Wild coyote
chasing small prey down the hill
locking eyes with me.
poetry
Haiku #43
Vibrant flora
elegant succulents
beauty in the bush
Haiku #42
Little pig from dough
just oozing with orange goo
unique custard bun
Writing Prompt
A few weeks ago, I attended Poets at Play and the proctor provided a writing prompt. I didn’t follow the prompt that day, but decided to try it out while I was relaxing at the beach the following day. I’ve listed both the prompt and my poem below 🙂
The Prompt:
Make a list of the following things and include them in your poem
- 3-4 colors
- 3-4 sounds
- 3-4 flavors
- 3-4 parts of the body
- 1 factual statement
- 1 command
- 1 thing you lost
- 1 particular question
- 1 abstract question
- several locations
- several objects
- 1-2 living creatures
- 2-3 kinesthetic adjectives
My Poem
I arrived at Seacliff Beach
in my metallic baby blue minivan,
dressed in a neon pink shirt,
a flapping lavender skirt,
and modern happy black sunglasses.
I can’t stop… dancing to the music.
Birds chirping in the sky,
dolphins swimming in the ocean.
The scent of smoked sausage
drifts in my nostrils
and I can’t stop
popping flaming hot
cheetos into my mouth.
My big toe caresses the sand.
I am writing a poem at the beach,
sitting in my camping chair,
tapping my knee cap
as visions of the past
drifts into mind.
“What time is the turkey done?”
my grandparents asked
over the loud hum
of the refrigerator
as I stood on the balcony
eating mint chocolate chip
ice cream,
watching the dog’s leash
get caught on the tree trunk.
A fly buzzed by
my ear lobe just then,
just like the time
at Levi’s Stadium.
I was so distracted,
I hit my funny bone
and dropped my nachos.
Nothing was as bad
as discovering bed bugs
in our room
on the cruise ship
and hearing the fast
clickety-clack
of high-heeled shoes
on the dock
every hour, every night,
more annoying
than the loud rev
of a Harley engine starting.
Is my sanity worth more
than human compassion?
A tangent of images,
a tangent of thoughts
based on a list of words.
Maybe it’s time…
to leave the beach.
- Please note that majority of events and locations (other than me writing at the beach) are entirely fictional.
Haiku #40
Protected, yet free,
soles walk through an illusion,
echoes of the past
Memory Poem #9: Lance & Mina: Morning Breeze
Watching Mina draw
was as soothing
as watching the birds
without the need
for binoculars.
Her long, dark curls
danced in the wind
as her eyes shifted
from the ocean
to the canvas,
from the canvas
to the ocean,
and back.
The tip of her colored pencils
pressed against the canvas
back and forth, back and forth,
in a crosshatch pattern,
sometimes gently, sometimes not,
just like the ocean waves.
He loved how their lives
intertwined like the lines
on her sketchbook,
adding depth and beauty.
He watched her cheeks
glow a rosy pink
under the golden sky.
Her cream-colored blouse
billowed in the wind.
She smiled as she sketched.
Her lips – a soft, smooth
magenta pink,
and he wanted to kiss
her right then.
She took a sip
of her coffee,
leaving some lipstick
behind
and interrupted
his thoughts.
“What’s your story?”
she asked, looking at him
with her inquisitive eyes.
Read more memory poems here.
Memory Poem #7: Cyan & Lance: Guy Talk
Late in the evening,
Lance heard three knocks at the door
and knew it was Cyan
probably goofing off.
Cyan had good looks,
but Lance had never seen him
look like a celebrity heartthrob
with his hair disheveled,
shirt unbuttoned
and abs exposed.
“Can I come in?” he asked.
Lance moved aside,
closing the door behind him.
Cyan sat on the bed,
looking flustered.
Lance raised an eyebrow.
“You were with a girl,
I presume?”
Cyan nodded.
“Jillian,” he said
Lance’s heart
skipped a beat.
Jillian was a sweet girl,
he even had a little crush.
But his friend was also
a great guy.
“You guys didn’t…
did you?” Lance asked.
Cyan shook his head.
“No, she’s not ready,
but, I really, really want to,
but I also don’t want to
because I can’t commit.
I don’t know what to do.”
Cyan let out a sigh
putting his face
into his hands.
“I’ve never seen you
so flustered before,
especially over a girl.”
Cyan chuckled,
“Tell me about it.
It’s like I can’t get her
out of my head.
When I’m not with her,
I think about her.
When I see her,
I just want to touch her,
hold her, call her mine.
What is wrong with me?”
“Sounds like you’re falling in love,”
Lance laughed. Cyan groaned,
“But Europe, in two weeks…”
“I haven’t seen you this happy
with a girl, ever, not even
when you were with Bri.
You can walk away, protect your heart,
or follow it, and see where it leads.
Taking chances, living life,
that’s your motto, right?”
Cyan looked up
and met his eyes.
“Yeah, you’re right.”
He stood up,
tapping Lance’s shoulder.
“Thanks, bud. I gotta go.”
“To see Jillian?”
“Nah, I might scare her off
with my raging hormones.
I’m just gonna, uh…
satisfy myself,” he winked.
“TMI!” Lance joked,
closing the door.
Read more of the love story here.
The Long Walk
I’m taking a quick break from the Memory Poems of my characters to post one of my own this week. This was written during Poets at Play.
The Long Walk
She remembered hopping off the bus
some sixteen years ago
carrying her baby blue Jansport backpack
filled to the rim with binders and books,
something she bore on her shoulders
5 days a week, even in the rain.
It was raining then, water drops
came crashing down. The wind
pushed her left and right.
It was as if Mother Storm
slapped her in the face with spit.
She opened her portable umbrella,
The useless flimsy thing
was no match for the wind,
being pulled inside out
this way and that way,
a broken fragile puppet of the wind.
She struggled to maintain control,
so it wouldn’t fly away,
while crossing the street
looking like a helpless mess,
as onlookers watched
from the safety of their cars.
Raindrops streamed down her face.
Rain pelted her clothes
from slanted angles.
Little drops of water
on her jeans
were like dark blue dots
that grew into patches
that eventually covered the leg.
Her once dried socks
were wet and squishy.
Her once bright mood
became cloudy like the storm.
She made it home, soaking wet.
It was one of the longest
10 minute walks she’s ever taken
alone
with her friend, El Nino
during high school
in the early millennium.
Flash forward – 2016/2017,
the storm is coming,
school is closed.
Children deprived
of experiencing
these memories.
Memory Poem #6: Jillian & Jessica: Girl Talk
Jillian’s heart fluttered
like a butterfly, listening
to the ringtone
as a million thoughts
swirled into mind.
She needed
a soothing voice.
“Hello,” Jess said,
“How’s the trip?”
Jillian smiled,
no longer flustered.
“Great, I uh… think I fell in love.”
Jess raised an eyebrow,
“At the beach house,
while babysitting?
Are you sure?
Tell me more,” she sang,
sitting upright.
“He’s Ted’s brothers
close friend.”
“How hot?” Jess teased.
Jillian blushed, remembering
Cyan’s lips against hers,
his rock hard body
rocking against hers,
his throbbing groin rubbing
against hers, separated
by cotton jeans.
She sighed… recalling the yearning
sensation that burned through her
and the self-control she mustered
to suppress it.
Jess chuckled,
“Fantasizing, are we?”
Jillian turned red.
“Yes, he’s hot…”
“Well, what’s he like?”
“He’s got these deep blue eyes
that make me melt
into his arms, into his soul.
Graceful at sports.
Wisdom beyond his years,
loves his bike, loves living life,
and is adored by kids.
He’s smart and a smart ass.
Bold enough to be goofy,
bold enough to be sweet,
bold enough to truly care,
and I get lost in his eyes,
in his heart, in his soul,
as if I had known him
for years instead of days.
I think I’ve fallen in love
with a man I barely met,
and I’m addicted
to his touch.”
“Wow, soulful confession,
but I sense a problem.”
“He’s leaving in two weeks,
back to Europe for school.
I’m afraid to fall in love,
especially for the first time.”
“Calling me late at night,
gushing over a guy, this is a first
and I know you’re not stupid.
Jill, this is the guy you dreamt about,
the one we thought didn’t exist.
You might regret falling in love
and getting hurt,
but you will definitely regret
letting him go, letting go
of something magical
before it had a chance
to start, to shine, to grow.
You’ve never felt like this before,
if you let go now,
would you want to look back
and wonder what might have been?”
Read more of their story here.
The Encounter
Last month, I attended Poets at Play for the first time at the Markham House in History Park, San Jose. It was nice to meet a small group of poets and spend a nice afternoon writing and discussing poetry. The theme for the month was “memory.” I was able to write two poems that afternoon and I will share one with you today, the one I didn’t read out loud. A poet suggested writing memory from someone else’s perspective, so I decided to write this. I hope you enjoy it.
The Encounter
Coming out of the trashcan,
I felt my fur on end…
a pair of eyes watching me.
She was there, the human,
looking at me, watching…
my every move.
I jumped back in,
I jumped back out.
I poked my head
around.
She was still there
watching me.
I scurried down the trashcan.
I scurried up a tree,
found a little nook
that was comforting to me.
I lost sight of her.
She lost sight of me,
or so I thought,
until I felt her eyes
once again, watching me.
I pretended not to see.
She pretended to let me be,
walking away,
so I could enjoy my day.
Maybe a squirrel and a girl
could be friends.
Whisperings 