Unbinding


You’re too brazen girl
was oft the scold.
Be quiet and meek,
Fit in this mold

But my carefree soul was finding,
That it chaffed in the binding.

So, this woman breaks
from convention’s hold.
Aye, I will be daring
I will be BOLD!

“I Have Been Set Free” by Joanne Holbrook

dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Q44 #167: BOLD-ly Go

dVerse Poets Pub graphic
dVerse ~ Poets Pub

Today on Quadrille Monday, Dee (WhimsyGizmo), prompts us to go boldly and boldly go with a quadrille.

A Quadrille is simply a poem of 44 words, excluding the title. It can be in any form, rhymed or unrhymed, metered, or unmetered. You MUST use the word “bold” or a form thererod in your poem.

On Arrival


I
The one
Teetering
Perilously
On the precipice

Shamed
To call
What I knew
Before as best
For now I do know

That
Nothing
Not a thing
Could possibly
Be as candy sweet

As
Screaming
Loud His name
On arrival
Of la petite mort


dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Quadrille #166: I Like Candy

dVerse Poets Pub graphic
dVerse ~ Poets Pub

Yesterday on Quadrille Monday, Mish, got her sugar rush on at the bar and invited us to put a sweet spin to quadrille.

I also cheat a little in that my quadrille is also what I’ll call an Extended Arun. A nonce poem created by blogger GirlGriot, an Arun is a fifteen-line poem in three sets of five lines. Each set of five lines follows the same syllable structure: starting with one syllable and increasing by one syllable with each line. 1/2/3/4/5 — 3x. There are no other rhyme or structural requirements. Here I added an extra stanza to meet the 44 word Quadrille requirement.

Le petite mort, for those who may be unfamiliar with the term, literally translates to “the little death”. It is an expression in modern usage refers specifically to the sensation of post orgasmic afterglow that is as often likened to death.

Obsession – My Ode to Joe

This is my confession it is my obsession
I have a natural predilection to its addiction

Memories of my father and his ochre cup
Attached to his side, breakfast, lunch and sup’

My oath to drink only one all my friends joke about
I would offer my first-born rather than do without

An olden concoction for which we modernists still toil

To smell its aroma fills me with such frustration
To see its liquid flow as I pour fills me with anticipation
To taste its liquid heat is such a sensation
To feel its burn down my throat fills me with elation
To hear that last swallow fills me with such trepidation

For some it is more precious than diamonds, gold or oil

An obsession shared by many on this orb
As sip after sip it is so greedily absorbed

I oscillate between the need the makes my heart burst
And the joy of feeling the elixir oust my deep thirst

I’m like a kid with chewiest of toffee
Nothing beats that first oomph of coffee

Glass coffee mug with line indicating it is safe to speak to owner of said mug when the contents  have reached the bottom line.
Yes, this is my coffee mug at work.
Yes, my colleagues know not speak to me until my coffee reaches well under that bottom marker.

dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Poetics: Cheers!

dVerse Poets Pub graphic
dVerse ~ Poets Pub

Today at dVerse Poetics our host and pub-tender paeansunplugged invites us to raise a glass and sip on some verbiage to that all quenches our thirsts. I chose the libation that gets many of us up, running and ready to face the world with less of a snarl in the mornings – well at least me.

Punching Age

It started at one,

strong and sure

The promise of more

its lure

Birthday punches are a rite it’s true

But as they wore on, so did you

I took its weak finish

with a laughing smirk

Forgot I was 59

didn’t you, jerk?


dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Quadrille #160: Poems that Pack a Punch

dVerse Poets Pub graphic
dVerse ~ Poets Pub

Yesterday on Quadrille Monday, De Jackson, aka WhimsyGizmo, got a little punch drunk at the bar and invited us to punch out quadrille. Yesterday was my birthday. My bestfiend, not a misspell – who had the good sense to be born exactly a year later, and I were joking about the childhood silliness of delivering birthday wishes via punches on the arm. One punch-wish for each year, sometimes the token punches are delivered gently, sometimes not. Because I am blessed to age like fine wine, I do not look my years. Unless a boxer, I imagine most would begin to tire before reaching my current vintage and thus today’s silly quadrille.

Morning Scent

The fresh scent of lawn anywhere
Can sometimes take me there
Magnolia wafting on morning
breeze
Even if I cannot see the trees
Yes, sometimes a hint of sweat
Remembrances of you beget
The mourning in memory spurred
When into earth you were interred


dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Quadrille #158: Morning Has Broken
dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Poetics: A World of Common Scents

dVerse Poets Pub graphic
dVerse ~ Poets Pub

Yesterday on Quadrille Monday Linda Lee invites to put our best morning forward in a quadrille.

A Quadrille is simply a poem of 44 words, excluding the title. It can be in any form, rhymed or unrhymed, metered, or unmetered. You MUST use the word “morning” in your poem.

Today dVerse guest host Jo invites us to A World of Common Scents and challenges us to write a poem of scents.

Linda’s “morning has broken” struck at Melpomene who cruelly reminds pleasant scents do not always pleasant memories make.

Another Day Without You

The alarm goes off and I reach for you
When I hold you close, just like I used to do
My heart listens for your sounds in the air then
Before my head catches up, that they won’t be there again
Some habits are just harder to kill
And my heart breaks against my will

Every morn I wake that you’re not here
It’s a struggle to not shed that first tear
Another day without you
It’s time for me to fly – I have not wings
A nightingale with no desire to sing
Another day without you

All these feelings I hide from folks each day.
Falling in line with the games people play
I just go through the motions of daily living,
Hoping no one sees through the performance I’m giving
When it’s the wind that mocks your gentle touch
Or the storm of your kiss that I’m missing so much

Every mourn I wake, and I do mean mourn
I try to anchor my thoughts, but I’m still too worn
Another day without you
It’s time for me to fly – and someday I might
But right now this heart’s too heavy for flight
Another day without you

In the morning I wake and sob in the lonely air
Too many times I cry how it’s unfair
It’s so unfair

Knew when we took the vows of man and wife
That it would truly be for the rest of our life
The calendar still holds the dates of the things planned
From one winter to the next of activities spanned
Because I thought there’d be more of life with you
I’m alive, but this is not living without you

Every morn I wake and face the dawn
A part of me is surprise how I breathe on
Another day without you
It’s time for me to fly – But I stay prone
The sky’s a lonely place here on my own
Another day without you

Yet I’m still here…

I’m still here…


National Poetry Month for 2021 Day 14 in a mood

Of Loneliness

Abstract artwork of one pale figure alone amongst an array  of dark figures.

This is something I need to address
To find the words to make it clear
I want…a way out…of loneliness

Surrounded in the city’s excess
I’m screaming but no one seems to hear
This is something I need to address

My soul, before, I’ve tried to undress
For a solace that does not appear
I want…a way out…of loneliness

And further on me it seems to press
Try as I my might to find a way clear
This is something I need to address

And so, I’ve come here to confess
That death is the only cure I fear
I want…a way out…of loneliness

I long to be free of this distress
Get back to the things I held dear
This is something I need to address
I want…a way out…of loneliness


National Poetry 2021 graphic

National Poetry Month for 2021 Day 12

Another Villanelle

I heard the line on loneliness in a video yesterday and Muse flew with it.

All That I Need Is Time

All that I need is time
To smooth these nipped edges
How much more can I take
I’m living a nightmare
While standing here awake

All that I need is time
To help me muddle through
These dreams of yesterday
Like popsicles in sun
They come then melt away

All that I need is time
You're still very much here
Not like I have much choice
Each breeze ignites your touch
As the wind holds your voice

All that I need is time
Just take it day by day
Small comforts slowly grow
Nothing lasts forever
This urgent pain will go

National Poetry Month for 2021 Day 3

And today’s poetic form is a Monchielle

The Monchielle is a poem that consists of four five-line stanzas where the first line repeats in
each verse. Each line within the stanzas consist of six syllables, and lines three and five rhyme.

The rhyme pattern is Abcdc Aefgf Ahiji Aklml.

Not Banking On It

Most males, especially over 50 are familiar with the semi-joking “I could’ve been rich, but my mother threw away all my (fill in the blank)”. I say men because in the 80’s-90’s the majority of baseball cards/comic collectors were males. It certainly was surprise, to my late-husband when he learned I had become a reader of them in the mid to late-80s. I knew I was a rarity among my friends, a girl who was into comics, my favorite being Marvel’s X-Men series. Yes, I wanted to be Storm – what female into comics didn’t?

I enjoyed the art and the stories, but I was not a collector. I did not purchase with the intent to collect. Still, there were some that I kept for whatever reason. The ones I chose to keep were properly cased in plastic sleeves with backing board. Regrettably, doing so with comics was not a thing when my late-husband was a boy buying them. It was not until he saw me preserving mine that I learned he had comics of his own stacked in box at the back of a closet. He saw how I protect mine, he chose not to go through his and they stayed in their box. A box I did not look in until our third move. Let’s just say when I finally opened that box for the first time I was glad I wore gloves, a good two-thirds of what was in that box was trashed. We did not try to salvage it. As for what was left? Aged, yellow pages, dog-eared pages, cockling, etc. This was the 90s, AOL was still mailing mini-CDs; the Internet had taken off, but it was not the monster we have now. There was no no way to determine the value, if any, of what we had without dragging the entire collection to comics retailer. That never happened. The box was repacked with his hodge-podge of Captain America, Daredevil, Ku Fu Masters et al, and my Spawn and X-Men where they remain untouched through three more moves until yesterday.

Yesterday, I mentioned that I spent the evening going through my comic collection. I say ‘comic collection’ with a massive grain a of salt considering the condition of most of what’s in it and I was not the most conscientious of collectors. Essentially, I finally grouped them by proper title and number. Where 30 years ago I would have had to drag them to a store, last night I used my phone to check the value of a few. There are many I know I bought back in the day, but I was the mom that dumped. However, an unexpected gem, or few, have survived…

Photo of X-Men #266 comic

X-Men #266

One day back in August 1990 I became the owner of Marvel comic’s The Uncanny X-Men #266. I spent one whole whopping dollar for the privilege. I know it’s not in pristine condition 9.8 on their grade scale, but it is a decent 7.0 one. At minimum I would get $100 for it according to a random website I checked even if booted down to a quality of 6.0. I have learned that if I had purchased this issue at a newsstand or retailer rather than the comic subscription service I had at the time would be worth. I’d love to know the logic behind that, but whatever.

The banker box of comics that has existed for nearly twenty years in my possession is now gone. All comics are properly categorized in a filing cabinet. I haven’t gone through each comic and researched their values. Of the random few I checked I know I could pay rent for a couple of months, so that was cool. That’s a project for another, knowing me sunny, day.

Slice of Life logo

Slice of Life Writing Challenge
Two Writing Teachers

It’s Been One Year Since You’ve Looked At Me…

At 4pm one year ago today, I walked out of my place of employment without a clue as to when I would return. My boss literally said the words “Don’t come back here tomorrow.” The pandemic had hit, we went into emergency mode and my unit was one that would be working from home. My agency is twenty-four hours. There were/are units that continue to come in. There was no way around it, some services must be handled in person, even in the midst of a pandemic.

That translated to even though the City quarantined, and masks, hand washing/sanitizing and social distancing became de rigueur, on occasion my work wife and I would have to come to the office. It was part necessity and part breaking up what had quickly become the monotony of being cooped home. However, as the weather got cold, every couple of weeks became, once a month and once a month became we have not stepped foot in my office since the very first week of January.

We knew we were entering a ghost town with the barest amount of personnel, so dressing for ‘work’ had fallen by the wayside for my work-wife. I would not wear a full out suit, but I wore slacks and blouses, in my mind it’s the office. Still, we may have visited the office a maximum of fifteen times in this past year. It has dawned to me, now that people are being vaccinated, I suspect my office may reopen by the end of spring. Whether it will return to a full week or some split schedule is undetermined as of yet, as the City as a whole is excruciatingly, but definitely emerging into a new semblance of normal.

I’ve lived in mostly jeans and t-shirts. My wardrobe, work or otherwise, has barely been used in the past year; that is going to change. I know there are clothes in my closet that have not seen the light since Winter 2019. I am not going to lie, I have gained the Covid 20+ and I am not looking forward to going through some of my clothes. And while I admit to the retail therapy I’ve done in the interim, it’s not going to be pretty for some of my wardrobe. Not to mention, 0I have not worn proper shoes in over a year. Can I even walk in my low work heels anymore?

After a year of various levels of quarantine, I am looking forward to regularly seeing friends and (certain), colleagues again, dining in restaurants, going to concerts and movies and Broadway! Above all, I am looking forward to travelling again. Other than a weekend jaunt to Philadelphia last November, I have not left my fair City since I returned from Cuba in spring of 2019. In the words of Lenny Kravitz: I want to get away – I want to fly away – yeah – yeah- yeah

Still, I find myself conflicted. Am I ready for real clothes, five days a week again? After a year of pretty much living in Hermitsville, am I ready for the noise… the people(!)? As much as I am looking forward to being out and about once more am I ready for the world again?

More important is it ready for me?

PS: !! Happy St. Patrick’s Day !!

Slice of Life logo

Slice of Life Writing Challenge
Two Writing Teachers