Open Mic Poetry by Sue Miller

One Thing She Enjoyed

2011-09-28T23:32:00.000-06:00

try to think about a good time

not think about the first seven months

she enjoyed the music in the park

she just wanted to be with me

see all the little children dance

sit and eat her big oatmeal cookie

walked around to see someone she knew

maybe go buy the band's CD

it didn't take much to make her smile

her legs and feet bounced in time

with the beat and fast melody

while looking at all the people

when it was time to go home

gather up our chairs and tote bags

walked to the car and I'd drive her home

didn't want me to leave her alone

But I had to go...to my own place

I had to go...to get ready for bed

I had to work the next day

Latest Micropoetry on Twitter - July 2-24

2011-07-24T15:24:00.000-06:00

Junebugs
flutter and buzz
zapping themselves
against
the floodlight

silhouettes
of nearby trees
their branches
an endless
reaching

nature embraces coolness
after a swift rain
wet earth transforms smells
a soiled sensation in my nose
gentle wind tickles my skin

raggy
tall grass
epitomizes
upside down
bird feet

a rainbow left
its full spectrum
comet tail
dashing
between clouds

three quarter moon
is either shaped
from too much food
or is one quarter
pregnant

black sky
flashed
and busted its veins
summer monsoon
is coming

I wink
at the moon
and the moon
winks
at me back

the bullied moon
wears
a
swollen
black
eye

short petalled
yellow mums
jiggle under
the air-conditioner
they need full sunlight

scorching sun
fresh cut grass needs water
yellow mums need planting
I stay inside
it's too hot

newly planted
yellow mums
agree
with its new
planter home

on the side
of my shed
are purple flowers
too bad
they're on tall weeds

the weeds
are having a hey day
in my back yard
the grackles
don't mind

poor yellow mums
planted last week
choking heat
withered
them all

frail baby willow
half bare
the wind
blew away
part of its virtue

chubby sparrow
is playing
jungle bird
through
my tall grass

roasting sun
dries the grass
faster
than I
can water

New 5 Line Poems (Gogyohka)

2011-07-07T21:56:00.000-06:00

the sky wants to toss
the lonely half moon
like a boomerang
so I can catch it
and drop it into my tea

Is it my eyes
or did the moon
release its glaring halo--
push two stars
above its head?

lonely half moon
dabbed on navy blue
sleeps in the midst
of silence
and a tooty train

More Gogyohka Poetry

2011-06-23T22:00:00.001-06:00

smoke from fire
and southwestern dust
paints
a wicked veil
and smothers my soul

orange sherbet
sun sinks
tucks its
creamy tail
into the horizon

mockingbird
lands on nearby branch
watches me
wind up
the garden hose

jumpy sparrow
turns and flitters
at every angle
on a
King Pine branch

blinding sun punctures
my pupils
sunspots
dance
at every blink

Mystery Moon

2011-06-19T00:22:00.000-06:00

coconut white
fingernail moon
rocks darkness
sneaks behind
a silent mist
becomes a buttery sliver
splinters back
to a crisp alabaster

More 5 Line Poetry

2011-06-19T00:19:00.000-06:00

under
my porch light
Junebugs
waddle and flutter
on their backs

a Junebug
buzzed
and wrecked itself
into my
hair

sensored porch light
came back on
when I stomped
on a pesky
Junebug

More New Gogyohka Poems (5 Lines, Micropoetry)

2011-06-19T00:00:00.003-06:00

tangerine sun
licks
the lemony haze
harboring
nightfall

eggshell moon
radiates
its aura
between
the leaves

the aged
oval moon
rests its
drowsy head
on a licorice pillow

shameless
street lights
spread their halos
against
the onyx sky

cut back
oleanders
are flourishing
with fresh
new leaves

Mexican
Bird of Paradise
raises its
red and yellow flowers
to the scorching sun

slicky, oily grackle
lands clumsy
on the
rustic red
picket fence

the ashen sky
buttons up
the sleeping moon
and slips it
onto a dark sheet

backyard angel
lifts her head upward
more than before
she is happy
for my return

red-tinged
yellow moon
suffers
from high
blood pressure

a tanned
saxophonist
plays for tips
on the
tiled sidewalk

a stunning white horse
with snow white neck
ice-blue face
wears a
red and black harness

camera lens
on fuchsia flowers
the wind
sways them
out of focus

the wind
delivers
a child's
pencil drawing
of a butterfly

silver dollar
moon
tilts
its head
on periwinkle sky

gnats fly crazy
around my head
along a path
surrounded by
healthy grass

an excited
robin runs
across the black top
with a wiggly worm
in its beak

giant
clay pots
overflow with
red, yellow and purple
flowers

this morning
orange sun
smiles
on the
horizon

Last night
a soft banana
and cantaloupe haze
veiled
a marschino
setting sun

daisy white
Mexican Elder
flower clumps
danced
in the wild wind

an energetic storm
flashed
ivory veins
and arteries
across blackness

at last
a loud crackling boom
raindrops tinkle on my roof
followed by
the great deluge

a margarine
crescent moon
submerges
into its tar black
horizon

cloud's edges
fall
like
threads
in shreds

northern
gray
clouds
are
grumbling

humid staleness
smothers
warmth
against
the wind

it is time
to call
the rain dancers
and New Mexican
Kokopelli flute players

clouds
shaped as
Mozart's profile
floats
by

a thunderous sky
jolts and stabs
the earth
with a big
white dagger

New Gogyohka Poems

2011-05-19T23:24:00.001-06:00

bird
on a
wire
flips
its tail

wind
rushes
and bends my
willow
tree

black grackle
hops
and
rushes
to water

silver
bird
has
black
wing tips

life
is a
test
of
patience

feel the rush
on my bicycle
peddling fast
down a dirt road
turn and crash

a teacher
once said
the answer
is
all around you

I pluck
my
Kalimba
for
rain

Willow
sways
to the tune
of the
wind

role
reversal
Mother
is like
a child

Neighbor
smiles
from his
side of
the fence

end of day
takes
the weight
off
my feet

New Tanka Poems

2011-05-19T23:06:00.000-06:00

Siamese cat wanders
Searches for holes through the fence
To make an entrance
Smells the earth, limbs, grass and weeds
Tip of its tail waves and guides

Bold weed grows through rocks
Thick arms tipped with white flowers
Unknown water source
Thrives on sunshine, wind and air
And words of condemnation

Dryness makes static
Comb dry fingers through my hair
Frankenstein frizzies
Branching out, electrified
Shocking personality

More Haiku Poems

2011-05-19T23:00:00.000-06:00

Big Great Dane next door
Scared me with head above fence
My head about chomped

Young grackle can't fly
Mean grackle pecks at her head
Guardians strike back

Rosemary bush died
Last year, its purple flowers
attracted some bees

More New Haiku Poems

2011-05-15T00:00:00.000-06:00

Wild wind whips my hair
Tosses it into tangles
Wearing weird hairdo

Rocks surround plant bed
Sun droops morning glory leaves
Water perks them up

Sensor light turns on
Lift up blind to peek and wink
Hopping frog eats bugs

Hummingbird whizzes
Flies around the Hollyhocks
Suckles pink flowers

Mexican Elder
Long-handled lopper works good
Dead branches clipped off

Butterfly dances
Mexican Elder approves
Breezy air flutters

Nighttime is falling
Trees become dark shape shifters
Time to go in now

New Haiku Poems

2011-05-14T12:39:00.000-06:00

Mexican Elders
Growing like a wild fire
Birds hide, take refuge

Calico cat walks
Between the slats of my fence
Happy to see me

White dove on the line
Tail flips in jerky motion
Wet poo lands on grass

Finches, sparrows, doves
Happy hopping near sprinkler
Birds preening their wings

Spring is upon us
Water nourishes the earth
Hollyhocks growing

Oleanders froze
Careful cutting brings them back
New green stems emerge

Gray and white tabby
Prances out my front yard gate
Non-chalant and proud

Willow tree leaning
Forceful wind is the devil
Wood props hold it up

White plate for birdseed
Doves bully sparrows away
Sparrows watch for chance

Curious sparrow
Peeks in from my window sill
Sees me standing there

Telescope reveals
Deep crater on centerline
Half moon is half lit

Gray tabby cat hides
Half looks at me with one eye
Wanders on sidewalk

Fallen bird nest torn
Attaches to grass and weeds
Fine twigs are stuck there

Heat wave is coming
Horizon seeks time of day
Sunsets - pure beauty

Awesome turquoise sky
Bubblegum purple mountain
Color for my soul

Young Girl

2010-11-26T22:29:00.000-07:00

Who is that girl
with crooked short bangs,
plastic sunglasses?
Her dress striped yellow,
blue, pink and white
with zig-zag trim.
Patten shoes on
pigeon-toed feet.

Is it the same girl
who believed she helped
in the front yard
at the house on Yandell
raking leaves
with a miniature rake?

Tell Me Why...

2010-11-26T22:12:00.001-07:00

I must wait so long
for winter to twist into spring
spring to roll into summer
summer to transform into fall

Tell me why ...
my days speed faster than
a second hand rotates on a clock
their momentum intrudes on precious time
thrusts between seasons

Tell me why...
life is much more fragile
as years furl behind me
tasks take longer to finish
loved ones grow older

If I See This House for Real

2010-11-26T21:59:00.001-07:00

The mystery of entering an unlocked front door
of a deserted, New England stone home
left me uneasy, intruding on spirits.

Closed doors—Should I open them?
What if one door led to a deep tunnel
full of ghosts or crazy people?
No, I would not open them.

I opened a door to one side of the house;
aged ivy plants covered a high wall.
The walkway needed maintaining.
For a moment, I thought it was safe.

In the back yard, stone sculptures and potted plants
cracked and stained by crusty bird droppings
surrounded by weeds, trees, and crevices.
I felt spirits lurking at me from there.

(from an old reoccurring dream)

UFO

2010-11-26T21:43:00.001-07:00

We were lost on a detour
driving miles and miles
of desolate ranch land.

Trees in the distance,
one lonely dirt road.
Silence prevailed
except for our car's motor.
A mysterious ambiance.
A shiny object in a cloudless sky
flashed blinding tails
reflecting the sun--
followed us there.

It was a small town
in the middle of nowhere,
a tall, bulbous water tower,
a few homes half hidden
behind trees and white fences.
No children playing outside.
No human beings at all.
No cars parked anywhere.

The road curved to the right
as we approached the water tower.
The polished object hid behind it.
As we drove to the other side,
the object vanished.

Hope

2010-10-27T22:38:00.000-06:00

I try to keep positive.
Worrisome thoughts intrude.
What if I drop tomorrow
in spite of other plans.

Hope for healing--
eliminate pain,
a plan for the house--
all new flooring,
give back what I can--
donate to a cause.

I don't want much
and loved ones
still there for me
when I need them.

Arthritis

2010-10-27T22:32:00.001-06:00

Stiffness in my fingers
an arthritic knot in my left thumb
bone rubbing on bone
cramping, snapping, aching pain,
ouches and creaks.
Must rethink how I use
these worn extensions.

It hurts to unscrew lids
turn door knobs
pick up pots and pans
cut with scissors
write, type
tie my shoes
do laundry
water the yard
lift my purse
carry groceries
pull out keys
from my pant pockets
take out trash.

Must I do hand exercises
for the rest of my life?
Be a pill bag forever?
I don't enjoy growing old.

Dr. Baker says, "Don't say that,"
covering his mouth
shaking a finger at me --
"Those are bad words."

Weeping Willow

2010-10-27T22:25:00.002-06:00

Dear petite weeping willow --
I have watched your frail, short strands
grow to long reaching branches.

You are more flexible and stronger
than the monstrous mulberry in front
that broke large branches
in the last ferocious storm.
Yet you survived, unbroken.

Your young leaves wave in the wind
long strands delicate and thin
skinny bark, half-wrapped and supported
to keep high winds from snapping you.
I shake my head and wonder
that you did not break and fall.

You are life - a resilient child
who sways with graceful bends
bouncing back, as youthful as
the active sparrow that jumps
around the delicate yellow
and pink petals on the small shrub
by the chain-linked fence.

I look forward to your cool shade
when you are more full-sized
I can see myself on a hot day
hiding inside your breezy house,
in a comfy white chair with a book.

Cucaracha Number Two

2010-10-27T22:14:00.003-06:00

In my efficiency apartment
above a garage on Hadley,
I sit on a long bench eating dinner
at a white picnic table
in my narrow kitchen.

A large flying shadow
swoops across the white walls.
"Oh, it's just a moth."
I shrug it off without looking.
Moths are quiet.
This one is buzzing.
I look up and my calm heart
crashes into my ribs.

I shift into overdrive.
A red cucaracha,
longer than my palm
with extra long wings
flies around my kitchen --
a mad bug on drugs.
Quick, to the closet
to grab the broom.
I wrap my hands
around the stick end,
swing the straw end in the air
thrashing the nasty cucaracha
against the walls
shredding it into broken pieces.

Cucaracha Number One

2010-08-23T22:07:00.000-06:00

So I turn on the bathroom light,
jump and jiggle as if I saw a ghost.
A big brown one scampers across
my bathroom sink, behind the faucet,
behind the lotion, soft soap, and electric toothbrush.

With my right hand, I pull shoestrings
to take off my right shoe. It stops to hide
behind the soft soap. With my left hand,
I punch my fist against the soap bottle
to squish it against the back of the sink.
Its legs wiggle as it tries to escape.
I press harder a few more seconds.
I let go, thinking it is dead.

It scuttles to the right.
With my right hand inside the shoe,
I tap it to the left to make it fall
over the edge of the sink.
It slides down on its back,
into the slippery basin,
legs squirming like boxing arms
waving in the air with nothing to punch.
I smack it a few times until
its brown guts splatter.
Its stuffy stench wafts up my nose.

First Presentation

2010-07-27T22:23:00.001-06:00

All those eyes
looking at me --
my classmates,
meek as lambs too.
Their eyes filmy
with distant voids
sharing their shock for me
when the teacher
calls my name...
her eyes pierce mine
like flying daggers
that aim at me.

I hide under the table --
try not to receive
their condemnation.
No solid closet
with locking door
to crawl into.
Only wide spaces
between chair legs
to peek through.
She repeats my name.
I cannot do it...
even if demon hands
grab me by the shirt,
drag me out on the floor,
scoot and shove me
to the front of the room,
I cannot do it.

No whispering,
no fingers pointing,
just dumbfounded faces
that stare at this girl
too shy to go up there
for her first presentation.

(Author's note: This memory dates back to my early elementary school days.)

A Waiter at El Patio

2010-07-26T22:19:00.002-06:00

This tall, clumsy, yet handsome man
wearing indigo and bone,
and well-groomed auburn hair,
smooth talks ol' Al
into serving customers' drinks.
He emerges holding a
big, round charcoal tray --
unstable glasses and bottles
waddle in slow motion,
lean and sway
like pivoting dancers who,
in seconds, swivel, loop
rotate, propel in larger circles
as he approaches our table.

Quick, I push back my chair
pop up from the table
step far enough away.
Tipsy bottles and glasses wobble
clank against each other
like struck bowling pins.
Liquids spill onto the table
on people's laps, onto their hair,
soaking their clothes.
I get a quick whiff of beer,
wine, rum and coke.
Bottles and glasses fall,
crash and shatter on the floor –
startling reflexes, scowling lips,
protruding eyeballs, flaring nostrils.
Patrons shriek, yell,
flail their arms into the air,
grabbing thin napkins
to soak up the puddles.

Dumbstruck,
I rub my chin,
sprint to the left,
skip on my way
to the bathroom, laughing
like an hysterical escapee.

Wishing for Rain

2010-06-29T20:30:00.001-06:00

I want to be a turquoise bird
with a sandy beak and sandy legs,
coral rings around blue eyes,
salmon bands across the feathers,
white throat and white chest,
sitting like a sculpture on my
weathered, rustic picket fence,
to feel the wind blow black clouds
southward, to wait like an icon
wishing for the coolness of rain.

Instead I lay down on the couch
and fall asleep like a tired ol' bear
who just ravaged for dinner,
feeling fat as a fully fed female
on a fearless Friday night,
with nothing else to do except
drag her feet around the cave
after waking from a two hour nap.

Sheraton Westport Chalet Hotel - St. Louis, MO

2010-06-19T00:51:00.006-06:00

I just got back from the ACE Conference in St. Louis, MO. This is my fourth conference as a member. Unfortunately, I didn't get a chance to go elsewhere outside the hotel and nearby Westport Plaza. I wanted to go to the famous arch, but didn't get a chance. Making the best of the area around me, I took a lot of photos around the hotel and plaza. These are my best shots.

Plants and Flowers Outside the Sheraton Westport Chalet Hotel - St. Louis, MO

2010-06-19T00:42:00.000-06:00

Lake with Fountain by the Sheraton Westport Chalet Hotel - St. Louis, MO

2010-06-19T00:34:00.003-06:00

Duck Outside the Sheraton Westport Chalet Hotel - St. Louis, MO

2010-06-19T00:31:00.001-06:00

On the lake side, there's a beautiful stream with landscaping, bridges, etc., between the Sheraton Wesport Chalet Hotel and the swimming pool. The lake is on the other side of the swimming pool.

A Vase Inside the Sheraton Westport Chalet Hotel - St. Louis, MO

2010-06-19T00:21:00.000-06:00

Portion of a Tapestry on the Third Floor - Sheraton Westport Chalet Hotel - St. Louis, MO

2010-06-19T00:19:00.000-06:00

Top of a Door Frame Inside the Sheraton Westport Chalet Hotel - St. Louis, MO

2010-06-19T00:17:00.000-06:00

Westport Plaza - St. Louis, MO

2010-06-19T00:00:00.000-06:00

There are restaurants, shops, and other businesses in the Westport Plaza in St. Louis.

Westport Plaza - St. Louis, MO

2010-06-18T23:58:00.000-06:00

The Pavilion - Westport Plaza - St. Louis, MO

2010-06-18T23:56:00.000-06:00

Some Signs - Westport Plaza - St. Louis, MO

2010-06-18T23:53:00.000-06:00

The Funny Bone Comedy Club - Westport Plaza - St. Louis, MO

2010-06-18T23:51:00.000-06:00

A Bar - Westport Plaza - St. Louis, MO

2010-06-18T23:32:00.004-06:00

I thought of my guitar-playing brother when I saw this display while walking around on the Westport Plaza. I love displays, so I took the picture.

Back Street Jazz and Blues Night Club - Westport Plaza - St. Louis, MO

2010-06-18T23:26:00.008-06:00

I wished I had known on the second night that this blues/jazz club was so close to the hotel. I could have taken in some entertainment. But it was late and dark, and I hadn't had a chance to explore the plaza at that point. By the third day at the ACE conference, I had more time to explore, found this night club, liked the window display, and took a picture. The place was closed the third night. Shucks!

Flowers in my front and back yard

2010-05-28T23:05:00.003-06:00

Card

2010-05-28T22:51:00.000-06:00

A friend sent me a birthday card.
It touched my soul. The mint green
envelope bordered with butterflies
and flowers -- a young, barefooted girl
graced with leaves for wings
and a leaf apron tied around her waist.
A white pouch filled with strawberries
hung from her shoulder. She wore a
brown top and checkered, funnel-shaped
skirt, stood on a small, grassy hill, bent
forward with her garden kettle,
watering strawberries in yellow pots.

Inside - expressions - white over sea green.
Imagine two newspapers folded into sailors' hats,
like sailboats, and horizontal squiggle motifs
implying waves. A message wished me
to have dreams that sailed far and wide,
and may the child in my heart stay forever –
it's these words taking shape, moving
in hopeful directions, that mattered.

Rosemary

2010-04-26T22:58:00.000-06:00

Rub it between your fingers
and smell it. You'll know
if it is rosemary. It smells great
when picked on the spot.
The green-needled leaves
taste superb when they're firm,
slightly rubbed, crushed,
added to vegetable soups
or in a rice skillet dish.

I am blessed to have
a Rosemary bush.
It is a blessed herb,
symbol of remembrance,
helps stimulate memory,
can ease a tired mind.
It is a natural disinfectant,
preserver of beauty products,
preserver of life.

The name Rosemary reminds
me of someone I know.
She is gentle as rose petals,
paints colorful roses, and is like
a sweet, blessed Mary.

Bird Friends

2010-04-26T22:36:00.001-06:00

Doves wait, watchful on their high wire
that stretches across the back yard,
from Mexican Elder to China Berry Tree.
Their heads follow me, birdseed
bag in hand, walking toward rocks
against chain-linked fence.
Seeds smell like vitamins and minerals
and a mild scent of orange peel as I pour
them into a blue Tupperware bowl.

The bigger birds are growing bellies.
Do the smaller birds get enough to eat?
White-winged Doves dominate, flap
their wings, kick up dirt, eat their share,
shove little birds to the side, make them fly
away. But the little ones return, flock
to the bowl, frolic, hop, skip, jump,
flutter, from spot to spot.
A happy House Sparrow bounces
like a gorgeous rubber ball, looks
from side to side, picks up a long strand
of grass. The proud sparrow flies away.
I believe my birds do get enough to eat.

Pulling Weeds

2010-02-22T20:48:00.020-07:00

Tranquility and a pleasant sun
met me in the front yard,
as I took advantage
of a dry day after the last rain.

My body on all fours
kneeling on yellowed grass,
on an old blue folded towel
to protect my pointed knees.

Gray gloves on both hands,
an almond dish pan nearby.
The weeds didn't like
my new jagged knife,
bought to cut into the soil,
to dig under them.

It gave me time to think,
to listen to the silence,
hear a sigh of relief;
or to listen to the trucks
with rattling trailers
clang banging over potholes;
motorcycles roaring by;
a neighbor closing car doors;
a chorus of birds tweeting
their whistles high and low.

With fixated eyes and nose
to the ground, sprouted
weeds still everywhere,
the sun glided gently --
too dark to see --
and I know the rest
will spread like wildfire
before I return.

House Plant

2010-02-22T20:29:00.004-07:00

The poinsettia I received
two months ago, sits
on a tan, linen tablecloth
on my kitchen table.

This is a miracle for me,
"Miss No-Green-Thumb" --
the longest any plant
I've kept has survived.

It still has a few red leaves
having shed some parts;
now more airy than before
when it was lush, full.
Some have fallen to the table,
half burned by the sun,
or curled, dried to a wither.

It likes my daily practice
to give it's pot a quarter turn,
so that when it bends
toward the kitchen window
one day, it balances out
at the end of the next,
so it doesn't stay bowed
like a person with osteoporosis.

It likes when I softly touch
its soil, to test its moistness.
It likes the Western light
when the blinds are louvered flat.
The sun kisses it between the slats
to give it warm massages.

It used to be – if I stared
at a plant, it would die.
Perhaps I have hope.

Sunset

2010-02-12T22:09:00.003-07:00

a striking sunset
from my kitchen window
made dish washing
more pleasurable
for as long as I could see

the horizon and sky
intense canary yellows
tangerine oranges
ruby reds
tall like a blazed forest
died to a faint
line of smolder
until nightfall
snuffed out the light

Papers

2010-02-12T22:03:00.004-07:00

From the 70s and 80s
boxes of papers and stuff –
empty them, sort into piles –
file this, get rid of that, take
to the recycle center, shred.
Newspapers, magazines, tear-outs
class notes, flyers and copies
of what was important then.
Old articles about health
car accident police reports
repair invoices, insurance notices,
bills, receipts, statements, checks,
tax returns, pay stubs, doctor's notes.
Why in the name of life's history
have I kept these papers so long?

Have I become my worst opponent –
storer of information?
I am amazed to see only one or two
crusty, dead spiders, flies, roaches
shattered between the sheets.

Brittle rubber bands are broken
into a million pieces, no longer holding
yellowed, tattered, dog-eared envelopes,
sections stuck to what they once enwrapped
or fallen to the bottom like bad crumbs.
Stuff in these boxes is so old, its stale
smells clog my nose and make me sneeze.

Making progress the last two months,
disposing of loathsome stacks of papers,
How many more boxes are there
to sort through, how many tons
of papers yet to shred?
Will I abandon this project again?

A Bird in the Pine

2010-02-12T21:55:00.004-07:00

It felt good, the sunshine.
I felt like working in my yard
to lift my "hate the winter" spirit
on a warm Sunday, overcast clearing
to a baby blue sky.

Content to unwrap, unroll
a new garden hose
to water pines,
evergreens and shrubs.
I still need to learn
what trees they are.
A shrub between
carport and chain link fence,
is dotted with fingernail-sized
bluish-purple flowers.

As I water one of the pine trees,
wings flutter into the branches.
A small bird frolics in the pool of water
underneath, as if it is Spring,
flying back to upper limbs
then back to splash in water.
I don't know what kind of bird it is –
a finch? – smaller than my fist
with gray and white on top of its head,
neck, wings - short, manicured tail,
a pale, pale yellow on its underside.
It has a cute, paunch belly.

I must buy wild birdseed and pour
it into the oval-shaped basket held
by the sculptured garden angel
that the previous homeowner
blessed me with, left in my back yard.

Horse Trainer

2009-12-28T22:04:00.005-07:00

I pictured Suzanne Norton Jones
as a tall, stern, ranching woman
in her 50s – imagining someone like
Barbara Stanwyk of the Big Valley.

Our eyes met in the hallway
before a recent 4-H Hall of Fame ceremony.
"You look like you are looking
for mischief," she said.
Older and shorter than I thought,
her kind smile beamed
above her long, sunken chin,
a gleam in her eyes, soft-spoken words.
She compared people with horses.
She knew what a horse was thinking
by reading its eyes.

I said to her, "A horse laughed at me once."
A long time ago, a stable worker
set me up with a horse, fit
me in a saddle, and disappeared.
I wiggled the reins three times,
tap, tap, tap with my heels on the horse's flanks.
I said, "Come on! Come on!"
No response.
I yanked on the reins.
The horse swung his head around,
looked at me, twisted his lips
as a laughing chimp with bared teeth.
I deserved to feel like a fool.

Suzanne's body shook with laughter.
I knew she would love my story.

Recent Move

2009-12-27T21:48:00.029-07:00

oh, the back aches, stressed neck
tensed shoulders....dry, cracked fingers
from handling newsprint, many boxes
rolls of packing tape, beat up knuckles
bled from sores, lost weight
aching feet, and all the hours spent
packing, moving and cleaning

xxxxx a quiet place,
xxxxx free from trashy, low-life neighbors
xxxxx drug dealers and worthless whores

xxxxx free from broken windows, neighbors
xxxxx yelling, hitting, screaming, cussing...
xxxxx watching police arrive to settle disputes
xxxxx and other noises that kept me awake
xxxxx at night, like loud hip-hop rap flap

more than a new page, a whole new book
new scene, different chapters
tomorrow I will look back, laugh
at the insanity of living there

I love having my own carport, picket fence
and gate to help me feel more secure
two yards, two porches, a storage/shop/laundry room
and all the other things I've been wishing for

my own house

First Days

2009-12-27T21:41:00.005-07:00

Rejoice! Rejoice!
first night
first shower
first breakfast
first loads of laundry
first time to take out the trash
first snow
first time to close the gate
first meal on the gas stove

meet my next door neighbor
deal with a barking dog in my yard
use the bathroom, wash some dishes
drive to a new grocery store
throw frozen food into my new fridge
welcome first visitors

I miss the first trash pickup

spot a white cat scampering through the yard
who trips the sensor lights outside

pick up the phone and hear a dial tone
hook up my computer and the internet works

Hallelujah! I celebrate!

Desert Song

2009-08-25T23:24:00.005-06:00

The desert knows no silence;
wind whispers a million legends.
It hears the wails and happiness
of those in the wild, breathing in
the same air, same spaces.
All meet the sky, moon,
rolling hills. Paws leave
impressions in fine soil,
at times scorching from sun,
cooling after rain and cloud cover.

Nature knows no boundaries except
where rain chooses to fall,
forming puddles so plants,
insects, and animals can drink
from the land. So that minerals
sleeping deep in the earth
can grow crystalline structures.
So that cactus leaves can maintain storage
for use during droughts. So life
can see the desert's succulence.
Sand dunes roll into a majestic mountain,
sitting stronger than a fortress,
slowly shifting over hundreds of years.

Every step or crawl on dirt
creates a sound, as wind whips
into a howl, as rain drizzles or pelts,
as a warming touch from the sun's light
kisses shade. Every bark and roar
from friend or foe, every flapping whir
from bee or hummingbird, even
a quiet landing of moth or butterfly –
a desert will never be silent,
though it seems so from a distance.

Sushi

2009-08-25T23:18:00.003-06:00

"Try the sushi," he said.
Trusted his gleeful
anticipation.

Waiter brought me
an artful plate – a half
dozen or more. Perfect
spacing of well-formed
pieces, rice and raw fish
rolled in seaweed. A thin
luster coating each.
Steam wiggled upward
from their centers,
wafted into my nostrils.
Their smell, non-appetizing.
Stink pursed my lips,
wrinkled my nose, put bile
on defense – at the pit.

Do I cut with a fork?
Eat with my fingers?
Gouge with chopsticks?
I remember the gleam
in his eyes, smile on
his face, saying, "I know
you're going to love this."

Just one teeny, tiny nibble.
Forced myself to swallow.
Eeuw! Coughed it up.
Spit it out. Is he trying
to kill me? What is this –
dead fish that soaked for days
in a cesspool, rolled in dirt,
plopped on my plate?
Disgusting!
How could he eat his?
I wanted American food!

Black and White

2009-07-27T21:27:00.008-06:00

Just because black is not a color
it doesn't mean you have to hit me
with it. It's not about blackness really,
it's about occupying white space, visible
like tints and shades mixed together.
Some colors, when muddied, make black.
It is who I have become -- a blue-eyed
soul addicted to color, respectful of black,
a multifaceted black, a good strong black,
like the black ink on printing plates,
toners at work, pens used to write.
Black is beautiful and bold, as the polish
that shines my black S.A.S. brand shoes.
I never thought of black as depressing
except, maybe, at someone's funeral
when everyone wears black.
How can I be negative when so many
positives play around in black spaces?

Just because white is bare as if nothing there
you don't have to stare at me so blankly.
Lots of white space is good. It helps me breathe,
think, imagine...imagine black pieces here,
white places in between, a graphic image
I took pains to design on a white sheet,
white text transposed over a black box,
a plain white sheet used to scribble on,
write poetry, plan schedules, make lists.
White makes me feel pure, though I know I am not.
White is clean and cut. White is carved marble.
It is the color of my skin, wishful as the whim
of my thinking, as the waddle in my walk.
Though white lacks color, it is
the color of snow, reflecting light,
white on my walls and shelves,
white on my shirt that hangs in the closet,
the whites of my eyes, a square on a board game,
a ring on a target, lines on the flag,
the whiteness I see when I pass out.

Drool Pool

2009-07-27T20:56:00.002-06:00

After all, Chester was curious –
assuming I had a loud snore
with my mouth dropped wide open,
like it always does when my schnoz
is stopped up while I am sleeping.
Perhaps the cat thought
I was choking or dying
and thought he'd better sit
on my chest to see what's wrong.

Wrapped tight in a blanket as if
in a straight jacket, I couldn't move.
Maybe he did the right thing,
playing Dr. Chet. He woke me up
staring down at me with one green eye
and one blue eye. His upper respiratory
was no bill of health either, purring
until his nose dripped and drooled.
"What are you doing Chet?
Get off my chest! Get off of me!"

The more I struggled, the more he
sat there purring, drooling, until
drops filled the indented
area at the pit of my neck,
becoming a drool pool.

Dating Myself

2009-07-27T20:39:00.003-06:00

Actors and actresses long forgotten.
Classic TV shows refresh my mind –
much loved shows after 35 years,
thanks to DTV and Retro TV.
"Oh yeah, there's what's his name!"

Analog and rabbit ears now the past.
New box on top of my TV.
New flat antenna on a top shelf.
DTV not fun to watch during storms,
images staggering, a pixel dance,
worse than zoomed images in Photoshop.

These shows equal the good days--
messages with fine morals.
I miss the old favorites – Emergency,
Rockford Files, Dragnet, Magnum P.I.,
Ironside, Night Gallery, Alfred Hitchcock –
when subdued colors flicker to outrageous reds,
as if characters all have high blood pressure.

Dove-Train

2009-06-26T22:18:00.001-06:00

Doves amuse me. No wonder
cats stay entertained when watching
a dove walk. The faster they go,
the faster their heads slide forward
and backward like on a train track,
speeding along until I laugh.

Cooo coo cooooooooooo!
Wo-o-o-o Wo-o-o-o-o-o-o!
I want to make train noises
when a dove runs. Draw a dove
with a horizontal pulley
and speed lines at the neck
to illustrate how fast
the dove-train head moves.

Last Breakfast in Des Moines

2009-06-26T22:11:00.004-06:00

A shy servant in her 60s smiled as I spooned
breakfast buffet food onto my plate.
I wondered if she was a Bosnian refugee.
Her shoulder-length hair, bleached, dry, wiry--
looked shampooed but unconditioned. She weighed
more than I weigh, a head taller, grayish-blue eyes.
Her English sufficient. She understood enough.
While I waited for plain, scrambled eggs,
she asked, "Are you coming back again next year?"

"No, Ma'am. I'm going to Florida. This Conference
meets in a different state each year. Do you travel much?"
"Vunce (once) a year I go to Yōō'dup (Europe) to see my father."
Soon, she implied that her mother passed away,
had been gone since '94. Tears and sadness welled
on the whites of her eyes. The more she spoke,
the more she gulped her words. A lump formed
in my throat, tears rolled into my eyes.

"God bless you, Ma'am." I extended my arms,
wrapped them around her neck, pressing
my right cheek against hers, offered a hug.
"I must sit down now to eat my breakfast."
We nodded our heads at each other. "Goodbye."

ACE Conference in Des Moines, Iowa

2009-06-13T20:48:00.003-06:00

I just got back late last Wednesday from an ACE Conference in Des Moines, Iowa. I was gone for six days. ACE stands for Association for Communication Excellence (in Agriculture, Natural Resources, and Life and Human Sciences). I stayed at the Des Moines Marriott Downtown--a very nice hotel. My room was on the 15th floor and yes, I slept on a big, plump, king-sized bed.

The pre-conference writing workshop was excellent. The writing, publishing, and photography breakout sessions were great and interesting. I even sat in on a two-part session where we made baby sock monkeys. I didn't get to finish mine though. I guess sock monkeys are a big thing in Iowa. Not many people showed up at the Graphic Design Special Interest Group meeting. I took lots and lots of notes and had more stuff to haul back in my big suitcase (which was almost too heavy to make it back on the plane).

The Publishing Powerhouses Tour was excellent. On that tour, I saw the Des Moines Register (the local newspaper that's been around since 1849), the Meridith Corporation (a humongous company responsible for anything and everything that has to do with Better Homes and Gardens), and August Home Publishing Company (who publish "how-to" information magazines like Woodsmith, Workbench, ShopNotes, Garden Gate and Cuisine at Home). I was disappointed with the tour through the Des Moines Register. We get there, we're led to the fourth floor and into a conference room to hear some guy talk mostly about the newspaper's Web site. No tour through the facility (because the workers were on deadline). No tour to see their huge presses because apparently their presses are in another building somewhere else. At the Meridith Corporation, I got to see displays, the testing kitchens, the prop rooms and photo shoot rooms where photos are taken for all the magazines they do. The Meridith Corporation is one amazing operation. I was thoroughly impressed. The August Home Publishing Company was interesting. We toured through three buildings to see the wood working shops, wood finishing shops and some beautiful, finished furniture. The three tour guys were so down home.

As usual when I travel somewhere, I had issues with the food served at the guest speaker luncheons and dinners (because of my milk product food allergies; and boy-oh-boy, there were milk products in just about everything). Other than that, I think the ACE Conference was better than the one last year (in Traverse City, Michigan).

Lots of stuff happened at the Conference. On Monday night, we were under a tornado warning which touched down 16 miles away from where we were. So that was close. I didn't catch which town was hit by that tornado, nor did I hear how much damage it caused. My necklace I made sold at the live auction for $150. I tried to sell some other handmade choker necklaces, but no one bought any. I did sell one of my poetry chapbooks though. I attended the ACE Banquet, a reception honoring Dr. Jim Evans, and entertainment by the eXtension Chords. Yes, I had fun shaking my booties. I buddied around with two other people from New Mexico State University and three people from North Dakota State University. At least I wasn't lonely. I went to the State Historical Building for our "night out" with food, dancing, and to see the exhibits. I hope you enjoy some of the photos I took. See below.

Buildings in Des Moines, Iowa

2009-06-13T20:43:00.006-06:00

State Historical Building Exhibits - Des Moines, Iowa

2009-06-13T20:31:00.011-06:00

Miss Roxy Roo

2009-05-11T22:41:00.007-06:00

I miss my favorite cat, Miss Roxey Roo.
I remember those early mornings,
her body draped across my shoulder.
The way she wagged her fluffy tail
that wrapped around my neck
and fanned my nose until those
super fine hairs sucked into my mouth
and into my nose with every inhale, buffed
my face 'til I spewed, scratched and sneezed.

She loved to prop her smooth, velvety,
Persian head on my comfortable pillow,
lifted and gleamed her lime-green eyes
then smacked her lips for her silent meow
to catch my smile through sleepy blue eyes.

I miss petting her long-black fur
wiggling my fingertip in the hole space between
her soft-padded paws, touching her pug nose,
wet like dew, marveling at her idling purr
which hummed a tune of contentment.

She pranced and held her tail up high,
that powder puff, my little Zsa Zsa.
She answered to her silly nicknames,
like "Putty McDutty" and "Little Spudnutty."
She came to my high whistle sounds.

My in/out girl who picked her food,
guarded the yard and scared large dogs.
Made acrobat stunts, grand somersaults,
like a moonstruck cat on a full-moon night.
She pounced my fingers between the cushions,
poked 'til I bled if I moved too slow.
Chased long strings I dragged through the house,
'til she got tired and plopped on the carpet.
Sat by windows and chattered at birds,
swung her head as they swooped from trees.

I remember one day...
she scampered, shameless into the kitchen,
brought in a bird covered in snow.
Yes, it flew behind the fridge, riled
the humans which excited her,
and made us late fixing dinner.

We played fun games like hide and seek.
Imagine me shuffling down the hall
on all fours as if I'm a cat –scuffed
my knees and hurt my wrists, turned
the corner to hide in my room.
I think she laughed along with me.

She followed me like a loyal shadow,
in the yard and around the house,
trailed behind me to the street corner.
I carried her back to the house,
cradled her lovingly in my arms
as if she were a sweet, little child.

I still miss my sweet little Roxy.
She's been gone over 20 years.

Neighborhood Walk #3

2009-05-11T21:53:00.009-06:00

I walked to the park again
and to a place down the street –
for exercise, photos,
Vitamin D from the sun,
inspiration, nature –
hoping to see something minuscule,
bugs, dandelions, objects windblown.

To capture new images
with my camera –
textures in tree bark and
bus stop grill work,
ruggedness in rocks,
frailness or strength in twigs,
even tire tracks on the dirt made
by two yellow Caterpillar trucks
sitting by a large hole
that workmen have dug there.

Like my hair blown by the wind,
I saw the resiliency of life
in grass, leaves, wildflowers.
I would think the wind
would rip all of it out by the roots.

Ground cover with yellow flowers
the size of a freckle on my arm,
and purple flowers half the size
of my palm, met the roundness
of my camera lens, and eager clicks
of my finger on the shutter.
I wish I knew their names.

For the first time I saw beauty
in weeds, even those dried up,
droopy and wrinkled, stuck
by the ditch on El Paseo and Farney,
a ditch half full of murky water,
stippled by white and yellow streaks
made by the sun, trickling
between large trees
in neighbor's back yards.

The wind forced water ripples
in the same direction as my path.
On that path, supple plants soaking
what's needed from the water,
green in contrast to whitish dry weeds
next to tall, reddish-stemmed
growth that looked like Amaranth.
White flowers - pollinated
by a zipping hummingbird
moving too fast for me to
stare at its colors or take a picture –
its fluttering wings cutting air.

That alone was worth the trip,
realizing that nature takes care of itself
without worrying about life,
death and all stages in between.

Oldies

2009-05-11T21:37:00.004-06:00

A relic, old school, traditionalist,
a dinosaur. I must be ancient when...
xxxxxxxxxxmy preference is oldies –
like classic soul power,
early rock and roll, doo-wap,
post second-war blues, gospel, jazz.
Four and five-part harmonies –
horn-driven, guitars, funky saxophones,
walking bass shuffles, call and response,
turnarounds, improvisations.
xxxxxxxxxxDigs deep into my veins.
Carves itself into my brain. Mesmerized.
Wanting more. A habit.
Like a feisty old fish caught
on a hook but I can't get away.
I'm dancing on reeled-in line,
satisfying the pits of my everything
xxxxxxxxxxand loving it.

Pigeons

2009-05-11T21:22:00.003-06:00

Loud gray pigeons, cooing,
surround one brown one.

Some peck between gravel,
search for wind-blown seeds
from yellow-flowered shrubs.

A sated fat pigeon
hobbles along the curb,
performs a dance,

part clumsy curtsy, some wobble,
a little trip and fall, prancing,
part "Madam, look at me."

She, a center of attention,
stands firm, dignified,
perhaps amused
by the entertainer, Mr Fatso –
white-chested, ash-bellied.

I picture him wearing a white
round hat, white jacket,
tapping a baton, a grand fanfare.

Oh the competition, abundance
and what a pronouncement
out of 10 or 20 cooing males
to one reserved, silent female.

She ignores the others
who wait and stare at her.
They hope she chooses
one of them who cares,
won't bring fake promises
as would the showman,
the quick overnighter –
Mr. Extraordinaire.

Dragonflies and Tadpoles

2009-04-13T22:29:00.006-06:00

Poem and Collage by Sue Miller

Except where otherwise noted, these works
are licensed under http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/
Tadpoles (May 7, 2008) by Pingu1963 / Marjon Kruik
http://www.flickr.com/photos/pingu1963/2473751214/
Caught (August 11, 2007) by D'Arcy Norman
http://www.flickr.com/photos/dnorman/1084249431/
Dragonfly (July 15, 2008) by Krikit
http://www.flickr.com/photos/krikit/2675850356/

a young teen
exploring my neighborhood
other side of the dam
east end of Madrid Street

during summer monsoons
muddy pools
rainwater sat for days
stench from heat, humidity,
sun-baked growths
water life co-habitating
screaming frogs, blue
and red-wing dragonflies,
sun-drenched butterflies,
ugly tadpoles, biting mosquitos,
curious birds

I thought nothing of it
hopped on my bicycle
carried jars and butterfly nets
peddled to the dam
to the stinky pond

pretended to be a biologist
spent hours catching, scooping,
observing tadpoles and dragonflies
sometimes alone, sometimes
with brother Bill and his friends

Hills and Heavens

2009-04-13T22:20:00.004-06:00

Once I sat on smooth boulders by a waterfall –
Watched a bat dive-bomb to catch
gnats and flies, fearing rabies if the bat bit me.
Stared at a pencil-thick water snake wiggle
in a small pool of runoff. Gazed at a lizard
and skink as they dashed across rocks, disappeared
into sage brush, buried themselves in sand.

Another time I fell into a large bed of big black ants,
sprained my left ankle. The sound of ripping tendons.
Piercing pain, hot flushes, white flashes, cold sweat.
Nearly passed out. Could not get up. In the midst
of stickers and weeds, ants and a bee,
my ankle swelled to twice its size.

When I camped at Faywood Hot Springs –
it took forever to set up a green tent in the dark.
Tried making sandwiches but one fell on nasty dirt.
Sat naked in the hot spring. Watched a million stars until...
one coyote started, then another, and another, and another,
until I heard frightful yaps of hysterical laughter
ricochet off the hills in surround sound.
That night I could not sleep, felt a slithering snake
slide under the tent at the small curvature of my back.
Scared, wondered why I take chances for my thrills.
I am holding the hills and heavens in my heart.

Classic Car Show (Las Cruces, NM)

2009-03-28T20:03:00.013-06:00

A Resting Place

2009-03-23T22:44:00.010-06:00

Tranquility – just what I needed,
relaxation, my get-away,
a new sanctuary for part of a day
near picnic tables, a creek, pines
in the Black Range Mountains.
Peaceful water rippled, trickled
as I listened for little bubble pops
by fish kissing water surfaces.
Red and yellow wildflowers
danced in the breeze
as a prudent bee pollinated,
a stink bug raised its hind end
under my close inspection,
patches of healthy clovers half covered
a pathway around boulders,
a cool gentle wind made goose bumps
on bare arms. The sun tapped my shoulders
in the blue gaps of sky and tall pines.
May the hands of God rise from the water,
release a white dove into the air
to bless this hidden place.

Antique Shop on Picacho (Las Cruces, NM)

2009-03-22T00:12:00.003-06:00

Shop on Picacho (Las Cruces, NM) - The Gen

2009-03-22T00:02:00.006-06:00

Nature on NMSU Campus

2009-03-15T00:14:00.002-06:00

Old Adobe Building

2009-02-24T22:48:00.006-07:00

© 2009 Photo by Sue Miller

I think I stepped
through this door once
over thirty years ago;
a friend's parents owned
this Old Mesilla building
catty corner across
from the old Post Office.

How silent it stands
leaning and weathered,
huge cracks between
each mud brick,
large rough gaps
around the small window
secured by bars and grate,
and rat holes
by this shabby wooden door.

I wonder if spirits
of locals and tourists
from those bygone days
still wander inside
shopping for trendy items;
and what about
years before,
what they wore
in the 40s, 50s and 60s.

Mesilla Tree #1

2009-02-24T22:37:00.010-07:00

pitiful
wicked
worn and hungry

deserted,
desiccated,
like the cracked,
delapidated
aged, sandy
mud-brick building
behind you

unkempt
as the yard
around you,
I see
a wise old wizard
with electrified hair
under that stiff,
pleated, tattered robe
parched bark,
as wiggling snakes,
or welded twigs

that climb like weeds

Our Lady of Health Church - Las Cruces, NM

2009-02-21T19:23:00.007-07:00

El Calvario United Methodist Church

2009-02-15T20:30:00.001-07:00

Happy Valentine's Day

2009-02-14T22:59:00.001-07:00

By the Rio Grande River

2009-01-30T20:08:00.002-07:00

By the Rio Grande River

2009-01-30T20:04:00.002-07:00

Organ Mountains

2009-01-30T19:59:00.002-07:00

Beadwork

2009-01-26T22:28:00.004-07:00

Strands of beads.
Need three hands
holding this thing
plus three more hands
holding that thing,
slide my thumbnail
under a split ring
to hold it open
long enough to force
a loop through it,
but my thumbnail slips.
I scream.
Strands "recoil" here,
strands "twap" there,
some "twuang,"
some "toing"
everywhere.
Need two more hands
to hold beads,
strands, clips,
loops, rings,
wire, pliers,
STY-
RO-
FOAM.
G-r-r-r!
GET ON THERE!
AAAACK!

Sunset in Park Across the Street

2009-01-18T21:39:00.002-07:00

Potted Flowers

2009-01-18T21:37:00.001-07:00

Leaves

2009-01-18T21:36:00.002-07:00

Acorns on the Ground

2009-01-18T21:34:00.001-07:00

Leaves and Grass

2009-01-18T21:30:00.004-07:00

Things Under/Around My Christmas Tree

2009-01-01T21:18:00.010-07:00

Cute Christmas Card

2009-01-01T21:02:00.002-07:00

A 3-D card I received. The chair swings.

Reflections

2008-12-21T23:25:00.004-07:00

My mind in a pause – a reflection of my eyes
ripples between twirled ice, forced around
in circles by my drinking straw as ice taps,
clanks against a dented glass half full.

I stare at building lights and streetlights
through an A-shaped window, reflections
of Nopalito's interior superimposed
on nighttime's world. Cars pass on Missouri
as phantoms liquefy into the road.
Ceiling light transposes itself, centered
on a streetlight. A wall near the cash register,
with a plant and chili ristra, emerges, growing
out of parked cars. A wall vent floats
on a black sky. Skewed coffee cups
and red glasses dance over commercial coffee
makers and soda machines as my waiter's reflection
circulates like fan blade shadows around tables
and chairs while he serves his customers.

Light and dark shapes, transparent, glowing, shattered,
geometric, layered, like my thoughts broken or scattered
by other thoughts, transposed over recognizable images,
create chiaroscuro illusions, the way dreams do
or don't make sense because pieces are there.

Free Tickets

2008-11-24T21:24:00.004-07:00

I appealed to him dressed like a lady –
in skirt, blouse, curly perm.

A New Orleans local chauffeured
me around town, rattled on
about his life. He bought tickets for us
to hear Clifton Chenier, great Zydeco player.
Car backfired over a loud muffler.
Fire ignited under the hood. I bailed.

He muttered something about driving
his car home. Handed me the tickets.
I stood on the curb laughing.

Watched him zoom down the road,
fire smoldered upward
from cracks under the hood.
Smoke billowed out the back end.
"THANKS FOR THE TICKETS!"

Enjoyed myself listening to Clifton Chenier
at the downtown night club. Shook my buns
that night with two handsome tourist guys.

Grapes

2008-10-29T21:47:00.003-06:00

A poem I read today
about a lateral lattice forging form
with the sun's shadows, reminds
me of living on Betty Circle.

My stepfather grew green and purple
seeded grapes on a white trellis
along a cinder-brick wall – terraces
separated by a chain-linked fence.

Diamond shadows shaped
by the sun, beamed through the fence,
made shade on the small garden
by the grapes and shadows on the wall
between the trellis's empty spaces,
leaves, and multitude of succulence.

I picked whole clusters, ate them unwashed
in the back yard until my belly ached.
Each bite a sweet juicy burst.
I didn't mind the seed's slight bitterness.

Skating

2008-10-29T21:28:00.006-06:00

Remember roller-skating in El Paso,
two or three times every week?
Envious of local, competition skaters –
their speed and grace, strength, endurance,
I wanted to glide like them.

Did well to skate without falling,
cross one foot over the other
turning corners on the wooden rink floor.

Enjoyed playing games on skates.
"Put your left foot in, put your left foot out ...
put your left foot in and shake it all about ..."

My mother paid for lessons she could not afford.
I learned to balance, to push with one foot,
roll along the figure eight line, forward and backward.

I learned to Tango.

She remarried,
wwwwwwe moved to Las Cruces,
wwwwwwwwwwthat was the end of that.

Mayonnaise In My Hair

2008-10-29T21:22:00.003-06:00

Ridiculous — that idea
about nourishing dry hair
with mayonnaise to help split ends.

Massaged it through my hair —
oily, slippery, lemony mayonnaise.
Let it sit — took forever to wash out.

Slipped, sliding in the bathtub,
sludgy as an oil slick.
Almost fell in the shower.

Legs flew haphazard.
Swoop! Swoop! Swoop!
Screaming — hysterical laughter.

Held onto soap holder,
faucet and handles for stability.
Hot water pelted my body.

Could have sprained an ankle,
busted a knee, hurt
my back, cracked my head.

Never do that again.

Waving Curtains

2008-10-13T20:35:00.005-06:00

First time to move away from home.
Not a good living arrangement,
but some place to stay.
A singlewide mobile home.
Wagon Wheel Trailer Park.
Doña Ana road.

Quiet, sitting in a corner chair,
in the living room
by a window,
double pane slid upward.
Pleasant, cool breeze blowing
through the screen,
blowing a thin, lacy white curtain
in front of my face.

In a void, a trance,
allowing the curtains to wave
over my head,
tickle my ears, neck and shoulders.
I think this happened
before -- déjà vu.

The wind, carrying me
through a mysterious dimension.
I waver between
worth and worthlessness.
Curtains stop waving,
snap out of the spell.
Why do these things happen
when I am alone?

Calling My Name

2008-10-13T20:12:00.005-06:00

Flashed on a memory
xxxxx in my youth.
Too young to understand,
xxxxx or be aware of
things uncommon.

xxxxx A building.
A school? A public place?
I recall
a long flight of stairs.

xxxxx Alone, climbing
toward the top.
xxxxx Late for a class?
xxxxx Felt someone peck
xxxxx on my shoulder,
xxxxx calling my name.
Was it an angel's attempt
to prevent my going there?
xxxxx I turned around
xxxxx but nobody there.
NO BODY THERE!
Nobody there.

Green Stick

2008-10-13T20:08:00.003-06:00

Haven't seen one in years.
Hey, preying mantis, how
did you get in? Get down
from my kitchen ceiling.
Quick! Think--
before he scorches himself
on that light bulb.

Shhhhhhh! Screeching ladder --
you'll wake the neighbors.
Open this wide-mouthed jar.
Schroop, schroop, schroop!
Ouch! Hit my knee on the ladder.

C'mon, Greenie!
Gotchya!
Schroop, schroop, schroop!
Carry you across the parking lot.
Mmmmm! Kind of nippy.
Wish I had put on a jacket.

Schroop, schroop, schroop!
Dumping you onto the dirt.
Get out of there, sticky thing!
Shake, shake, shake!
There! You're not hurt.
Crawl up that post
to your light God.
Now I can go to bed!

Drifting Through A Fog

2008-09-22T22:40:00.003-06:00

(On suffering writer's block)

A fog drifts through the gaps of my mind,
haze as a mist hangs between hills and valleys--
low floating clouds on a humid day.

Thoughts harbor in silence, suspend,
then chatter away about nothing,
about everything at once.

Cranial grayness filters the light, hides the crannies,
glides through a part of me that reflects
how my brain got stuck, dangled in midair.

I sit here dazed with nothing to write,
wondering where the next word comes from.
Must I cull utterance from my next-door
neighbor's cigarette smoke? So be it.

I'd rather grasp them from coolness
of my living room air conditioner. Maybe
that will blow away and free me from congestion.

Faith

2008-09-08T22:45:00.003-06:00

it is when you lose dignity –
that voice from above
or inside you
becomes relevant
and you know its sincerity
a credence above self-doubt
strengthening allegiance to beliefs
pledging to make things better
and it gets better
if you commit to it
like an oath to others
plus support they give you
as you trust them to do
that helps regain self-confidence
your God-self
an internal faith
that keeps you going

Changed

2008-07-28T20:15:00.006-06:00

I am not the same person
as ten years ago, five years ago.
I am still changing.

I made myself
an exposé of viewpoints,
opinions, priorities
because of different conditions,
tastes, level of thinking.

Growing older did that --
current politics and news, too --
where I'm compelled
to think outside
mainstream thought
thanks to those who educate
about those who suppress,
spread lies.

I roam and wander
through debris,
through mountains of issues
and tons of things that matter,
to find my merits
by virtue of those
who influence me --
through layers of life
still shaping me,
leads me to a perspective,
of what is yet to come.
Though I may be in fear,
I know I can overcome it,
I know I can change
my growth, my fire, desire, hope.
Someone once told me
"You haven't changed a bit."
Yes I have -- significantly.

Subject Lines

2008-07-28T20:07:00.001-06:00

Spammers will do anything
as I've found on my computer,
depositing obnoxious email –
from misspellings to hilarious titles.
What makes them think
I will click on their spam?

Subject lines about "Viagra" – delete
"The Best Stock Picks" – delete
"Melting Away Fat Easily" – delete.

"Study Hall Dumpy." Wait a minute –
what on earth do they mean?
It must be a precarious place
to study my dumps. Gross! – delete.

"Boa Constrictor Boobs"
OK! Imagine a bare-breasted blonde
wearing boa constrictor head sculptures
as pasties over her nipples – delete.

"Your Needle Bath"
Ouch! I hurt thinking about
laying in a bathtub full
of sharp sewing needles – delete.

"Dysentery Deflection"
First of all, did dysentery
ever have a reflection? – delete.

"Waking in Sheets Teeming with Bugs"
That spammer is high on drugs – delete.

"FOSSEMODS" in all caps.
F O S S E M O D S
Is that the newest drug prescription
for today's fussy models? – delete.

(Author's note: The above spams are true.)

Guardian Angel

2008-07-19T21:06:00.006-06:00

A friend crafted and gave me an angel,
made of gold foil wings, long blue
and white broomstick bandana skirt tied
at the waist, pea-sized pink and red bouquet
glued at the end of a twisted Tyvec arm,
a wooden ball for a head, rosy cheeks
on her light pine face, painted eyes
and an "L" for a nose, light curly blonde
bundle of hair with flair, yellow
garland for her miniature corona.

I have her suspended on a hook
by my turquoise door. I believe
she protects me from intruders
when I am asleep at night.
I believe she guards my apartment
while I am gone, repels
bad spirits with her other hand,
reassures me that things are fine,
gives me strength and faith to live

when I'm feeling tired or less worthy.