Awesome sista!

Thanks. Been entering alot of stuff in my private notebook, but haven't posted any in a while. Figured I'd share a few of the newer ones.

Progress

The eager tingling tongue of Spring lapped
away at the stark, colorless blanket
of snow, exposing thin sheets of ice
beneath. I remained frozen, but you,
unlike the upcoming season, refused
to help me engage in a much needed
melt-down.

I know now that you knew
of my new found talent for shipping
well meaning meddlers off on a one-way
cruise to the island of remorse.
But then, with my diluted conscience
and deluded sense of self-entitlement,
I was dumbfounded at your seeming
lack of mercy.

I recall glowering at you,
stare so withering as to wilt even
evergreens that remained unscathed
through countless blizzards. You set out
a set of boundaries and stood firmly rooted,
like those trees; you did not succumb
to my tantrums. In spite of them,
you were at peace; the small piece of
satisfaction I sought through spite
became meaningless.

Warm tendrils of sunlight
coaxed reluctant pods from
their hibernation; as they yawned,
stretching green sprigs skyward,
I emerged from my
self-inflicted isolation as well.
In retrospect, I concede that
your lack of help was just
what I thought it was not;
it was due to the stubbornness
surging through your veins
that I relinquished my vain conceit.

Been doing a little poetry workshop, and one of the exercises is to write in iambic pentameter...it's kinda fun. Here's my product:

Extraction Woes

I don't know why we call them wisdom teeth.
There's nothing wise about them; I have found
third molars make you want to loose your mind.
They serve no purpose but to crowd the mouth.
The day you have them taken out I'll bet
you'll slurp on sloppy soup. You'll drool alot
and dribble drops on droopy lips. You'll ask
your mommy for more medicine and ice;
she will not recognize your puffy face.
I had the surgeon put mine in a jar
so I could see them when I start to sulk
and whine about the day I've had. So far,
it's changed my attitude. It helps me think
about the awful aches they used to cause.
So now -- third molar free -- I'm also wise,
and don't have such a hassle chewing steak.

And after a couple days of workshop, my first redo. This one was more fun.

Extraction Woes -- Revision I

I wonder why we call them "wisdom" teeth.
Vestigal structures crowd, impact, occlude,
make mastication painful; often food
like steak becomes a hazard to the mouth.

Oh, bloody day! Extractions take their toll;
You'll slurp potato soup. No straws! Suck gauze.
Relief sought in a Hydrocodone haze,
and packs of Sonic ice fall short. You'll still

be numb from cheek to chin; cry out for Mom
who'll barely recognize your puffy face.
Soft tissue swells, dry sockets slow the pace
of healing -- weeks of agony to come.

I had the surgeon put mine in a jar
so I could see them when I start to whine
about the boss' temper or the swine
that checks me out each time I pass his chair.

I ask myself how does a long lunch line
compare to plastic props that wretched my jaw?
Do traffic-jams seem half as irksome now
when oozing orfice memories remain?

Isn't THAT a fun little ditty!

All goodness and light...

Michele... we REALLY feel your pain now...

okay, i just went and flossed. you really ought to be a spokesperson for oral hygine!! teehee

Your use of expressive adjectives is wonderful. One can truly understand what you are feeling.

Are you feeling any better now?

yeth, thank you

Fireside Camping

Whiskey-rough voice,
words smoother than
Casanova's pick-up lines
he spins mysterious
fireside tales while crackling
embers shoot orange sparks
swirling through the brisk
night air. Smoky strands waft
waywardly, tickling nostrils,
weaving gray-white patterns
around stars. Our fingers
entwined, sticking together
with leftover marshmallow goo,
bare toes plinking ripples,
disturbing the glassy lakewater
we halfway listen to stories
between giggly whispers.
I wish now, that I would
have listened more intently.
The scene plays out before
me on the stone that marks
his resting place, a projector
for times past. In leiu of flowers,
let's build a fire; I know it will
make Grandad smile.

GOOOOOOOOD ONE.
I REALLY LIKE THIS ONE.

I agree, I thought that as soon as I read it. Wonderful Michelle!

Glad you guys enjoyed. Here's one that took me some time...years, in fact. I grew up around AA, so from the experiences of others:

I Can Quit Anytime

Urine-soaked shoes fumblestumble
not-so-silently and I (must...
find...lightswitch) flounce
ungracefully onto sheets--
soon-to-be musty sweat rags--
and tangle myself in the paisley
comforter. The linens reek
of last night bar fight star bright
or is that the light? Turn it off.
UGH! I thought you quit wearing
that cologne and you snore
too loudly; I can't hear the
dream reel (flap, flap, flap)
over your clatter anymore.
CUT! Sober: Take 279...
This is the absolute last time.
Java shots, crushed asprin,
cucumber eye patch cure-all with a
splash of V8 and a...Vicodin-
Vodka chaser. Oh well. Dance now,
puke later. Ileftmybathroom
inthecarcouldyouwatchmydrinkwhile
Iusethepurse? The bartender
followed me into the stall
and this toilet looks suspiciously
like a dirty barstool. No wonder
my shoes always stink. Who keeps
throwing linoleum tiles at my
forehead?

Glad you threw in the disclaimer....





YIKES!

Haha. Disclaimer.

Searching for Stage 5

He pulled gossamer elephants
from the sky as we crushed
grass-angels beneath sweat
sticky backs.

So beautiful. He is so beautiful
with that tousled I-just-woke-up
hair and white-toothed grin.

Rainy days in town we chased
distorted reflections down in the
wet slick sheen of the water
sluiced promenade.

I wish he'd change out of that
HardRock Cafe shirt; it's all he
ever seems to wear anymore.

Crisp October evenings we
rushed to the State Fair
to get sugar sick and spin
crazy. I was terrified
of heights, but he wasn't.

Maybe if I just give
him some space...

He was Willam Hung on a bad
vocal day, couldn't even find a
tune, let alone carry one; man,
he couldn't even carry the bucket!
But he sang "Midnight Train to
Georgia" and "Friends in Low
Places and "Free Bird",
lips to the broomstick,
inhibitions out the window...
out the window.

He looks happier than a breast
man at a Hooters Grand Opening.

He always said we could fly
like elephants and angels.

I'm so SICK of that stupid shirt!

I tried to tell him we don't have
wings.

I better give him some space.
Maybe I'll move the candles.

We all thought he was so happy.

Oh, God. The photo doesn't do
him justice in that light.

And he knew all the songs -- all
the words to the songs, that has
to count for something.

God. God. Oh, God...NO! No...
it's not him. Never was really
him with that poloroid smile.

Elephants don't have wings either.

I love reading your work Michelle. You are so talented and gifted.

Thank you Miss Amy Lou.


The Reason My Gym Membership Was Revoked
(for a friend and survivor)

I am gawking at her breasts
again. She loofahs skin red,
under a scummy head spewing
hard-water while droplets
glance off her back. A humid
steam swims through in a breath stroke
waking dense plumes, and through
the suffocating haze, beacons
peek out like two suns cutting
through shag-carpet fog.

I trace a scalpel's edge along the
nearly interrupted lines of a clammy
palm, silver-glint forcing me to imagine
how it sliced layers back probing for an
uninvited guest on the last day
I felt like a woman. If rigid fingerless
hands sympathized, they would revolt
against their natural rotation,
counter-spin up through blind
hours of midnight and tick-toe past
a cradle of purple-orange hues that
lull a waning sun to sleep on the
evening before I got the call.
But I am on my own.

A swift swipe could reverse our roles;
transplants have succeeded before.
Instead, I wait until she reaches for
the towel, remove 34C cups and clasps
from her neatly folded stack, and
run like hell.

ouch... I'm gonna have to read this a couple times to figure out what happened

Haha. Okay, so this may need some clarity. If you want to figure it out on your own, don't scroll down.
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*

*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*

*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*

*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*

The narrator had a mastectomy, and it drove her to the point of being borderline obsessive over her lack of aforementioned endowments. She finds herself spying on women who have what she doesn't, and even goes so far as to contemplate "stealing" some poor womans' um...boobs, and then realizes that it's a ridiculous idea and opts to steal the bra instead.

hehe, ok, I'd never have figured all those details out. I got the pieces, but couldn't put it together