Oddments

In search of story

Monthly Archives: April 2017


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Connections: April 29.17

I have been in an alternate universe

a place I have been before

where perpetual motion is rampant

and parents a mere twoscore.

There’s soccer and softball and homework

lives lived digitally

two kids, two cats, two dogs,

and Grandma (that would be me).

Mom in a sling and Dad far away

a convergence of planning and chance

with non-stop pre-teen rhythm

and flying by the seat of our pants.

I lived in a place such as this

in a dim and distant past

when I had an abundance of pep

and my hormones hadn’t lapsed

but now my creaky bones

move far less supplely

and I don’t know when I’ll recover

from the onslaught of energy.

Connections


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Connections: April 25.17

Dear reader,

It appears I might be gone from my blog for a couple days,

so I will not be able to meet my goal of a poem a day

for National Poetry Month.

But Thursday is Poem-in-Your-Pocket Day and

even though I haven’t been able to make my usual preparations for it,

I want to be sure you all have poems for your pockets,

so here is one of my favorites.

It won’t take long for you to write it down

and put it in your pocket

and slip it into the pocket of someone else

maybe.

THE MIRACLE OF SPRING

We glibly talk

of nature’s laws,

but do things have

a natural cause?

Black earth becoming

yellow crocus

is undiluted

hocus-pocus.

— Piet Hein

Wishing you all poems for your pockets

and for the pockets of all you love!

Connections


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Connections: April 20.17

Cold recurring thought

from which there’s no escape:

is this what it all comes down to —

bubble wrap and tape?

Is this how I preserve

bits of family lore?

I must insist on NO:

that’s what my words are for.

Wrapping family hand-me-downs

in paragraphs and pages

is how we bubble-wrap

our stories for the ages.

Who cares? you ask. Who’s going to read?

Oh, someone will, somewhere —

a curious, amused

incredulous distant heir.

The unknown genealogist

no matter he or she

doubtless brilliant, charming

in fact, a lot like me.

And thus my thoughts run on

unburdening shelves and drawers

caught between the memories

and the unknowable encores.

Connections