Prose Poetic Bloomings

 

Sunday Morning at Jake’s

 

Sometimes when the blank page seems intimidating and my thoughts whirl about me like clothes in a washing machine, I think KISS, keep it simple sweetheart. So I’ll write what’s around me. I’m sitting here, on a Sunday morning at 817 AM. I have 24 minutes until I have to get things ready to get my care givee up at 9:30. He’s a man with autism and requires full-time care. His parents are away at one of their grandchildren’s sporting events. I have to stay here, at their house, because Jake’s routine must be kept as strictly as possible. He likes me and likes to be at my home though I’m not sure why. He listens to the same movie every time he’s at my house, Santa Claus is Coming to Town. Today I drop him off at his church so I can go to mine. He has his own room at his church with a TV and movies. I’m not sure what he watches there. When he is given an opportunity to go to the restroom, he takes a detour and goes into the sanctuary and runs down the aisle right in the middle of Pastor’s sermon and gives him a high five. Pastor very congenially greets him and tells the congregation to say God bless Jake and they do and he runs back out and down to his room. But before I take him to church, I pick up my hubby who will be waiting for me to take him to church. So here as I write my poem in my friend’s beautiful home surrounded by her collections: I love Lucy, old lamps and dolls and decorative plates, photos, and a poem I wrote about prayer, I have just a few minutes, then I have to do everything I need to do in order and perfect timing to get to us all to church by 10:30.

Morning Praise

 I Will Sing

 

I will sing of Your love for me

You, Lord, are my stability

Without You I’d be adrift

Like a balloon in the wind

 

You are my sensibility

So I can sleep peacefully

And like a little child

I will rest in Your hand

joy Poetic Asides

 Read All About It

 

Eyes, eyebrows, cheeks, lips

Joy can be read on the face

Like morning headlines

Bold print, unmistakable

Shining brightly from the heart

Tanka Poetic Bloomings

 

Thank You

 

I’ve been home a while

Now have dreams of Germany

And Italy, too

But thank You God for today

And for my quiet hometown

solemn Poetic Asides

 

Why does an “n” end solemn

Odd as that chap named Gollum

I’ll concede to the “N”

With this poor poet’s pen

If that’s how they want to call ‘em.

descriptive winter words Poetic Bloomings

 Morning Routine

(descriptive words of snow)

 

White light awakens

a sleepy head from slumber.

Bare feet hit the cold floor.

Her walk is more a lumber.

 

She takes some time

for her morning shower.

Now all clean and fresh,

she applies some powder.

 

She tucks the bed’s blanket

neatly in place.

She dresses in jeans

and maybe some lace.

 

The planning begins,

the to-dos, come what may.

Will she walk a slippy slope?

What’s the scoop for the day?

 

She crunches a piece of toast

and an egg or two.

Washes it down with something wet.

And the morning routine is through.

Avoid Poetic Asides

 A Void

 

Your friend mistreated you.

You can avoid them.

But avoiding leaves a void.

Can you fill it with something better?

Or will it be the same thing

in a different package?

Will the void be a gaping hole—

like a missing manhole cover?

Perhaps working it out is the thing.