More writing. Poems, scenes, thoughts…let’s hear your words.

The End of the Day

It’s time to come in, but we don’t,

even though Mom’s voice hollers, “Supper!”

We’re invisible with one tree for you; one for me.

We know our territory, our hideouts, the land,

every animal hole in the low grass, every baby tree struggling in the high.

Dad’s not home yet so we don’t move. My stomach rumbles. 

I bet it’s leftover spaghetti tonight.

I bet I can race you back to the house and leave you in my dust.

I bet tomorrow we’ll have rain, but then I know better than to hope.

Things shift around, even the ground blows away.

Dad’s late again.  Mom hasn’t called a second time.

Maybe I’ll live here now.  Under my maple tree.

I’m Writing; You’re Writing. Please post. Here’s mine:

Your Burrito Order

I’m sitting at the bar in Moja Rosa’s, waiting for my burrito order.

Egg Harbor is quiet; it’s still early on a Friday night.

Geese flew overhead in their uneven V when I stepped out of the car.

The November cold rose off the blacktop while I searched for the right door.

                  Poems showing places can be appealing if they happen to be about where you live,

                  but it does help when a human being appears and waves at you.

                  That’s me.  Perhaps we shall meet.

I’m still here sitting at the bar in Moja Rosa’s

waiting on my burrito order.

I’m sipping scotch and ignoring football reruns on big screen TVs

while I scribble these words on the back of my grocery list.

                  And you may be idly flipping through the pages of your mail.

                  A newspaper, magazines, and catalogues lie in a pile on your counter.

                  Hey!  There’s a chance something will grab your eye.

                  Maybe there will be a short poem about a burrito order.

You read,

constructing images and ideas from the words.

And, with a slight inhale, you experience what we all seek–

a spontaneous lifting of the heart

as you sit at the bar in Moja Rosa’s waiting for your burrito order.

Your Turn….

Non sense

Non sense is a game I play with my eleven year old grandson, Max. It consists of a duel between the two of us to see who can come up with the most interesting nonsense. We try out a totally meaningless sentence to one another to see who can come up with the. best ones. Such as:

Me: My kumquat rests inside an office cubical under the ocean, lying on a burgundy velvet couch munching on a banana.

Max: Your sox have taken a vacation while whittling a wooden key that opens the magic reindeer horns.

I could go on, but I’d rather you jump in and inspire me and Max to see if we can top you.