My Mother’s Potato Masher #11

My mother's mashed potatoes were perfect.
Smooth, creamy with just the 
right ratio of milk and butter to potato. She
also had the perfect 
potato masher. The smashing part 
was metal with a red wooden 
handle that just
fit your hand. 

When I furnished my first kitchen, I tried using 
a blender. No good. I found a smaller 
version of my mother's
masher, which worked but gave 
out eventually. 

My mother died and I inherited 
the red handled masher.
For years I was able to make perfect mashed 
potatoes. A combination of age and too much time
in dishwater loosened the handle
and off it came. 

My husband bought a new one, black plastic
with holes to smash the 
potatoes through. Disappointment.

I looked in his work area to find the parts
of the masher for this poem. I found
it glued back together! If it's as strong as
it seems, mashed potatoes for dinner tomorrow!

 

Prompt 11 – Extraordinary

Prompt 11 – Extraordinary

 

A new Pen

 

The invention of

a pen that writes down what you’re

thinking, would be cool

 

Imagine if it

also corrected grammar

itself, a scary thought

 

As cool as it is

it would take away basic

essential life skills

 

The thought of it was

cool, but honestly I think

I‘ll buy a new pen.

Illusion

These illusions
Which we’ve centered our lives
Aren’t as concrete as we imagine.

They aren’t as fixed
As we’ve been taught
They’re as fixed
As a house made
Off exploited labor
Cutting corners
On stolen land

Easily destroyed by the earth’s
Mighty winds and flames
They aren’t as absolute as ones and zeros
Yes and no
As it is
And as it can’t be

That isn’t to say that nothing matters
But that you get to decide what is important
That we are free to chose our paths
Free to question and explore
Free to create something
Complete
In the chaos of the illusion

The birds and the bees and Old McDonald’s Farm

Hour Eleven

Fields and fields, of grass, weeds, and dandelions.
Trees and trees, of needles, leaves, and boughs.
Flowers and flowers, of purple, blue, and pink.
Grass and grass, of shade, sun, and crabs.
Shrubs and shrugs, of boxwood, japonica, and holly.
Birds and birds, of starlings, titmouse, and robins.
Bees and bees, of bumble, wasp, and hornets.

Fruits and fruits, of berries, citrus, and tropical.
Veggies and veggies, of vines, root, and stalk.
Rows and rows, of canes, orchards, and bushes.
Farms and farms, of poultry, beef, and dairy.
Bales and bales, of straw, wheat, and cotton.
Barns and barns, of equine, bovine, and ovine.
Coups and coups, of fowl, mammals, and rodents.

Nature in all its variety, large and tall, colourful and soft, bushy and prickly, harmonious and chipper, whizzing and stinging, cuddly and cute. A planet of plenty, a world of wonder, a life worth living.

Hi

I’m Nupur, joining from India. A mother of 5 year old twins, I’m a freelance content writer. My poems are usually short.

Time to start (Hour 11)

The stars are far,
up above the sky,
feel like we aren’t apart,
I don’t want it to start,
it lurks around,
it stirs inside,
a desire,
a wish,
I must remain strict,
my actions,
my words,
some unsaid,
most unheard.

Marathon One

I’ve joined a poetry marathon for the first time in my writing life.

Its really quite the challenge and it gives me little time to perfect my poetry the way I’d like.

I’ve written haiku’s, sonnets and epics and elegy’s by and by. I’ve written lyric poetry, but at this time I’m just trying to get by.

I’ve published my own books of poetry which included villanelles, some prose poetry as well as pantoums, several ballads and narratives.

But, now in this marathon I’m having such a time ‘cause there’s little time to get my poems together to make them more refined.

I must think quick for a subject to expound and I’m trying to keep positive. I’ve written ode’s and sestinas with plenty of time to proof.

Even so, I’m loving the challenge mainly because I’m big on rest. I know I will make it through right along with the rest of youse and then we’ll celebrate.

 

Good luck marathoners in  this 11th hour

The Book

Waiting patiently to be opened

The weathered book sat dejected

On the coffee table

Near the bed

Quietly

 

Getting ready to amaze with words

Images and ideas

to take the reader on a journey

far away

and yet close by

 

Painting with imaginative

inferences and vocabulary

the reader can enjoy their own take

on what is there

or what is not.

 

Anticipating the journey ahead

the book grins ear to ear

until it is thrown on the floor

in a fit of disgust,

with a thud and a groan of contempt

 

 

 

Planetary Observance

At the edge of the earth
is a china sky
lit by golden flowers.

A bouquet of vibrant lilies
tied with ribbons to each corner,
pulled by giant geese through eternity.