.
X is for kisses
and O is for hug.
I’ve known THAT for a
VERY long time.
.
There was a time
to sign your name,
with an X and maybe add the O…
scandalous for the young and in love…
what if someone would see
X and the O beside your name?
.
Is there no scandal any more?
X means X-rated,
and have an ID.
Photos on cell phones
and posted in facebook…
or one of those places,
I don’t know their names.
Xs and O’s no longer suffice.
.
X is for that “non”-person,
you once called your own,
the name no longer on
your lips
or those who speak of them,
in your presence…
and everyone “knows”
who’s name is the “X”
so why say the name.
.
Where are the days
when an X or O beside a name
…or maybe, just to be a flirt,
X and O, with
no name at all…
you must guess
who your LOVE is today.
.
X marks the spot
in my heart for love.
Grandkids still use it
and old, old friends.
Remember the days
when X meant a lot.
.
.
.
Why do poets write
and like artists see wonder
where others don’t?
Where does all this come from
and where does it go?
And how much can the mind
and soul take,
if kept inside?
How much room is there,
it seems:
there’s always room for more.
.
I write, I paint,
because “it’s there”
and fighting to get out.
Irritable and crabby
if the world interrupts
my craft.
Maybe I’d burst if the
words and scenes
piled up inside
my heart and soul
and couldn’t get out.
It seems there are always more
waiting to fill the space,
always room for more.
.
New to the wonders of
poetry,
I’m learning the ways
that poets think,
and put the words down,
and those forms
are “there” now,
and fighting
to come to the surface
and on to paper or
computer.
Just To Be There
in the flesh.
Screaming
to be born in the world
of words thought
and gathered.
.
The mind works in curious
ways…
awake,
asleep,
driving,
writing other thoughts,
that were the same
earlier in the day.
Like love.
Where there is love,
the heart and soul expand,
there is always room for more
.
The mind is the same…
the more thoughts,
whimsical.
or serious.
Meaningful or not:
Where there are words,
more appear and expand,
and crave for attention,
and there’s always room for more.
.
.
.
June Taylor’s dancers
remembering speed and grace
“back in the day”, sigh.
——
kaleidoscope grace
dancers coordinated moves
synchronized beauty
——-
wish I may, I might
be like June Taylor’s dancers
delightful, graceful
.
.
The June Taylor Dancer’s were in the 1950’s on the Jackie Gleason Show…an over head camera showed
their fancy geometric moves to the tv audience.
.
warm days, cool nights, joy
wood, leaves burning, cook-outs still
fall scents delight me.
.
.
.
The leaves on the bank are starting to change color...a sure sign that fall is in the air.
.
The process:
writing group/good prompts/interesting essays
lunch/Sylvia’s/good food, conversation
Computer Essentials saved day/spell check installed !
.
Six word journal:
writing group productive/spell check rules !
.
.
.
gold charm from lover
jingles softly with others
daily reminder
============
Charm School for charmless?
who ever got this sad idea
girls need sprucing up?
============
Natural charm soars
women gather like fireflies
during summers night
============
. PS When I was a teenager, and knew “everything”
I thought that it was a bit sad that the lady
who was paid to teach us charm,
needed to look in the mirror once in a while
to notice her slip was showing
and her nylon hose had runs. Sigh. It took me many
years to realize her charm was not in apologizing
or drawing attention to what was obvious to the
casual observer !
.
.
.
Tides out/Somesvlle Library/bank reinforced.
Friday September 23, 2011
Men working/stones support/library safer.
.
Saturday, September 24, 2011, Common Ground Fair.
The bike parade…lobster bike leads.
.
September 25, 2011, Sunday..."sleeping man cloud"
.
Sleepy Sunday/day of rest/rejuvenating
.
Monday September 26, 2011, Serene day Somesville, Water like mirror
.
Monday: Everybody Eats: OMGoodness: Curried cream of Vegetable soup. (more than six words..worth every word !)( the mixed vegetable soup at the bottom made by the same cook)
.
,
.
Jack was sleeping on the upper bunk when they came
to blows at the bend in the river.
The voices carried all the way to the bunk house
as the stranger beat the cowboy who wouldn’t budge
from his opinion as to why he was bleeding from the breaking
glass.
The stranger had a bone to pick with the cowboy about the bloom left
on the table from the broken coffee cup, and his eyes bore into
those of the cowboy trying to get him to confess.
Jack kept quiet as he knew who left the bloom on the table
from the wet coffee cup…he didn’t budge from the upper bunk
because the stranger would make HIM bleed if it were known
it was HE that did break the strangers boring coffee cup
that left the bloom on the table.
.
.
.
Those were the days my friend
when we were young
and full of spirit.
.
We studied hard,
and played hard,
and had good times.
.
Atlantic City,
New York Worlds Fair,
tobogganing…who can forget.
.
We laughed,
cried,
and encouraged each other.
.
Grew up fast
as we learned
and practiced nursing.
.
Those were the days my friend,
when we were young
and full of spirit.
.
.
siggiofmaine 