Life in the fast lane--where's the on ramp?

By Pat_B - About Me - E-mail this page - Add to My Favorites - Add to Blog List - See other blogs in Journal

Tuesday, May 18, 2021

TODAY'S POEM

WHAT THE DRUMS DO The drums become a sacred part of life when one is touching the earth with bare feet and the day proceeds at its own pace. The drum is the poetry of heartbeats, the distant crash of waterfalls, approaching, encroaching thunder. Would that the drums bring solace and peace to player... Sign in to see full entry.

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Monday, May 17, 2021

Excerpt from an old poem

Mama’s Contradictory guidance: - Remember this, - pay no attention to that, - don’t be so smart, - act like you’ve got a lick of sense, - education is the key, - why do you always have your nose in a book, - be yourself, - for Pete’s sake why can’t you be more like your sister? Sign in to see full entry.

posted by Pat_B at 3:35 AM | add or view comments (7) | leave calling card | link to this | view only this entry

Wednesday, May 12, 2021

MONDAY AND TUESDAY IN BEAUTIFUL DOWNTOWN MUNDANE

"Grandma Patch" spent a good deal of time over the past few days with two sons and a couple of the grandkids, going through photo albums from the past. Seeing the photos brought up stories. Once again I learned about scrapes they got into, pranks they pulled that had been carefully hidden from Mom.... Sign in to see full entry.

posted by Pat_B at 5:09 AM | add or view comments (7) | leave calling card | link to this | view only this entry

Tuesday, May 11, 2021

REFLECTIONS ON LONG AGO - A POEM FROM THE FILE

TRIGGER My piano he traded for a semi-automatic.45 caliber pistol. As they hauled the upright out the door I wept internally, not allowed so much as a pout of protest. But the.45 came in handy a year and three months later when the time came to assert myself. plh 6-15-2017 Sign in to see full entry.

posted by Pat_B at 6:24 AM | add or view comments (5) | leave calling card | link to this | view only this entry

Monday, May 10, 2021

From the Poetry File

April The frogs return and sing again, it is the time of love no matter that the snow was here a week ago or that storms are on their way. They float mesmerized, conjoined, spinning life out of the moment, never imagining forever after or a palace fit for a queen. A princess could do worse than kiss... Sign in to see full entry.

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Sunday, May 9, 2021

MOTHER'S DAY WEEKEND

My daughter arrived from Florida on Friday, my two sons came over in the evening. We've all had both our Covid shots, and so were able to share hugs, and sit around the dining table catching up without having to wear our masks. On Saturday we went to a restaurant and sat inside, ordered a meal - the... Sign in to see full entry.

posted by Pat_B at 3:43 PM | add or view comments (2) | leave calling card | link to this | view only this entry

Saturday, May 8, 2021

Breakfast at the Pollyanna Café

The Pollyanna sits along the main drag in a small town near the river. It caters to the locals, although there are a number of travelers who stop in, charmed by the painting on the front window of a giant Polly parrot on a brass perch. Weekdays the counter is lined with folks from sunrise on – there... Sign in to see full entry.

posted by Pat_B at 9:53 AM | add or view comments (6) | leave calling card | link to this | view only this entry

CAROUSEL - (from the file)

Long arched ivory necks of horses prancing nowhere the gilding's gone but for a few flecks that catch the lights as the old frame turns on new bearings. It is night and we can be young again on a carousel see all the things we want to see fill in the blanks from memory nostalgia makes it a perfect... Sign in to see full entry.

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Wednesday, May 5, 2021

THE LAST DAYS OF OUR BACKYARD SQUIRREL

Tuesday afternoon during a break in the day-long rain, I went out the back door to drag the recycling and trash bins around front to the curb. As I opened the gate I saw her little body on the sidewalk beside the house. Oh, no! I went to the garage and got a small rake and a dustpan, went to the... Sign in to see full entry.

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Tuesday, May 4, 2021

A poem from the file...

WHEN LOVE DIES There's no burial, but there is ritual: "I will survive" on the juke box rage, talk and alcohol, meaningless embraces, a new awareness of the time heals all wounds myth. Efforts to forget merely freshen memory, but attention to mundane details, work itself eventually softens jagged... Sign in to see full entry.

posted by Pat_B at 5:00 AM | add or view comments (7) | leave calling card | link to this | view only this entry

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Sometimes you have to write it down in order to learn what you really think about life, what it means, how to do what's best. Sometimes you need feedback from someone else to put things in perspective.

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