Here we go, my sister and I, bags
packed, already getting that familiar
queasy feeling in our stomach. Summer.
About to start the annual car ride up
to the Catskills in upstate New York,
where my grandparents and several
other families, rented bungalows
for the season. Dad is ready.
A chewed cigar is clenched between
his teeth, as he revs up the ’55
Chevy Belair in two-tone gray and salmon.
Mom sits up front–a daredevil, she–where
the constant ashy smell of dead cigar stubs
was most pungent. We start of singing,
A Hundred Bottles of Beer on the Wall,
but reach a paltry count of seven-five,
before our knuckles are white from
gripping the backseat. Much as we loved
Dad, his capped head tended to rest
in the tops portion of the steering wheel.
His driving was a series of speed-ups,
and sudden braking. Our faced greened,
as we both yelled, “Stop the car!”
One after the other, we’d throw up
every few miles. It never got better,
nor did Dad’s driving prowess.
Written for dversepoets.com/Road Trip
(recent, past, imagined or dreamed – using
rhythm, musing, food, smell, and sounds.)
They use their learning
culled from rigorous
research, and experimentation,
pare it down to the basic
elements, and write
a killer science fiction tale.
Written for poetryblogroll.blogspot.com
e c h o e s
screams of gladiators.
Written for Creative Bloomings
subject (noun), verb, and object in this exact order.
Verb should show ongoing action by spacing out
the letters in the verb.
A nightclub for the younger set,
a perfect venue, was born.
They called it, The Bottom Line,
and lines did form all along
Fourth Street to get in.
Tables and chairs, food and drink,
sheer intimacy with performing
musicians in a space accessible
to all. From folk to rock, they all
flocked to The Bottom Line.
Bonnie Raitt’s flaming hair shook
as her fingers flew on the bottle-
neck guitar, her bluesy voice
vibrating. Early punkers played
at the start of their careers–
Television, The Ramones, and Patti
Smith in gray t-shirt reciting
poems, spitting on the floor,
her voice raw, howling, electric.
Alas, 15 W. Fourth Street
now houses students from NYU
who never knew.
Written for Poetic Asides/April 2014 Challenge
Write a location poem.
in the backyard
the rainbow in the birdbath breaks -
a sipping Magpie
Child blowing bubbles looks up
Rainbow appears in the sky
Written for Carpe Diem Haiku Kai #31 Tan Renga Challenge
adding to nightmares
of fire, flood, earthquake, mudslide,
disappearing planes, sinking ferries, and school violence.
We poison our planet, fail to protect our children, and crash the moon’s side on purpose.
Is there no end to the dangers we dump on our world, to the indifference of people toward one another? Wake up! There’s no time for apathy.
Written for Poetic Asides/ April 2014 Challenge
Write an optimistic and/or pessimistic poem.
Hooks dangle from boat
Lazy lambent night, full moon
Fish see well in light
Written for Carpe Diem Haiku Kai #452/fishing
Run to the playground.
Ride on swing,
climb those bars,
play softball or iron tag.
Spring is here-outdoors!
Unplug yourself from
Talk face-to-face, if you dare.
Spring is here-fresh air!
Childhood creeps away
far too soon,
like a string
you let go from a balloon.
Spring is here-be young!
A mess of aching bones,
sharp pain in limbs, a sway
in her walk. Twice in one
year, bridges for her mouth.
Rocking in the ancient creaking
chair, she stares at the open
sink, filled with dishes soaking
in soapy water, and thinks,
who has stolen my youth?
Written for http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/#157
mess, aches, bones, open, bridge, sharp, limb, water,
sway, rocking, sink, twice, stolen