Three Men In a Tub (Hour 1 Prompt – Write about being in water, shower, rain etc.)
Time for cleansing my body, my mind and soul
Water falls as the temperature rises to a point just beyond perfect
Clothes tossed, curtain pulled, big steps in, over the edge safely
Pleasureful sting of the pulsing waters, my ritual begins
Hair first, follicles opening to a sea of scented suds and massaging finger tips
Inhaling the green tea and mint, my mind awakens from it’s morning fog
Thoughts rush to be the first one of my pondering, which will capture my attention
Arms and pits, chest and trunk, legs and naughty bits as the Monty Python boys call them
Hair rinsed then a careful turn back to the flowing stream, less sting more soothing now
What waits for me in the world outside of this flimsy dollar store shower curtain liner
Contemplating challenges, I pray for a peaceful day and sometimes more
Otherwise as I ready myself for departing this cleansing chamber, I search for them
Three men in my tub, always there, their faces found amongst the folds and creases of that cheap liner
Grouchy looking lot, what do they want of me, did I miss a spot, did I carelessly splash soap in their eyes
Who knows! Maybe they just want me to clean the tub
Maybe I’ll ask them tomorrow
Re-POST: Watery Dream (Prompt One 2022)
In the right place this time! I am out of practice of posting on wordpress. May have posted in wrong place.
Watery Dream
I dreamt of water . . . again.
I dreamt of her . . . again.
It was flowing over my feet.
Hello Mom!
Come save me!
Before it rises above my head.
It never did.
It only rose knee high.
It was smooth . . .
gentle . . .
warm . . .
. . . it was her.
I could still walk through.
But where do I go?
I’d rather drown in her warmth.
Be enveloped in it.
Float on it . . .
Be in it . . .
Then to be without it.
Mom come back, please.
Wiggly Thoughts (Hour #1)
Pondering on how thoughts are thunk, mayhap they're up before the dawn, giggling themselves silly as they rummage through a junk chest in the attic of our mind; To an old drawing of the past they are drawn. Those little punks- sliding down the spiral staircase of contemplation, shaking and striking on gongs of self-doubt which rattles, whooping as they jiggle and prance around bad decisions. Arms full they carry huge chunks of heartbreaks... little reminders of that unfortunate morning with John, reenactment of how you yourself pulled the trigger to that gun, sympathy? Those thoughts seem to have none. Just when you seem to decide to get rid of them, grab them by the neck to force them back to their bunk, whoosh, they're slipping out of your grip and slinking back into the coziness of the mind. Never pay them too much attention nor chase them about; You can hear their subtle chuckles, for them — it's fun.
Prompt One
and the waters run deeply
the price of meat and milk is skyrocketing,
partly due to images that still haunt my sleep—
the cattle paddling frantically, eyes swollen
like bulbous fish, their panic palpable, even
through the tv screen. the smoky grey fraser
becoming a lake, consuming the valley
and the dreams of farmers, still drowning,
though the waters have now receded. a cold
dampness sits in our hearts as we reel
from the past two years of sequestering
from one other. how easy to pass along this
crowned pestilence. how easy to let feelings
of hatred and anger fester and then pass them
onto others through memes and eighty-word
posts. how easy to vacation and suntan and
drink from coconuts with small umbrellas
while across the continents an unjust war
rages. how easy to turn our eyes away from
the truth and let our bonds fray and unravel.
perhaps the waters rose to help us cleanse.
maybe we have to drown in our own backyards
before we can surface and make a clear path
forward. the water flows from the shower head
and warms my neck. shouldn’t we be glad for this?
#1- Drops of love
Petrichor invading my senses
As I stand on the sandy earth
The drops of water falling on me
Gently, from the heavens above
The winds around me are strong
Lifting things up from around me
But the torrents are stronger
As the drizzle turns to downpour
Soaked in drops of love
My hands held out
Reaching to embrace the sky
As I twirl in circles
While the stream falls unceasingly
It pools in sandy craters around
Crashing thunder and incessant pattering
But I smile and stay under the grey sky
As the clouds hustle and bustle above
Feeling the rain kissing my skin
While the Petrichor invades my senses
What Do I Know
about water? I didn’t learn
to float until I was fifty,
in a water aerobics class,
mostly older women. The young instructor
called us his water buffalo
and it got back to us.
We adopted the name.
Couldn’t swim, but that didn’t stop me
from going over the side of a boat
off Buck Island, snorkeling
along the reef. Still amazed
at the school of bright blue fish
who swam as one sinuous body.
Couldn’t swim, but that didn’t stop me
reveling in hot water,
my morning shower, the space
where a woman can think,
sculpt lines of poetry,
play out scenes in a novel,
solve the world’s problems.
What do I know about water?
We can’t live without it.
We don’t eat without it.
Forests and prairies burn
when there is too little rain.
Children and old folks starve
along with the livestock
during a drought.
Water creates canyons
over eons as it wears away stone,
and makes my morning coffee,
water and bitter beans,
happen.
The Stream
You are something I am learning to remember,
my body pressed up against yours in a stream,
water gliding over our bare bodies. In your arms,
I am looking up into the canopy of hemlock
and white pine, the whinny of the woodpecker
nearby. With you, there is room to grow into
something that I am learning to remember,
the current washing over us into the unknown.
12 Ways of Looking at Birds
I.
Bird looking listening
from the bird tree near the porch
this perfect Vermont morning
Raven husky caulk and croon
floats across dew cloaked meadows
drowning soft Chickadee hum and flutter.
Bold Jay stomps and caws
tilting his head to eye
the peanut spot, demanding!
Sleek Mourning Doves mourn
and coo as they peck seed
from the ground.
A Red Winged Black Bird
strikes her crystal note
and flies away flashing red.
Then the Raven comes out of the tall tree stand
and all I can hear is the power,
the loud swoosh, swoosh
of her wings.
I wish it would rain
I wish it would rain
The sun keeps beating down
Heat rises from the earth
Every step feels like
wandering further into the witch’s oven
I’ve been out in the heat long enough
that I feel like I should be well baked now
I wish it would rain
The sky is full of clouds
and threatening to pelt us
Staring out the window
with begging eyes
Even if the rain hits and immediately evaporates
it will be better than this
I wish it would rain