Cloaked cowards sling slime
Attack the famous without restraint
No thought precedes loathsome spewing
Words unchecked, attacks unfounded
Anonymous animosity, masked malevolence
Small-minded child, does your mother know?
Human humans have actual feelings
Wounding words abuse and bully
The open and guileless withdraw to heal
Hate loses steam, dust settles
The barrage subsides, rancor fades
Graciousness resumes, kind words prevail
The beginning, Feelings Friday, Thursday night homework
5 prompts (Name, Un-invented, Inanimate, Repeats, Letter)
5 poems (Different, Death, Delicious, Appreciation, Darkness)
Momentum interrupted, The lull, A void
April Fool, or kismet, by chance, please help
“It’s been a couple of weeks since Mary Lambert’s poetry prompts ended, and I need something to keep it going” Cinnamon Paws (Thank you, my love), fresh start
16 days of poetry – Perspective, Art, Misogyny, Non-conformity, Injustice, Eavesdropping, People-watching, New Ride, Attention, Memory, Earlier times, Spring, Birth, Hope, My loves
Today, Thank you Mary Lambert
April possibilities remain
They say I make up memories
Baby memories I shouldn’t recall
I scoff, and run the memory movie
Giggling sister jumping on big bed
Me at her feet, little 2-year-old body bouncing
I laugh… laugh more…bounce higher, can’t stop laughing
9-year-old legs jump higher, bouncing my giggling body still higher
50s style sharp corner night table looms
Then, my dad, starched white shirt, skinny tie, shaking head
Me, head on Mom’s lap, scratchy sofa on bare legs
Bloody dishtowel wrapped ice pack covers my eye
“Again?” Dad asks
Valley Forge National Park, Betzwood lot
Back seat duffle, gear overflows
Cleated shoes, helmet, sunglasses, gloves
Hybrid Giant tires pumped
Ready. Garmin set. Go.
Leading, Pedaling. Trailhead north
Thick woods flank long green tunnel
Iron bridge S curve down, down. 3 miles
Perkiomen River, today’s neighbor
Zig-zag of bridges, crossing, crossing over flowing streams
Weaving around kids on tiny bikes, past runners, past chatters
Pace set, rhythm
Steep, steep hill, flying down past rocky creek. 13 miles
Water views, bouldery cliffs, rugged trail, trendy towns, trail-side bike shop
Open field, bridge, woods, another bridge
Hill, Green Lane, halfway, glimmering lake, kayaks, barbeques, fishing poles
Park-bench rest, calories consumed, water gulped, 21 miles
Back on trail, path retraced
12-degree hill, up, up, Walk or ride? 29 miles
Top of hill, recover. Ancient ski lift rumbles, Pedal
Folk Fest stage. Sparkly water. Breath
Parking lot, right turn, bike rack, duffle, 42 miles
Love that new car smell
But it takes 3 hours to buy
Get a bike instead
Tiny green leaf buds sneak little heads from brown branches
Still, tired browns and dull greens prevail
Proud daffodil troubadours stand tall
Palest green suggests revival
Yellow and pink risk a peak
Imminent rush of color
Transforming light
Nurturing warmth
Soaking sun
Growth
Birth
Dear jerk-off guy,
I was the person stopped at the red light behind you Saturday morning, headed for a weekend at the beach with my family, waiting for green in the burgundy SUV. You sat in the driver’s seat of a dirty, open, military style Jeep, with another beefy young guy in the passenger seat. While we waited, you (surprisingly, horrifyingly) heaved a grocery bag filled with fast food containers toward the bed of the large red dump truck that waited ahead of you. Physics guaranteed that you’d miss the truck bed, and the bag of trash fell to the road and scattered in the breeze. I honked. Not a quick, friendly “hey the light is green, stop looking at your phone” honk. Not an “I’m laying on my horn because you almost killed me” honk. But an in-between “I can’t believe you just threw trash on the street, get out of your car and pick that up” honk. Your reaction to my honk was shocking; you raised your hand into the air and flashed the rarely seen outside of middle school “jerk-off” simulation. The jerk-off move was followed by a “gangsta” style pointing move that said “come up here and say that to me”. My family felt the wave of your arrogant, angry aggression crash into our safe hybrid haven. As the light turned green and we made the left to head south, I hung back from you and your continued gesticulations. Who knew if you had a gun.
“If I were a cop I’d have a hard time not beating that guy up” I mused. “But I think that’s the kind of guy who becomes one…”
After a long pause, from the back seat our daughter added “part of me wants to chase after that guy and follow him to wherever he is going”
“There is nothing you can say to a person like that to convince him he’s wrong” said her mother.
“And someone like that would have no qualms about hitting me” I piped in. “Don’t ever chase after someone like that” I admonished, looking back to make sure she heard.
Our conversation continued on from there, for two hours until we were at our Rehoboth door. So, thank you, jerk-off guy. You were the catalyst for a thoughtful conversation about misogyny, feminism, stupid arrogance, road rage, police brutality… also the recommendation from my loved ones not to call this poem “the jerk-off guy”.
I hope we never meet again.
Susan
Sunny day my loves
Best times sharing food, laughs, time
More joy tomorrow
Out to dinner at our regular Friday night sushi restaurant, we are seated and I’m sipping sparkling water. Earlier, a friend told me she sometimes feels invisible, and we are talking about what that must feel like. Nearby, at the table to my right, an uninhibited talker sucks me into his conversation. This loud talking middle-aged guy with thin hair and a blue sweater bellows “I was in court and said ‘your honor’” … I re-engage with my own conversation, simultaneously wondering if he is a lawyer or the plaintiff. I lift a piece of ginger with my chopsticks and place it over my spicy tuna roll, dipping it into wasabi-ized soy sauce. “What do you think it means to feel invisible?” I ask. Then the guy next to us steals a bit of my attention “And he wanted to have alternate weekends and split the summer 50-50” “Ok, he’s a divorce attorney with an overly loud voice” I think while also, actually, following our own conversation. “Having no control would make a person feel invisible” She says. Then I say “Or feeling condescended to” For a minute, we both ponder silently. To my left a late 30s couple with two shaggy pre-teen boys occupy a large booth. A woman dressed all in black with large hoop earrings and big hair joins them. She carries gift bags. “These aren’t really Easter gifts,” she says to the woman across the booth as she hands the bags to the boys and slides in next to them. The boys eagerly dig in. A bottle of white wine is delivered to their table. I consider their relationships: “She’s too young to be the grandmother. Well, maybe not. Or she could be an aunt…” We’ve finished our meal and ask for our check. Our conversation moved from invisibility, meandered through work, and finished with weekend plans. As we pay our bill, a loud version of Happy Birthday is heard from the main dining room. From my seat the crowded bar is in full view, and a late 50s looking guy in a golf sweater walks from his stool to the service bar, hands something to the bartender, and kisses her on the lips. “It’s the bartender’s birthday,” I say as we put on our coats. The singing comes to an end, and I add “she’s really popular” Walking to the car we pass a man with a sullen looking teenage girl who looks nothing like the man. They walk into the restaurant. I wonder if she’s his daughter, and if she’s adopted. We get into the car. Another Friday night sushi dinner.
Phillies’ spring of hope
Optimists expect great things
3 games fuel doubters
mannersworld 