Tag Archives: poetry

by

Cagey

Traveling from Washington to Colorado, Elwha did not like the car and the unfamiliar places. I took the cat carrier apart in the hotel room and he decided that it was safer inside it than out, even if it was in pieces. Sol Duc did not enjoy the car but is less worried about it all.

And here is Sol Duc in a virtual cage, a shadow cage. She likes the back yard a lot. I have had the house closed up because of the smoke for the last two days, but there is less today.

Do you know the poem by Ogden Nash, The Tale of Custard the Dragon? The chorus is as follows:

Belinda was as brave as a barrel full of bears,
And Ink and Blink chased lions down the stairs,
Mustard was as brave as a tiger in a rage,
But Custard cried for a nice safe cage.

I love that poem! And I love the lines:

Meowch! cried Ink, and Ooh! cried Belinda,
For there was a pirate, climbing in the winda.

Ogden Nash was perfectly happy to bend words to fit the rhyming scheme and to heck with spelling!

The entire poem is here.

I still have not heard about Elwha. I hope that he has moved in with an older couple and spends most of his time on their laps. I can see him crying for a nice safe cage.

I thought there must be a song of it, but so far I like this tenth grade rap version best!

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: cage.

by

Tea and talk

Tea and talk and tittle tattle
exchange of views among some boomers
solving problems as ideas rattle
or spreading nasty damaging rumors?
Talk of science and books and space
are the words mean or kind?
whispers about someone’s face?
Rumors about someone’s mind?
It’s hard to fight a rumor mill
people talking behind your back
the poison seeps and spreads and spills
a deadly dagger in your back
Time passes and people find
sometimes it’s the accuser who lost his mind

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: tittle tattle.

by

Frail

I wrote this poem about my father at least a year before he died. He was on oxygen, on steroids, terrible emphysema from 55 years of unfiltered Camel cigarettes. He would not accept much help and became more and more of a hermit. He did continue with the Rainshadow Chorale and because of it he quit smoking three years before he died.

Frail

We are going sailing
My partner says to me
β€œInvite him if you want.”

Then I am busy for a while

I think of calling, then forget

He was not at chorus on Monday

At last I say,
β€œI haven’t called. We’ll just sail.
Just us today.”

I haven’t called
because he was not at chorus on Monday

He is frail
55 years of camels
two packs a day
as if each cigarette
destroyed one alveolus
in his lungs
one tiny air/blood interface
built to exchange oxygen
and carbon dioxide
the loss is cumulative


He is frail
he is proud that the choral director
says, β€œI need you.”
He can’t sustain
but his entrances and time
are the best
among the basses.
They need him.

Chorus
is our winter link
two introverts
we hug at the start of chorus
sing for two hours
and talk for a few minutes at the end

Occasionally we go for a beer
I invite him for dinner
but he comes less and less
he often does not feel well at night

He looks smaller at chorus
this season
this is normal in emphysema
the body sheds weight
too much tissue to oxygenate
too hard for the lungs
and the heart, working overtime
to make up the difference
he is blessed with low blood pressure
genetic, from his father,
tough English stock,
otherwise I think he’d be dead

I didn’t call
before we went sailing
because I am afraid

I’ve driven out before
when he has not answered the phone
for a day or two
wondering if I would find him dead

I didn’t call
before we went sailing
because he was not at chorus on Monday
because if he didn’t answer today
I would not go

______________________

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: frail.

by

Tinker, tailor

Tinker brought up this rhyme for me:

Rich Man, Poor Man, Beggar Man, Thief,
Doctor, Lawyer, Indian Chief.

It turns out that another version is

Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Sailor,
Rich Man, Poor Man, Beggar Man, Thief

And I had forgotten AA Milne’s version called Cherry stones:

Tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor, rich man, poor man, beggar man, thief,
Or what about a cowboy, policeman, jailer, engine driver, or a pirate chief?
Or what about a ploughman or a keeper at the zoo,
Or what about a circus man who lets the people through?
Or the man who takes the pennies on the roundabouts and swings,
Or the man who plays the organ or the other man who sings?
Or what about the rabbit man with rabbits in his pockets
And what about a rocket man who’s always making rockets?
Oh it’s such a lot of things there are and such a lot to be
That there’s always lots of cherries on my little cherry tree.

Now I’m going to have to play with a version with some current jobs:

What about a tweeter, a twerker, a medical AI?
Influencer, programmer, cooker of meth highs?

Oops, that might not be the children’s version.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: tinker.

by

Peak

The pendulum swings far and back
Too many babies, what will we all eat?
Suddenly the switch, another panic attack
Now too few to support Wall Street
We wait in running cars in the drive-thru line
Wanting our turn to order fast food
It’s sunny through the smog and we feel just fine
The weather’s getting stranger, the world in a mood
Maybe we’ve peaked while driving around
Who will take care of us when we are old?
Peaked at the drive-thru, going down without a sound
An AI wonders at the price of gold
This might be as good as it gets
Maybe an AI will keep a few of us as pets

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: drive-thru.

by

Dance

Sometimes I am an extrovert
sometimes an introvert
we are all a mix
we all have preferences
which can change with time
and situations

I would go to parties
check the exits
and spend time studying the bookshelves
when I was tired of people
greeting familiar friends on the shelves
and knowing a little more
about my host

I start dancing
meet my spouse
we took dance classes
dance with lots of people
and invented moves
and taught each other

Dance takes balance
paying attention to a partner
sometimes we dance with someone new

Sometimes I am an extrovert
sometimes I am an introvert
and I almost always love to dance

___________________________________

I took the photograph yesterday through my front window. A bird dance!

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: extrovert.

We love to dance to this rather naughty song. It’s pretty extroverted!

by

Shattered

Is the wave, the water being shattered?

Or is it really the rock that is shattered, bit by bit, over time?

Stone shaped heart

your heart is an agate
clear stone

you have won
sort of
you think

but I am water
I am waves
I will smash you against the other rocks
and wear you down

I am water
I carve you like a laser
you wear my name
carved in your stone shaped heart

it is already written there
on your stone shaped heart
faint, because water wears slowly

water wearing stone
over time

________________________

written in April 2022

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: shattered.

by

Flooded

Trigger warning: trauma and feelings.

I cry because
the laundry overflowed
the sewer blocked again
we might have to pull up the floor
and lay it down a third time
I hate the laundromat
water runs across the floor
as fast as the tsunami
crossing the fields
crushing the houses
catching the trucks
in Japan

I cry because
I have to ask for help again
Help comes
but the memories of asking
when it didn’t
help didn’t come
and I was abandoned or humiliated
rise up and overwhelm me
I am flooded
I am helpless
someone help those people
The shaking earth is bad enough
But the ocean rolling inland
Over all
Breaking all
Beams to toothpicks
Those are the memories that rise up
And flood me
I think of the soldiers
and victims of wars and disasters
and PTSD
tsunami
of memory

__________________________________

Written before 5/2011. I have posted before, but couldn’t find it on a search. Posted today at a friend’s request.

by

Heaven and hell

Hell is other people. Heaven too.
How much do you adjust for this person?
The one who is only available when I am damaged
a foul weather friend, unexpected,
busy with all the damaged around,
never time to play. This one hides much
and slips into denial like a familiar cloak.
I am sad. That one talks about others, ah, gossip
I hate it. This one has a blind spot I could
drive a truck through. I wonder why? I am curious.
I read that women are still expected to be responsible
for the house. They are praised or blamed if the home
appears perfect or a mess. I am clearing my main floor
to resemble this idea of what a house should look like
but reading that I wonder. Is it worth it? My decor
is packrat cat lady, though only two cats. No self respecting
burgler would come in as they would trip and fall,
over cats or stuff. Stuff on the stairs: I don’t care
and know that at 65 I will be counseled in my “free”
medicare wellness visit, that I’ve paid for through
all my working years, to make sure my house is uncluttered
reducing fall risk. Hell is other people and heaven too.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: hell.

by

Oscar party

I’m going to have an Oscar party
No, not those Oscars. The trash one.
The grumpy one I grew up with.
The one who lived in the trash can
grumpy all the time. Reliable, you know.
Trustworthy. I knew how he would respond
to everything. I valued that then and now.
Let’s have a party and all come as Oscar
the Grouch. Let’s dress as muppets and be grumpy.
Let’s complain about anything and everything.

And what do you think you will hear,
listening in to this Oscar the Grouch party
as it devolves?

Laughter.