National Poetry Month inspired an outpouring of poetry from our community, notably from a group who participated in NaPoWriMo (National Poetry Writing Month), composing poems daily using (or not using) prompts, and providing readback lines to one another on a dedicated Facebook page. Great fun!
Here are two from Glenda, for the Poplar Grove Muse.
(Assignment: use five words or phrases borrowed from the
poem, “Saying Things” by Marilyn Krysl.
My words: cashmere, harpoon, brown sugar, windmill, cosmic dust)
Cashmere and
Harpoons
Who wouldn't prefer
the kiss of cashmere
on skin
to a harpoon in the
gut?
Who wouldn't prefer
a brown sugar morning
to bitterroot stirred
into the cup?
Ah, but the windmill
of life turns and spins,
throws cosmic dust
this way and that—
harpoon below the belt
when cashmere felt
like it might last
forever;
bitterroot in the cup
of joy
when brown sugar
tasted like heaven.
No need to scream:
Unfair! Unfair!
What's fair anyway—in
love or war,
in politics or being
poor?
There's no
one-size-fits-all fair:
For some, three
squares
and a roof seem finer
than their wildest
dreams;
for others, four
mansions,
three sailboats and a
private plane
seem woefully lame.
And here's the thing—
cosmic dust surely
contains
as much cashmere and
brown sugar
as harpoons and
bitterroot.
So spin, windmill,
spin!
Keep the stuff of life
in constant circulation!
Cup of joy—
enough to warrant
celebration!
And, if not cashmere—
at least the kiss of
flannel
soft and warm.
Glenda
Breeden (April 2015)
A Dozen Roses to
You (Glenda Breeden April 2015)
Wear that Medicaid badge with
pride!
Look the receptionist, the
nurse,
the doctor square in the eye!
Look me square in the eye!
No shame allowed!
No blame tolerated!
Decorate the badge, the card
with flowers and bees,
redbud trees in full bloom,
shooting stars and harvest
moon!
Hang hopes and ten thousand
dreams on that card
to ward off the misguided
judgment
of the better than thous.
Those who would have you bow
your head,
fall on bended knees and say:
Please, please, pretty
please!
Who but you can possibly know
the blow by blow
of harsh winds that have
ricocheted
your body and soul
from one government agency to
the next,
from applications and
oral citations
to that fistful of IDs,
utility bills
and housing confirmation
required
as proof of your worth
and the worth of your kids?
Forget the skids that slid
your game plan
sideways to begin with!
Or who but you can understand
the choices you've made:
To live your individual
truth,
to climb your own definition
of success
and lay low the status quo
ladder
of oneupmanship and dog eat
dog
in exchange for your own
chosen work,
that personal song that sings
joy to your spirit
and the heart of your home.
(Sad to say, most doctors
no longer accept poems or
paintings,
sweet potatoes or rutabagas,
fresh farm eggs or homemade
cookies
as barter for their needed
expertise!)
No apologies please—
Freeze that frame
immediately!
Name the guilt that society
has spilled
on almost everyone who needs
a hand up.
Stand up taller than the
small minded,
refuse to let their attitude
shape your dignity and self
worth,
and don't ever doubt from
within or without
that the health and well
being
of thee and thine
matters every bit as much as
these
apple shine cheeks of me and
mine!
A dozen roses to you!
For stepping up to the plate
and accepting your due,
your share of the pie—
scoop it up and taste the
sweetness
of health-care provided!
And, don't forget—
wear that Medicaid badge with
pride!
Chin up, shoulders back,
confidence too true to hide!
Look the powers that be
square in the eye!
Look me square in the eye!
May each of us earn your
respect
as surely as you have earned
ours.
