Rage Reigns

Bitter

man, full of rage,

so angry at the world!

Your fury rains relentlessly

on me.

(A cinquain is composed of five lines with syllable count 2/4/6/8/2.)

I Wish

I wish I was an artist

So that everyone could see

The beauty and the heartache

That dwell inside of me

I wish I was a singer

So that everyone could hear

My tragedies and triumphs

My anxieties and fear

I wish I was an athlete

Long and lean, built strong and tall

Admired by the masses

Just because I could play ball

But me, I’m just a wordsmith

With tales to tale, insights to share

Hoping you’re still there reading

These strips of soul that I’ve laid bare

El Gato Loco

(The Crazy Cat)

A tiny ball of orange fur,

with matted eyes and flea-filled ears,

we rescued her from sudden death beneath our tires.

Mothered by a long little wiener and a gentle giant Boxer,

she never knew she was a cat.

In her confusion, we called her Caitlyn.

…until the day ‘she’ splayed her legs, showed her balls, and became known as “BRUCE.”

*********This is the true story of our ‘rescue’ cat Bruce. If not for the cries of his daughter, my boyfriend would have crushed the poor kitty. Instead they brought the poor baby to me. We nursed the kitty to health and our dogs, a mild mannered motherly Dachshund and a 90 pound Boxer who thought he was a lap dog, raised the kitty as their own, teaching kitty to beg, eat dog food, chase balls even. Kitty went through several names: Angel (because we saved kitty on the anniversary of the day I’d lost my beloved cat Sweet Pea); Owwbitch (because kitty loved to gnaw on toes; Caitlyn (identity crisis); and finally Bruce, once we discovered ‘she’ was ACTUALLY a ‘he’.**********

(A sevenling is composed of seven lines. Lines 1-3 should contain connected or contrasting statements or list three details. Lines 4-6 should also contain three details or else connected or contrasting statements. Line 7 should serve as a punch line, juxtaposition, or narrative summary.)

No Sweat

Sweat floods my forehead

Heartbeat throbs betwixt my ears

Pursuing my poetry

Is much harder than I thought!

(A tanka is usually five lines with a 5/7/5/7/7 syllable count.)

Nappytime

The pitter-pat of little feet

Echoes off the hardwood floor

Her big brown eyes look up at me

From just outside the office door

“It’s nappytime!” she seems to say

Although she utters not a word

She climbs my legs onto my lap

Ensuring ev’ry grunt gets heard

She beckons, “Mommy, time for bed!”

With her tiny yet full-bodied sigh

Too tired to sit, she’s had enough

And rests her head on Mommy’s thigh

“Okay, you win, time for a nap!”

I smile and softly stroke her head

Picking the dog up off my lap,

My muse and I crawl into bed.

Honeybun, aka My Muse

Enigma

Who are you?

I still have no clue.

Together

for five years,

I should know you by now but

you’re my enigma.

(A shadorma consists of six lines with the syllable count of 3/5/3/3/7/5 respectively for each line.)

Sundoggy

Fuzzy blue arms

fling past my face

whipping wildly in the wind.

With tail wagging,

she drops her blue baby in my lap

as if presenting me with the Hope Diamond,

and stares eagerly into my eyes,

seeking their approval.

I laugh and rub her head,

careful not to neglect the sweet spot behind her right ear.

She kisses my cheek then licks my lips,

savoring the sweetness strawberry soda left behind.

With two fingers, I twice tap my chest, and

she rests her furry red head against me,

so she can feel the pulsing vibrations of

my every heartbeat.

I lean down and bury my nose in her fur,

inhaling that overwhelming aroma that warms me from the inside out,

much the same way as a glass of good wine.

Sundoggy, I call it.

She’ll lay on the back porch for hours, even in the Texas summer heat,

soaking up the sun, forming the fragrance that melts my heart.

She’ll prance through the doggy door, bound into my lap, lower her head,

and let me snort her, just because she knows it makes me smile.

I wish I could bottle that scent and carry it with me

all the places that she can’t go,

so I’d never be without her again.

She listens to my secrets but never dares to share them.

She lays with me at night and calms my fears.

She plays with me and makes me laugh.

She loves me more than I love myself.

Truly, she is my best friend.

Giving Birth

the blank page

stares at me

mockingly

breathe, push, fight

concentrate

come on, write!

pen to page

words flow free

POETRY!

(Tricube rules: three syllables per line, three lines per stanza, three stanzas per poem)

I Am Me

I am the girl that no one gets

The four-eyed freckled geek

I am the one with much to say

Though I’m too scared to speak

I am the girl who sits alone

The one the boys all overlook

I am the girl who spills her soul

Across the pages of a spiral book

I am the girl that no one wants

The one always picked last

I am the girl that’s left behind

The one who can’t escape her past

I am a little girl no more

I am a woman, forty-three

But the silent nerdy outcast child

Will always dwell inside of me

(The prompt was to start at least six lines of a poem with “I am…” for this challenge.)

 June the 9th

(How Could I Forget?)

I finally filled the calendars

Birthdays and anniversaries

Occasions to celebrate

Flipping through the pages

It occurred to me

What I missed

Most was

YOU

***True story: when I finally sat down and finished filling out my calendars earlier this year (okay, so what if it was mid-March?), I was flipping back through them and realized that I had completely left off June 9th, which is my late husband Rickey’s DOB (pictured above). He passed away in the fall of 2012. Forgetting his birthday like I did, even almost seven years later, really cut me to the core and hurt my heart. I’m sure it seems silly to some folks, but it was a major misstep to me personally.****

(A nonet consists of nine lines, with a syllable counts as follows: 9/8/7/6/5/4/3/2/1 so the poem appears to ‘disappear.’)