Time runs swift and sure stealing away the one thing I want to hold onto
Dust swirls behind as the wheels spin faster going in the wrong direction
days and nights alone don't bring the dream any closer to reality
only a different set of wheels traveling slowly bring me closer to you

ok, ok, I know. But I miss my hubby and don't want to live in separate places yet again. but I supposde that eventually I will have a family back together again.

We are currently in Dothan, AL. A bit like Valdosta. Not much to do on the outside, but nowhere is really far away. We just drove to Panama City, didn't do much there either LOL Did some shopping for the boys, I got books and a puzzle.

Of course it was no surprise to hubby that when stopped for lunch, I did not enjoy what I had. But I am proud of myself, I did not complain. We have many places that I will not go to eat at because I found fault with food or service. Oh, well.

Going to dinner tonight, son will be 17 next week, hopefully my food will be good or this could turn into a bad weekend.

Thesis

Wrestling with words,
mine and others'
Research read and reread
Deadlines have come and gone
The overwhelming veil of self-doubt
surrounds me like a paralyzing mist
on a dark moonless night.
No sense of direction.
Is up really up or
is it down?
What is right and
what is wrong?
Is anything really wrong?
Or just not right for the moment.

Poetry for the Masses

I would have to say reading the poems posted before mine certainly inspired my effort. I hope everyone enjoys this short piece. It's about all I have time for these days. Heather has been gone since tuesday, and I have been mr. mom. Makes me appreciate her even more. Hope everyone is doing great. I am hoping to be finished with my Spec. by the end of the semester, but it's going to take more work then I think I am capable of! All prayers will gladly be appreciated.

“Ode to an American Coffee Mug”

Holding my coffee, my cream, my sugar
Like a caring mother holds her child.
Caressing its creamy bitter sweet goodness like a lover.
Keeping hot, the liquid soul that makes you worthy of invention
Oh coffee mug, wake me with your caffeine kisses
And warm my body with your burning love
Scorch my tongue and make me say “DAMN”
As I come back for more.

Ode to Caffeine

I rush to Enmark,
eager for you,
impatiently waiting for other customers
to finish with you.

You share your favors too indiscriminately,
requiring only sixty-three cents from strangers.

You snap me into alertness every morning,
filling my body with energy
and artificial sweeteners
and French vanilla cream
(those French!).

I sip you slowly,
drawing out the moment,
avoiding the papers on my desk,
the journals on the floor,
the books to read,
the letters to write,
escaping into French decadence with you,
my morning companion.

You slide into my mouth,
taunting me with the last drop,
reminding me it's time to leave you
and return to work.
Adieu, caffeine,
until tomorrow.

This is Just to Say

This is Just to Say

in homage to William Carlos Williams

and for Wes

I have eaten
the Oreo Candy Bites
I found
in the kitchen drawer

and which you were probably saving
for an after-dinner snack
after your long day
of being Valdosta's Hottest Photographer

Forgive me
they were drenched in chocolate--
so sweet
and so decadent

Ode to My Tongue

O soft, pink organ,
Squirming in my mouth,
Sliding in and out of the tiny crevice
Between the layers of chocolate cake.

You taste the tantalizing juices
rushing into my mouth
As I drink
a frozen margarita

Tongue you are a glorious thing
Giving me pleasure and ecstasy
Filling each day with excitement
Causing me to tremble
With every new food and drink.

Ok, it sucks! But, I've always been one of those junior high humor people that thought poems that make you think dirty, and then make you feel silly for thinking dirty, were great. I love to read poetry, but I've never been any good at writing it. I can handle forms, and never stray far from them in my classroom. I've always been sympathetic to that kid that just can't write poetry. It's like grading someone on how well they decorate their house. Some people have that creative gene, others don't. I obviously don't. But I've got a sad sense of humor to keep me going, so all is well!

Write Night: Poetry

Okay, is it ironic that when I saw tonight's prompt that I groaned? What does that tell you about me and poetry? Obviously, we are not compatible. I have always viewed writing poems like writing good jokes. Very few people are good at writing either.

But with Valentine's Day looming, my mind wanders to the what I consider to the the ulitmate love poem, e.e. cumming's "somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond." Even this heartless cynic is powerless to cumming's passion.

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near
your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose
or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the colour of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing
(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands
-- e. e. cummings

Write Night: Poetry

Perhaps tonight for Write Night, we'll think about poetry, about the poems we love, the poems we hate, the poems we've written, the ones we've yet to write. We can tell stories about writing poems (or not writing poems), about the teachers who inspired us to experiment with poetry, the teachers who stifled our creativity, the poems our students have written that mattered, the poetry lessons gone wrong. Or, as always, we can completely ignore the prompt and write whatever we want. Below, I've included some quick poetry forms for people who may want to play with the poetry. Consider posting your own favorite poetry forms or prompts. And remember the prompts we used in the Summer Institute. We re-wrote fairy tales as poems from the perspective of a character. We re-told stories. Loosen up, and let's plan on having some fun with poetry. Or not.

Apology poem: Write an insincere apology along the lines of William Carlos Williams's "This is Just to Say"

Biopoem form: (Consider writing this form about other people)
Line 1: first name
Line 2: four traits that describe you
Line 3: brother/sister/son/daughter/husband/wife of . . .
Line 4: lover of . . . (name three people or ideas)
Line 5: who feels . . . (three feelings)
Line 6: who fears . . . (three items)
Line 7: who would like to see . . . (three items)
Line 8: resident of . . . (city and state)
Line 9: Last name only

Dramatic Monologue: Write from the perspective of a particular character, perhaps another teacher or an administrator or a student or a significant other.

Haiku form: A three-line poem, usually focused on nature, with a five/seven/five syllable count.

Limerick: A five-line poem, usually funny, sometimes bawdy, with an AABBA rhyme scheme.

Ode: Consider writing an ode to a body part or to food or to something not typically praised.

Pantoum Form
a First line
b Second line
c Third line
d Fourth line
b Second line
e Fifth line
d Fourth line
f Sixth line
e Fifth line
c Third line
f Sixth line
a First line

Years Ago: Write a poem that focuses on your life (or something else) in five year increments.

Deer Hunting

While most of you were eating a wonderful lunch and exchanging stories at the anthology party, I was deer hunting. I'm not sure you will remember, but that Saturday was wet and rainy. The children and I were still in our pajamas, drawing at the dinning room table when I received the call from Donna. It was 12:06 when she called to encourage me to attend the anthology party in Naylor. I had given up on going because I didn't realize you could take children and Alan, who is retired and usually is home all the time, had to work that Saturday administering the SAT.

After I hung up the phone, I told the children we were going on an adventure. We all scurried to get dressed and were out the door in 3o minutes. That's when the trouble began.

Getting in the car, should be a simple task. For some reason, that morning it wasn't. Right as we got to the car, Andy started screaming that he wanted "Fluflee." For those of you who don't have 5 year olds, Fluflee is that part of childhood young children often refuse to part with--the security blanket. Fluflee is a ragged blue/pink dog that has been at Andy's side since babydom.
Usually, Andy is just content to sleep with Fluflee, but for some reason this morning, Andy simply refused to go any farther without his dog. That's when I should have given up, but of course, I didn't.

After an extensive 15 minute search, we found Fluflee. We went back to the car when Allie suddenly started screaming that she was hungary. While I was trying to reason with her, Andy decided to slam his hand in the door. Now that wasn't an easy task, since we have atomatic doors, but somehow he managed.

Since there was no blood, just tears, I decided to forge on--like the pioneer Mom I'm really not. So, off we went to the bakery. I knew I'd be a little late, but I could still see everyone. Right as we turned in the bakery, what to my wondering eyes should appear, but my daugher and son-in-law. They went into the bakery with us and I selected a cheesecake with fresh strawberries on top, while everyone else selected cookies in protest of the injustice of not getting cheesecake.

Anna said she'd be glad to watch the kids while I went to the party. I thought my luck was chanaging. So, I gleefully gave her custody of the kids for the day and began on my merry way when my cell phone started ringing. It was a friend of mine who wanted to meet with me about some ideas she had combinging her art and my writing. We decided that it would be fun if she went along, so I did a quick detour to her house, only to encounter the longest train in the history of the world.

Of course, we were now very late, so we thought we'd make up time on the backroad. As we slammed dead center into the deer, going 60 mph, I thought, "This was a dumb idea." The deer died, my car died, but the cheesecake survived. It was sitting on the bakeseat and it never even budged! It was a good thing, too because it gave us something to do while waiting on the wrecker, which broke down on the way to get us. So, while you were at the anthology party, I was somewhere between Waycross and Lake City hunting my first deer.