I Don’t Care Poem

From Margaret Simon;s blog who I often get inspiration from.

” Write a poem that lists or explains some things that you as a woman no longer care ‘bout for whatever reason. It does not have to be because of peri/menopause. Try to replicate Melani’s deadpan delivery, if that’s possible in a poem. TWIST: include something that you DO care about, that requires you to make space by jettisoning some of the other stuff.“

I DON;T CARE POEM

I don’t care if a poem is about

flowers or trees

or hummingbirds and bees.

I don’t need to see something

to write poetry.

I need a story, a question, a thought

that wanders around looking for an answer

before plucking words from the sky.

I need to know why my mind stopped

on this one subject, pulling me back

into its embrace even when the topic might

seem a waste of time.

I don’t care if it rhymes or not rhymes,

follows a form or stumbles through the forest

with it’s eyes closed.

I do care about words.

I want them to taste good when I say them,

to tickle my tongue when they feel just right

and tumble one over another

without pause.

I don’t care if I’m never famous

for my poems, or my art

or my philosophies.

But I do hope

that someday, someone

will read one of my poems

and relate.

Tricube Form

Today I thought I’d try another short form, the tricube poem. It has three stanzas with three syllables on each line. I’m still using Georgia Heard’s May prompts. Today I am looking at: A color you felt.

We are in the midst of construction, but getting closer to finishing each day. This week we were asked to pick the colors of our rooms. Georgia’s prompt seemed like a perfect way to talk about my selection results.

Wrapped in teal

a flowing

wizard’s cape.

Cinnamon

smells homey

warm and safe.

Green serene

soothing touch

sleeping space.

Prompt: the meaning of my name

Thanks to Geogia Heard for her May prompt.

I’ve always known the traditional meaning of my name. It’s something I learned in school when studying Roman gods. But there is so much more involved with names than ancient history. Usually given to you by your parents, it may have family history or may be chosen for it’s sound, it’s significance or the way it works lyrically with a surname. Or you may choose to change your name for any number of reasons. My name meant different things to me, at different junctions of my life.

MY TITLE, MY IDENTITY.

I have always known

the meaning of my name

Diane, from Diana

the goddess of the moon,

hunting and nature.

A Roman name

making it significant

and powerful, as if

the goddess herself were

within me.

I justified my namesake

by believing that I had a special connection

with nature

and although I was not the sun,

I believed I reflected its light,

showing others the way

when they were lost.

I couldn’t justify the huntress part.

The hunter was my brother

and his trapping and skinning animals

for pocket money

was something I avoided.

By middle school I had decided

that my name was boring,

and my friends and I

took new names,

at least among ourselves.

Rebecca Elizabeth

was a name to be proud of.

A historical name,

for I loved historical novels.

Rebecca was the heroine on the prairie,

the girl who marched in suffragette protests,

the independent spirit of America.,

Our new names had significance and choice

which we stuck to loyally

throughout high school.

But as I grew older

and my parents grew grayer

I began to see that my name

was my heritage.

My mother’s middle name was my first

and my grandmother’s first name

was my middle.

My perspective changed

as I began to understand

the independent nature of my mother

who insisted that women must have education

to take care of themselves,

and the joyous strength of my grandmother,

a flapper turned farmer

who raised a family of ten

in a tiny four room house.

My name became something

to aspire to

rather than just wear.

Shakespeare asks,

What’s in a name?

So many, many things, I answer back.

draft 6/2025

A guest poet: darling granddaughter

I was explaining a blog to my granddaughter and showed her this poetry blog. Then I asked her if she wanted to do a poem with me. She said that we could do a poem about her. We thought a simplified acrostic poem would be perfect.

GWEN

Granddaughter

Wonderful

Entertaining

Needing to draw anime all the time

BABA: MY POLISH NAME FOR GRANDMA

Beautiful

Art teacher, artist

Book lover

Acceptable

GRUMPY DAVE

Grandfather

Reader of history

Usually likes to wrestle

Makes our day fun

Plays Lord of the Rings

Yes, he’s our grandpa

Dog lover

Accurate, Active

Very Kind

Entertaining

Prompt: What the wind carries

Thanks to Geogia Heard for her May prompt.

This is intriguing. My first thought is the Pocahontas song from Disney, colors of the wind. Pay attention to nature and how we interact with one another. But then, my mind goes to the literal, allergies. Certainly this time of year we don’t want that excess wind. Let the pollen fall directly beneath the trees, and not into my lungs. But then I started to think about wind bringing things to me, worldly truth, secrets, answers to questions. And sometimes I can almost see colors swirling through the sky, each an emotion that twists and twirls, ducking around houses and twisting around trees until they settle on a person who breathes it all in. That’s why this is such a good prompt. So many things to think about.

WHAT THE WIND CARRIES

The wind whispers

when I’m quiet

and alone,

reminding me

that the world goes on

in the colors of trees

glistening rain on yew bushes

and scents of lilacs peeking between elms

despite the despair

of politics

worry

and freedom lost.

draft 5/2025

May prompts by Georgia Heard

I’ve been reading all kinds of blogs lately, which is great because there are so many wonderful poems posted. I’ve seen several referrals to Georgia Heard’s calander of prompts, and when I looked for them, I found a delightful series of daily prompts that were fun and invocative. Since it is already the end of May, I thought I’d use some of these prompts, but out of order. Today I am using the prompt: What quiet sounds like.

Lately, there has been little quiet in my life with construction going on all around me, so I pay attention when I find it.

What quiet sounds like

Real quiet

isn’t quiet at all.

It is filled with

birds and bugs and frogs,

overlapping conversations

melded into a background

of kerfuffle contentment.

Silence is another matter altogether.

The absence of noise

allows inner pandemonium

to rumble to the surface

speaking louder

than any noise outside my window.

Jumbled tangles of thought

like yarn in a scrap basket

escape my mind,

filling the room

until I am overwhelmed

with the need to

drown the silence

to gain some peace.

I definitely prefer quiet

when I wish to talk

to my soul.

draft 5/2025

Writing to Prompts

I love writing to prompts. Sometimes they take you to a place where you wouldn’t have gone otherwise. I never think about them in a serious way. Just as fun. But every once in a while, something comes out of a prompt that is worth keeping. It may expand a character I’ve been working on, or just have a spark of hope in it that I want to share with the world.

My writing group has been working with prompts in order to keep us writing when our manuscripts aren’t cooperating. Our latest prompt was a series of words to put together in a story or a scene. The words we had to use were: Tree, Bucket, and a picnic food. I took the additional task of trying to relate it to my manuscript by attributing it to my mc who is trying to learn calligraphy from her grandmother.

It was the trees that stopped me,

their branches naked and dark

in sharp contrast to winter’s yellow light.

They stretched and splayed their slender limbs,

like Popo’s fingers

as she prepares

to execute her calligraphy.

I look at my hands,

stubby fingers like hotdogs

poking out from puffy buns.

They weren’t made for delicate work.

Perhaps if I soaked them in a bucket

of hand cream

they would soften and stretch

on their own. 

But I doubt it.

Fingers are not play dough

to ply and pull 

Into compliance.

But mine were still useful.

I reach into my pocket

to find the last 

of a chocolate bar,

and pull back a corner

of the delicate foil.

A tiny bit of dopamine

to mend my soul.

draft 5/2025

Short Poems

Thank you to Margaret from Reflections on the Teche for offering “this photo wants to be a poem” challenge.

I love short poems. They encapsulate a single thought so completely. They don’t need to have a deep message, although they could have one. Just a moment to acknowledge an idea, to nod in affirmation and then move on. Although I must admit, some do stick with you. A nod to William Carlos Williams whose brief poems often get stuck in my head like an ear worm.

SUNFLOWER

bold, red

its proud head

held high

among rows of yellow

daring to be one

in a field of suns.

Don’t Die Before you are Dead

“Whatever happens, stay alive.

Don’t die before you’re dead.

Don’t lose yourself, don’t lose hope, don’t loose direction. Stay alive, with yourself, with every cell of your body, with every fiber of your skin.

Stay alive, learn, study, think, read, build, invent, create, speak, write, dream, design.

Stay alive, stay alive inside you, stay alive also outside, fill yourself with colors of the world, fill yourself with peace, fill yourself with hope.

Stay alive with joy.

There is only one thing you should not waste in life,

and that’s life itself…”

~Virginia Woolf

A Room of One’s Own by Virginia Woolf

---

I absolutely love this! And yet she died of suicide. Did she lose that joy? Was she unable to continue to learn, study, think, read, build, invent, dream? How does someone who respects life so much, loose themselves?

DON’T DIE

Don’t die before you are dead,

Virginia said,

which makes me wonder

what was in her head

to create such despair

that she ignored her own advice.

What would happen

if the brain no longer cooperated

couldn’t read or think?

Would existing be enough?

Can one accept love

without reciprocation?

I feel the joy in her life statement,

the truth in her beliefs

and hope

that the magic of living

never escapes me

entirely.

---

FILL YOURSELF WITH COLORS

I want to fill my life

with color

both inside and out.

Although I rarely feel

that I achieve my goals,

I am told

I am bold and loud

with my pallets.

And yet,

there are times when I yearn

for the right calculations,

the perfect combinations

of Good Housekeeping,

Vogue or Vanity Fair.

Should I choose my wall color

for its reflective values,

my shirts for their business appropriateness

or my chairs for versatility of space?

In the end

I revert to the sky of a summer storm,

a cardinal outside my window

or the primary colors

on a mud hut in Africa.

My life will never be

on the cover of a magazine

but at least it is fun

to paint.

International Day of Light

Thank you to Alan Wright for introducing me to this special day through Poetry Friday. I have been busy for the last six months with construction, adding a longed for library and garage onto our house. I am amazed at how many of my considerations are focused on light. For me, light is essential. I walk into a shadowed room and immediately turn on the lights, open shades or curtains and plop myself in front of the sunniest window to work. On our additions, so much attention has been in choosing doors with windows, placing windows in the best possible spot and adding inset lighting to support my need for light on stormy days or in the dread of long wintery nights. My favorite new addition is a patio door in our bedroom, offering me not only an abundance of light, but of color. .The backyard spring greens are pouring into my room each morning, and I am thrilled.

FIRST LIGHT (shadorma)

bathing in

possibilities,

morning sun

wakens hearts,

sending forth new poetry

to face a new day.