Aspens are weeping.
Glazing the yellow willows
with their sticky tears.
#4
Category: A New Poem Every Morning #2
Doodling
I doodle when captive.
When I am shackled to the phone by a curly cord,
my ear tired and sweaty from close
contact with plastic and monotony.
I grasp at post it notes and edges of envelopes.
The fine line black felt is my weapon of choice
But any cheap ball point will do
in a pinch.
Start with a line, a curve, a hat with a feather.
“Yes, I’m listening.” I assure the droning in my ear
as strokes become longer, curling into petals
and dragonfly wings.
The drone becomes a staccato as it lists point
after point and the pen dashes out rays of starlight
in time.
Finally a face evolves from chaos and little eyes look
a question at me.
“I’ll have to call you back. I have someone here.”
And I smile at the little person I’ve created,
my escapist release.
#3
Dreamy
Dreamy: Giving pleasure or contentment to the mind or senses. (Merriam-Webster Dictionary Definition)
Whoever defined the word dreamy
never spent a night in my head.
Or watched my dreams go reeling by
in dozens of tangled threads.
A frightening film festival
of scenes not conducive to rest.
Where every night I win the award
for best self-distressed.
The toddler who runs the projector
has attention deficit disorder
and the one in charge of designing the props
is an unrepentant hoarder.
It’s a messy place in there.
Nothing ‘dreamy’ about it.
Maybe one day I’ll have a ‘dreamy’ dream
but I seriously doubt it.
#2
Pushing Snails
We’ve decided to set a goal,
an ultimatum if you will,
to end this futile habit
of pushing snails uphill.
Of slowing our pace for slugs,
of tailoring dreams to fit
into a life that somehow shrank
more than we like to admit.
You may not notice at first.
You may not see us begin.
But turtles preparing to fly
must first learn how to grow wings.
Very soon we’ll take to the sky
and laugh at the people who still
think they’re accomplishing something grand
by pushing a snail uphill.
#1
Linda Studley 