Five Poems

These are written in response to a prompt by Robert Lee Brewer in his Poetic Asides column.  You can find it in Writer's Digest Magazine and online at http://www.writersdigest.com/ .    As always, thank you, Robert.

The Sun Fell (The Sun Also Rises)

That day he admitted his

crimes against you

against God

against me

against family

His words boiled in

my belly until

I needed to vomit

I did not know where

to turn what

to do

my mind spun out of

control I couldn't think

all I know is that evening

the sun fell

Emma's Wonderland (Alice in Wonderland)

Wonderland made of night dreams

day dreams

imaginings

passages from books

lines from poems

brush strokes from paintings

stippling from charcoal drawings

verses from songs

instrumentals in their entirety

poem song stories built in my soul

No matter what part of Wonderland

I am visiting you are always there

I wake with you travel by your side

give you sparkling silver kisses

or deep red kisses never ending

you play my heart like a piano

late late night or early morning together

waking ends with you by my side

no matter what land one thing remains

I will always love you

Lord of Lies (Lord of the Flies)

Something is not right

way inside the core of you

truth is what you decide

it is

at that moment

lies are only explanations

or evidence of

the problem being with everyone else

never you

not your fault

ever

because you know

what real truth is

an insight no one else has

 

A Good Soil (The Good Earth)

Shrubs gone

wall built

weed cloth laid

now

build a good soil

to feed my garden

potting mix, organic

so much better

than what they sell as topsoil

light compared to heavy

lets roots grow

instead of suffocation

peat moss

compacted treasure of the ages

holds raindrops

giving drink to flowers and fruit

veggies and herbs

long after a thunder storm

compost black gold

feeds continuously

coaxing growth

from stems leaves buds

in turn gifting us with

blooms in purples pinks yellows whites

fruits red blue green purple

vegetables enough for

now Thanksgiving bounty saving for winter

it is with love

I build a good soil

joy comes with harvest

Invisible Child (The Invisible Man)

Wake up to mother's general call

to all brothers sisters

Time to get up

Sit at the table

behind the row of cereal boxes

spread for each to choose

Eat in silence

Dress for school

Walk alone thinking alone

Take my seat in the classroom

saying nothing

following directions

Walking home thinking alone

come in the door to my

shared room without hello

Pick up a book

lie down on my bed

to read my mind's adventures

Dinner nervous time

dad is intelligent stern aloof

mom sighs too often

Back to my room

to read in peace not even

wondering how many words

I have said

or not said this day

of invisibility

Haunted

My mom is getting the finishing touches done--"Have you all gone to the bathroom?" "Stand still!" "Put your boots on first, then your mittens." The three of us, the sisters, tromp tromp tromp out the front door, across the porch, and out the screen door. "Don't slam the door!" shouts mom. After mom closes the door, I gaze out, my eyes gulping everything in. I love the bright sparkles the sun makes on the new snowfall. Trees are wearing coats, the car is under a thick hat. With such a wonderland, how could I feel any cold?

We tromp, tromp, tromp through the snow, lifting knees high. We work on a snow man, but can't find sticks for arms or anything for eyes. He remains faceless, and has no arms. Snowballs. Cold, cold. My cheeks feel hot. I know they are red. Mittens are soaked now. Time to go in. In the screen door. "Don't slam the door!" shouts mom. Tromp tromp tromp across the porch, stopping at the front door. We are taking off wet mittens and hats, coats and scarfs, sweaters and the loathed snow pants, boots and shoes that are never protected quite enough. We go inside and mom has made us hot cocoa. Not hot chocolate. Hot cocoa. I hate hot cocoa.

New morning, and new snow has buried the old. We stumble out of bed. "Where is the snow shovel?" dad asked. "I don't know," we all say. "Get dressed, go out in the back yard, and find it.  Now." His stern voice leads us to obey.  No questions, no resistance.  This morning the snow has no sparkles.  We walk past the snow man, and soundlessly, with dead eyes, drag, drag our feet until someone's boot bumps it, and we can go in for breakfast.