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and then we . . .

April 18, 2018 Leave a comment

And then we said, “Put ze candle beck!”
And then we had cinnamon rolls and iced tea, sitting on the pickup’s tailgate at the edge of the field
And then we rode the chairlift back up the mountain, dangling our snowshoes
And then we brought our newly-adopted cat out of the shelter, and tried to find space for her in the car packed full of our last few things
And then we agreed, “It’s an outrage!”, laughing
And then we listened to the dogs’ breath and the sled runners’ hiss, in the harshly cold moonlight
And then we took Russian nicknames, and tasted borscht
And then we learned you really should downshift on the long uphills
And then we said yet again, “We should live here!”
And then we woke early, to feed the calves from a bucket of warm formula
And then we descended the spiral staircase to the chamber of the Pattern
And then we consulted the floor whisperer
And then we sawed through the couch’s frame, and bent it to fit through the door of the basement apartment
And then we watched the weather radar’s hurricane track, just not from the same place
And then we witnessed two golden retrievers become a single roly-poly ball with eight legs, two tails, but no head
And then we put on a puppet show in the chemistry department
And then we planted three aspen trees

an autobiographical list poem, inspired by this week’s Wordgrove pre-written prompt, “And then we . . .”,  which reminded me of just a few of the many “we”s I’ve been part of.

poem: en plein air

March 21, 2018 Leave a comment

a little poem for the beginning of spring

working on an “en plein air” watercolor:
struggling to get just the right shade of gray
into the reflection of the clouds in the pond

just a smidge darker, hmm, maybe?

sprinkles

begin to dot (just a few at first, then more)
the surface of the water

and also to paint themselves into the picture
which is amusing for a moment

until suddenly it isn’t

rain

March 2, 2018 Leave a comment

(rain)

The sun-loving puppy
sits at the open door looking out
at the back yard,
the falling rain,
and her wet toys lying in puddles.
She needs to go out at some point,
but not yet, not yet.

She looks up and asks with her eyes,
“Can I have my treat now anyway?”
“Of course” I say, close the door,
and we both go back to the couch.

inspired by this week’s Wordgrove impromptu prompt, “rain”, and you know, living with a dog in Portland in the winter :-)

If you’d like to see what the other writers made of this prompt, you can check out the weekly Wordgrove Post and Review newsletter for March 4 2018.

what did i miss?

March 1, 2018 Leave a comment

A new poem:

Deep in a mountainside forest, at one bank of a wild, snowmelt-swollen stream, there is a large boulder that shelters behind itself a calm side pool, where the roar of the nearby rapids is muted by the mass of the rock. One of last year’s fallen leaves lies on the ground at the edge of the pool, half in the water. Disturbed by a slight ripple, it falls fully onto the water and begins to drift slowly in the shallow pool’s weak current. The leaf floats around the pool, sometimes near the center but usually closer to the edge, while also spinning slowly, and it trembles slightly each time it passes near the turbulent edge of the main stream. The leaf continues to circle the pool slowly, under the dappled morning light. A few times it nearly becomes grounded again. Once, it touches another leaf lying at the edge of the pool. The two cling together only briefly, and separate before the second can be pulled into the water. Seventy nine times the leaf loops slowly around the pool, as the morning becomes afternoon. Just as the leaf  passes close to the main stream for the eightieth time, a small sudden wave pulls it out of the pool and it swiftly disappears into the rapids downstream, moments before a hiker walking up the stream-side trail passes by and glances briefly at the pool without stopping.

Or in haiku form:

quiet pool by a loud stream –
what did I miss,
just before I looked?

inspired by this week’s Wordgrove prewritten prompt: “loop” and “spring”

wordgrove revisited

February 28, 2018 Leave a comment

Way back when, I blogged about an online community of writers called Wordgrove. I was part of the group near its beginning, but over the last several years life and whatnot kept me from participating. I always enjoyed the Wordgrove events, which are informal, inviting, and very supportive, so I was inspired this week to rejoin active participation.

Each week there is a “prewritten prompt”, a theme given the previous week where each person shares the story, poem, or whatever they wrote using the prompt as a starting point. Then there is an “impromptu prompt” revealed at the event, and everyone has 15 or 20 minutes to write whatever short work is inspired by that prompt.

The prewritten prompt from last week was “credit card”, which inspired me to write this poem:

no credit card required
snow day
she finishes the home-knit
(thick warm) (for me)
sweater, just in time
for our evening
dog walk

Nancy in fact, did just recently finish knitting a sweater for me, very thick and warm, literally in the evening of one of the coldest days of the winter so far, just in time for me to wear it when we took the pups out for their the bedtime walk. :-)

At the event, inspired by this week’s impromptu prompt “tourist and winter”, I wrote two haiku:

blooming too early
as the cold rain turns to snow –
poor white daffodil

and

two nearly white dogs
bounding around the snowbanks –
dancing brown patches!

If you’d like to see what the other writers made of this prompt, you can check out the weekly Wordgrove newsletter: Wordgrove event Feb 22 2018.