Everyday 11-30-22

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Every day, a to-do list, 
Every day, the same.

-- oh, maybe a doctor visit,
lunch with a friend, easy
to cross off once complete --

Every day, items complete.
even those added in order to
memorialize their completion.

And - every day - there is a line
that says "Write poem" which
she thinks might need to be
written in flashing neon to

wake. her. up. But

on his day, without forethought
the pen said this: "Writing Session."
and that, gentle reader, seemed
to make a difference. 

Today.

Thanks to Miz Quickly for a wonderful month of November prompts! I look forward to seeing the bunny again soon.









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Puzzled

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A life, a jigsaw in midair
one piece missing from the whole

the puzzle incomplete until
the space becomes the piece.


There's more to this somewhere but it's missing today unless, of course, it's not. Thanks to Miz Quickly for including "jigsaw" in her word list today, 11/25/22.










Poem Beginning with a Line from Barbara Crary

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Keeping a moment alive --
an oxymoron, not the 
"alive" part, but the "keeping."

It can't be held, or set aside
in a cage or gilded lockbox.
A moment is in movement, gone
before you extend your reach.

Now, a memory is (perhaps)
another thing, but ask me
about it again         tomorrow.


This draft is in response to a prompt from Miz Quickly on Thanksgiving Day, 2022. Happy memory-making!





Marking Time

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When I finally have time,
I will take the time 
to do whatever
      it is 
                     that I really want. 

I will make time 
                         to become my "best self,"
                         doing things I never had time for when I couldn't find
the currency to buy the time
I needed.

Just in time, I hear myself say,

"I'm here, right here, right now,"

                                                          and then I see my time is
                                                                                                                                     running out.

All that buying and spending and taking
and making, and still there's no time left.


I'm fascinated by all the verbs we use to express our relationship with time, none of which really make much sense given its abstract nature. Why Miz Q's 11/23/22 prompt brought me here is anyone's guess.





A Grateful Heart

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Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me. Remember,
in the craziness of This American Life,
to be grateful for the pounding of steps
on the treadmill, barely heard 
beneath the anthems of Taylor Swift, 
or the podcasts you savor here.

Be grateful, too, for earphones when
earbuds just don't fit. Listen, as
your aging body says, "Thank you,"
even now when every breath
is a gift from the unseen forces
keeping a moment alive.


This draft is a reminder to tap into gratitude, not. just this week but every week. Thanks to Miz Quickly for this 11/22/22 prompt.





Q

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Once again a gun, a young man aching
for a fight he could not win.
Judging others for their choices, no
not choices, but their lives, their life
blood spilled onto a dance floor for
one man's fear of choices he would not face.

If only we could find the grace to lie 
next to each other and look up 
at the stars. We are so very small,
and our differences even smaller.


This was written on the day after the nightclub shooting in Colorado Springs that left at least five people dead, as well as in response to a prompt from Miz Quickly on 11/20/22.





Golden Hour

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"Money doesn't grow on trees," my father 
always said. Yet here I am spending the
midst of November on a hillside again, 
the sunny day calling me outdoors where 
an aspen's gold coins float down to earth.

All I have to spend is time. Today, that is
more than enough.



This draft was written in response to the 11/19/22 prompt from Miz Quickly.





Hallucination

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The baby tumbled down the stairs
while I directed her fall.

Interior dialogue: just my luck --
thirty-five steps and afterwards,


crickets.


This was written in response to the 11/18/22 prompt from Miz Quickly.

[Lest you think I am a monster, the title here is everything.]





Aubade

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winter dawn's luster
burns bright through maple branches
cold consolation


Written in response to the 11/15/22 prompt from Miz Quickly.

Data Dump

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I've no idea how my mind works;
you'd think that I might, since the mind is 
mine, but ideas seem to appear 
whenever they want 
                   only to disappear 
                                                          without 
                                                                           a 
 

trace.


Draft written in response to the 11/14/22 prompt from Miz Quickly.