Just Call Me "Miss September"

So this is something new. I'm a calendar girl now.  Yes, that's right. I'm Miss September 2014 (sort of). Believe me, I'm as surprised as you are!  Do you remember that song, "Calendar Girl" by Neil Sedaka? That song has been going through my head. Let me set your mind at ease.  There's no need to worry. I haven't turned into a pinup girl in the true sense of the word, and you aren't going to find a picture of me wearing a bathing suit hanging on the wall in some mechanic's garage. Everyone should be very thankful for that.

What you will find is a head shot of me above a poem I wrote accompanied by a lovely photo of a grasshopper sitting on a coleus plant.  My poem titled "Sir Hopper of Coleus" is featured for the month of September in the 2014 Digging to the Roots calendar created by the charitable organization called Writers Rising Up. If you are interested, here's a little bit about this organization from their website:

"We encourage a deeper understanding and participation in environmental stewardship. Through the literary arts at community events, contests, workshops, literary performances, interpretive installations and publications, our focus is on nature education and writing. We promote writers who associate their work to cultural, spiritual and social connections to place, the land, natural habitat, including flora, fauna and wetlands."

The calendar is a lovely collection of nature photos accompanied by poems inspired by the photos. If anyone is interested in seeing the photos and reading the poems and/or having a copy of the calendar for his or her very own, it is available to be downloaded and printed for free at this link:  2014 Digging to the Roots calendar.  Even if you don't want or need a calendar printed up, you might enjoy taking a look at these beautiful photos and reading the accompanying poems. I am very excited to have my poem in this calendar published by this worthy organization.  

Perhaps, We Are Better Off

I felt like writing something whimsical today and came up with this children's poem.


Perhaps, We Are Better Off

Imagine if you were a giraffe,
so tall you couldn't see your own feet,
with your neck stuck up, way up, in the sky,
smacking your head on the lights by the street.

And what if you were an alligator
living in a muddy, old bog.
With your biggest fashion statement being,
that if you hold very still, you can look like a log.

Would you like to be a porcupine--
all sharp and pointy and prickled?
You'd never be loved, never be hugged,
and never be tickled.

How about the jellyfish?
Just a floppy, floating bubble of squish.
A ball of goo with nothing better to do
than to sting beach goers who swim with the fish.

What if you were a caterpillar?
Think how much it would cost to buy shoes!
Sneakers, pumps, boots, and slippers!
You'd be singing the too-many-shoes blues.

Given all of that, perhaps, we are better off
just being who we were meant to be.
Besides, longing to be something we're not,
we all know, is just an exercise in futility.

Sunday at Luigi's

I went to Luigi's, an Italian restaurant here, with my husband and in-laws last night.  They have great food, and we had a nice time visiting with family and making memories while there.  Montoni's, the pizza parlor featured in the comic strip, "Funky Winkerbean," is said to be based on Luigi's restaurant.  I wrote this poem trying to capture the evening.


Sunday at Luigi's

Sunday night finds me
in the spot made famous by Luigi.
Lush, green vineyards on rolling hillsides,
are painted on the walls all around me.

For one small instant in my mind,
I am in Sicily 
sitting with family 
at a picnic table next to an olive tree.
We are laughing and talking,
sharing a basket of garlic bread and dining on ravioli.

Then, a gust of cold air that is so wintry
invades the restaurant,
bursting through an open door to remind me
that my here and now is not a summer's day in Italy,
but cold Ohio in the middle of January, so blustery.

Luckily, the warmth of good food,
fellowship, and camaraderie
takes my mind from the cold temporarily
and fills my heart with gratitude summarily.

For the seasons will taunt us, (changing constantly)
and we ourselves may flit about here and there, 
(with so many sights to see)
but the love of family will be our most steadfast company,
and THAT will be what we treasure the most in our memory.

Back Then on Halloween

Back Then on Halloween

Back then on Halloween,
way back when on Halloween.

We wore cheap, plastic masks,
cartoon faces with holes for eyes,
held on with a metal-tipped elastic string
that your brother would pull and snap.

Back then on Halloween,
way back when on Halloween.

Suddenly we were transformed
into Casper the Friendly Ghost
or Mickey Mouse or an ugly monster thing
wearing a backwards baseball cap.

Back then on Halloween,
way back when on Halloween.

It was hard to breathe, and we could barely see,
but we couldn't wait to taste the treats 
our costume tricks would bring
after we canvassed the neighborhood lap.

Back then on Halloween,
way back when on Halloween.

We scuffed our way through the leaves,
following the trail of porch lights, 
glowing yellow on our street.

Back then on Halloween,
way back when on Halloween.

Ringing doorbells and knocking on doors,
we traipsed through the shadows,
begging our neighbors for something sweet.

Back then on Halloween,
way back when on Halloween.

After an hour or so we'd make our way back home
lugging our bags full of candy loot.
Mom would have hot cocoa waiting for us,
and we'd be glad to get in from the cold and off our feet.

Back then on Halloween,
way back when on Halloween.

We'd eat Halloween candy for days
trading Tootsie Rolls and bulls-eye caramels
and black and orange peanut butter kisses
for Mary Janes and Bit-o-Honeys.

Back then on Halloween,
way back when on Halloween.

We could hardly believe that all that candy was ours 
just for wearing something silly and saying,
"Trick-or-treat! Trick-or-treat! Trick-or-treat!"

Back then on Halloween,
way back when on Halloween.

One of my neighbors has this cute

scarecrow by their front steps.

Happy Halloween, everyone!

Encore! Encore!

 Encore! Encore!

At first, it seemed like any park--

just like all the others--

with grass and tall trees,

a slide and swings.

A place where little boys might fall

and skin their knees

and be comforted by their mothers.

But then you see the stone wall,

and it makes you think of castles.

And you walk all around

in search of kings and queens and jesters 

wearing jaunty hats with tassels.

But you find no moat,

and no fire-breathing dragons. 

You find no drawbridge

and no horses pulling wagons.

On the other side is a theater

with both seats and stage made of stone.

You long to hear a concert or see a play,

but you realize you're the only one there.

You're by yourself. You're all alone.

So you take center stage 

and recite a scene,

adding a gesture and a dramatic pause--

Your performance is perfect!

Who needs an audience?

The show must go on-- 

with or without applause.

Corn Muffins

Corn Muffins

Golden grape tomatoes 

sliced upon a board

(jewels plucked from the vine).

Added to a Jiffy mix, 

making *jazzed up corn muffins-- 

sweet and tender and oh so fine!

Brings back memories of cooking with my Mom

while sitting on a kitchen stool real high.

I miss her ham and soup beans

served with hot, buttered corn bread.

Eaten with a smile and a satisfied sigh.

Max, my constant companion, watches me when I am in the kitchen. 

He is at the ready in case anything falls to the floor!

*I used golden grape tomatoes instead of red cherry tomatoes.  

I also left out the jalapeno pepper.

Parade of One

Parade of One

Fireflies light the way at dusk
for a parade of one,
a lone lady bicyclist
winding her way along the trail through the park.

Black-eyed Susans and Queen Anne's lace,
the official representatives of summer,
firmly rooted in their spots in the judges' booth,
nod and wave at her as she pedals past.

Street lamps stand at attention along the route
lighting up one by one as the sun goes down, 
keeping her safe in the spotlight.

Brightly colored zinnias and golden coreopsis
perch eagerly next to the curb,
like children waiting for candy to be thrown.

Cicadas cling to their front row seats,
in the canopy of trees above.
Their deafening buzz,
a continuous applause.

Like swirling black confetti, 
bats swoop and spin through the air above and in front of her.
They are her own personal secret service, 
winged security dining on the mosquitoes,
so they won't dine on her.

Across the street at the edge of the park,
four deer are grazing in the golden field.
Their tawny sides make them nearly invisible.
They slowly lift their heads and watch 
as she passes by them.

The biggest doe snorts and mutters under her breath,
"You'd think she could oil that squeaky pedal.
She spoils the tranquility every time she rides by here.
Every single time!"