Poetry is the kind of writing that leaves an aftertaste.
Not a nasty aspartame tongue coat like a cheap diet soda,
But sweet like the kiss of your love after they sucked on a cherry Jolly Rancher.
Poetry lingers on the mind for days, altering the way every breakfast, lunch and dinner tastes.
Poetry is the memory of fine wine warm and expanding.
Poetry is dessert savored, and not eaten all at once with gluttonous abandon, but one small spoonful at a time.
Poetry is the aftertaste lingering in our mind, behind our eyes.
#poetrymonth
Renegade Renaissance Radiance Rosebud
Sometimes we still dream of you,
In the rose garden.
Wrapped in honor,
Clothed in deep dignity.
A beacon in the tough times,
And impervious to the gutter noise.
With quiet humanness,
You lead us to
Our better selves.
With tears we watched you go,
And the horror grow.
Is this our penitence?
How do we right this ship,
O’ Captain,
My Captian?
To Do List for Life
Sipping slow steeped beans on the porch,
Before I
Go for a walk,
Passed the garden I’ve tended.
Before I
spend the afternoon
Lazy words falling
from my paddles into the lake.
Before I
Jump in the car
and touch a breeze in no where
Before I
Make the call
to ask how you have been.
Before I
Stop by to check
on those I love longest.
Before I
finish my book,
Or my other book,
After a bit of poetry reading.
Before I
Sit in the coffeeshop
and listen to the world go by.
Before I
Cut and cook
something fancy by the book.
Before I
Invite you to come over
and paint with me.
Before I
Fly a kite
Over a field where I lay
and count the stars.
Before I
Perfect the loop and stitch.
Before I
Forget to live.
Once in a Blue Moon
Once in a Blue Moon
I can’t sleep
And my body aches
From carrying the weight of me,
And my mind wanders
In the dark and quiet.
You tell me that you are not snoring
But only moments ago your rumble
Was down my back and in my hair.
I get up to write.
I am a million miles into the sky
And some how still firmly planted here.
So many things I want to do,
To see,
To know.
Projects near complete,
Wait on the tips of my fingers.
What is it that stops me?
In the small hours,
With no distraction.
Fear.
Fear of failure.
Fear of rejection.
Fear of vulnerability.
I don’t care what you think of me –
As a person –
But my work,
That is another story all together.
A sword of criticism
For which I have no defense.
Out in the world I am fearless and open,
But here in the mirror of Blue Moon
I am fleshy and soft.
Poem 14 – April 14 2017
3 Poems or 5 Minutes, Whichever Comes First
Listening to the old men,
Their grizzled tones and empty saber rattling, times past and times to come.
Listening to the young men,
Their cadence fast as race horses- s l o w, let us savor it and remember it is our first time.
Listening to the old women,
With memories of gold and pain, and their black patten dancing in the rain.
Listening to the young women,
Discovering their anger and their passion, and their distaste for how the world sees them.
Listening to the old gender neutral poet,
Listen to their words of discovery and ages of pain and the secrets of yesteryear.
Listening to the young gender neutral poet,
Lamenting that nothing is changing, and the cages of distrust and hate have them feeling down.
Listening to the Hispanic, the Asian, the African American, the Jewish, the Poor, the Broken, the One Who is Always in Love,
They distill life and all its beauty,
Into 3 poems or 5 minutes, whichever comes first.
Poem 13 – April 13 2017
Ripple
Could the woman who paid for your groceries
Understand the ripple effect?
How your tears of joy
Would wash away so much that is wrong in the world?
Could she have known
How you needed a win to go to the next round?
She could not have realized that
Her gesture would shift your life.
Making you a kinder, happier soul.
And now you get to pay it forward.
The ripple sounds and bounces.
Poem 12 – April 12 2017
Warm Day
Driving on a warm day,
Tiny hands touch the breeze
In the car in front of me.
Ladies stroll sidewalks,
With painted toenails and bare arms.
The men in the 7-11 smell
Musky and salty from their hard work.
And Domino by Van Morrison is playing on the radio.
Poem 10 – April 10 2017
Old Dog Wobble
My old dog wobbles,
When he used to walk.
He hovers between sit and stand,
Back legs shaking as his hips give out.
My old dog never looks comfortable,
Nor does he smell good.
But sometimes when he runs in the back field I see him,
Just a puppy in the inside.
I hope someone loves me – when I get old and wobble.
Poem 9 – April 9 2017
Life In The Rear View Mirror
Stress stacks on shoulders
- Just drive
Work piles and tips
- Just drive
Bills keep taking
- Just drive
Sickness surrounds
- Just drive
Here is the key to escape
- Just drive
Leave all of it behind
- Just drive
It’s not so easy
- Just drive
But wait…
- Just drive
Poem 8 – April 8 2017
Napping on a Sunny Afternoon
What could be more pleasing,
Then slipping into bed,
Late in the afternoon,
Sun shinning,
Window open?
Surrounded by cool sheets,
Against warm limbs?
Quiet afternoon house,
Full of lunch?
Sprawling across the middle of the bed?
Dreaming, half sleeping, of romantic moments?
The perfect way to spend a sunny afternoon.
Christina L. Felton 