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