Poetic Blooming wrong turn

GPS

The GPS,

it is the best

to get from point A to point B.

But I confess,

it’s still a mess

with disoriented folks like me.

Poetic Blooming Poetic Exercise

Step by Step

I’m climbing up this mountain of my life

Some days contain a spicy scent, some bland

Some action-packed and others not so much

A quiet walk along a lake of dreams

The power of light laughter among friends

The gentle strength of a loved-one’s embrace

A song that serenades me deep within

I find that fences keep me on the path

With each new year I only take next steps

A giant mountain top reached bit by bit

Poetic Bloomings hobbies

Hobbies

Being well rounded applies to more than my physique.

I have a plethora of hobbies I tend to each week.

Jigsaw puzzles to remind me to take one task at a time.

Writing stories, for adults and kids, and poems that may rhyme.

Drawing and painting in mostly acrylic.

To paint Plein Air, to me, is idyllic.

I’m always itching to travel to somewhere new.

The places I don’t want to go, truly are few.

I love to read novels, poems, and memoirs galore,

And to browse used book shops to see what’s in store.

I enjoy hiking mountain trails till I can barely move.

At times I dance when getting in the groove.

I’m learning to play the ukulele and can play the Hokey Pokey.

I like to sing around the campfire even if it’s smoky.

Kayaking in the lake or bay always is a thrill.

And riding bikes, I enjoy, especially downhill.

I like to crochet, mostly blankies for newborns.

And to brush out alpacas before they are shorn.

I took a photography class and love snapping photos.

I like to go snow-shoeing whenever it snows.

As you can tell, I can go on and on.

But I best get to bed because I’m heading west at dawn.

PB PEOD favorite subject

Math and Literature

All through school, math and literature

became my equally favorite subjects.

I perceived math as puzzles, for fun.

Only, when it came to applying algebra,

trigonometry, geometry and calculus,

I was fairly clueless. When was the last

time I worked an algebra problem?

Like math, I loved literature and read all

the stories before being assigned them.

The difference is that literature has become

important to me, an integral part of who I am.

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.