poetry

Ash

Sally20 Comments
Quercus2018, CC BY-SA 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0, via Wikimedia Commons

Yes, I am rooted, but a tree?
Hmm… let me see
I am
Ash

A baseball bat
That can
Smash

New ideas
In a
Flash

Remember the days of Buzzfeed quizzes?

Maybe they still exist, but I’m off Facebook and make only sporadic appearances on other social media. I no longer daily try to find out what Disney princess I am, or type of pizza, or variety of apple.

I think I’ve become more interested in real-life-me than Buzzfeed-me.

So when the Tanka Tuesday prompt was my spirit animal (see: Turtle), I almost didn’t do it. I’m glad I did. I learned that I am, in fact, very turtle-y.

This week, they asked what tree I am.

For what it’s worth, I am an Ash Tree. The stuff of baseball bats, hockey sticks, doors, floors, and stair treads.

Tough, yet flexible — maybe.

Enchanting? Hahahaha – no.

But there are few things I love more than smashing a new idea into a home run.

Poem type: Zeno — Syllable count: 8-4-2-1-4-2-1-4-2-1. Rhyme scheme: a-b-c-d-e-f-d-g-h-d

Travel

That Time I Went To Copenhagen

Sally5 Comments
Picture that inspired the post — What Do You See? #193

Red-eyes are the cheapest, you know
Flying through the night
Arriving thousands of miles away
But time gets scrambled up
Like eggs

The brain is scrambled, too
I have the address for the Air BnB
It looked easy
From the comfort of home
But it’s not
Especially when the map is swimming with words
Not in English
And I don’t know Danish
And I’m too tired to ask

I’m traveling with kids
Big kids
One 18, one 21
I’m still the mom
I should be able to figure this out
One gently takes the map from me
Leads the way
And we arrive

Blather

Ebenezer

Sally4 Comments

Yesterday I gathered a pile of rocks.

The idea came from a conversation that I had had the previous weekend. A friend came to visit. I can’t remember how the conversation turned to Myers-Briggs personality types, but it did.

I am an INTJ.

The first time I took the test — maybe in the 80s — I was off-the-scale Introvert, and overall INTJ. The introvert doesn’t bother me. I understand that. I TOTALLY need alone time.

It’s the rest of the personality that I haven’t learned to appreciate. To break it down, I is for introversion (opposite: extroversion), N is for Intuition (opposite: sensing), T is for Thinking (opposite: feeling), and J is for Judging (opposite: perceiving).

I’ve taken the test multiple times, spaced out over years and years. Always the same result — INTJ.

Famous INTJs: Elon Musk, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Lenin, Mark Zuckerberg, Ayn Rand, Jodi Foster, Hilary Clinton.

Ugh. Every time I look at a list of INTJs, I see overly-ambitious people that I wouldn’t want to have dinner with. (Okay — maybe I would like to have dinner with Jodi Foster.) That’s not really fair to them.

Some of my children are INTJs. I absolutely ADORE them and LOVE having dinner with them. They love to learn. They think outside the box. They come up with innovative solutions. It’s easy to see the positives in them.

In my conversation last weekend, my friend asked, “What are the good points of an INTJ?”

“You’re asking the wrong person,” I replied.

I knew that I should have an answer to that question.

Hence my pile of rocks.

I want to learn to embrace my INTJ-ness.

So I made two lists of INTJ attributes: one positive, or strengths; the other negative, or weaknesses.

  • Independent
  • Thirst for Knowledge
  • Strategic/Innovative Thinking
  • Dependability
  • Ambitious
  • Problem-solving
  • Self-confident
  • Arrogance
  • Perfectionism
  • Judgemental Attitude
  • Emotional Detachment
  • Resistance to Authority
  • Misanthropy (dislike of humans)
  • Overanalyzing

It’s scary how well they describe me. What I WANT to do is pair up positives and negatives, and then write each pairing on a rock.

For instance, I see Self-confidence being misread as Arrogance. They belong on the same rock.

When I was in high school, I remember overhearing someone say that I was “stuck-up” — aka arrogant. I knew arrogant girls. They sat in the lunch room and talked about everyone. They didn’t think, but they KNEW that they were better than the riff-raff that surrounded them.

I did not want to be part of that group so I sat with a bunch of boys and played card games at lunch.

I was quiet, and didn’t always join things, especially things the other girls did. I suppose that can be read as stuck-up. The truth was that I didn’t feel like I fit in. Self-confidence, I guess, allowed me to see that I didn’t fit in and told me that I didn’t have to change who I was. I wish I understood that better in those days.

I suppose that too much self-confidence CAN lead to arrogance. Someone may start actually believing that they are better than others. I don’t think that’s a trap I’ve fallen into. God help me if I have.

But here I go, blathering on, when I really wanted to ask for a little help. How would you pair up those strengths and weaknesses? Do I really need to pair them? Should I just write them?

I want my little pile of rocks to remind me to be my best me, not my worst.

poetry

Rootedness

Sally15 Comments

While walking on the village streets
Showing a friend the sights and eats
I was struck once more
At my very core
For this shore
My heart beats

In response to this week’s W3 prompt: Write a poem in any style about a place that evokes emotion (a place where you find poetry) I wanted to somehow address the rootedness I feel toward where I live.

This is home. This is home. This is home.

  • River Street
  • Summer day
  • The Columbarium
  • Going over the bridge

Trying another Welsh form: Clogyrnach

poetry

That Time I Got Bored Writing an Epic Tale/Poem

Sally7 Comments
What Do You See? prompt

You wish to wed my daughter, lad?
You’re not the first to ask!
I challenge you to prove your worth
By performing one small task —

’Tis straightforward but quite hard
(She’s my most precious bairn)
To win her you must bring to me
The red bird of Raigmore Cairn

The wee red bird, with magic song,
And feathers ruby red
Elusive as the unicorn
And more powerful, it’s said.

So I set off on this my quest
To far-off Raigmore Cairn
I battled dragons, dodged wizard’s spells,
My true love’s hand to earn

I rescued maidens trapped in towers
Hunted mighty stags
And on my journey shared my wealth
With beggars dressed in rags.

At Raigmore Cairn, I searched and searched
But could not find the bird
My spirit low, I knelt and wept
When suddenly I heard
The sweetest song that filled my soul
’twas Raigmore Cairn’s wee bird

By now, you’re getting bored, I’m sure
With this drivel-twaddle-tale
Let me skip up to the point
At which I finally fail

I caught the bird, I rode back home 
Fought dragons along the way
Rescued maidens, hunted stags
Blah-blah blah-blah blay

My true love’s castle rose into view
The red bird sang a hymn!
Until I saw the water there —
Alas! I cannot swim!

There are many things that I would do
To win my true love’s hand
But there’s just one contingency
I must stay dry on land!

the wee red bird of Raigmore Cairn

Actually, this is a close up a mosaic mural I saw in Virginia.

Do I really need to tell you that there is no wee red bird of Raigmore Cairn? I mean, there really is a place called Raigmore Cairn. Here’s a pic:

But I’ve never been there and know nothing about it.

All I could think when I saw that picture was about a knight who overcame all sorts of challenges on a quest but then couldn’t cross the final water obstacle.

#whatdoyousee

Blather · Life

About My Week

Sally6 Comments

Following up on a few recent posts —

First, the fawn. It most definitely is the time of year for fawns around here.

One of my co-workers has three doe-fawn pairs that frequent her yard. She has actually named them all. “Do you feed them?” I asked, marveling that she could recognize and differentiate these deer.

She admitted that she did. “I cut up apples for them,” she said, slightly embarrassed.

I thought about suggesting that she just put in some hosta. That seems to work at attracting them to my house. Honestly, I wish it didn’t.

But there is something delightful about those spindly-legged fawns.

The other day I was driving down the road and I saw a doe slowly walking across the street. I slowed right down. One deer usually means more deer.

A fawn leaped out behind her, skittered part way across, saw me and turned back. I was now at a complete stop.

I waited.

The doe waited on the other side.

He jumped out in the road again, but indecisiveness took over, and, again, skittered back to the side where he had started. I got my phone out to try to capture some of the drama.

Mama Doe took a little action. She ran back to her fawn, but he was heading into the road AGAIN. She leaped over him, down the gully, and was gone.

After a moment’s thought, he joined her.

I thought, Learn to be decisive. Indecision is literally going to kill you, my friend.

Second, lifeguarding. I’m still riding a bit of a high from passing the lifeguarding class.

I was talking to the Aquatics Director one day last week, and I said, “I may not be the strongest guard out there, but I will never hesitate to take action.”

I know this about myself. I think it’s generally a good ability. I don’t foolishly jump in, but I can pretty quickly come up with an emergency plan and implement it.

Case in point (not lifeguarding related) — yesterday morning, a member came out to the front desk to report a bat in the women’s locker room.

It wasn’t flying around; it was simply hanging out on outside of the door to the sauna, a warm abode.

Two staff women were already in the women’s locker room trying to clear the area so a male custodian could come in and solve the problem.

I asked for, and got, a container and a piece of cardboard. I took the container and placed it over the bat, trapping it inside. I opened the sauna door so I had access to both sides of the door. Then, I placed the cardboard on one, slide the container along the other side, and trapped the little bat inside. I carried it out and handed the container with the bat trapped inside to a custodian and off he went.

Problem solved.

Third, I’ve been paying attention to the birds on the wire.

Since the post the other day, and my abysmal attempt to snap my own photograph, I’ve been paying more attention.

Last night, I saw two mourning doves above me on the telephone wires.

Yes, wires plural.

One sat on one wire, the other perched on the parallel wire.

One was looking off into the field, the other looking at the back of its partner’s head.

I know I shouldn’t read too much into this. They are just some birds on a wire, after all. Still, it made me sad — because this is the state of too many human relationships. A gulf between. Looking in the same direction but not at the same thing.

And that’s about it.

This week I also cut some peonies and put them in my room,

and I snapped a shot of some roadside daisies.

Beauty abounds this time of year.

This stream-of-consciousness writing began with Linda Hill’s prompt “starts with ab-” and took a meandering route through some ab- words, mostly “about”.

poetry

On a Wire

Sally32 Comments

Five, six, seven on a wire
Whether to fly or stay, sway
With the breeze, watching the hawk
Soar and stalk mice on the brae

New word I learned this week: ekphrasis. It means “a literary description of or commentary on a visual work of art.”

The W3 prompt for this week was to write 1) an ekphrastic poem of no more than 15 lines inspired by the photo above, and 2) include the word “wire”.

I chose to have another go at the Awdl Gywydd form, a Welsh form with internal rhymes.

Then I tried to take my own photo of birds on a wire. Some days I see so many. Today, I spotted a lone red-winged blackbird.

Alzheimer's · dementia · poetry

Remember That Dress?

Sally6 Comments

My memory’s Rolodex spilled on the floor;
Once neatly categorized, now no more,
Like that drawer full of photographs dumped in the bin.
I’m so glad you rescued it. Now where to begin?

Did we live in this green house before the old farm?
Oh! There’s Grandma’s quilt — the one that was warm!
Remember this outfit? Remember that day
When you took Johnnie fishing and they all got away?

Look! Uncle Charlie! Where does he live now?
He’s been gone five years?! I’d forgotten somehow.
What about his fancy red car in this shot?
Of course I remember! You think I forgot?!

But who is this tall man holding a lad?
No! That’s NOT my son. You are quite mad.
My son’s in the backyard building a fort
Or playing soccer — he does love that sport

Oh, please help me sort these. I can’t do it alone.
Most of these faces are people we’ve known.
My memory’s slipping. Okay — it’s a mess!
But look at this photo! Remember that dress?

This is in response to Sadje’s “What Do You See” prompt. #Whatdoyousee

She posted the photo above, and this was the poem that grew out of it.

Blather · swimming

Saturday Blather on Lifeguarding

Sally15 Comments

The bruises are finally clearing up on my arms.

Last week if I had had to go to the Emergency Room for some unrelated something, I’m sure the staff would have taken one look at my arms and wondered if I was being abused. A few forearm bruises and major bruising on both upper arms from encounters with a rescue tube, a rescue board, and a backboard — all inflicted by teenagers uncomfortably grabbing hold of my arms to “rescue” me.

I was equally uncomfortable being the sixty-something year old taking a class with kids who could be my own kids or grandkids.

But I had set my sight on the goal, and doggone if I wasn’t going to achieve it.

The first week was awful. See last week’s post — A Full Week — which I probably should have called, “Whose Dumb Idea Was This?”

The second week was bad in a different way. On Monday, a man came in that I’ve been trying to talk into giving a talk for our seniors. I kind of want him to take me seriously, but there I was, taking a class with a 15 year old and a young 20-something.

And I was struggling.

Seriously, whose dumb idea was this?

On Tuesday, he came in again to swim. Dang.

And a few other people I knew. Dang again.

There’s literally no place to hide in a swimming pool.

I suppose I could just sink to the bottom, but then my classmates would be compelled to rescue me. Oh wait — I did that. That’s how I got bruised. (It was part of the class.)

The third night was the waterfront module and the class size went from three to ten — all teenagers except for the one twenty-something. And me.

I could feel the lap swimmers staring at me.

Ugh.

Yesterday, one of those lap swimmers came into my office with a membership question. He stared at me.

And stared.

How do you spell uncomfortable? B-E-I-N-G-S-T-A-R-E-D-A-T

Finally, he said, “Were you in the lifeguarding class the other night?”

“Um, yes,” I replied. “I was the old person.”

“That is such an inspiration,” he said. “It is good for the young people to see that.”

Whew. I felt slightly better.

Here’s the thing, though. I’ve taking the lifeguarding class a bunch of times. There are two times I am especially proud of my accomplishment: the first and the last.

The first time I took lifeguarding was 1978 at Syracuse University. I was a scrawny 115 lbs of nothing. The instructor was Doris Soladay, a tall lean woman with a confidence I wished I had.

In the intervening 45 years since I took that class, I have thought about her often.

Lifeguarding has changed. We no longer do the hair-carry. Rescue tubes were invented and became a required piece of equipment. Gloves — non-latex, or course — became required PPE along with the rescue mask. Yes, we used to do mouth-to-mouth literally mouth-to-mouth. Now there are bag-valve masks and AEDS. It has changed.

In 1978, for the final rescue scenarios, Doris Soladay paired us up with another student. She paired me with a football player. He was at least twice my weight and had no neck. I pulled her aside and asked that she pair me with someone a little closer to my size. I’ll never forget her answer.

“If you can rescue him, you can rescue anyone.”

She knew that I needed to build that confidence even more than the knowledge of how to rescue. Knowledge comes easy. Confidence, not so much.

I rescued him. I passed. And I was incredibly proud of myself.

The other night, when I passed again, I felt almost as proud.

And I whispered a little thank-you to Doris Soladay.

The bruises on my arms are badges of honor that will fade, but my sense of accomplishment will not.

Life · poetry

The Fawn

Sally19 Comments

I looked out and saw a fawn
On the lawn fleeing the road
Toothpick legs receiving weight
Then airborne! Smol greatness flowed

This is a Welsh poetic form: Awdl Gywydd. I liked it because it called for internal rhymes — but, good golly, it was hard! I have to say that I’m not happy with the poem, but I tried.

For the We’ave (W3) challenge, we were to “Write about the first wild creature that you see which inspires you on the day you write your poem.” #30DaysWild

Yesterday, I set out to watch for a wild creature. Almost daily, I see deer on my way to work — but, of course, this was not one of those days. It was rainy-ish, so everyone was staying in, I guess — even the squirrels!

After work, as usual, I fell asleep in the chair in the living room. The trials and tribulations of being old, you know. Suddenly, I was awakened by my daughter in the neighboring chair crying out, “Oh! Oh! Oh!”

I jumped up to see what she was looking at and barely caught a glimpse of a tiny fawn racing across the lawn. Where its mama was, I have no idea.

But I can still see those spindly little legs stretching forward, catching the body weight, and then stretching out again as the rear legs caught up. In the midst of each cycle, that little body was airborne.

Sidenote on the word “smol” — one of my kids uses this, and I thought it was just a misspelling. It turns out that it’s a word — it is internet slang for cutesy smallness, like puppies and kittens and, for my sake, fawns.