Apr

I lie

on the

table and my

arm is stretched

(not by me) past the

point where pain begins,

into the white light zone,

exceeding my threshold

to improve my range

of motion –


Not unlike

this morning’s

conversation about

whose story is whose

and what power there is

in the telling or not telling

and what it means if I share

words that aren’t mine, even

if I’m given permission –


Where culture constricts,

where race and class collide –


And my reach, as my arm

becomes fully my own

again, and where

I’ll land when

I stand all


to be


National Poetry Writing Month
30 poems in 30 days


16 Apr

Every time I curl

my fingers over the keys,

there’s the curious cat.

up to Dec 27 2012 1970

National Poetry Writing Month
30 poems in 30 days


15 Apr

If, in young friendship,

a promise is born

of hope and wishes

only and remains

unkept, then whose

heart breaks more?

The girl waiting

for the promise to be

fulfilled, or the girl

unable to fulfill it?

And if each girl


the other,

and they

move on,

stronger together

for what they know,

are they really

as young as

we, the adults,

might believe?


National Poetry Writing Month
30 poems in 30 days


14 Apr

Hot, hot, hot steam releases

weeks of dot-the-i-and-cross-the-t

kinda days, soaring up to the ceiling

swirling soon down the drain.

Hot, hot, hot steam fills

me with yes-I-can and what-if-that

kinda thoughts, bubbling into consciousness

sudden and welcome. Some taste

like banana creme. Some slip away.

Hot, hot, hot steam hisses

on the surface of the water,

making me whole.

National Poetry Writing Month
30 poems in 30 days


13 Apr

“I found a bud,” she

exhales, running up the porch

steps in her short sleeves.

* * * * *

National Poetry Writing Month
30 poems in 30 days

in the dark

12 Apr

One cat on the couch

blanket and one by the bed-

room door lie waiting,

ears twitching

as silence falls

in the house.

National Poetry Writing Month
30 poems in 30 days

Ice Cream and Limericks

11 Apr

Let’s be real.

National Poetry Month – 30 poems in 30 days – is kicking my butt. And we’re only on Day Eleven. I’ve skimmed pages and pages of rejected diary entries. I’ve tried to resurrect old poems. I’ve scattered my prose across the page in short lines, called it a poem, discovered that – in fact – it was.

Sometimes it works out. Sometimes it doesn’t.

Yesterday, Miss E suggested I write about her zooming around on her stick-broom playing charades, trying to make me guess which Harry Potter character she was – over and over, always with the same dialogue, same facial expressions, sometimes with a slightly different posture or a tic.

Write about magic. Write about flying. Write about running. Fast.

I was happy for her suggestion. It led me to Harry Potter, my poem topic for the night. It opened a conversation about poetry. It made her curious this morning to see what I’d written. But most of all, I was touched because she asked me to write about her, and I don’t always know if she wants me to.

Tonight, we were out with friends having ice cream on a bench outside, so we wrote a limerick together – of course – mostly Miss E, but a little bit me, and a little bit her cousin, too. (Thank you, Trina, for the idea!)

Here goes:

There once was a dog named Karen.

She liked to chase a heron.

She found a hook.

She read a book.

Then she went home with Aaron.

Here’s mine:

I park my bum on a bench

Ten feet from the compost stench

Write a ditty

In the city

My poetry thirst to quench.


Can you tell I had no help with that one? See the thing is, there was  a new compost bin just outside the ice cream shop – not excellent placement, in my opinion - and I can’t make it fit into a rhyme that involves ice cream. But there it is. I tried, and trying counts.

Have a great night!


 National Poetry Writing Month
30 poems in 30 days

The Book

10 Apr

I remember the first time

I opened the book

at an airport, waiting

to board a plane.

I don’t remember

where I was going.

It was a children’s book,

an international sensation

now in fifteen languages

or more, and as I have

with every craze before,

I shunned this book,

this series of books,

determined not to be swayed.

For years, I would not

be swayed.

But now I had

a long plane ride

ahead of me

with nothing to read

and there I was

and there it was

on the airport bookshelf,

my friend’s voice

in my head saying

this was different,

this was special,

this was a book

I would really, really,

really, really like.

This book was magic.

And it was.

Once I caught up

with everyone else,

I remember waiting

for the next book

and the next

to come out,

waiting and waiting,

buying two for our family

once they were released

just to keep the peace.

We bought two every time.

I remember the giddiness

of opening to the first page.

Now we have movies and legos

and shirts and dolls and video parodies

and I worry. I worry we’re losing the books.

The magic. The words.

So when my daughter, now ten,

came home yesterday

and told me about her

fight on the playground,

which upon deeper


turned out to be

a hot debate

between movies and books,

I was proud to hear that she,

though standing alone,

spoke up for the book

every time.

National Poetry Writing Month
30 poems in 30 days


9 Apr

I button the owl
pajamas you’ve asked me to
wear, proud and grateful.


National Poetry Writing Month
30 poems in 30 days


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