Midnight Call

I fumbled
across the bed;
clutching,
cradling,
hugging
the phone
close to my ear;
tingling
with excitement.
It would be love
now,
free;
no more
love affair.
His voice,
low and intense,
rushed at me.
IMissYou
IWantToHoldYou
ILoveYou.
A question
and a pause.
I can’t leave her yet.
The phone turned to stone
and a river
tumbled me away.

Prompts: Adele Kenny for phone poems and Three Word Wednesday for affair, expectation and free.

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When Somebody Loves You

When somebody loves you
the shadows
of the girl
with thick black-rimmed glasses
and dark shaggy hair
(a failed Goldie Hawn
— not even blond)
disappear.
You emerge
beautiful
with glowing green eyes,
your long legs,
bronzed by the sun,
leave the pixie
behind.

Prompts: Adele Kenny for the theme of shadows.  Carry on Tuesday for writing a poem with the the opening line “When somebody loves you.”

You Are My Home

I remember being nineteen;
stretched out on the seat
of your police car,
our love sweeter
than the smell of ripe
strawberries
rising on the night time breeze.

I remember re-uniting
when I was thirty-eight;
waves crashing on the rocks
while you crushed me
to you
in the ice plant covered dunes.

And now at fifty-two
I curl next to you
in the comfortable cushion
of our bed.
You pull me close
and my body remembers
everything.

Prompts: Adele’s prompt to write about “where the journey takes you” and the Trifecta prompt of the word “home.”

The Swimmer

A wayward glance
can settle the race.
That — or a stroke that slips
sideways.
Pull hard and push
the water into ripples
behind you.
Channel energy
like a springtime
snow-melt swollen
river; it’s water
falling
in a rough and robust
frenzy.
Attack the turns, curl
into a ball and flip
like a fish.
Become a strange blend
of porpoise and eel.
Revel in the sublime strength
of your life.

Prompts: Wordle 67 and Adele Kenney’s challenge to write about a sport.

People Change

When we were kids
we cantered imaginary horses
on the playground,
explored abandoned lemon groves
and newly framed houses.

When we were teens
we jumped over logs on borrowed horses.
We threw ourselves,
cold and shaking
from diving through the waves,
on sandy towels
and tanned our salty skin.

When I was older,
I scrubbed the floors,
bathed the baby,
and waited for her visit.
She never came.

Years later we met;
husbands and children in tow.
We circled each other like cats;
–her claws were out —
she smiled with her lips
while she cut me with her tongue.

Prompts: Poetic Bloomings #65 “Betrayed” and Adele Kenny’s prompt on friendship.

Walking Home from School

You were so tough,
so cool,
popping wheelies
on your bikes.
I was easy prey —
a girl
with shapeless hair,
carrying a viola case
with her arms full
of books.

I hope you choked
on the spit
you flung at me.
I was lanky
with no budding breasts
or girlish curves.
You pedaled close
and crowed
Can’t tell if it’s a boy or a girl!
Spit your venom
on my face
-dripping
off my glasses-
then sped away.

When you pedaled off,
shrieking with laughter,
I hope your tire hit gravel,
locked and slid;
that you got road rash
on your face,
grape juice purple
and plum red,
pitted and pulverized.
I hope a crowd
of pretty girls
-with curves-
saw you wipe out
and laughed.

This was a difficult form for me: the invective poem.  It requires you to be angry, abusive, critical and if you can throw in a tirade — that’s a good thing.  I had to go back — way back — to junior high school to find a topic.  Unfortunately, it is a true story and one that scarred me deeply for a long time.  …and one that still carried anger.  Pop over to Adele’s blog to see what others did with this prompt.

The Silent Treatment

When we fight your lower lip pouts
like that baby picture hanging
in your mother’s house.

You not-quite-slam the door
and stomp to the barn.
(I should’ve said less)
I go to bed to escape the silence
that grows from inches
to feet
to miles.
(stupid, stubborn,
why won’t he come to bed?)

After midnight, you slide into our bed;
there is a cold-sheeted gap
between our turned backs.
I squeeze my eyes shut
and force regular breathing.

My cautious casual bump against you
(I’m sorry)
meets with stone
and I draw back; reconstruct
the gap.

In the morning, you reach for me
and I wiggle close,
sleeping snug in smiling silence.

Written from Adele’s prompt on Silence.