How Do I Love Thee?

How Do I Love Thee?
Let Me Count the Ways:

I love thee to the heights of the ceiling fan and skylight
and newspapers on the roof;
And depths of the carpet under-padding that cushions our feet.

I love thee to the lights you maintain
and the filters you replace,

To the birds you feed
and the computers you reboot;

To the steps you climb
and the pocketbook you guard;

To the garbage you tote
and the containers you recycle;

To the scents you disperse
and the aromas you emit;

And should you disappear again
I would mourn and pant and search you out

To hold and claim: “my man”
eternally!

Tip-Toe Through the Texts

Today I tip-toed through the texts,
Twinkle-dee and twinkle dum!

With my thumb and tongue on run,
Twinkle-dee and twinkle-dum.

I sent pix and kin sent some,
Twinkle-dee and twinkle-dum.

Text did stray; mistakes did play,
Twinkle-plea and twinkle-be.

Old and young still found the key,
Twinkle-please and thankle-we.

Who knew keyboards tiny keys could
Wankle-me and wonkle you?

Wonder words woosh wishes with
Twinkle-text and twankle’s best!
All rights.
Jeanne Poland

Dental Office from Outer Space

A Poem for Two Voices:

One:
In the office
is
a space chair
hygienist
and computer on pedestal.
Two:
(It does close-ups and enlargements!)
(It graphed my gums from 1 to 4; #4 being too tender)

One:
“Floss 3x a day
Gargle with baking soda.”
“Here’s a prescription for toothpaste.”
Two
“Here’s a sample of floss and toothpaste”

One:
“Six thousand dollars to replace old filings and crowns!”
Two:
“They’re too old.
See decay here below the crown!”

One:
“Wait! Eeeek!
Need to tweek
the budget!
And the dental plan.
Two:
Teeth are not my only asset!
Bites and bits both vie for time!
Each gets his share down here on earth
“So he gets his and I keep mine!

Jealousy Bites

My one year old brother’s on Grandpa’s wide lap,
With the catalog showing some fish.
I dart over there breathing fire’s green tongue
And plotting to wreck his sweet bliss.

Sidling as close and as snug as can be
I edge my teeth round his soft hand –
And bite it smart, smite it, swiftly I sneak
In that bite – bitter land

Of jealousy, rivalry, envy, to whit.
Claim me. Burn me. No!
I turn away! Say:
“Sorry” the first time today.

His tears dry before me,
He hugs me and smiles;
We clap and we sing and we go
From begrudge, to beware, to beguile!

From bliss – to bite – to kiss!

David Harrison’s Window

Here’s my Word of the Month poem, inspired by my plane rides to and from Honesdale.

The Window
by David L. Harrison

There’s something about looking out
an airplane window.
Do you feel it too?

Perhaps it’s the land drawn
like history’s checkerboard pages
recorded endlessly beyond
my horizon,

tree-fortified rivers shouldering
down valleys of least resistance,

Lilliputian towns –
miniature yards with droplet pools,
fans of ball diamonds,
ribbon streets –
like board games sliding
out of view, out of mind.

Something about looking out
an airplane window
makes me want to respond,
to write about . . .
what?

We land and once again
I forget
the question.

Dearest David:(Off your trapeze)
You were suspended
Now you’re grounded;
But words take flight
And fly to me:
Storks bring baby truths
To soothe and smoothe and schmooze.
Jeanne Poland

Review of a Panel @ Highlights Foundation: Poetry Workshop May 13-17, 2012

Review of a Panel @ Highlights Foundation: Poetry Workshop May 13-17, 2012
David Harrison — Rebecca Kai Dotlich — Eileen Spinelli

“Sometimes
I wish
I had a little fish.
Upon a dish.”
by David Harrison

“This was my first poem. My Mom was cooking fish in the kitchen.”

My first picture book was published in 1967. It was conceived while I climbed out of the shower and sounded something like this: “rat-a-tat-tat”, playing on my drum.” I sold it outright for $350 to Western Publishing. Later I learned to protect my rights.

“The older I get, the shorter my stuff becomes.”

But I am now a full-time writer from 6AM to 6PM M-F.

A variety of publishers cover my different venues. Right now, I’m juggling 12 projects. This is my passion.

Rebecca Kai Dotlich
began being interested in women’s magazines but while reading to her daughter, came to prefer: “moons, mice, dust and puddles.”
There was a time she arose at 4AM to write with spiders walking on her in the basement. Gloves warmed her hands.
After 10 years of rejections, a hand-written word reassured her: It said: “ALMOST” instead of “YOU SUCK”!
The editor of Humpty Dumpty needed recipes so Rebecca wrote a rhyming recipe!

“Listen”, she advises. “Adapt”

She sent in 8 poems on where animals sleep to Highlights. A year later, they asked for more poems.
Rebecca was on her way…

Eileen Spinelli
wanted to be Edna St Vincent Millay.
She wrote in pencil @ the kitchen table. Her invisible friend was Perseverance.
Never giving up her day job, she babysat, cooked and wrote between, honed her craft, maintained folders, gathered data, and wrote every day. Today she has a ring of editors who honor her style, and acknowledge the way her work rings true.
As a child, she played with paper dolls; today she combines imagination and memory in her work.
“Meander”, she says, “for hours”.You’ll create something that shines!

Hiccup

I jump. I sleep.
I wiggle-squiggle.

I knock. I growl
A belly jiggle.

I push. I shove.
I make you sick.

Then pop your belly
Jerk it quick!

You hold your breath
To box me in

“Til hot and tight
I grow so thin…

I disappear
And then…

Burst out the toes for who knows when!

Wheels

The blacktop called for white chalk
And yellow, pink and blue;
With pathways curving round and signs
That told us what to do.

We skated round in curves and spins
A roller skating dance
And banked to left and right again
To form a sporting chance.

The cars drove through; the trucks and vans
While drivers smiled and cheered.
And we performed a Circus Troupe
On wheels both safe and feared.

Herring

Herring
slips through current;
patterned silver scarf
with barnacles of white sweet teeth
that bite through threads:
cutting scales
that shimmer in the wet wild water.

Herring
hung on hook
to pickle
sparkle on the cutting board
in breakfast nook
’til teeth bite clean
the scaley skin
and tongues touch tangy tendon’s
heaving herring haunches

Junk

Weeds in the garden
Spam in the Mail;
Comments by bloggers
And mush in the pail.

What’s a gardener to do
With her rootings and vines?
Or a poet with mismatched
And sadly done rhymes?

Cast them in oceans
Sail them to sea;
Mulch them ’til daylight
Has squeezed them to be:

Dark greens, wailing moans,
Prickly pungent peat;
Squish it on the gloaming shores
“Til crabs convert to heat;

Warming sand and glowing kelp
Where newest creatures merge
To pulp the poison from the old
The junk to shred and purge.

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