Magpie Tales 52 - Poem: It looks inviting but it's just a house.

It looks inviting but it's just a house.
Let me tell you about a house-

Past the curtains into the living room
where white upholstered seating
was primarily for company       while free
to come and go-    those were the days
when we were to be seen
cheeks pinched
bragged about in one form
or another but heavens no
add nothing to the conversation.

Upstairs was the safest place,
a room with a bunk bed I shared
with no one.    My trappings were many
and they were my comfort.
In the back was a window I shared
with the world-   an array of bumper stickers
shouting silently my views.
They were not the same as the management.

The kitchen below was by contrast
the most communal of all the rooms.
Around the table the balance of power
seemed most evident and it was there
I felt as though I was a wedge issue
based upon the parenting being done
and by whom the orders were administered.

There were chilly political discussions
back then Nixon was the one
but he really wasn't.    From time to time
there was the "N" word.  It was during these
times, the off color jokes that I felt most
uncomfortable about and not my posture
which was also a hot topic as well
as if I was finishing my dinner- leaving
a clean plate before I could go.
That was a battle I would eventually win.
Time was on my side.  But there were times
as well when my punishment was to stand back
against the kitchen print on the wall and become
one with it... to solve all my posture problems.
It didn't.

The enclosed back porch, the family room
with bar that was never used as such- 
and only in time for the moon landing
did it become home for our TV-
these rooms were cold, but not the kind
of chill that the kitchen had.

The dining room seemed majestic
at the time with built in china cabinets
I learned had been perfect for hiding
newly arrived letters from paternal grandmother
before their destruction.  Beamed ceiling,
natural oak that had been painted
but brought back to life.

The dining room was for formal
meals and entertaining      and fakery.
Playing normal and enjoying mom's
white yeast rolls and butter.

Thinking back these rooms
fan out to form an array
of memories.  Sometimes
it is better their ornamental
view is closed into one ivory stick.

I left the day after graduation.

2011© Michael A. Wells

Magpie Tales 52

Strange

At approximately 2:30 a.m. I was awaken and strangely my thoughts were of Sylvia Plath.  At first I thinking how strange this is the anniversary of her death until I realized that it was the morning of the 12th and she died February 11th, a fact that had escaped me yesterday.

Then it dawned on me how strange the poem draft I wrote last night (see below) and the ghosts of writers.

Feeling a little bit of twilight zone here.

Rest in Peace Sylvia...

Ghosts

The gurgle of the washing machine,
the laminate film upon my post dinner
teeth chattering as Friday reverses
itself like a retro jacket
that offers two color options
only I cannot choose;
I only have Friday night
at my disposal-


I have a plate, a fork & spoon,
and two pans to wash
and the whole night ahead.
I am only slightly cloistered.
The TV is there and another
in the living room and still
another in the family room.
And so many channels-
and nothing I want
to watch.


In the end, I will battle
between book and journal.
Read or write.
It is in this solitude
I sense the ghosts
of so many
long gone
writers.

The Month of Love

An afternoon sun is unsuccessful in curtailing my chill that continues. This is so unlike me~  **sigh**   Supposedly it has reached 35 outside. Maybe that's my problem... I'm inside.

I've had a vacation day from the office, reading a book as well as ruminating about the chatter the past couple days of the Claudia Rankine/Tony Hoagland matter.  The latter has my head spinning. 


It's the month of LOVE and if you haven't seen it already there's a series of PDF print and Cut Valentines here  courtesy of the American Academy of Poets.

I've been getting Gretchen Rubin's daily "Happiness Project E-mails" for a while now and the other day I got this one that I just love:

"One of the best and fastest ways of acquiring knowledge is to insist on remaining ignorant about things that aren't worth knowing."

— Sydney Harris

And another thing I picked up from her site was the SIX WORD MEMOIR.   Another version of this - Six Words on Happiness.  A few that were on her site that I liked...

• Reading the last page of "Mockingbird."
• paying toll for the person behind me
• with my six I declare love

Confession Tuesday - belatedly

It's Wednesday and I seem to have sinned again!  Last night I was thinking about my Tuesday Confession at about 11:30 pm but not for long, and so here I am a day late and another flaw to add to my list of confessions. The sin of being lazy, or perhaps it's really rebellious. Anyway, let's get started.

Dear Reader, humbly I confess I've let you down. And as you can likely tell from above, I'm not even certain which is my reason... maybe a little of both. At any rate, this has been the second time recently and I really am going to get myself together next week.

Tonight I'm cold. Cold I tell you and that's really something for me. I'm the one in the office who gets cranky when they bump the heat up in the building. At home, I'm the first to want the A/C on and the last to want to furnace on. I confess, my body temperature setting is evidently different than must people. When I finish here I can tell you I'm headed for the bed and will burrow under the blanket for warmth.

For three days truing this past week my Blackberry was not syncing mail and I was unable to get feeds (twitter, facebook updates) or reach the Internet.  Phone calls and text messages worked fine.  During this time I really fell out of the "know" so to speak. I missed news flashes. I confess it was a very strange three days. Everything is working fine again. I did survive but it was a strange feeling by the third day and I was growing weary.

That's my week... hope yours ahead is a good one. I'll see you back here next Tuesday... promise!

an advent of sense

A poem conveys not a message so much as the provenance of a message, an advent of sense. ~ Thomas Harrison

Let it Be

Words of Wisdom

The sun and the wind spoke briefly
of the day behind them
making light of irregularities
fostered by man-

"these things are to be
expected," one said to the other
and both agreed.   The clouds
heard this-

when the wind and the sun spoke
they never whispered
due to the distance between them
but the clouds ushered in their view

and it was agreed that the natural order
was far better suited      for everydayness
and the wind could be heard    even by man
singing "let it be, let it be..."


2011 ©  Michael A. Wells