They used to say
Highway 21 goes two ways- -
Austin <- -> College Station,
but to me they served each other well.
Driving back and forth on weekends
became the norm, 6th Street
more my style for Friday night
than The Chicken
the path between the two,
a mindless pass- -
all I’d see were cows and clouds
between stopping points for beer.
Once I was pulled over
for trailing a line
By the time the cop reached me,
all I had to do was point to a rainbow
he agreed- -
it was much too pretty
not to notice.
Then he let me go.
Prompt Inspiration: dVersePoets- Poetics: Rhythm of the Road
My first poetry book has just been released!
Click on pic, if you’d like.
Honored to be guest host this week. Check it out. I also have a very special announcement.
Originally posted on CREATIVE BLOOMINGS:
POET AND PHOTOGRAPHER
This week we travel back to Texas to tap our next Guest Host. As you will read, she is an accomplished and well published poet and photo artist. I am happy to help her announce that her first full poetry collection, Upon the Blue Couch, was released just yesterday. See the link below and learn about Laurie Kolp’s accomplishments. And as always, thank you Laurie for your help this week!
Laurie Kolp lives in Southeast Texas with her husband of 15 years, three kids and two dogs. Although she was born with Irish and German blood, her native tongue is poetry. She writes in a 3 by 5 corner, one wall an outlook visited quite often by cardinals, mourning doves, grackles and blue jays. The other side open to eyes behind her head always watching the goings on of her family. This type…
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Work of Phyllis Galembo
I’m not the clothes I fold on my bed each day
I’m not a sock monkey on display;
knit scarves don’t bind me
or hide the scars you see.
In my expression, a desperate sigh
is buried in wrinkled sheets, sigh,
washing directions ignored as I rush through tasks–
baskets of soiled whites, not to mention
the brights’ wear and tear, fading attention.
A never-ending cycle, this life as a mother
imperfect at that, but for me there’s no other.
Prompt inspiration: dVersePoets~The Photography of Phyllis Galembo
at the grocery store–
chunks of cheese,
Pepper Jack and Cheddar
served with store-brand crackers
favoring Ritz, but with a flavor
not the same. I pass the wine
where all the people gather
like underage teenagers
begging for a sip…
and I recall years ago
during a mother-daughter weekend,
the two of us dining in San Antonio’s finest.
You ordered Chardonnay,
said one glass would be okay
even though it never was…
Thank you, Jesus!
I push the grocery cart full-speed ahead
until I reach the coffee aisle
and choose robust for once.
Prompt Inspiration: dVersePoets~ Emotion in Poetry
I wonder if you’re in heaven now
sending waves of warmth
to ease my shivering
so that with time
I might move on
but I worry you’re not there,
instead, amid a pack of wolves
who growl at you in rows of thorny shrubs
until the root of your mistakes might burst
and mending might occur.
Why do I feel this way?
Why do I worry about your soul
as if a plan to bring you back,
watch you burst through the back door
and say you’d like to heal my wounds
would make it any different?
The Sunday Whirl: root, plan, pack, heaven, growl, heal, burst, rows, shivering, mending, why, time
Birds by Sunita Khedekar Paintings
The morning of your death I heard
the distinct chirp of cardinals
for the first time in months,
a few days prior I’d watched
blackbirds flood your backyard.
Winter had been harsh,
its onset late October synonymous
with your onset of demise
and through the holidays a bitter chill
like a corkscrew ripped through ribs to heart,
the part of you in me that felt your pain,
sympathetic in its squeaks and pecks.
Now that you’re gone,
free from all your agony,
color’s slowly coming back to me,
I see rebirth blooming buds before my eyes,
I hear the birds rejoice eternal spring.
Prompt Inspiration: dVerse Poetics~ Color Me Spring w/ Grace… artwork of the very talented Sunita Khedekar
my hands are met with cold steel
instead of your embrace,
March winds shiver
through my bones
and I can’t stop my legs
whispers, tiptoe steps
from mushy grass to
on the ground
in the air
the way I still smell you
Prompt Inspiration: dVersePoets Meeting the Bar~ The Blind Poet & We Write Poems~ Measured Loss
For those who don’t know, my mom passed away Friday, March 7. We buried her yesterday. At least she’s at peace now.