I almost didn’t post a limerick this week… but this morning, after little sleep, on a post-it note by the bed, I wrote this in probably less than a minute. I guess it came to me in my (unable-to) sleep.
color.
Is red or pink the color of love?
In sadness, is it blue you think of?
Are envy and jealousy green?
What do your colors mean?
My soul is black, none of the above.
I need to start with an apology. My other life took me away a bit this week. (Yes, my other life. I’m Batman. Okay… lie. I’m Batgirl.) The thing is… I may or may not be able to post my ‘fiction friday’ installment today. I know some of you are really enjoying the story (and I am so happy that you are) and you’ve been waiting for more. I will post as soon as possible. I feel terrible about this – please forgive me.
At the moment, the only thing related to ‘perk’ on my mind is coffee.
Sometimes, I actually get out of the car for coffee instead of rushing to the drive-up window. Yesterday was one of those days. Parked. Went inside. Oh, it was nowhere fancy… just one of the 20 or so nearby Dunkin’ Donuts.
Although busy, the guy who took my order was quite pleasant. I waited while he disappeared to get my iced coffee. As he was handing me my change, a woman walked up beside him and placed an iced coffee on the counter beside mine. The two of them looked at each other for a second before the woman said, “Oh, you already made it?” The dude says yes. And the woman looks at me as I take the first cup. “Do you want it?” she asks of the other cup. Really? I actually said that… “Really?!” As though she was offering me a freaking pot of gold. (I guess, to me, it sort of was a pot of gold.)
Of course, I said yes. “Sure! I’ll… um… sleep when I’m dead.” I made them all laugh — Coffee guy, the generous woman, and the couple in line behind me.
So I got a free (large) coffee… and I made people laugh. I guess that’s pretty perky.
[For the record, I did not drink both coffees yesterday. But my husband doesn’t drink coffee. (I know, WTF?) And I certainly wasn’t going to let the kids have it… so I had to save it for myself. And because I’m a wackjob, I had to preserve it as well as possible. I removed the lid from one of them and carefully scooped out the ice into a separate cup. I covered the coffee and stuck it in the fridge… and I put the cup of ice in the freezer. When I’m ready to drink it, I can combine and enjoy! I know, I have a problem.]
When I was a little girl
I believed in fairy tales
but as years floated by me
my belief began to fade.
No longer did I think
love was coming for me.
Everyone always said
those stories are not real.
I tried to hold on
to cling to wishes.
I prayed to the Gods
but no one listened.
I remain one
not to be two.
I know I am
a naïve fool
to go on
dreaming of
fairy tales
magic love
and still
hoping
to be
adored.
A note about this poem: I don’t know if anyone noticed the ‘pattern‘ (I use the term quite loosely) in this piece. I think I hope you didn’t… I want the story to hide the ‘pattern‘. But I do think it makes the poem flow better than it might otherwise…
The first four lines are 7 syllables, the next four are 6, then 5, then 4, then 3, then 2.
June is my birthday month. The exact date is 6/11/whatever year makes me 29-ish.
Why do I bring up the joyous date of my birth (which I’m sure my mom did not think was joyous around 9 o’clock that morning)? Clearly, it’s because I am incredibly considerate and want to give you ample shopping time.
I thought of making a wish list, but that never works out. I have the same problem at Christmas. Besides, the real gift is the sentiment… someone taking the time to think about me enough to choose just the thing. Infinitely better than him/her just grabbing something I asked for… like a new muffin tin… while at Target… picking up some tp. [FYI, I do not need a new muffin tin. However, you may commence calling me ‘muffin’ if you must.]
So… you’ve got 10 shopping days until my birthday!
If you’ve been around my blog for a while (or even if you haven’t), you ‘know’ me to some extent. [Possibly better than some people in my offline life…]
And I’m curious… What birthday gift you would give me? Tell me in the comments! No hurry… no pressure… you’ve got 10 days. [And of course, you can play my silly little birthday game or not… but I think it would be fun if you did.]
Oh, by the way, as you will not actually be purchasing said gift, the possibilities are limitless…
This post is an adaptation of a comment I originally posted over on Fabulous Lennon’s blog. But I felt it was somewhere between funny and true and deserved its own post.
This is all in fun! Huge generalizations and exaggerations. I’m sure they apply to my own poetry at times. Please please please do not be offended! That is so far from my intention it’s not even on the same planet.
I began writing poetry about seven months ago. (I know – who writes such brilliant poetry when she’s only been doing it for seven months? Ha! I am full of it…) I have since encountered many poetry-posting bloggers and I’ve read many many poems.
I have concluded that there are three major categories of poets. (And of course, this is just me… my crazy thoughts… my brain… completely subjective…)
-1- Cool—interesting—fun—beautiful.
I relate to the work of these poets. I get their message, I like their stories and I appreciate their humor. They paint beautiful pictures with words. This is the ‘stuff I like.’ (As I said, totally subjective.)
-2- One Trick Pony.
The poetry may be good. It may be amazing. I may enjoy it. But the next one sounds the same. And the one after that is pretty much the same. And so on. Oh, no, not literally the same words… just so similar that when I read, I feel like I’ve already read this one.
-3- Rambler.
There are lots of words. They need not all be used in every poem. There may be twenty ways to say the same thing. They might all be in the draft. But they shouldn’t all make it to the final piece. The Rambler drones on and on and on. I probably lost interest after about 20 lines but Ramblers seem to find themselves fascinating.
Of course, let us not forget the two other poetic phenomenons – which may coexist with any of the above three categories
» the Downpours.
The poetry may be amazing (or it may not). But a bazillion posts each day can cause a bit of a flood. Sometimes, as a reader, I begin to drown.
» the Pretentious.
There’s no need to cram as many ‘big’ words as possible into every single poem whether those words truly fit or not. I get it, poet-person – you know big words. Glad to hear it… but I don’t need ‘proof’ in every single line.
Whoever you are, whatever you write, you are all brave souls sharing pieces of you and I admire anyone who can do that. I’m still surprised I can.
©2016 what sandra thinks
my mind took a trip
a walk in the woods
under a canopy
of quaking leaves
created from history
until I emerged
beside a raging river
water crashing into stone
like thoughts rushing through me
breaking at every twist
becoming directionless
my focus blurred
I searched for clarity
but with one misstep
I fell into the trap
down so low I couldn’t rise
deep into the quicksand
no rope nor vines to hold
and when finally the light
revealed itself to me
it was too late to grasp it
I was already swallowed
∴
Please take this…
It was meant for you.
Forgive me
For the time
I wasted letting someone
Borrow it from you.
My eyes sink to the floor
I can’t look at you anymore
You say I’m under your skin
But I know what I’m keeping in
The skeletons I’ve tried to hide
Are desperate to be outside
I fight to keep them silent
But I’m breakable and frightened
If you knew you might sympathize
But only for a little while
When you go loneliness will come
And all of me will be left numb
So I only want you to see
Whatever you want me to be
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