Finding my Tribe

sunday solitude

afternoon serenity

birds become my tribe

 

SNAP! - so nice among plants

SNAP! - so nice among plants

it only took a few minutes

to water the invisible zinnias

they're struggling, underground still

i should have planted petunias.

there is a small patch of dill

over where other herbs loom

as my nose develops, awakens

to the basil's lovely perfume.

a memory of maroon velvet nap - 

gently i touch the begonias' leaves

it's blooming, i repot carefully

and position it under a tree.

the garden awaits as i

stir this new pile of compost

scraps overturned, task not hard

no egg shells nor orange peels are lost

this evening i'll watch the sprinkler

as it sweeps the grass with water

weeds and wildflowers all want to drink

as our Texas weather gets hotter.

joanconnor 04/2024

(The above poem was written to a NaPoWri Mo prompt implementing rhyming words that I preselected. I struggled to use "snap" so figured it into the title.)

NaPoWriMo Prompt #11

 I’m taking a mental break!🤣. Here we go……

My one liner:
“the relevancy of nursery rhymes is with the believer”

Ode to My Hoe

Ode to My Hoe

Such a simple little tool -

a big assist in many ways.

I love my hoe, so strong is she,

my best friend these past few days.

We weeded; she diligently worked

as each pail full I then carried.

She’s a designer of lovely furrows

for the seeds we then buried.

Leaning now against the wall

she anticipates her next big chore.

No complaining do I hear,

but it’s a task she might abhor.

This newly created pile of compost

we must turn and water each day.

Coffee grounds, egg shells, orange peels

and stuff - we will stir her way.

Surely now you understand

our complex relationship.

We’re BFFs forever ….

to her my sunshade I flip.

Joan Connor 04/10/24

Becoming Related

With his arm around me

literal brotherly love

“You know you’ll be taking care

of him the rest of your life,”

Or was it his life?

Either/or 

doesn’t matter

does it?

I smiled. Did I say?

“I know, for better or worse.”

He could and would 

take care of me, that I knew.

We married that day

No unusual caregiving

has transpired - just

routine Dr.’s appointments

post operative nursing

assorted aging concerns.

We don’t know what or when.

We do know our decision was

undeniably the best decision.

Compatibility - off the charts

Compassion = off the charts

Common interests - off the charts

Consideration - off the charts

Age difference - off the charts

Then - Ninety and seventy three 

Now -  Ninety seven and eighty 

“People always say you should live every day as though it's your last. I sort of have taken the opposite tack, where I think you should live every day as though it's going to go on forever. You should treat people like you're going to see them again in the future. You should start working on projects that may take a long time.”

― Peter Thiel

Poetry on a Postcard

Response to a NaPoWriMo prompt thinking “wish you were here” with a poem and a postcard!

Poetry on a Postcard

Sure wish you were here as I stroll the streets of Sedalia.

Pianos perched upon platforms, musicians performing

ragtime treasures, often in appropriate regalia.

Maybe next May you will join me 

venture through the streets for Joplin’s 

Ragtime Festival in the middle of Missouri.

Keeping the syncopation of life real,

I remain your postcard penpal

until we’re behind the wheel.

In My Town

On 04/08/24:

I plan to stay away from

the expected crowds arriving

to view this predictable 

total eclipse 

in my town.

Next to a darkened sun, birds will

stop singing, bees will 

stop buzzing,

cows and chickens will 

head to the barn

in my town.

4 minutes 24 seconds

darkness invades the day

eliminate the music

turn off the lights

affirm the universe’

clock-work regularity

in my town.

longitude 30.0474° N

latitude 99.1403° W 

the epicenter of

this phenomenon

as umbraphiles

arrive eagerly

in my town.

Joan Connor 04/06/24

to be blessed

Inspired by Alicia Ostriker’s “The Blessing of the Old Woman, the Tulip and the Dog.

to be blessed she

hitches up her bookmobile,

supporting many children’s

literary ladders.

to be blessed the hummers

delight in their sugar water,

brewed for spectators and 

feathered acquaintances all.

to be blessed is to wait

expectantly, anticipating with

faithful fascination for the iris 

to casually unfold.

Joan Connor

04/04/2024

Fashion Designer Extraordinaire

fashion designer extraordinaire

spider sweet spider crab

hiding in the sea

doesn’t need the thrift store 

for its clothes like me.

such a skilled tailer 

who cuts and measures

his apparel to wear 

and hats to treasure.

he sheds his shell

only to create 

another stylish suit

a fashion update.

his camo complete

the sponges speak “delight”

as spider sweet spider crab

wears his sponge shirt all night.

 

From The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Strangest Things in the World: A Book About Extraordinary Manifestations of Nature

“There are spider crabs which cut and wear clothes. They cut off pieces of living sponges and place them on their backs. These sponges become entangled in tiny hairs which protrude through the animal’s shell, and continue to grow until they protrude several inches over the back. Thin layers also cover the under part of the body and the legs. Every time a crab sheds its shell, it must make itself a new suit The practice probably is beneficial to both animals. The crab, living in a forest of sponges, looks like a sponge itself and is thus concealed from its enemies. The sponge benefits by being carried to new food sources. When the shell is shed the sponge simply attaches itself to a rock and continues to grow.”

Surreal yet Real

 

Ap It was hidden in the pages of my mail today, my most recent order from Thriftbooks, “Nature Printing” arrived. A lovely card from India, Hyderabad, I have been there to Hyderabad. The letter begins: Hi Momma & Daddy! and concludes Signed, Love i b I d o (Libido is defined as sexual desire….I google because surely it can’t be her, his, their name?) Puzzled I read the notecard’s body including questions:      “How is it in Antarctica?”      “So how are you two little lovebirds doing?”      “Did I tell you that Aunt Maria sent me a card?” Such a lovely card that Libido purchased at the “exhibition. It’s like a flea market/fair the size of Texas. I also got this stationary, some sunglasses and a light fixture thing” she writes. Libido concludes by declaring great love for “mom and dad” and “I miss you like Bailey misses her uterus. OK yeah that was just gross.” Surreal letter I received today. My PS: I hope Bailey is ok and is a happy dog, cat, fox (my neighbor has a caged fox), rabbit……..

Dear Beloved Piano

Dear Beloved Piano,

You weren’t my first love, but I wish you had been. No problems with jealousy. My first love was a piano in Mom and Dad’s basement, an old upright that took my childlike dreams and sang them to no one, just between you and me. There were others before you. Each one has held a part of my life within its vibrations:

teaching lessons morning and nights

practicing for church jobs

practicing for college music classes

practicing for my beloved deceased teacher, Carl

practicing when joyous

practicing when in doubt

practicing when sorrowful

practicing when seeking…many hour have I shared with my pianos.

But you, dear bright shiny black lacquered Boston baby grand, you are the delight of my life. We have moved many times in recent years. You always get retuned into the environment with no complaints, even the time the movers dropped you. I like how you fit within this pleasant home, near the kitchen, near the living area, peering out the front window. 

We share memories as our spirits synchronize  with Chopin, Brahms, Lamb and Joplin; even lesser-known Albritton resonates from your impeccable interior. And how you patiently accept my mistakes and need for better interpretations. Oh, yes, there is an ethereal element to your mechanical mysteries and I, for one, want to always stay in tune with your needs.

Musically yours,

J

Poem #1 for NaPoWriMo

Here We Go……from the NAPoWriMo site:

“And now for our daily (and totally optional) prompt. Today, we’d like to challenge you to write – without consulting the book – a poem that recounts the plot, or some portion of the plot, of a novel that you remember having liked but that you haven’t read in a long time.”

(A reminder from Joan - there are resources given daily on https://www.napowrimo.net/   - featured poets and then the prompt that I copy and paste. Enjoy and take up thine pen, even for a short haiku or three thought lines. We are to indulge, enjoy and commune in this lovely month of poetry! 💃)

Happy Writing!

(not quite a "novel" :) but this is my #1 response)

The Little Red Hen

there once was a Little Red Hen

who lived outside her pen

the makings were there

the jobs she would share

but alas, no one would lend…

a helping hand for the bread baker she asked

Little Red Hen wanted help with her task

her friends say “no way,

we want to play”

so she baked and multitasked.

the plot thickens as tensions increase

with her friends expecting a piece

of delicious warm bread

“no way,” she said

and nary a crumb did she leave.

so the moral for our tale is this

unless you take a few risks

and work for the stakes

don’t expect to partake

in the final realm of bliss.

04/01.2024