I can't get any further with this poem today...
Here's the start...
______________________


Paper clutter covers the dining table;
Rubber stamps and ink are scattered with
an e-xacto knife and ribbon trimmings;
glue and glitter, pens and punches
are witness to the creative soul at work.


April 20, 2009

Happy Birthday, Mom

a little baby in your arms
unaware of the world around her
only of the love that is her life

the wishes and dreams
held deep in your soul were
shared heart to heart while in your arms

back and forth in the rocking chair
you soothed and smiled
and gave her everything she needed

years later your baby has a baby of her own
her wishes and dreams are yours
in another time and place

the need of mothers
from the beginning of time
lives through to another generation

April 19, 2009

A Ditty Because I Can't Focus

eating is fun
eating is great
eating too much will
make you gain weight

reading is great
reading is fun
when you finish a book
pick up a new one

rhyming is fun
rhyming's a game
and sometimes makes poems
that aren't so lame
(as this one)

April 18, 2009

At the Poetry Reading

She sits, bored, next to the woman
who shifts in her seat crossing and uncrossing her legs.

Why did her mother bring her here?
It's just a bunch of old people reading boring poems.

She claps politely after every speaker,
wondering why the woman beside her doesn't get up.

Watching her out of the corner of her eye,
she sees the woman's hands crease and re-crease a folded paper.

What is this woman waiting for?
What's so hard about reading a silly poem?

Finally! The woman starts to get up, hesitates,
and stands up, excusing herself as she carefully walks past.

The woman looks worried as she smooths out her paper.
In a quiet voice she introduces herself and tells us this is her first time.

Clearing her throat, she smooths the paper again,
and begins to read her poem, her voice getting stronger as she continues.

As the woman finishes the poem,
the girl, who dismissed the idea of reading poetry, is changed.

The woman's voice made her listen,
listen harder than she'd ever listened to any words in her life.

As the woman walked back to her seat,
she kept her head down, but there was a smile on her face.

The girl moves her legs to let the woman
back to her seat. Their eyes meeting, she sees satisfaction,
and feels it herself.

April 17, 2009

She Needs a Break

The "little girl whose Daddy died" has worked really hard. She's grieved; she's been loyal to the memory of her Daddy; she's tried really hard not to be too happy too often so she wouldn't be disappointed when the sad times came again; she's been my fierce protector.

She's done her best and it's time I let her rest. I'm sure she'll be relieved to be excused from this huge job she's performed for 33 years! She'll be in a special place in my heart, especially since she worked so hard for me and taken such good care of me. But it's now my turn to take good care of her. It's my turn to reassure her that the good and the bad and the funny and the sad are all part of the flow of life and that each feeling has its time and place and life is an iterative process (I just love that word--"iterative"! I should adopt it and remind myself of the concept often!!!)

Thich Nhat Hahn says "You are more than your emotions." I try to remember that and live it everyday. By letting her take a well deserved rest, I think I will be more successful in internalizing the ebb and flow of emotions I feel.

So, thank you little girl, I really appreciate all that you've done to keep me together for all these years. Rest, relax and enjoy the young life that you had. I hope you'll enjoy the person you've helped to create. I love you and it's my turn to help you feel better.

Visit, then home

The wheels of the book truck squeak as
it drives them home.
Long weeks, sometimes months of
being away makes them eager to sleep
on their own shelves again.

Tomorrow they'll hang over the back edge
recalling their journeys near and far,
sharing memories from the trip,
happy to be home, and ready for a rest.
Soon enough, boredom will set in;

neighbors' tales begin to grate.
Tired of hearing the same old story,
and longing for another adventure
each tries hard to attract, waits to be chosen.
Each dreams of new places to explore.

April 14, 2009

Poetry Catch-Up

The Easter holiday finds me behind on my poetry and posting. In reverse writing order, here are two new poems.

NaPoWriMo Prompt #8 (from ReadWritePoem)

Please forgive your son, Mrs. Fillippi,
he was young and in love
and had no other way of expressing
how he felt about her,
the new girl in 3rd grade.

Tall and plump other kids called
her names like giraffe and elephant.
Wondering what to believe,
she ignored the name calling and
played by herself.

Whether it was pity or admiration,
he found himself waiting around the edges
of the playground watching her,
swallowing his fear as he approached
her to ask her to play with him during recess.

After a few weeks, he fell in love;
no one could penetrate his devotion
to her. One day he brought her
a token of his love--
a beautiful ring full of colorful stones.

Worn with pride for the rest of the day,
she left school with it clutched in her sweaty palm.
Kept safe in a box in her room, she
peeked at the ring all night and brought
it back to school the next day.

Afterschool, innocently playing
on the swings, a stranger drove into the
driveway and parked her station wagon. He
slowly got out of the car with a woman
who looked mad.

Yes, she mumbled, he gave me a ring
yesterday. The cold silence scared her
as she handed the ring back to him. You
grabbed his arm and hurried him back
to the car all the while hissing your anger.

At school the next day, he was too embarrassed
to talk to her. It was over;
he'd made a mistake and paid for it.
Forgive your son, Mrs. Fillippi,
young love makes young men act rashly.

April 13, 2009

Good Friday

How can I thank You
for the gift of Your son's sacrifice.
I ask for Your grace as I honor
Jesus' life--the life He lived for me.
I ask for Your mercy when I fail to remember
how much Jesus loves me now and forever.
Please help me to accept the love
You've shown me through Your son.

April 10, 2009

Voices

Today's poem is inspired by this phrase "when all the noise is silenced" found here and in Kelly Rae Roberts' book Taking Flight found here. Thank you Kelly for your inspiration for my poems twice this week!

cacophony of sound is in my head always
preventing me from hearing myself
insisting i listen to the noise of judgement
doubt loathing fear uncertainty

infernal speech interrupting my thoughts
drowning out voices of reason
comfort trust safety love
that are waiting for me to hear

so many years of hearing their talk
listening to their voices
believing they told the truth
i regret giving them so much power

truth is subjective and influenced by experience
my truth is about to change
confident now voices of reason
trust can be heard during the quiet

eager to explore these new thoughts
trying to turn up their volume
i wonder who will i be
when Babel is toppled again

April 8, 2009

All grown up

Using prompt #7 to write about nicknames at ReadWritePoem, here's today's entry.


"My name is Diane and I want you to call me that;
I will not respond to Dee Dee any more,"
she said on her fourteenth birthday. So eager to
grow up and and leave behind her younger days.
DeeDee, huh. That's a name for a little girl,
a girl who still believes that the bird sings only for her.


Listen closely to the song in the trees.
Hear it? Listen closely...
hear the bird calling your name--
chicka-dee-dee-dee
chicka-dee-dee-dee
chicka-dee-dee-dee.

"My name is not DeeDee; it's Diane!"

You are special, but not just to me.
Listen, do you hear the birds singing your name?
Even the birds know you are special,
chicka-dee-dee-dee
chicka-dee-dee-dee
chicka-dee-dee-dee.

"Why don't you people understand, my name is Diane!"

chicka-dee-dee-dee

"I don't want to be called that!"

chicka-dee-dee-dee

"Alright, just don't call me that in public!"

chicka-dee-dee-dee

April 7, 2009

Conversations in a Library

Today's poem contains thoughts about a conversation I had at the library today.

Hearing that books will die
is distressing for one who loves them,
but is a distinct possibility
in a few generations.

There is no cause for worry
for the book is only a vessel
for the stories it contains
and those will live forever.

Our stories are comfort
and history and justice;
stories live in our memories,
our hearts and our souls.

Stories tell more about us than
we would like, and can be twisted toward
our own ends. Stories are dangerous
and necessary to our survival.

The book is a vessel
for our lies and our truths.
It is up to us to listen
and know the difference.

April 6, 2009

Poem for Today

Here is today's poem.

what does one write
when one believes she has
nothing to say?

this poem?
maybe one is tired
and should get some rest.

April 5, 2009

I Love the Moon

Using NaPoWriMo's starter #4, this is today's poem.

I can never find the big dipper
The little dipper escapes me too
It's not that I live in the city
Orion's Belt is easy to view

The moon goes through it's monthly cycle
As mine moves me gentle and true
Poets write sonnets and verse to la lune
I write in honor of you

Many women decry your great power
Afraid the gods have conspired
In tune with the song singing through me
Energies awake I create am inspired

For you not very much longer
Remember when the moon's in your view
Stars light the sky with some sparkle
But the moon glows only for you

April 4, 2009

Hope

Today's poem is inspired by Kelly Rae Roberts' blog post

pretend until you're not pretending anymore
that's what the blog post says
that's what the therapist suggests

not much inspires her although
the casual observer would hardly notice
pretend until you're not pretending anymore

days go by and her hope erodes
as the depression lingers on
pretend until you're not pretending anymore

she doesn't believe she is capable
of imagining a future beyond this time
pretend until you're not pretending anymore

smile even when you don't feel happy
eventually you'll be happier
pretend until you're not pretending anymore

believe that your circumstances will change
and notice when they do
pretend until you're not pretending anymore

picture the life you want to have
keep reminders everywhere
pretend until you're not pretending anymore

pretend until you're not pretending anymore
that's what the blog post says
that's what the therapist suggests
that's what the woman is trying to do

April 3, 2009

What is it about bedtime?

Today's poem is a direct result of my daughter and my nightly ritual.

One of my favorite parts of the day
is reading to you and snuggling with you
for a few minutes each night.
For me it is a peaceful way to end the day,
a time of closeness and closure,
a moment of grace and reassurance that
I am a good mother to you.

For you, I imagine this routine
serves a similar purpose: a peaceful
ending to a long day of schoolyard
politics and immense learning;
a time to snuggle close and be
my little girl again; the only
time in the day when you have
my undivided attention.

How sorry am I when I tell you
that it's time to go to sleep and
for me to leave the warmth
of our moments of connection and comfort.
Sorry because our nightly mother-daughter
moment turns into a nightly battle of wills.
You want me to stay, and I need to leave.

I want to snuggle with you and I often long
to just stay comfortably in your bed, but I
know that I can't. Once you're settled in bed,
I can take some time to rejuvenate and recenter.
I can read, write or craft. I need this time
to remind myself that I am worth nurturing
and spending the same kind of quality time on
as I do with you.

I know I can't explain my needs to your satisfaction.
I only hope that you remember
when you are a mother to take care of your self
as well as you take care of your child. If that is what happens,
I'll be assured that I am a good mother. Sleep peacefully
for tomorrow is another day, and tomorrow night a new
chapter to our story. I know you'll love the ending we created.

April 2, 2009

April Is a Great Month

Here it is. My favorite month. (Drum roll please!) April!

It's my birthday month! It contains National Library Week! It is National Poetry Month! And, it's NaPoWriMo. This year I'm in! Basically, I'll write a poem every day in April. Not expecting big things, but I've been really wanting to touch my creative side more often and I love poetry.

I can't think of a much nicer way to celebrate my birth month.

Here's today's Poem:

I know where I've been.
I know where I am.
I don't know where I'm going.

I know where I am.
I don't know where I'm going.
I only want to get there.

I don't know where I'm going.
I only want to get there.
I need to respect the road.

I only want to get there.
I need to respect the road.
I believe the road is true.

I need to respect the road.
I believe the road is true.
I want to enjoy the journey.

I believe the road is true.
I want to enjoy the journey.
I will go where it leads.

April 1, 2009