Best Friend – hour SIX
Keep me company, will you?
Just here beside me
and I’ll write one more little something.
You be my couch tomato
set to burst
ripe and ready to go
but first I’ve gotta write
just this one
more thing…
little star
she stood taller than most
not in stature, but in spirit
a friend to all
but family to me
keep her safe
little star
A Bountiful Day
Suppose we do return again as animals,
well, Alfred is the dog I want to be when I live again.
Notice his wizened eyes gazing upon us with both
pride and majesty on his spacious chair ready for his next nap.
Having traveled the world on grueling expeditions and youthful larks,
he has known bitter, uncompromising work and exhuberant, blissful adventures.
He now reigns over his house with his seventeen children, eighty-four grandchildren, and
too many great-grandchildren to keep track of as he listens to them all bark
their birthday greetings. Ah yes, today is his bountiful day as we celebrate his bountiful life.
Hour 6 – The Past’s Echo is Hope – Text Prompt
Dear Dawn,
Look at yourself now. You used to be so shy, and I suppose you still may be but you’ve taken the time to grow.
You aren’t the same Dawn, you aren’t the awkward little teen I used to know.
You used to pick on yourself, your own worst bully, you used to let others make fun of you, the butt of a joke, truly.
Now you don’t do that. Now you’re full of life. You may self-deprecate sometimes but it’s not to cause yourself strife.
I may have been a counselor, just some random person who gave you the time to speak, but I promise you you’re doing better, this isn’t your peak.
You learned from your past self I hope, made yourself keep going despite starting at the bottom of an acute angle interior slope.
It always gets brighter at Daybreak,
Your friend and mentor,
Charlie
Cat Visit Hour 6
Cat has come to visit.
He sits on my lap.
He wants attention
and to help me write.
He is tired of being ignored
by two poet parents
and their sudden love affair
with their computers.
He shares a purr
involuntarily,
he doesn’t like to give them away.
He seeks warmth, closeness
adoration.
Until he doesn’t.
A lone bird sings
Outside the window
A soft warble
That catches his ear
He listens, his ears attentive
But he is too relaxed
for hot pursuit
right now.
Noisy neighbors and my aching leg
Disturb the moment.
He gets up, licks himself,
settles back down
next to me.
He will allow me a pet or two.
He will share another brief purr.
We contemplate each other.
I write the poem.
He falls asleep.
Fingers
The wine glass tips, falls, and shatters!
Its tinkle matching my laughter tone for tone
My young fingers playfully
trace the breadth of your shoulders
Then like coquettes
do a complete turnaround
digging viciously
claiming space
someplace
not theirs…
and breaking
a lacquered nail
on your back
They rise to my lips,
my fingertips
to stifle a delirious scream
unsuccessfully…
For that they were
back then!
Unsuccessful
in holding on to time, to dreams, to you!
How foolish!
Fingers feel, but they do not know
that nothing is theirs
to hold on to
Not dreams
nor lovers, nor their promises
nor their prime…
But with time,
fingers learn
like mine have learned
that knitting cheery sunflowers
on woollen sweaters are a better bet
for the warmth I crave!
Words used from prompt: Wine glass, nail, space, knitting, sunflowers
Kitten, hour six
Do you know a mother’s love?
You’re old enough, now, to know it for yourself;
I once shared your mother with you.
Some say animals don’t love as people do,
it’s sometimes true, but I loved you
far beyond when my kittens were grown and gone,
when you were three I draped in your lap, purring
even as knobby knees pushed my ribs,
and grubby hands grabbed. I loved you,
as love from a mother can only be;
without boundaries or limits, or species,
without expectation of reciprocation,
knowing my short life would never match yours.
I would never live to see you fully grown,
a kitten of your own, but sometimes, sometimes,
a mother’s love pulls me back from that rainbow bridge
and I love you only as a mother can, unseen, unfelt
but purring all the same.
Poem 6 Hour 6 Lives On
Dear you,
You still write and I am so proud.
The quarters I gave you for every story paid off.
I have missed you and your cousins.
It’s been too long.
I’m sorry I couldn’t eat well so I could watch you grow into a young woman.
But my love lives on in every piece you write.
Don’t ever give up.
Love,
Grandma
Prompt Six: My Dearest Daughter
My Dearest Daughter,
We are still here.
You are still loved.
We wish you only joy.
We send you love . . .
Prosperity.
It will develop.
It has.
Believe in that.
Grow.
We love you.
Mom and Dad.