To fulfill a requirement, I found myself in another poetry class. I did not mind as I love poetry. It was a basic poetry class with a terrible text book. I showed up every week for the optional discussion and I completed with an A. After much thought I decided to share my final class project. A poetry chapbook from the semester; a collection of our “final” works for the class. I did not enjoy all of these pieces, but they are my creations nonetheless.
Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words.Robert Frost
A Renewal Process
I did what I do best, I wrote from experience. Each of these pieces are reflective of my life at that moment in time. The first four months of this year were ruthless. I lost a two year relationship, joined a recovery program, started my classes late, almost dropped out-again, I apparently have anemia, I am launching my online business, my best friend was diagnosed with cancer, and my older dog needed surgery. All of this on top of my family, everyday life, and a couple of online training courses gave me plenty of inspiration for this class.
I took note of my line breaks within these pieces and played with them a bit. I have spent a fair amount of time writing professionally on spiritual practices. My experience of non-fiction forms do not necessarily have a place in my poetry.
Overall, it felt good to write poetry again. I am walking away from this with the confidence to share my poetry with others. I may actually post the revised chapbook on my blog this summer. I am looking forward to the feedback as I wrap up this semester.
I Open My Eyes
You are Cleanly shaven
Soft eyes of creamy jade
An older John McClane
In a D20 DND shirt
And cargo shorts with full pockets.
Cannot tell if you rolled a 20.
But those full cargo pockets are your lifeline
Just in case you rolled a 1.
Only a flowing babbel-less creek of silence
Falls from your motionless lips.
I am not truly there
I am behind a wall.
The wall is thick and dense
Yet it is as clear as crisp spring water.
You do not see me.
My cries cannot be heard
As I begin to pound my fists.
The tears pour down from my deep brown eyes.
In the distance Noah is bringing them two by two,
The waters continue to rise.
THE flood is impending.
I open my eyes:
The room is dark and cool.
Our bed is firm.
I roll over to reach for you
In search of comfort and warmth,
But your body had been swept away by my flood.
We were two who did not make it to the Ark.
Let Sleeping Dogs Lie
Rhythmic breathing soft snores in the dark night.
Whugh, whugh, whugh.
Jess’ body pulses as the cool air fills her lungs.
In, out. In, out.
Rapid eye movements under heavy eyelids.
Fluttering, fluttering softly.
Tiny nose twitches for the scent in her dreams.
Twitter, wrinkle, twitter.
Often, in the crisp night air I seek a connection with her.
My fingers run through the softness of her thick coat.
My toes reach out for her in the dark still room.
We both rest peacefully until the light of dawn.
Before the Party
She, the hostess, puts on her best dress for her distant guests.
A shirt with a pressed collar and bright white cuffs.
Her dress is so black it reached out into the cold blue air of the darkness.
She pulled her deep brunette hair up into a neat bun.
All but for one long strand which appears to rise as smoke from the top of her neatly fashioned hairdo. As if to signal her unsuspecting guests of her upcoming party.
It is very dark in the center of the Earth.
One wonders where the hostess managed to find an ice bucket for the bottle of champagne.
She must have fetched the ice from atop her home.
It is possible no one saw her. Her icy glacier often kisses the soft clouds of the sky. Their affair is so old, her guests do not notice their love anymore.
(They have forgotten the tales of their old Norse ways. The ones from the center of the earth Mr. Verne once wrote about are all but a Hollywood memory now. Rarely will a guest raise their head to see the majestic beauty of their gracious host. They are too caught up in themselves to notice a party being planned in their honor.)
Always the Federal Agent
At 5’2” she has the strength and determination of three men twice her size.
She is savvy and uses the street curbs to give herself leverage over those she hunted.
She is a real life Peggy Carter avenging in modern times, a David and Goliath story.
This woman has the smile of a southern mamaw serving sweet tea on a wrap around porch.
She comforts the mad men in small well lit rooms. They feel safe and easily confess their sins.
She is a priest presenting the last rites with a gold badge in her inner pocket instead of a rosary in her hand.
It wasn’t all Manson, Kaczynski, and Koresh, there were others who carried smaller names.
She once chased a woman who skipped on a federal bench warrant. For years they danced across the American southwest of reservations and endless horizons.
She carries this one’s teeth marks on her finger. A small visible birthmark for anyone to notice about her chosen profession.
The days go by and take their toll on this vivacious woman.
She is honored, adored, and rewarded for her contributions year after year.
She becomes the favorite toy of a young child. After years of action she no longer had the physical strength of her youth.
Life after her honored retirement was filled with personal challenges and changes.
She made a choice to heal herself, to thrive in a world skirting the edge of law enforcement and the justice system.
She keeps her finger on the pulse of the country as if she is an aging superhero listening to police scanners for one last hoorah.
First Alarm Is At 0540
Ask Google to snooze until Alexa finally draws me towards the upcoming day.
Delicately, I roll around a dog onto my side only to resist the urge to grab my phone.
Turn on the light, then the fan, adjust the blinds, and make the bed. Morning sadhana is waiting.
That first morning stretch does not disturb my dogs. I make my way to the bathroom.
Hydrate. Medications. Warm lemon water. Pour my coffee into a large Starbucks mug.
I head back to my room. My morning sadhana awaits. To begin, I sit down on my bed.
I read and pray. Although it is on DND to keep social media temptations away, I grab my phone.
There are emails of horoscopes and daily thoughts; ACIM with Marianne while Rene is waiting.
By this time my family begins to stir. I can hear my father showering in the upstairs bathroom.
I finished my meditation with Rene. Next is a brief yoga practice, but not before I refill my mug.
Return to light some incense. I prep the floor and pull my yoga mat out from under the bed.
I stretch and twist to prepare my body. My morning sadhana has concluded, time to start the day.
As my bedroom door opens two dogs rush off the bed towards the kitchen. No more waiting.
The hydration, coffee, and morning movement hit me. Back to the bathroom.
Check on the kids before school. Review the schedules. Hopefully one more refill of my mug.
My work is from home. I set up my Chromebook. Sometimes I sit in a chair to avoid the bed.
Although I have my schedule of meetings and plans, something always pops up during the day.
Perhaps something breaks, a kid forgot something, or my mother lost her phone.
For whatever reasons, I am the designated fixer in this home. I found her phone in the bathroom.
After I feed the distractions along my way, I refill my water, no more Starbucks mug.
I join my meetings on Zoom. My little dog observes from the comfort of our bed.
Some weeks there are six or more meetings, in between texts and tasks, a day.
During my favorite meetings, I aim to remain fully present. It is best to hide the phone.
I try to run my COVID built life from my bedroom, at my door someone is always waiting.
I am on my PC, taking gulps of coffee until it runs dry. I leave my room to fill the empty mug.
Throughout the day I shift from a rattan chair to the comfort of my pillows on the bed.
I do not notice how my life has become a Nine Inch Nails song. Exactly the same. Every day.
I pick up my cell for a reference, but I am easily distracted by the notifications on the silent phone.
My anxious daughter is thirteen going on twenty-three, she tires of waiting.
She must hear me creep out of the room because she busts into the bathroom.
My daughter continues her stories as she flops down on my bed.
She sprawls out and messes with my system every single day.
Her lips are moving a mile a minute as she rambles while responding to Discord on her phone.
I tire of her endless stories, but do my best to listen as I continue my patient waiting.
I am reminded of the lock I never use on the door of my bathroom.
It is now time for iced tea. I head to the kitchen with my empty mug.
I have been waiting for the sun to go down. I finish up in the bathroom.
Fix my mug of herbal tea, then I go to my bedroom, and charge my exhausted phone.
The dogs and I climb into bed. It is time to rest until the next alarm goes off the following day.
Do Not Feel Badly for Them
Oprah Winfrey lands primetime special with Meghan and Prince Harry
Quite honestly Meghan and Prince Harry landed a special with me. I am a self made billionaire from Missouri. They agreed to sit with me, no one else. That is how much respect I command.
Oprah, Meghan and Harry Draw 17.1 Million Viewers to CBS …
Who the hell cares? I cannot stand Oprah, how did this end up on my newsfeed? I am an American, I could care less about the British royal family. We literally fought a war over this.
Meghan Markle Says It’s “Liberating” to “Be Able to Speak for Yourself” in New Oprah Interview Clip
I was only 12 years old when my mother died. The whole world mourned Princess Diana. I had so many unanswered questions. Meghan has helped me to free myself from the binds of my lineage. The same binds that held my mother. She would be so proud.
Meghan Markle Says Palace ‘Perpetuated Falsehoods’ In Upcoming Oprah Interview
Did this chick really go on the air with Oprah to speak out against the British royal family? Is her husband not the son of Princess Diana? Honestly, it is her own fault. She chose to marry Prince Harry. If she did not understand the commitment she was making, that is on her.
Prince William Responds to Meghan and Harry’s Oprah Interview: ‘We Are Not a Racist Family’
I cannot believe my brother Harry did this. Does he not remember what happened to our mother? Just play the
game and everything will be good. First the Nazi uniform, then this woman, his titles being stipped, and now Oprah. I have my own family to protect.
Organization says sharing Oprah interview memes is ‘digital blackface’
What the hell is this about? So any photo of a black person is “digital blackface?” That is like saying only white people can be racist. Oprah is one of the whitest people out there along with Barack Obama. The memes of this interview are showing the hypocrisy of this madness. I cannot with this.
3 Songs You’ll Never Hear The Same Way Again After Meghan Markle Spilled the Tea with Oprah
Everything is going so well. Oprah wanted an interview with me, Prince Megan. The WOC (woman of color) to take down the British empire. I captured Harry, I took out Piers, and now I am coming for the rest of the royals. I am finally happy everything is about me.
British tabloid claims Oprah Winfrey ‘seriously misled’ viewers in royal interview
As much as I dislike Oprah, revealing the idea a group of old rich white British royals are racist is hardly misleading. If you were unaware of that prior to this week of social media buzz, you are seriously sheltered, and should get out more. Just my personal opinions.
Queen Elizabeth Is Back to Work After Issuing Statement on Meghan and Harry’s Oprah Interview
Of course I am back to work. I am British, we remain calm and carry on. It is my duty as Queen. Just as I told Diana all those years ago crown and country first. A young feisty American woman cannot and will not tarnish the British royal family.
Patio chairs at center of Oprah’s Meghan and Harry interview — made by a ‘Brady Bunch’ actor — sell out online
This is the headline to sum up all of the news surrounding the interview at hand. The patio chairs of a billionaire and two millionaire royals sat on sold-out after the show aired. This has nothing to do with the centuries of racism within the British royal family. This has nothing to do with social injustice I have witnessed my entire life. It is an example of average people focusing on the fantasy issues of the privileged.