It’s officially Autumn (Summer Adieu)

BTW A happy belated birthday to Stephen King, the king of horror. 👑 Yesterday (September 21st) he turned 75 years young. Here’s to many more. 🥂

🎉🎈🎈🎈🎈 🎈🎂

I was going to post 75 candle emoji’s but my finger started cramping. 😉

Without further adieu, let us recognize this, the first day of fall, with an aging poetic piece.

Summer Adieu

It’s out of the flip-flops and back in the Reeboks

and long pants dug out of the dust 

So long to the tank tops, bikinis and cut offs 

and lawn chairs left lying to rust

Adieu to the sand dune, the pelican and plain loon

My loves, we’ll see you `fore long 

Leaves drop as trees swoon, long past the crop moon 

With the scent of a sweet autumn song

Let’s all take a big swill to ward off the night chill

Winter’s a season away 

Crank up the camp fire; avoid the ole quagmire 

With children perched high on the hay 

Poem from Getting Me Back

More about the Autumn Equinox at National Geographic

In the Storm (April is National Poetry Month)

The Storm

(#NPM )

In the Storm

I reach for you…

With every crack of thunder 

I hear you laugh…

Your smile is every bolt of lightning.

The drops of rain, you touching me,

with unsalted tears…

No more pain; no more regret.

I raise my arms, 

as a child beckoning to be held

and it pours.

My grief is washed away by

stinging pellets of a spring rain

Leaving behind a clean slate

with only memories of the most mundane,

most cherished moments of my life.

Available at your favorite retailer.

Credits:

I created the cover from a photograph I had taken.

The heading image (The Storm) was created from a compilation of images I found at Pixabay. (Thank you Pixabay contributors).

The poem, In the Storm was taken from this twisted book of poems. And… guess what?

For a limited time my partnering experiment with Smashwords lets the reader decide what they will pay. Yep! You decide. Check it out.

And don’t forget to follow my podcast

Just keeping it real. 😘

Another Spring (Another #NPM )

Audio podcast available

Another Spring

You were hiding,

waiting there beneath the frost

so much more patient than I.

My soul beckoned from a wintry slumber

Fretful and anxious

Weary and depressed

fearful you had abandoned me and then

as promised,

you appeared.

Breathing life into the naked limbs; into the bare breasts of Mother Nature

until Summer’s heat met autumn’s leaves
and reminded us that change is inevitable.

Now…

too soon,

you will be nothing more than a bright spot

Getting Me Back is available at your favorite retailer.

Write on!

As If #NPM

As If

As if your shoulder brushing against my breast

in a crowded room meant anything to me…

As if your smile would thaw my frosty heart…

As if your constant assurance could overcome my cynicism…

As if the invisible boulevard would never rise up and beckon.

The street lamp glows in the bleached mist only three floors below us.

I blow streams of smoke into the black night and hum to the drone of the unseen road.

Be steel my bleating heart!

Be quiet! Be silent, hard steel.

As if wearing your tee-shirt made us lovers.

You can listen here.

From Getting Me Back (The Voices Within)

It’s April 1st and That Means …

Yep!

It is time to kick off National Poetry Month. #NPM Sooo- let’s get this party started.

Why Poetry (from Getting Me Back)

Because it hurts deeper

Tastes sweeter

Laughs louder

And lets me know I’m alive

The view from my wilderness sanctuary.

Write on!

Listen throughout the month via podcast

International Women’s History Month

Happy Friday y’all!

March is Women’s History Month so I thought I’d share this bit with you.

Every year, March is designated Women’s History Month by presidential proclamation. The month is set aside to honor women’s contributions in American history.

The poem below was inspired by the sage advice I received years ago from an elderly lady who truly fought to make a difference in the role (and treatment) of women in society. I feel she made a historical impact by influencing the small groups around her. She certainly left an impression with me.

I won’t name her because her M.O was to act subtly and not bring attention to herself. Surprisingly she got a lot accomplished with her (ur-um) antics. RIP A

Women’s Liberation

We did not burn our bras but wore them proudly; Holding–supporting–glorifying the mammary glands that would feed the next generation;

For the hand that rocks the cradle rules the world.

We did not give animated voices to our vaginas for the world to hear but let them speak in secret whispers that moved mountains.

We did not make a spectacle in the streets to prove our equality For we knew in our hearts [already] that we were superior.

The above poem is from Getting Me Back (The Voices Within)

A Little More Time

Hi y’all 🙋🏼‍♀️

My apologies for not blogging more but I have seriously been busy. I’m talking BiZZy!

We are just getting the house back to normal after February’s winter storm, Uri. I’m not sure why it’s (unofficially) referred to as Uri? 🧐

I did a web search and unless I overlooked a reasonable definition-I found nothing that applied to the ice storm. Feel free to educate me.

Anywho we are getting back to normal. Haller-lu-ya!!

[doing the happy dance]

So before I get busy this morning getting the yard and pond back in shape I will leave you with a #TBT.

A Little More Time was written in 1980 something, originally published in Pose Prose & Poems in 1998 and republished in the 2017 poetic memoir called Getting Me Back

A Little More Time

There’s an eagle out there soaring And my best friend is out whoring

Turning tricks of any kind

Doing anything to make a dime God forgive her for the crime

All she needs is a little more time.

On the roof three stories high

A junky cries and begs to die

Ain’t had a fix in several days Swears he can’t go on this way

Across the street a church bell chimes

Grant us please a little more time.

An old man sick and dying

Alone with no one crying

He grieves for all the pain he’s caused

For all the people that he’s lost

Outside the window painted mimes All rushing for a little more time

A woman labors down the hall

Her anguish echoes through the wall

But soon a laughter takes its place When she looks upon the baby’s face

For a moment all is sublime

As we are given a little more time