Category: A New Poem Every Morning

It’s Not a Secret Anymore

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For all the problems in our lives
that crop up day to day
someone wrote a book about
the myriad of ways
to deal with, cope with, solve, or end,
exploit or just ignore them,
based on their experience of
what others wrote before them.
 
As if the simple answer simply
wasn’t good enough
we dress it up and make it dance
and add a lot of stuff
to make it sexy, make it cool
to make you think you need it
and charge you nineteen ninety five
to take it home and read it.

I’ll give you freely the advice
given free to me
because a world of happy souls
is where I want to be.
Ask for what you want in life
then dare to believe it.
Paint the picture in your mind
then smile as you receive it.

 

#16

A Middle Road

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Clutter upsets me.
I internalize trip-overs and misplaced mathom
Into anthropomorphic indigestion.
 
Empty sterility irritates me.
My fingers itch to paint Georgia O’Keefe flowers
On hard white walls.
 
Possessions bother me.
I close my eyes and see them lined up
Whining for attention.
 
Poverty frightens me.
I see it lurking behind each uncertain decision
My hand to its mouth.

May I find a middle road with no shadows,
With just enough clutter to make it interesting,
With flowers on either side.

 

#15

One Day

lindastudley5 Comments

One day I will be able to remember you
without crying.

One day I will be able to sing
the song I wrote for you
without my voice quavering,
and leaf through photo albums
without my hand shaking.
 
One day I will be able to speak your name
without that sharp pain in my heart,
and wear your locket
without feeling its weight.
 
One day your memory will find its fulcrum in my heart.
One day only love will remain.
Not today, but soon.

 

#14

Very Young

lindastudley2 Comments

Oh, very young,
with a dictum for every deliberation,
a solution for every situation,
an opinion for every conversation.
Oh, very young, true wisdom has a doubt.

Oh, very young,
With a plan for every exigency
A protocol for every emergency
A path for every divergency.
Oh, very young, true growth is playful. 

Oh, very young,
So set in your phase,
I would stay a while but you were already
very young when I got here.

 

#13

They Think She Collects China Cats

lindastudley1 Comment

The dust on the figurines bother her,
the cats, presents from her children,
from first born to last great,
range in rows and stilted groupings
on every flat surface in her apartment.
 
Someone bought her a cat one day, then
someone else brought her a cat, then
another one commented “Oh, you collects cats?”
“Not really.” She demurred.
But apparently not loudly enough.
 
Birthdays, Mother’s Day, Christmas Day,
and any other time when they can’t think or won’t see
what she really needs or wants, they bring her cats.
She loves raspberries, jigsaw puzzles, and knitting
but they never bring her raspberries or jigsaw puzzles or yarn.
“We know you’re not allowed pets here” the broken record drones
“but this cat won’t meow or scratch the furniture!”
 
They bring her cats until the search
For a new and unique china cat becomes too time consuming.
Today her great grandson gave her a china dog.
For God’s sake, even the Ark only had two of each.
Tomorrow she will accidentally trip and see
how many cats she can take with her.
She smiles.
There’s more than one way to break a cat.

 

#11

Beginnings

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Beginnings are seductive
Dream conjurers  
Possibility whisperers
who mow the grass growing on the other side of
the fence you built the last time you began.

Beginnings are demanding
The ‘if’ in qualifiers
The ‘want’ in quantifiers
The desired outcomes and arbitrary deadlines
of personal progress  that festoon your
pie in the sky chart.

Beginnings are deceptive
Carny mirrors
Sleight of mind
The used car salesmen of self-improvement
who throw in a genuine pigskin silk purse for free
with every new beginning.

Beginnings are just endings in disguise.

I will not begin today
I will just be

 

#8

Why I ‘tion’ New Year’s Resolutions

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There’s a simple explanation
For my lack of inclination
To indulge in the formation
Of a New Year’s resolution.
 
Though it isn’t quite revulsion
There’s a clear lack of compulsion
That could lead to my expulsion
From your New Year’s dissolution.
 
For I know, without exception,
All attempts at deep reflection
Would be merely self-deception
Causing foolish obligations
 
To impose untold restrictions
And abandon my addictions
To some foolish New Year’s fiction
Fraught with cruel self-castigation
 
And my poem’s culmination
Is that simple explanation
For my insubordination
Toward New Year’s resolutions
 
I don’t wanna!

 

#7