Returning to them.

So I tried to save the world.

But it was grasping and hand aching to tug and pull so much.

Defeated I put the world away on the high shelf.

Then I tried to clear my mind,

But I couldn’t get the memories to come unstuck no matter how hard I tried.

I lay face up in the bed, not praying.

My guilt and shame at leaving them bore a hole right through me.

“I can’t promise you anything,”  I told them.

Their returned silence meant they didn’t want to hear my excuses.

This morning I picked them up and slowly read about their lives.

Let’s see, Annie was stuck in the cave and the water was rushing in….

Seth and Luke were locked in a fierce battle with trust….

And Paul…

I had left Paul, still heartbroken and crying, beside the cold sea. 



12 Days of Writing – M.A.’s Day 5 Poem…Her Sad, Sad Poem

OK, I confess… I did not spend a lot of labor on this poem. There’s a reason I don’t write poetry, and this will probably prove why. Metaphors and imagery and sound, I like. Rhythm, feet, iambs…ugh. That said, here are 20 lines on a memorable event in my life.

A Proof

I drove into Tulsa with my left
foot in a cast from a broken
ankle that I got while climbing
an obstacle in an obstacle course
that God did not intend me to
climb because He did not make
this girl athletic.

Sitting on my rear with time to
think, however…

I made the decision to move
across this great wide country
to settle in a Midwest place that
doesn’t know what to do with
a small, perky Italian girl who
doesn’t own cowboy boots and
wants her milk from cartons, not cows.

Somehow I settled here, stayed alive,
and even moved beyond survival.

This is a miracle worthy
of Proof of the Existence of God.

Writing Challenge -Poem. Taking the gloves off.

It has been a good while since I wrote a poem, but I do like to write them.

I like to write them because they are difficult to write! All you poets out there and I know a few of you read this blog, just wanted to say, hat’s off to you because I know how tough it is.

My father taught English for years and he always loved poetry. He used to say to me, “Poetry isn’t just about using words, it’s about using the right words.” Now maybe he was quoting someone else, but I’m giving him credit for that one.

When I thought about this I actually had a lot of topics to choose from…so I’m taking the gloves off, wrestling with my intellect and language skills – and facing down this challenge!!!

Ode to a Magic Eraser

Once upon a time I read a book about witchcraft.
Not a dusty, tome hidden away in an attic,
But candy colored, glossy, crisp pages.
Images of crooked noses replaced by smiling cheerful pagans on the back cover.

Furtively I read standing, half crouching inside a forest of shelves.

“The best way to rid evil sprits is to clean your house from top to bottom.”

Clean! How disappointing! How utterly mundane!

Days pass and the name of the book and where I hid to read it, fade.

I’m older now.
Worn down, but sturdy.

The Magic Eraser and I embark on the purge once again.

This is how the evil is destroyed.

All of it sanded off the walls and door frames.

Handprints on walls vanish away, taking with them angry, childish words.
Smudges on floors disappear and their leaving rids me of memories of slamming doors and yelling.
It takes some doing, but the stains on the stove are bested also, which brings me such peace.
No more will I have to face the evidence of the betrayal announced over spaghetti again.

The name of this product could not be more perfect.

Okay, there it is!

18 lines instead of 20–but it needed to end there.

That’s the funny thing about poetry to me–it seems to control me much more than I control it!