If I’m ever detached from the Net,
as a writer, with Roget’s I’m set.
Leave me stranded at sea;
oh how happy I’ll be –
just as long as it doesn’t get wet!

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MY FIRST PONY

I never knew how much she cost.
If I were forced to guess,
I’d say, based on her character,
a hundred bucks or less!

Sonaste* Deena was her name.
I took her to a show.
At first she tried to buck me off,
then stopped when I said, “Go!”

We entered in a Hunter’s class
with jumps but two feet tall.
She cleared the first three fences well.
The fourth, though, not at all.

And me, a novice rider, had
no choice; I cleared the jump
without my pony under me
and landed on my rump!

Though bruised a bit, I stood right up
and grabbed Sonaste’s reins.
I headed out the exit gate
and down the gravel lanes.

I would have packed Miss Deena up
and left, but I was stuck.
Since I was only eight years old
I could not drive a truck.

And so I faced my final ride
with Deena in control.
She walked instead of cantered twice –
a pony on a stroll.

I left without a ribbon, but
my trials weren’t ignored.
For, in the end, they gave to me…

the sportsmanship award.






*So Nasty

ANYTHING YOU CAN DO

My sister’s a wizard with clay.
Her hands are like wands to obey.
When she waves them around
there appears from a mound
an article fit for display.

As for me, I’m no wizard at all.
Besides rolling the clay in a ball,
what I see in my head
in the end looks instead
like something I threw at a wall.

TO MY FELLOW EMPTY-NESTERS

What if only by mere thinking
(with perhaps a triple blinking)
in a poof there’d be a meeting
for a brief or lengthy greeting
(plus some hugging and some kissing)
with our children whom we’re missing?

But we can’t be interfering
or at awkward times appearing
and with thoughts of them occurring
any time our hearts are stirring,
then our kids might want a say –
they can think, then blink, “Okay.”

AN UNWELCOME REUNION WITH AN
ALCOHOLIC STEP-FATHER

I saw him at the end of the subway platform
for the first time in fourteen years – except
for those times when he’d haunted my dreams.

Out of reflex, I said hello. Hi, he said back, with
what seemed to be a degree of recognition. But
then he asked, Which one are you? I suspect
I told him my name, out of reflex. The rest is
gone from my mind, except the words I wished
I had said…

Which one am I? I am the one who didn’t run
away. How can you not remember me? I am
the one who survived and shrunk within your
house for fourteen years. Did you never see
me? I’m the one you abused for those fourteen
years. When I lay beneath you, did you never
look at my face? I’m the one you promised things
had changed. I am the fool who believed you.
Then not two months later, in your perpetual
drunken state, I am the one you told I could do
things your way or get out. I am the one who
finally found the courage to get out. I am the one
you almost drove crazy, but I am not the crazy
one.

I saw him thirty years ago at the end of the subway
platform, for the last time – except for those times
when he still haunts my dreams.

ALL THE PETS WE’VE LOVED BEFORE

Ali was our Afghan Hound who thought he was a king.
and then there’s Boo, our donkey who would love to bray (or sing).
(Shy) Cheyenne’s our Beagle pup, whose howling hurt our ears
and Dunkin’ is a dog who’s not as fierce as he appears.
Edgar was a steer we owned on Broken Fences Farm.
Freida was our Shepherd – or security alarm.
Guinness is my oldest’s cat; he’s blacker than the stout.
Humphrey paired with Edgae and they’d frequently break out.
Izzy was a lizard that we found at Walker’s Pond.
Jasmine was our Siamese cat – she dated with James Bond.
Kip’s a perky, pesky pup, a Catahoula Cur.
Leopold is Guinness’ mate – an orange ball of fur.
Mia was our Snowshoe cat whose life was cut too short.
Neesta is a Boykin; she’s a fashionista sort.
Ozzie was our Neubian who died from what he ate.
Piper is my youngest’s cat – her dedicated mate.
Quinn’s a cat with allergies, to him all right was wrong.
Rylee’s our Jack Russell and my shadow all day long.
Sadie was our Airedale – her end a freakish truth.
Thor’s, my sister’s Elkhound who joined us in our youth.
and next is Ursa Major (‘cause we never owned a “U”).
Velvet was a Beanie Baby “pet” (but filler too).
Weasley was our ferret with a scent we could not hide.
Xena was a warrior; she would not be denied.
Yoshi was the hermit crab we bought while at the mall
and last is Zeus, our current cat…the best pet of them all!

Today’s prompt from http://www.napowrimo.net/ is to write an abecedarian poem. I almost managed to come up with a real animal/pet from our past or current existence for each letter.

Dear God,

Can you please send my daddy back?
He’s never missed my game.
I feel like I’m a Superstar
when Daddy calls my name.

Without him I can’t hit the ball;
I’m not sure I can go.
My daddy’s why I love the game.
He taught me how to throw.

Can you please send my daddy back?
My mommy won’t stop crying.
She says she needs a little time
and God, I know she’s trying.

She hasn’t even scolded us –
though Sis and I have fought.
(We’re working hard to get along
because I know we ought.)

Can you please send my daddy back?
He tucks me in at night.
If he can’t read my books to me,
then who’ll turn out my light?

I promise when you send him back,
I won’t be bad again.
At least I’ll try to be real good.
That’s all I ask.
Amen.

FROM A FAUCET AT UNION STATION

I see you sneaking out that door
not stopping by my sink.
“I barely handled anything.”
I know that’s what you think.

I wish we had a germ-o-meter
just so you could see
how many sprouts are hanging out
when you come in to pee.

Is time so rare you cannot spare
mere seconds from your day
to fight the flu preemptively?
If so, be on your way!

THE CONTENTS OF MY SOON-TO-BE-EMPTY UPPER RIGHT-HAND DRAWER OF MY DESK

A stack of unused detention slips
strewn silver large and small paper clips
a half-dressed stuck, lemon drop
a sealed baggie containing a couple pairs of rubber gloves for Universal Health Precautionary measures – or, just in case (which has never been the case)
three bandages – not used
a nearly-empty roll of magnetic tape – but likely no longer magnetic because I mostly used it when an English teacher, eleven years ago
a rubber banded, partial Fun-sized bag of peanut M & M’s – from this past Halloween
a collection of folder over sticky/love/pick-me-up notes from Caroline Quinn-Alger, my director (for whose support I will be forever grateful)
a couple of dried up glue sticks (also from my English teacher days)
scattered pink copies of issued detention slips
my unopened store of white board markers which I hope will last through the end of the school year
an Eiffel Tower keychain
unidentifiable crumbs

So the prompt is to write about the contents of something uninteresting. Hard to rhyme with this one, so I just wrote about what I remember to be in my desk drawer at school, but since I am on Spring break I am sure I missed something of significance. I wish I could have been more creative!

TO MY 7TH GRADE STUDENTS

Homework’s not a punishment, nor is it overrated.
The link between completion and achievement’s ‘oft been stated.
And, as you know, the classroom’s now a hotbed of distraction,
so home is like the adage of addition by subtraction.
As, girls and boys, you lose the noise and gain a chance to see
how well you caught the concepts taught…or not…as it may be.
And don’t pretend to write some rot and think it will suffice.
Not only do you hurt yourself; it also isn’t nice.
So do the drills and hone your skills; when grade-time comes, no doubt,
you’ll pass the course, avoid remorse and learn what math’s about!

Today for http://www.napowrimo.net/ we were to write a dramatic monologue. I am not sure how dramatic this is, but it is what came to mind.