Middleness

crucial to finding the way is this there is no beginning or end only a lingering in the middle caught in the middle of nothing and nothing with no end marks and capital letters no space whiteness on a paper where a word isn’t and silence takes over just a blob of words on a page of middleness

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dVerse prompt on prosy using Jo Harjo’s line Crucial to finding the way is this: there is no beginning or end. combined exercise with Ursula K. Lê Guin’s Steering the Craft Exercise 2 to write with no punctuation

Middleness

Poems Rule

Truth to rule in times of riot

that is poetry

to find a line bold yet not

making all words dance

swirling images

fluttering gutted like fish

die on the pages

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dVerse prompt to write a seguidilla— messed up the scheme but committed to the change

Poems Rule

Deltiologist

Grandmother was a deltiologist

(she didn’t even know it)

postcards came to her

on special occasions

when her children took a trip

& when her husband

lived in Kansas City

that’s how they communicated

there was on most cards

an image worth keeping

Now I have her postcards

with handwritten messages

in cursive script

slanted out of a fountain pen

how the weather was

how are you I am fine

how your uncle got the flu

he is fine now

write again when you can

love & kisses xoxoxo

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NaPoWriMo prompt on something handmade and given to you. Handwriting was once an art even when sent on a postcard.

Deltiologist

My Red Wheelbarrow

I wheeled my red wheelbarrow

filled with poppy and lupine

past three horses pasturing

past the wind-warped madronas

past the heron and the wren

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NaPoWriMo prompt on the poets who have had an impact on our poetry writing. These are images from three of my favorite poets—

Line 1. William Carlos Williams

Line 2-3. Robinson Jeffers

Line 4-5. Theodore Roethke

My Red Wheelbarrow

In My Home Office

In my home office

a demanding task

never time for a cover-up

as I sit near my coffee cup

 

upright at my standing desk

there’s no time to letup

have at least 3 computer screens

as I work during this quarantine

 

just do a personal checkup

in a fit of hygiene

sterilize my triple keyboard

this practice not to be ignored

 

getting tired but must reconvene

keep it real not overboard

here on my wall the world map

putting together my word wrap

 

there is so much unexplored

new words for my legal rap

surrounded by photographs

always helps with my paragraphs

 

piles of paper on my lap

hope right now I don’t collapse

mail ordered a rocker board

never enough java stored

 

thinking of days with giraffes

praying to God I don’t get bored

now it’s time to light the lamp

end the day with writer’s cramp

 

night sets sail— come aboard

tackle this case like a champ

excuse me for I hear the printer

thankful to be the breadwinner

 

someday I’ll be out of home camp

anyday or perhaps midwinter

meanwhile I must be cautious

taking care to not feel nauseous

 

 

imagining a lobster dinner

stuck here in my home office

looking so statuesque

this is my manifest

In My Home Office

No More Liver and Onions

I swore this would not turn into a food blog. My second thoughts and the idea of serving a cookie for breakfast and baked in the reality that I have always sifted the thought of writing a cookbook since meeting my former and present husband, Greg, who taught me how to cook liver and onions. If that sounds like a run-on sentence it probably is, and so also is the desire to be a good cook and to write about it.

The liver and onions is not a metaphor, it was one of Greg’s prime dishes. The sweet aroma of sautéed onions waffling up in the BOQ, followed by the immergence of thin, fleshy organ meat, all cooking away in a cast iron skillet. That was the start of my desire to conquer the art of cooking and relationships. I studied it. I wanted to make it work. I even tried oxtail but to no avail. People sent recipe books for wedding presents so I did have help.

We stewed our lives together in a do-it-yourself house with two children, several dogs and a cat. My skills improved. The heat of the cast iron skillet still on the stove, melts the butter, and I am free to throw in the ingredients, some that cook fast and a few that refine themselves very slowly creating an irresistible taste.

wait for the moment
stepping out of the kitchen
to eat a cookie

No More Liver and Onions

The Antiself

I would sing a song of myself
but I can’t sing

Write a story where I am the main character
but I can’t write about me

See a picture thinking this is I
but make it someone else

Now I sing of them
instead of me

I write their story as though
it were mine

it is a picture
that moves through my time

Now I can sing
write
see

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dVerse prompt on a song of myself

The Antiself