30 Days of Poetry
2020
2020
Reluctant green sprouts in the dark, rich earth knowing it’s time to expand
Slowly emerging from the nourishing seed, the green sprout slowly,
micro-scop-ic-ally,
moves toward the sun and sky above the safety of warmth and stasis of earth
millimeter by millimeter it reaches for the unknown
afraid the race cannot be run
stymied by the rocky obstacles in its upward path
finally, many suns and moons have passed
the earth’s crust parts as the tiny, albeit stronger, green shoot
triumphantly reaches for the stars in the night sky
blown about by the restless wind, the green shoot bends and flows
no longer fighting but enjoying the upward journey towards the sun
Sheer panic gives way to soothing, peaceful, and cleansing calm
New verdant, vibrant arms engulf me in their sleek, loving embrace
softly wiping away my salty fearful tears
as I nestle into the crook of the tree limb far above the forest floor
Based on this YouTube video of "The Highwayman" by Alfred Noyes
Eternal love
Emboldening, secret,
Daring, reckless, dangerous--
Sacrificial.
Life is but one plane for true love.
Oh boy! Another poem to write.
Wait! It’s short. Sweet!
Now, what to say?
How about “another poem bites the dust!”?
Too cliché!
[127 characters with spaces]
I can tell it’s spring when
The neighbors pull out the hand shovels, knee pads, buckets,
flats of colorful flowers and luscious bushes, trucking in loads of fresh dark dirt
and start pruning the roses.
Weed and Feed, Round Up, and Miracle Grow emerge from winter hiding
and tend to the fresh buds encouraging the new plants to take root and to root out the weeds
Children’s laughter is heard up and down the street
Oh! Little Johnny is walking now down the driveway towards the sidewalk
and Little Sally is riding a bike for the first time, clad with knee pads and a bright pink helmet.
The ringing of her bike bell is heard throughout the neighborhood.
Parents are walking together, pale from winter’s embrace, with faces heliotropically turned toward the sun.
Decked out golf carts zoom up and down the streets bearing grandmas and grandpas
escorting little tykes who are not ready for long walks
Other golf carts are laden with ladies and libations, not a good combination, as Lady Gaga resounds from the massive hidden sound system while they lunge from one side of the road to the other
Sundown brings out lawn chairs on the front lawn where neighbors gather to share the day’s events
Spring has sprung is nature and in the human heart
A new beginning.
Hope works hard then slowly fades.
A man
The Superman
Selfless, caring, gentle
Man of steel like Jesus Christ
The Men
I completed the Goodbye, Winter elegy Challenge poem to replace this poem.
In the South they say that winter rarely comes out to play
He broods and broods, bringing bad weather
rain, hail, and lightning
when he does arrive, darkness accompanies him
shorter days mean no time to play with him
When the darkness falls, we gather round warm fires
Laughter and family and friends can be heard
while winter silently bides his time
crying, flooding, feeding the dying plants of autumn
Gumbo, tea and scones, hearty jambalaya feed our souls during the darkness
while Christmas lights and New Year fireworks illuminate the sky
When the cold rains subside as Winter fades away, the golden buds arrive
Spring is on his way!
We welcome February and March with a brief and fond farewell to Winter
A Gentle Shove
I can do this. I CAN do this!
Climb up the tree
Hook the harness to the line
Wait impatiently and fearfully for my turn
Change clip to the run line
Position myself at the edge
Freeze. Panic. Breathe.
I cannot do this/ I CANNOT do this!
Chicken I hear from my youngest as he gently shoves me off the ledge into flight
Unwelcome Sharing
Strong Spring Wind ruffles the tree’s hair, blowing
the mighty oak’s spindly yellow-green pods of pollen
across the shallow coulee and bare road to my neighboring treeless house.
Dear Spring Wind, I do not thank you for sharing.
This is where I long to be / La isla bonita – from “La Isla Bonita” by Madonna
Behold the tropical paradise from beneath the blue umbrella
White sands and blue water as far as the eye can see,
crashing waves beat the shore lined with families
child-like shouts of glee punctuate the feeling of being under the umbrella
Safe from the direct sun’s rays, yet part of this blissful utopia
A watcher and a partaker
Together, yet alone
Do I dare to emerge for the lure of the siren’s song?
Gentle ripples beckon beyond the tumultuous waves,
Waves that speak to me of peace, serenity, and rapture
Floating figures bask on air-inflated rafts
Some daring figures paddle board or kayak far out into the blue
While I decide to stay, for today, submerged in the shade of the umbrella
Content, comfortable, and calm.
Based on William Carlos Williams’ “This is Just to Say”
This is just to say
I have written
the poems
that were in
the list
and which
you were probably saving
for the last possible minute
Forgive me
they were tempting
so creative
and so time-consuming!
I completed the Snapshot Challenge poem to replace this poem (for now).
Images from March: governor, president, coronavirus/COVID-19, microscopic images, global maps
Images from last 24 hours: news headlines, microphones, tents, green hospital scrubs, masks
Images from the last hour: email attachments, version histories, doughnuts, bones, foam
Pandemic Ponderings
COVID-19 microscopic viral images burned into my brain.
I know what this enemy looks like, how it spreads across the globe.
Headlines and news snippets have taken over my life.
I am housebound,
a prisoner in my own home,
a prisoner of responsibility,
responsibility not shared by all.
A walk outside in the sunshine with a friend feels like an escape.
We do not stay six feet apart. Our bodies unconsciously drift closer.
Humans are not meant for isolation.
I live with the sunburn of that attempt.
Corona, while you may take some parts of my life hostage,
you cannot eradicate simple pleasures from life:
time with family,
a hot fresh doughnut,
cold creamy chocolate milk,
numbing time with favorite tv shows,
and the silky foam of a hot caffeinated beverage.
I completed the Acrostic Challenge poem to replace this poem (for now).
Together we can
Achieve anything
No one person is expendable
Yet
At times we all feel so.
Biscuits and speeches are better when made with shortening.
So I will keep this poem short and sweet:
What do you call a pun sandwich?
A punini.
Art from MOMA
Dear Mr. Dali,
Did you create this piece to capture the feeling we have when we hit a milestone year? To capture that first time we feel mortal in our immortal life?
If so, you’ve captured it exceptionally well.
I am the melting clocks, twisting and slipping away
At times I am the clock on the tree branch—limp and weary
Often I feel like the clock slipping off of the table corner, slowly sliding away
The sleeping eye cuddles with flexible time
I wish I had more time to sleep!
I notice the ants crawling on the backside of the watch
Time has a way of marching over us and making us prickly aware of its passing
Or perhaps they are there to carry us away back into the earth from whence we came?
A thought, random though it may be,
Are your cliffs the Cliffs of Insanity from The Princess Bride?
Can we, too, be rescued from the fate of time?
Art from MOMA
What are a few of my favorite things?
Singing Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious or a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down while completing the prosaic tasks of life: laundry, dusting, sweeping
Chanting internal lyrics of lameness, considering them da bombs of genius
Procrastinating life, response, and work
All for the sake of a book or movie,
an escape from life—just one of my favorite things.
The humans are walking zombies
Taking a walk on the wild side
wearing their hearts on their sleeves.
OR
Ink. Pebbles. Varnish.
The evidence of an art project gone awry during this stormy weather
Brief inspiration coated with failure.
A dark night
A fun and innocent ride in the woods on the back of a three wheeler
A dark night where dark purposes live
Drunk with the dreariness of life and the day
Drunk with the curves of the girl
Drunk with denial and need
He steps out
Brandishing a knife
He steps out
Halts the fun ride with horror and fear,
panic, entreating, breakaway running,
stopping, breathing, listening,
sprinting, passing,
and the sweet salvation of light and help
Numb, calm
Escaping into the pages of a book
Into a safe place where the heroine is always rescued, protected, loved, admired
Not at fault for the whimsy of youth
Not at fault for the nightmares
Not at fault for the figure she bears
Nurses examine
Answers are given
No harm has come--
Or has it?
The pages of the book offer solace,
far away places from the reality of the day,
the horrors of the night, and
offer the only peace available to the girl
This peace fosters hope.
Hope for a future beyond the oppressiveness of expectations
Hope that the nights will be safe once more
Hope that she could be more than a girl with curves
AND SHE IS.
She demolished the figure that causes grief and desire
She used those books to learn, to grow, to aspire to intellectual heights
She used the tragic lesson of innocent youth and fun to build a wall of sanctuary around her life
She learned to sleep at night and dispel the darkness
She learned to overcome, survive, and thrive in a world filled with books.
The luxurious clear water fills the silver basin.
Bubbles froth and foam as individuals dive in, soak, make intricate, delicate, and rough movements over earthen spheres.
Deep wells are filled and emptied, searched with groping hands and eyes for imperfections and hidden jewels.
Cascading water reveals flawless skins that relax on towels allowing the wind to dry and blow their cares away.
Slow, arching back, graceful legs extended with claws peeking out,
neck and shoulders meeting while the mouth opens in a wide yawn, visible teeth a reminder of their vicious sharpness.
A small shake of the head,
and a leisurely, quiet walk from my soft bed to the window.
My domain to command.
The outside world surveyed as people and cars enter my view.
Eyes close as the sun warms me, lulling me into serenity.
Perhaps another nap is needed.
Yesterday was Monday.
IT WAS MONDAY!
One of THOSE Mondays that began and did not seem to end.
Beginning with getting back to the grind.
Grading, grinding, whining, winning.
Emails. Hangouts. Zooms--
Assessments and faculty meetings
Distressing stress. [Are you talking about me? Are you, huh? Naw. You’re not talking ‘bout me. Right? ]
Yet, sweet student voices made this Monday miraculous.
Positive stories about the impact my fellow educators, even I (!),
have made on students.
Shared sunshine in a tunnel of shadows.
Rays of sun in a dim afternoon.
We needed a boost.
Helping others see the best in themselves always makes a day brighter. [Thank you sweet and sassy students.]
Spreading their love to their teachers (anonymously).
Pondering their prose in my now healing heart
A good Monday memory.
List of things looking forward to: summertime travel, trees, forests, wildlife, peace, rushing waters, serenity, good health, family time
Last summer was our own quarantine,
Nursing Greg as he recovered from six rounds of epic chemo, nursing him back to health, planning what we would do this summer when he could do more, be more active
Plans to visit the John Paul II Shrine, the National Shrine, the Smithsonians, a road trip with the boys
Plans to return to the Smoky Mountains and just be still in God’s creation, to hike through the natural beauty, hear the rushing waters, feel their coolness, swim in their restorative waters, almost as good as, maybe better than, the crashing waves on the beaches.
Plans to laugh again, be silly, and relax with family.
Alas, summer may be cancelled due to a national quarantine.
Yet, fall is waiting and the call of nature can be heard loud and clear!
from Pope's full homily from extraordinary Urbi et Orbi blessing
“When evening had come”
deafening silence
a distressing void
we feel it in the air
an unexpected, turbulent storm
On this boat in the stern,
in the part of the boat that sinks first
Jesus sleep s calm
“Why are you afraid? Have you no faith?”
The storm exposes our
feeble souls
our egos
Why are you afraid?
Lord, you are calling us
to trust you
to choose what matters
to separate what is necessary from what is not.
The force of the Spirit
fashioned in courage and generous self-denial
exercising patience
offering hope in small everyday gestures,
fostering prayer.
The Lord asks us
invites us to reawaken
revive
our Easter faith.
We have an anchor
We have a rudder
We have a hope
He is risen
living by our side.
Rediscover life
embrace all the hardships of the present time,
to make room for the creativity that only the Spirit is capable of inspiring
hospitality, fraternity and solidarity.
May God’s blessing come down as a consoling embrace to comfort our hearts
We “cast all our anxieties onto you, for you care about us”
I added images that reference the deaths of both Judas (tree) and Peter (upside down cross).
Image of blackout poem: here
Two Treacheries
Jesus tells Judas do quickly
diabolic betrayal of God
Judas is not the only betrayer
Peter protests that he will lay down his life for Jesus
Master sadly answers you deny me three times
Peter will follow later
martyred for the Master he thrice denied
Lesson of Judas
we can convince ourselves to betray him
Lesson of Peter
even if we betray Jesus, we can repent and be reconciled
Father of Wisdom, help us know and do the good
When we fall help us repent, like Peter,
Not despair, like Judas who turned against God.
Sweet Potato Queens don their royal attire for each occasion
Matching lucky PJs and Pearls are a must
when one shakes off the dust of the day and
gets down to the music of the DJ.
Tiaras are worn, flashing bright lights
in the midst of the night while the music plays on and on,
karaoke is ours for the taking...another year, maybe.
A Fondron parade of our queenliness shows our creative side.
Red wigs complete with tiaras, black blinged out glasses, and
green sequins outfits lead the way. We are merely cooks
with aprons, white puffy hats, and matching pink long sleeve shirts
as we grace the adoring public with our gratuitous gifts.
Sunday dons bright and early with our pink robes over our silky PJs,
lily pads upon our heads, and flowery white and pink sandals.
A breakfast feast laid out for us,
complete with the traditional bacon crack.
Heads bowed, hymns sung, prayers prayed, and
our weekend ends with a spiritual phase.
Our tiaras are packed, put away, until we rise and return,
the Chiasson queens,
one year from today.
Bright mouth watering globe,
Squashed, squeezed, and water infused
Refreshing relief on a hot day
Real love for
Others begins with a deep look within
Yourself, to see others as
God would see them. Are you
Bringing the Presence of Christ to Others
In this time of
Violent upheaval and virtual living?
Sidewalk chalk brightens
the neighborhood ride while Groot
applauds from windows
Zoom.
Loom.
Screencastify.
Hangouts.
Classroom.
Email.
Vimeo.
Facebook.
Instagram.
Tik Tok.
The new reality of confinement
begs me to connect with others,
continue my vocation, spreading calm and serenity,
assuming leadership in this technological foray.
I am far from calm,
far from the shores of serenity,
far from my tech savvy normal self.
My pale, peaked skin portrays the pensiveness of my present personality.
How can I master or re-master these technologies quickly and
help others experience calm in the midst of a pandemic?
All while fielding emails and conference calls that
change directions as quickly as a river flows in a flood?
I think my 14 and 20 year olds are better equipped for this social distancing,
yet not distant, life we now live.
A deep breath. Realization strikes.
Perfection is not needed.
R E A L reality in a time of technology is necessary.
Forgiveness of self and forgiveness of others is needed.
I record with mistakes,
I answer in incomplete sentences,
I break the ELA rules!
Far from each other, yet closer to God we move.
Televised Mass,
virtual conferences and Bible studies,
prayer groups via Zoom,
Lenten parish missions, live or recorded,
Communion without the physical presence.
Technology taking us away from
our frustrations,
our fears,
our frailty,
into H O P E.
Rough, weathered warrior gray brown mulch begs to be replaced; it has
served its time and done its job well--
protecting the beds from foreign invaders
Bending, scooping, dropping, and carrying the mulch to the
washed out hole in the backyard gives this warrior a new purpose.
It can serve and protect the land from erosion.
Purpose once again.
Revealed under the removed mulch is dark soil,
black and moist. A lone yellow green shoot of a plant,
perhaps a stray piece of grass, is curled up in a fetal position,
waiting for the sun to urge it towards the light.
The light. The bright sun on my face, a warm caress,
a missing kiss after days confined inside,
chained to the blue light of technology.
The light that brightens my mood and the
gentle breeze blows my hair around my face,
playing hide and seek with the sun.
The light of salvation.
Lazarus coming back into the light.
My soul longing for the light.
Poems reaching for the light, waiting to be discovered,
curled up, unearthed, found,
brought into the light of day.