Tag Archives: Denver

Orange Cough Syrup

by

In the basement of Woolworth’s 5 & Dime,
my fingers trace the shape of a white glazed horse,
pink feathered mane, rose rhinestones glued
to fuchsia felted pillion, gold rope bridled.
A perfect foal. My rider’s dream
on Sixteenth Street and Champa.

When I was seven the Saturday bus delivered me
from Gus’ Gas Station. Past the Platte River where
industry’s waste was shlepped downstream.
Over a bridge to dodge tracks of trains.
Then ousted me onto the one way streets
of Downtown Denver.

The Paramount Theater, my first stop,
a darkened cavern with closing credits
lighting my way. I always was quick to grab
a left center seat before the next show.

At movie’s end, a stroll past windows dressed,
The Denver Dry’s and Nuesetter’s dolls, all
perfect women in pill box hats and pearls.
Endpoint – my soda fountain finale.

Mother gave me ‘a little extra,’ a treat to buy
the pony enchanted within my dreams.
My choices, each lined up next to the other,
in colors matching dispositions unaltered,
blue was for boys. Yellow too bright.
Purple only given slight consideration.
Orange, the flavor of my winter cough syrup.
And red annoyingly sat on my best friend’s dresser.

I wonder if I, too, am just a category on a Woolworth
shelf? What I do, what I say never altered. One type
to be counted on, always the same without fail?
Am I only understood because I am pink,
never more than a Woolworth tchotcke?

I want to believe God is more creative than that.

I want to believe I am more, not bred to fill one slot
on a five and dime shelf just to be easy for others.

I like to think I can be orange one day,
even if I don’t like orange cough syrup.

I like to think God takes much delight in me
as I hand two dollars and fifty cents plus tax
to the cashier for the red one, the color
of tiny cinnamon dots that stain as they melt
in my fist on summer vacation.

 

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Author’s Note:

Sonnets. Oh.

I was lucky to take a quick class on sonnet writing this past weekend at Lighthouse Writer’s Workshop. It was taught by Kim Addonizio. She was wonderful. I was inspired…again.

Oh, I try and try to work with poetic forms. I know I will grow as a writer if I stay focused and try. I try. And fail miserably. It just does not make sense to me.

My dear friend who attended the workshop with me suggested I steep myself in reading one form for a while and I will begin to understand. This is the plan. A book of contemporary sonnets.

The above poem is NOT a sonnet, or even tries to be. It is, however, inspired from a book gifted to me by my dear friend: The Poet’s Companion – A Guide to the Pleasure of Writing Poetry by Kim Addonizio and Dorianne Laux.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Almanac Questionnaire.end

by

Day Twenty Two
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Big Blue Bear

Sunday worship, a custom

child with hat and white gloves, black patent shoes
kneeling, hands folded, head bowed in supplication

guitars, women nearer the altar, kiss of peace

a pause, a long time gone

new words for old prayers, re-imaging Christ

no longer defined by Sunday or its tired formBigBlueBear

In reverence of Redwood architecture
joining air to earth to that which lies beneath
I stand in awe of your strength
pay homage to your constancy

Three minutes down the city banded
alleyway, a wall to halt my vagrancy,
you press me to change my viewpoint,
look up instead of down, past high rise windows
my eyes ascend to glimpse a peek of sky where
buildings join air to earth
to that which lies beneath
In observance I discover
You are also here

Outside my glazed glass frame
a tree bows in reverence under snow,
crow, owl and squirrel, bees and spiders
await their spring ritual
Tree, oh Tree, you brush my face
in morning hello
tap my window in icy storm
wear that which I cannot control,
innocent release to what Is,
you welcome me to journey
enraptured I bow to You

Lilacs, lavender, iris
purple flora scenting air
fill my lungs with song
I chant Your being

In weep of rain,
I receive your indulgence
wash away quotidian dust
rain, oh, rain
a baptism of comfort issued
Your lullaby and caress

I fear of being homeless,
without a house to cover my form.
But You are home within my being,
a house not of cards to collapse
with slightest breath
but Spirit filled dwelling
where I rest and cry, sleep and love,
You place yourself within
to walk with me in holy sanctuary
all the days of my life

Leo was there to welcome him home,
a scrap from a letter, condolences from Pam
angel doggie card in remembrance of Bremen
canidae, anubis, golden wolf,
protector of graves and cemeteries
I celebrate your unwavering devotion
Dog and God

Magdalene, a most notable person,
not whore who washed his feet,
that image only for those who boast
of saving souls, condemning sinners,
I know you as woman of understanding
the one who saw, the one who loved
the one who believed
I praise your grace

I am not the Big Blue Bear
peering into the great glass cave
hoping to be welcomed into
a walled-in temple, a postcard
perfect invitation to entice me
into a rigid model of salvation,
I choose to step aside,
turn around to join those in dance
under clear blue sky, each a unique
expression of You reveling in
your liturgy welcoming to all,
your holy sacrament to make us One

There is no conspiracy to
make me think I am Beloved,
I am
It is maitri,
through my bewilderment,
I find compassion
In disorientation, harmony,
with my befuddlement,
I am re-written, turned,
and in gratitude I accept me
I am Yours eternally

 

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Author’s Note:

Click for how this poem came to be!

What I’ve used to create this piece:
Almanac Questionnaire
Weather: rain
Flora: lilacs, lavender, iris
Architecture: Redwoods
Customs: Sunday Worship
Mammals/reptiles/fish:
Childhood dream:
Found on the Street:
Export:
Graffiti:
Lover:
Conspiracy: not being beloved
Dress:
Hometown memory:
Notable person: Mary Magdalene
Outside your window, you find: my Tree
Today’s news headline:
Scrap from a letter: Condolence card for Bremen from Pam
Animal from a myth:
Story read to children at night:
You walk three minutes down an alley and you find: Wall
You walk to the border and hear:
What you fear: Being houseless
Picture on your city’s postcard: Big Blue Bear

Petty Blues

by

Thunder snow rattles my senses
fragile flakes exit from angry clouds
weaving into pretentious city exhalation

On a day where sun was bright
and took its leave, winter’s chill
slid over mountain rim to prairie plain

Thunder breaking through gelid wisps
manifests
takes me off balance

A synoptic storm of power and gentleness
Eternal Purity and Lionheart Will
enfolds my existence into relinquishment

A remembrancer not to hold certain
or rest in piety
but sever the fetters of petty blues
and stand in awe of Divine Exposition

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Author’s Note:

Today it was 65 degrees in Denver in mid-December. Tomorrow the snow arrives.