Communicating with the Dead, in 55

I imagined
communicating with the dead
was shrouded
in mystery

But it’s not

It’s a note
in his handwriting
tucked into a favorite book

it’s the smell of
his closet

it’s the work gloves
still stiff with
the shape of his hands

Communication with the dead
is small, common
everyday

and
pretty much
one way

 

This is a 55 word version of a longer piece I’ve been noodling with for FF 55 hosted by Hedgewitch, with a tip of the hat to Galen.  Click on the link to go to her blog, Verse Escape, and join the fun!

Advertisement

Finish Things

Finish things.
That was Neil’s advice
to me and you.
Though so far I haven’t
taken it to heart.

Finish things.
Not the ice cream
or the box of chocolates,
but the projects,
the stories,
the work.

Finish things.
Despite the fear
of failure, or the boredom.
Despite the siren call
from the new,
finish things.

Change

Summer
has grown heavy
and dropped from its stem.

The sun sleeps in
a little longer,
leaves the party a bit earlier.

Last night
felt almost like fall
while today is
crisp and sunny.

The leaves are still green
but a shade paler;
chlorophyll
begins to recede.

Time
to change.
Welcome back,
my dearest Autumn.

Consumed, #2

We are consumed by
want, by greed.
Consuming has become
the yardstick
to measure our shiny, plastic
success.
We make more
to consume more,
until we find someone
who will make more for less.
Then we consume that
but no longer
produce.

We forgot the first word
in GNP is
gross
and consumption
is a sickness.

 

Today is Amazon Prime day. Yay consumerism.

May 5

Sunday morning,
May sunshine
pours
through the windows.
Outside
there is a new
tenderness
to the air.
The breeze sings
in soft tones,
drawing us out,
urging us
to reach
for the sun.
Join the chorus
and sing.
This is a time
for birthing,
for growing
for beginnings.
This is a day to
be alive.

NaPoWriMo #26

It feels like I’m just sitting
in my chair, typing
and drinking coffee,
but actually I’m spinning
almost 1000 miles an hour,
and travelling through space
on this biggish rock
we call Earth
at about 18 miles per second
Isn’t that remarkable?

And is it any wonder
I’m exhausted
at the end of the day?

NaPoWriMo #17

These days I hedge my bets.
Once I hurtled, headlong
but now I measure my responses,
pause before striking,
do my research.
I always keep an umbrella in my car

I enter each meeting,
each transaction
prepared;
with my due diligence done

But some days
I miss the feel
of the rain on my face

NaPoWriMo #15

My grandma’s hands
were a map
of her life
a topographical map,
with mountainous knuckles
swollen by hard work
and arthritis
pale, blue rivers
of veins
winding their way
around the metacarpals
to the fingers
fingers cracked and thickened
with a lifetime
of field work and cooking
of sewing and mending
of caring and healing

I’m not pleased with this yet. I have all the verbs in the last three lines end with -ing, except field work, and I don’t like that. However, I don’t want to use gardening, because that sounds too easy and casual for what she did. And I don’t want to use farming, because that makes me think of something broader. She worked all day in the gardens growing organic flowers and produce for the farmers’ market. She also raised organic chickens to sell at the marked too (meat and eggs), so maybe farming… just not sure. Also, the other pairs of verbs at the end are more closely related than the first two, field work and. cooking. Also, though she’s dead many years now, I think I’d rather say her hands ARE a map of her life in line two. Ah well, something to work on in May.

NaPoWriMo #12

I am no physicist
but I know about time
I know how it changes
how it bends
and folds
I know it’s not a constant
but races, then
stops and
pools at one’s feet
then scampers ahead
I know how it can deceive

What I don’t know
about time is
how to spend
it wisely

NaPoWriMo #9

The frost has left the ground
purple crocus are open
Sparrows are back
insistently calling
Old Sam, Peabody, Peabody, Peabody
to one another
Buds on maples are reddening
the first tiny leaves
on the lilac
have opened
as we tip towards the sun.
Tomorrow’s forecast is
10-12 inches of snow –
a typical April in Wisconsin

Disclaimer: I looked up the sound the sparrows make.  If left to my own devices I just hear cheep – cheepcheep – cheep.