Tag Archives: poem

Grateful Collage

Posted on by The Read-e-ologist

Going where the climate suits my clothes 
Might as well travel the elegant way 
Sometimes the songs that we hear are just songs of our own 
If you get confused just listen to the music play 

Crippled but free I was blind the whole time I was learning to see.
Heard a voice a callin’, Lord you was comin’ after me. 

Well, everybody’s dancing in a ring around the sun 
And my tunes were played on the harp unstrung

Sun went down in honey
And the moon came up in wine 
Rising up to paradise, 
I know I’m gonna shine 

I may not have the world to give to you
But maybe I have a tune or two
‘Cause when things go wrong, wrong with you
It hurts me too
Shall we go, you and I, while we can? 
If mercy’s in business, I wish it for you 

But I’ll still sing you love songs
Written in the letters of your name 
Greet the morning air with song 
I will walk alone by the black muddy river
Sing me a song of my own 
Comic book colors on a violin river 
Listen to the river sing sweet songs
To rock my soul 

Once in a while, you get shown the light 
In the strangest of places if you look at it right 
Some folks look for answers
Others look for fights
I have spent my life seeking all that’s still unsung
Keep on dancing through to daylight

Nothing left to do but smile, smile, smile. 

(This is a collage poem—all lyrics from various songs by the Grateful Dead)

There’s No Place Like, “No!”

Posted on by The Read-e-ologist

I used to ignore the 
red flags 
on the way to your castle,
down the yellow brick road.

Only to find that your 
promise ring
was made of graphite. 

You only offer 
bittersweet watermelon
and dandelions.

I’m half and half 
about your 
field of poppies, 
hearthstone, 
polished stone… 
no gems.

I’m on my way—
away—
searching for a new 
green light. 

Soon

Posted on by The Read-e-ologist

Boom-sicle bop-sicle
Cherry red popsicle
Sparkling new bicycle
Swimming pool toys

Tops off convertibles
Cookouts and carnivals
Parades and festivals
Summertime Joys

Today’s #VerseLove prompt was to write a double dactyl poem. “This whimsical form of poetry is made of two quatrains.

Lines four and eight have one dactyl plus a stressed syllable
Line one is a pair of nonsense rhyming words
Line two introduces the subject of the poem (often a name)
Lines one through three and five through seven contain two dactylic metrical feet.” This is my attempt.

To-Day List

Posted on by The Read-e-ologist

Drink a huge glass of iced water.
Stretch. 
No, really stretch.
Take your time.
Go outside.
Look up at the sky. 
Smell a flower or seven.
Sneeze.
Smile at a stranger. 
Hug a friend. 
Say, “I love you” more than once.
Inhale.
Exhale. 
Tell yourself that you are enough.
Watch the sunset.
Sleep well.

Reading at the Table

Posted on by The Read-e-ologist

I invited Literacy to the table. She was delightful as can B. We drank T.
She seemed shy at first, as if she was trying to decode each word—sounding out her thoughts. Once she started, she began speaking rapidly, as if I were timing her. “Listen,” I said. “This is not a race. It isn’t about accuracy, and your pronunciation is just fine. I invited you because I want to know U. I want to C U. I want to understand. ¿Comprende? This is all about communication.” Literacy took a big deep breath . . . and started to cry. “U C,” she said, “Sometimes people get all phocused on phonics—It’s like they’re hooked. Yes, foundation, foundation, phoundation, but it doesn’t stop there. We need to play with words, slay with words, sing and be sung. U know?” And I did. So we did. We sang. And we shared stories—hers, mines, ours. We laughed, then cried some more, then sang a song of hope. “C, this is Y,” she said, “This is Y I live. This makes me feel whole.” We drank more T, made lists, recited poems, made declarations, asked questions, wrote our dreams, and shared our resilience through story. Y’all, Literacy is a beauty, and she is invited to my table any time!

Photo by Anastasia Shuraeva on Pexels.com

“Inside My Shoes” (with a nod to researcher-poet Dr. Darius Phelps)

Posted on by The Read-e-ologist

Inside my shoes

are my feet 

that have been running since I was 2.


At first I ran

hoping to be chased—

by my big brothers, 

my big sister, 

maybe even one of my parents.


Eventually I ran 

to get away—

from my big brothers, 

my big sister, 

maybe even one of my parents.

Inside my shoes 

are feet with scars— 

hardship 

fear 

sadness

loss.


Inside my shoes 

are feet with stories—

standing up

Strength

resilience

victory.


Inside my shoes

are feet that still run— 

sometimes, when I don’t want to,

but I do it anyways because I know that it 

makes 

me 

stronger.


Inside my shoes

are feet that run

around the block, 

across the bridge, 

toward a 3K 

and maybe eventually a half marathon 

Running toward myself

In promises of  

progress and 

healing.

#VerseLove prompt: Write about a scar, one that may be physical in nature or one that might be more  emotional. To get started, think about these questions: Where did it come from? How did you get it? Who was with you at the time? What is the story that goes with the scar?  What would the scar say about you? etc. 

I was also inspired by poet-researcher Dr. Darius Phelps who prompted me to write “In My Shoes.”

Misura Crescente

Posted on by The Read-e-ologist

Screen Shot 2020-03-20 at 10.24.33 PM

I

Am

Able

To fathom

Multiplication of

Sun-shaped “leeches”seeking new homes.

Each Pair of lungs becomes weaker, times two, doubling, infinita infinitis.

Isolating—hiding from Aching, Burning, Coughing, to hide our Aching, Burning, Coughing—Isolating even when it is too late and not enough—Ice. Soul. Late.

The crescent curve on the graphs/charts/maps that total the tolls and count the cases represents the exponential misery that cannot be totaled, because there is more ahead and the numbers keep growing. We can measure the growth and measure the growth, always, always watching the crescent point towards more.