24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
My first book of children's poetry is published, Whimsy Park: Poems for the Whole Family, under the pen name, Papa Green Bean. I'm a househusband, living in Bellingham, Washington-USA. Lived twelve years in Turkey, Italy and Belgium. A proponent of play-based learning, getting along with people is my greatest strength. Humor and respect is the key to life for me.
history met herstory and became ourstory
interdependence grown from solitude made solid
merging of souls…
past—pain… purified
restrain—resist… related
emulsify—explode… excellence
ourstory today
not yesturday, not tomorrow
no past, no future
just today
ourstory
I have cracked elbows and tattered toes
my mind is warped and frayed
my doctor says I overdose
I laugh but should have prayed
My daughter says “No midnight snack!”
The wine I drink is swill
I’m waiting for a heart attack
I’m sure I have no will
She steps off the school bus, walks into the woods, climbs a tree, opens a book.
Her two older sisters will not be coming home for a while.
Her mother and father until after that.
An empty house is not a home.
The branches of the tree hold no fear.
She teaches her dolls the ABC’s, reads to them—they listen well.
A Doctor of Education, she teaches, now, at the University—
comes home to me and to her two fur-children.
A moth flits its way around the living room landing on a painting by the large window.
The watercolor includes an old glass bottle—like the ones Coca-Cola makes—
which sits on a brown table with a wooden cooking spoon, and there is a tall white candle in a silver holder.
The painting was done by one of my favorite local artist’s, a real character who I enjoy chatting with.
This small moth has chosen to rest right at the top of the candle—near the wick.
“Ha! lucky for the moth, the candle is not lit” I think.
Just then, our black cat leaps onto the back of my recliner, and in full extension with her left paw
plucks the moth off the candle, and gobbles it down in one swallow.
I get up, walk over and straighten out the painting,
careful not to disturb our black cat licking her chops.
“there’s a sale on grill pans, honey”, she says
“we have two pans already”, I reply
“those aren’t for grilling. Costco has a special if we join—free paper towels, and pizza”, she says
“we’ll need a larger closet and freezer”, I reply
she smiles and begins paging through the new IKEA catalog
I look out the window—watch a crow balance a piece of bread on the crest of the neighbor’s roof
she offers me ideas for my poems.
I nest my legs deeper into hers,
slip my hand under her shirt,
slide my fingers along curves
until she stops talking.
“the smoke is bad today,” she said, “so hard to breathe. I almost called in.”
our black cat drinks from her water bowl that I change out every other day.
Neighbor, Jim, waters his two hundred plus varieties of dahlias, shirtless wearing just shorts and boots.
“the fires in Canada are spreading,” she said. “the winds push the smoke down across the border into our bay.”
our white cat curls into my lap purring, giving me kisses and soft bites.
Hello, I love you—won’t you tell me your name?
My code name is JohnnyG, and I’m doing the 1/2 Poetry marathon starting tomorrow at 6 am West Coast Time!