Poetic Bloomings tradition

Shannon Sisters

Despite both having serious health issues,

Mom and Dad reached their golden anniversary.

Mom, looking lovely, graciously greeted her guests.

Dad didn’t know what the occasion was,

but he was happy to have cake and  ice cream.

Mom died six months later and Dad died

a little over two months after that.

We five girls, scattered from California

to Ohio, made the trek twice to Pennsylvania

for the funerals. Through that experience,

we realized we might never get together again,

unless it was intentional. So we established

our every-other-year Shannon family reunion,

which we’d take turns making arrangements.

We’ve toured Mesa Verde in Colorado,

explored Canyon Lands in Utah,

had an extended family reunion in Pennsylvania,

swam and picnicked at the beach in Lake Erie,

rode pedal cars in Santa Barbara, California,

hiked in South Dakota, and this year, we plan

to watch whales in Friday Harbor, Washington.

As we do the usual touristy stuff and barbeques,  

the traditional bean auction, sister’s night out

hand-crafted gift exchange and games of Canasta,

Scrabble, and Splendor, we keep the bond

tight which Mom and Dad encouraged.

When the twenty-some of us gather,

I think they’re smiling down on us.

Poetic Bloomings Haunting Poetic Asides death

Perspective

A bunch of us were sitting

in my college dorm room

telling each other spooky stories.

The room was dark except

for the eerie glow of my lava light,

making its globby forms 

one of the girls thought disgusting.

I was sprawled and comfy

on my roommate’s beanbag chair

holding my doll, made of cloth and yarn,  

which everyone thought was ugly,

except it was cute to me.

It really was ugly, though.

I told them about my grandma

during WWII who had two sons overseas,

my dad and his brother Bill.

One day, she was in the upstairs

of her house looking at Uncle Bill’s picture

when large black wings embraced her,

only for a moment.

I didn’t think the story particularly scary,

figuring it was just God’s heads-up

to Grandma since Uncle Bill was killed

a few days later. But apparently

one of the guys thought it unnerving,

because when I threw my rag doll at him

he went straight up like a rocket.

Poetic Bloomings Rebelliousness

Little Rebel

I credit my aunt for squelching

my rebelliousness early on.

As children, my cousins and I played

all over our country neighborhood.

A favorite place was in the creek

across from my cousins’ house.

We liked to play Gilligan’s Island,

tornado warning when we kicked hard

splashing water everywhere,

and we built dams to make deep pools.

Usually we played all as a mob,

but this particular day I was alone.

I decided to work on the current dam.

I was only about six or seven.

My aunt spied me and told me

to not be in the creek alone and

to get out until one of the older kids came.

I was furious that she didn’t think I was

big enough to play without supervision.

I turned to her and hollered, “Rat! Rat! Rat!”

I expected her to get mad and yell back

or call my mom and tell on me,

but she laughed.

It was my first taste of rebelliousness

looking and feeling ridiculous.

Of course I stomped off,

which is what she wanted.

Poetic Bloomings Scariest Moment

Wolf Creek Pass

One holiday season, I was driving over Wolf Creek Pass

headed to Grandma’s in Wyoming in my 1983 Chevy Caprice

with my two small kids in the back.

An article in the local paper declared Wolf Creek Pass

the most dangerous pass in Colorado,

but that’s arguable compared to Red Mountain Pass.

Wolf Creek was the subject of C. W. McCall’s 1975 song

that described it as “37 miles o’ hell.”

That wouldn’t be my description exactly,

because I’ve driven over it many times.

Regardless, Wolf Creek Pass has many hairpin turns,

runaway truck ramps and cliffs with heart-stopping drop-offs.

More often than not, it’s snowing as it was that day.

My motto for driving that old car up the pass was,

“Going forward is all that matters!”

As we crept up the side of the mountain in dreary skies,

falling snow, and slush that built up on the tires,

we were almost to the summit when the radiator hose blew.

I gingerly backed up toward a wide spot

 of the roadside next to an unrailed drop off.

I planned to coast back down to the base

of the mountain where I had seen a business

and hoped to use their phone.

Looking back behind me I saw sky.

As I backed up, the car started sliding toward the cliff.

I thought, with terror, that the kids would go over first.

My heart hammered. I don’t think the kids realized

what was happening. The car stopped.

I breathed again. It was only two or three seconds,

but it was the scariest two or three seconds of my life.

I coasted down the mountain and used the phone as planned.

I got the car repaired and returned home.

The next day, we went the long way around through Utah.

Poetic Blooming After famous poet, Poetic Asides walk

Not quite the same tone as Thomas Moore’s Last Rose of Summer but I followed the form.

The Last Snow of Winter

T’was the last snow of winter

But happened in May

So I dared to defy it

And walked anyway

As it pelted my jacket

I bowed my head low

And it seemed to be laughing

As onward I’d go

So I chuckled ‘long with it

Enjoying the fun

Though in May I’d like better

To walk in the sun

Do not worry, spring weather

You’ll warm soon enough  

Your sweet flowers will flourish

Though now it is tough

The May snow was so thrilling

But I caught a chill

And it didn’t take long then

My health went downhill

And I took to much sneezin’

Grew cold and then hot

The last snow of the season

Been better if not

Poetic Bloomings Grandparents

An Introduction to My Grandparents

I grew up in hilly Pennsylvania countryside

close to both sets of grandparents.

Grandpa Shannon

Born nearby in the mountains

in what is now the State Game Lands.

Twelve years older than Grandma.

Spit tobacco. Tightly squeezed our hands.

Grew the best strawberries, lots of them.

Used a rake handle for a cane.

Once worked on the railroad. Liked to tease.

Dad used to tell the story of Grandpa

asking Dad what he wanted on his sandwich.

When Dad said, “Anything,”

Grandpa put Noxzema on it.

Grandma Shannon

Born in the hills of Kentucky.  

A large, kind woman who wore housedresses.

Her glasses magnified her eyes to look like an owl.

Liked to go to church and play the organ.

Had a big collie named Laddie.

My sisters were my baby sitters, but once

Grandma Shannon came to our house

to stay with me, while Mom was somewhere.

When Grandma did the dishes, I found a towel

for her. She wondered why Mom kept them

back in the hall closet. I didn’t know what to tell her.

I still don’t know why Mom kept them back there.

Pappap Hurst

Lively with a twinkle in his eye, whistled bob white.

Came up to visit in the mornings with candy in his pockets.

Took us on hayrides with his tractor pulling a cart.

Laughed like Santa, “Ho, ho, ho!”

A carpenter, he smelled of sawdust and hand lotion.

One time, I tagged along with him

when he went to a farm to buy a chicken.

They chopped its head off and it ran.

From then on, when someone used the phrase

“like a chicken with its head chopped off”

I knew exactly what they meant.

Pappap grew up on a cotton plantation in Alabama.

He and his brothers picked cotton.

One day, to make their quota,

they stuffed Pappap in one of the cotton bags.

They all got in trouble for that one.

Grandma Hurst

Grandma was born in England and now I

have the picture of her at three years old

when she came over to the United States.

Always sick, she sat in a big highbacked chair

like a throne. I played at her feet while Mom

helped Pappap take care of her.

One day ambulance people hauled

Grandma off on a stretcher.

I squeezed against the stair railing

for them to get by. Later, Dad held me up

to see her sleeping in her casket.

Pappap had a ladyfriend named Mrs. G.  

They never married, but he drove the fourteen miles

to her house every evening (almost till the day he died)

and didn’t come home till the middle of the night.

My aunt said no one should ever buy his car because

it would drive back and forth to Johnstown by itself.

I really  had it good to get to know my grandparents.

My kids only knew theirs from short trips to

Wyoming and Pennsylvania from Colorado,

except for a three-year period we moved back to PA.

Now single and in their 30’s, I’m still waiting

for them to get with the program.

poetic blooming Do over

Do Over

I wish I could have a do-over of July 21, 2017.

I thought I knew the signs of a stroke:

vision blurred, speech slurred

face drooping, muscle coordination off,

but I didn’t recognize it in my hubby.

And once I knew something was wrong,

I didn’t realize how important it was

to drop everything and get him to ER.

We first took our clients to day care

then stopped to cancel care on another.

Now, we try to make the best of a new normal.

Poetic Bloomings good thing, ballad

A Dream

My maiden name was Shannon and

I lived by Shannon Creek.

And ever since a little girl,

I wanted just one peek,

at River Shannon, Ireland way.

I’d love to see it flow

and stand upon its shady banks.

Oh, how I’d love to go!

And so it took some fifty years.

At last my dream came true!

My niece and I hiked by its banks,

took lots of pictures, too.

Some sheep by Shannon River—click!

A lazy, chewing cow.

A fierce swan mom and fluffy young

in Shannon River, wow!

Row boat on Shannon River—click!

Me sitting on a rock.

And lots of Megan smiling there.

And then came quite a shock.

A llama by the Shannon—click!

A curious big beast.

He followed mom and her two kids

who liked it not the least.

We made it round entire trail.

It was our only scheme.

Exhausted, thirsty, but content

that we had lived my dream.  

And then I heard of Shannon Falls.

So I have made a vow

to see Vancouver, Canada.

Guess where I’m heading now!

Poemsense, sonnet

From Country Living

Four sisters with loud squabbles and fun games.

And taxidermy: two squirrels and one deer,

yes, Blacky, Reddy, Whitey were their names.

Wild game and garden veggies  through the year.

In winter, sledded out back on steep hills.

In spring we biked and wished for summertime.

We’d splash in creeks. On stilts we’d take our spills.

In fall, we liked red maple trees to climb.

And most our relatives lived by us there.

A mile from town where everyone is known.

In August, they held an annual fair.

But we all moved so far away when grown.

And though that country time is in the past.

It left something in my heart that will last.

Praise Acrostic

Praise

P assionate for who You are

R espectful of Your Holiness

A mazed at Your grace

I nspired by Your creativity

S urprised by Your unconditional love

E ternally grateful for Your forgiveness

Poetic Bloomings Hardest Thing, Poetic Asides Praise

The Hardest Thing

What’s the hardest thing I’ve been through?

I could write about my dad having Alzheimer’s

or my mom’s amputation of her left leg.

I could write about my husband’s mental illness

and the time he lost our car with all our money

somewhere in Oklahoma, and we had two little kids.

I could write about my mother-in-law being attacked

by two chows, nearly killing her.

I could write about my son almost dying when he was eight.

I could write about my coat zipper breaking

in the middle of winter and I had no money

for a coat or even a zipper.

I could write about my brother-in-law

being crushed in a demolition accident

and seeing my nephew draped across the casket,

because no one was allowed to see the body.

I could write about the day my daughter suddenly left.

I could write about my husband having a stroke,

learning to walk again and having a second stroke

which turned him into an old man.

I could write about losing two special people in my life,

one who was with us fifteen years and the other ten.

But instead, I’ll write about my rock Jesus.

I can’t see Him or touch Him,

but to me He’s more solid than Memorial Rock,

as big as a house, that just tumbled down the mountain

about an hour’s drive from my home,

digging a wide trench through the highway.

He’s the one that got me through all of the above.

Poetic Blooming laughing, Poetic Asides Cyhydedd

What Makes Me Laugh

What makes me laugh? I have to think.

Sometimes it’s something out of sync.

Or like an imp, sneaks up on you,

surprise will make me laugh on cue.         

A funny thought a twist of words,

I like to laugh at the absurd.

Or slap stick act in unplanned way,

a fall, a trip—awkward ballet.

Sometimes I giggle all alone

and friends all wonder what I’ve done.

At times when all things go awry

I find the funny, so I won’t cry.

Poetic Bloomings no prompt

The Oil Lamp

The oil lamp upon my fridge

Mom used to take the kerosene

Applied it to my open cuts

And it would heal me quick and clean

Mom used to take the kerosene

And while she dabbed me she would say

The lamp was old, from her dad’s side

It came from Alabama way

Applied it to my open cuts

So tenderly in my bedroom

The old lamp brings back memories

In storms, when lit, would chase the gloom

And it would heal me quick and clean

Yes, kerosene would do the trick

But now the lamp stands empty there

It doesn’t even have a wick

Poetic Asides waste

Dear Mother-in-law

You taught your son well, lessons

you learned from The Great Depression.

I’ve been married to him forty years.

and he’s starting to not feel uptight

when I throw away a salad dressing bottle

without rinsing to get the last drop out,

a serving of vegetables or moldy cheese.

We may have saved money, over the years

but we teetered on the edge of sanity, at times,

spending more time, effort and energy

than a left-over bologna sandwich was worth.

Poetic Bloomings summer

Colorado Reunion Trip

In summer time we hit the road

The car is packed with heavy load

We head for our short-term abode

Our past reunions turned out great

And so we all anticipate

Let’s move along and not be late

The past four weeks seemed to have slowed

The plans we have inside our head

To swim and hike till we feel dead

While some would like to stay in bed

Enjoy the trip is our firm code

The sun is hot, the sky is blue

The trees are green, the grasses too

Anticipating things we’ll do

Avoid the pass ‘cause it just snowed