PAD – April 2019

Poetry

I am participating in the Poetic Asides annual Poem a Day challenge. I’ve done it in the past, but for some reason, skipped last year. It’s great writing exercise and gives me food for thought about poetry in general, and my engagement in particular. I’ve published two chap books of poetry, some of which have shown up on this site, as well as several brand new poems as time and the tides of life inspire me. Below are the poems I’ve posted on the PAD site thus far. The poems are based on writing prompts from Robert Lee Brewer, senior content editor of the Writer’s Digest writing community and author of Solving the World’s Problems. He is a poet and writer (yes, I know, a poet IS a writer, but for some reason the two disciplines seem to be taken as separate children of the pen), and is the catalyst for me to be as much a poet as I am a writer.

DAY 1: A morning poem

GOOD MORNING
Morning bursts over the horizon,
joy-filled with bright bunches of red
shot through with gold
tinged with orange sherbet,
infused with soft yellow cream.

Silhouettes of trees
outlined in stark relief
against this burst of color
a dance of nature in the raw
making a statement about God’s creation.

There is no power
like the power of daybreak,
streaking across the sky,
tendrils of light bringing anticipation,
charged with hope.


Day 2: Worst case / best case poem

FRAMED
My life is framed by you.
Is that a good thing, yes or no?
I have no life outside the boundaries
of who we are together,
no activities, associations, plans…
It’s all about us, we, together forever.
Am I comfortable in these confines?
Are you? Do you just want to hide sometimes?
I do, but there is nowhere to go beyond the frame.

FRAMED 2
I am framed by your love,
enclosed in the warmth of
who you are, who we are together.
You are my heart, my joy in life,
my today and my tomorrow.
I can think of no better place to be
than inside this frame, with you.


Day 3: An animal poem

PANDA
Panda black and white
eating bamboo bright and green
rain falls crystal light.


Day 4: An artist poem

JACKSON POLLACK
splatter and spatter, drizzle and drip
down a canvas awaiting the tip
of an artist’s endeavor to astound

the public perception
of artistic perfection
can be nowhere found

in Jackson Pollock’s
thousand-dollar frolics
in which mockery resound

did he question our sanity
as we peruse Pollack inanity
or was it simply ego unbound


Day 5 – A stolen poem

THE WRITER
Sometimes – not often,
but sometimes – I feel as
though writing fiction
is stealing from real life,
but I do it anyway
because as a writer
what I’m putting on the page
is – for that span of time –
more real than real life
will ever be. The woman
on the page is who I want to be,
vibrant and sassy, brave and constant,
controllable in the way the real me
can never, ever be,
until suddenly
the protagonist asserts her personality,
and my momentary control
is stolen, just – like – that!
Ah, the joy of writing fiction
and the conundrum of what is real
and what is the woven web
of the writer’s imagination!


Day 6 – An after poem

AFTER THE STORM
So it is written
in the loopy tendrils of
greening vines, life is.


My chap books of poetry are available online or at sharon@vandermeerbooks.com.
Type Poetry Book in the subject line. Read more here about the chap books of poetry.


 

Autumn’s Favor

Chili Ristra

Come autumn, Mom couldn’t pass up
a roadside farm stand.
She had to stop, shop, buy.
The bright array of produce
– juicy apples
– plump pumpkins
– piquant chile peppers
– green and yellow squash
and more,
much better than any store.

Vibrant color,
mixed aromas of melons,
dirt from the field,
sawn wood of newly built
display stands, wobbly
yet able to bear the weight
of succulent bounty.
It made Mom grin,
and drew her in.

Chilly shopping in the open air.
Backdrop of plowed fields,
trees turning golden,
dropping leaves like confetti,
ristras glistening in the sun,
peppery red and lush,
green chilies turning in barrels
drenching the air
with the bouquet of fall,
a seasonal signal of winter’s call.

Good food
from the good earth,
to make into enchiladas,
tacos, rellanos,
beans with chicos,
cornbread sprinkled with green chile
and kernels of fresh corn.
The kitchen a place of comfort
where love settled in every nook
and came in waves from the cook.

Autumn’s favor comes
in memories
of home, warmed by
the heat of an oven
baking a surprise
fresh from the field.
Memories interwoven with time,
a yearning to go back
and see my mother’s smile,
if only for a little while.

 

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Image: clipart.com

Short Fiction

The Music of Life

RoseI hate to dance. Period. That’s it. Today is my sister’s wedding day. She’s three years younger than I, which means I’m the spinster sister, although I’m a mere twenty-six. What does one have to do with the other? Nothing really, but it does contribute to me hiding out in the house while the bride and groom, and everyone else, twirls with abandon on the outdoor dance floor my father paid an arm and a leg to have installed just for the occasion.

My sister’s wedding.

I won’t be missed. Everyone knows I don’t like to dance. I’ve tried it, don’t get me wrong, even had dance lessons. My instructor kindly told my mother I was hopeless. If I was told to go right, I went left; if I was told to twirl, I stumbled; if I was told to dip, I dropped.

Let it be said, this put quite a damper on my social life.

A dancer I am not.

I wandered into the kitchen and dodged the caterers as I put together a small plate of food and filled a champagne flute with OJ. So much more elegant than just any old juice glass.

Flute and plate in hand, I plopped into an armchair in my dad’s home office. It was as far from the music as I could get and still be inside, away from notice.

I had helped select the menu for the dinner, so I had no problem plowing through the food on my plate. I should have gotten more, but dared not make a foray into the kitchen for another run. It would be just like my mother to be in there making sure the caterers knew what they were doing.

The froth of my dress, yes, it’s one of those too, too much in every way dresses brides force their bridesmaids to wear so we look ridiculous while she looks amazing. Fortunately for me mauve complimented my fair skin and chestnut hair. The sweetheart neckline and fitted bodice was okay. The mutton sleeves I could do without, as well as the miles and miles of silk and tulle worked into the skirt. We all looked like pudgy Swan Lake ballerinas on speed, even those of us with a slim figure.

I love you Sis, but some of your friends don’t need extra bulk around their butts and thighs. Just saying.

I jumped when the door opened. The most handsome man I have ever seen in my life stood there grinning at me.

“There you are! Joe told me to look for you in the most unlikely spot.”

“Joe?” I queried stupidly taking in the specimen before me with palpitating heart. Yeah, I know, treacly word, but my, oh my, my heart was stampeding like a herd of wild ponies.

“Yeah, Joe, your new brother-in-law. About my height, dreamy green eyes…”

He palmed the air when I raised my eyebrows at the dreamy green eyes comment. “That’s Pam’s description, not mine!”

Pam is my sister and Joe does have dreamy green eyes.

“So, come on. They’re wearing out the dance floor. Pam told me to come get you.” He put his hand out and expected me to take it. It’s the hardest thing I ever did to look at him like he was certifiable. I tucked my hands under my butt like a little kid to avoid temptation that might lead to something like dancing.

“Who are you?”

Let me see. How many witty opening gambits are there for meeting a hunk and half? Surely anything would be better than, who are you.

He gave a hokey sweeping bow, “Jake Morrison, at your service.” He straightened and that grin was back. “Joe’s friend. We grew up together.”

I did not remember Joe mentioning a Jake Morrison, and as one who poured over the guest list with razor like precision because it kept growing like weeds after a rainstorm, I knew Jake Morrison’s name was not there.

“I’m here as a surprise. I’ve been out of the country, but I had to be here for the most important day in Joey’s life.”

One, only Pam called Joe Joey, and two, had this man just read my mind?

“OOOOkay.”

“So, how about it. Let’s join the party.”

The music I hadn’t been able to hear, at least not very well, seemed to drift into the room. His hand hovered in front of me, palm up. Not clear exactly why I did it, I took his hand and let him help me up. I actually made it to my feet without falling on my face. As if it were meant to be, he brought me close, into a dancer’s embrace, my right hand in his left, his arm gently around my waist, and for reasons beyond my understanding, I placed my left hand on his shoulder (and a mighty fine shoulder it was) to steady myself.

“You are as beautiful as Joe said.”

I gulped. Nobody called me beautiful. Ever. Pam, well, she’s just a knockout. I’ve never minded. I’m okay, I mean my looks, don’t get me wrong, but beautiful?

He twirled me in time with the distant music, and I didn’t trip. Now that made my lips turn up in surprise, and maybe a touch of happy.

“And you have a lovely smile.”

I blushed.

“I hear you’re quite the artist, too.”

Painting, my guilty pleasure.

“How do you know about that?”

“Pam, she brags on you all the time.”

See, the thing is, my sister is my biggest fan, so I wasn’t surprised by his comment. However, my dabbling was just that, and I told him so as we dipped and swayed around Dad’s office, which seemed to have taken on dimensions I’d never realized before. Of course, when you know how to dance, and how to lead, it doesn’t really take that much space, I thought.

“What type of artist are you?”

“I just told you, I’m not an artist. It’s a hobby, that’s all.”

“You don’t think much of yourself, do you?”

Now I took offense at that statement. It’s just that I know my limitations.

“If you have limitations, you put them on yourself.”

Did I say that out loud? No, I did not.

“Let go, Anna, dance to the music of life.”

“I don’t dance.”

He grinned. “You are dancing,” he said, and spun me around, then caught me in a feather light embrace.

A slight frown marred his countenance. Abruptly he let me go and stepped back.

“Excuse me, I have to take this.” He pulled a cellphone from the pocket of his suit coat.

“Hello?”

I fidgeted and wished we could get back to doing that thing I don’t do: dancing.

“Now!? But I’m at my friend’s wedding.”

He turned away from me and nodded his head to whatever was being said on the other end of this annoying conversation. “Yes, I know you said I shouldn’t, but…” When he was done, he slipped the phone back in his pocket and turned to me, disappointment written all over his handsome face.

“Sorry, I have to go.” He smiled with such warmth and kindness, I smiled in return, even though in my heart I suspected I would never see this man again.

“Remember what I said, Anna, dance to the music of life.”

“I don’t dance!” I yelled as he walked out and closed the door.

I sat back down in the chair and wondered what the heck just happened.

“Here you are!”

I startled awake to find my sister, wedding gown still sparkling, wrinkle free and gorgeous, leaning over me.

“I found her!” she shouted, as if I was at the North Pole.

Alex, one of Joe’s groomsmen poked his head around the door. “Can I come in?”

What was I going to say? No?

“Listen, Anna, no hiding out. I may be the star of this show, but you’re my best supporting bridesmaid. Everyone’s asking where you are.”

“I got this, Pam,” Alex said. “You better get back before Joe starts to wonder if you’ve already come to your senses and left him.”

Pam punched him in the shoulder hard enough to make him wince. My sister, in addition to being runway model beautiful, is a black belt in karate.

She left me with Alex who turned to me with a dazzling grin and put his hand out to help me up from my chair. I surreptitiously pinched myself on my underarm to be sure I wasn’t asleep and dreaming. I mean, really, what are the odds two gorgeous men would be paying attention to me when there were bevvies of beauties out on the lawn just dying for a flirt fest?

I took his hand and stood up gracefully despite my frou-frou flounces of fabric. I must have looked a bit pensive because Alex’s smile disappeared to be replaced by concern.

“You okay?”

I realized he was still holding my hand and it felt darned good. I took it back and smoothed the fabric of my dress.

“Of course. I… I was wondering what happened to Jake.”

The expression on Alex’s face could only be defined as stunned. He visibly shook himself, or maybe shuddered, and smiled a ghost of a smile.

“Jake?”

“Morrison. Jake Morrison. What happened to him? He was…”

“How did you know Jake? Joe and Pam just got together two years ago.”

“I…”

He looked at me with a mixture of bewilderment and distress. “Sorry, it was just such a surprise to hear his name after all this time.”

I knew I didn’t want to hear whatever he had to say and lifted my hand in a useless gesture to stop him.

“I thought everyone knew. Sorry to be the one to tell you. Jake died in a skiing accident three years ago.”

“But…”

He looked at me and swallowed. “He would be here today, if he could. In some ways…” He glanced around and then back at me. “In some ways, I think he is. Wherever there was music, there was Jake, charming the ladies and spinning them around the dance floor.” Alex drew in a deep breath and blew it out. I sensed he, like I, was on the verge of tears. “His mantra was dance to the music of life.”

He knuckled a tear from my cheek I didn’t know was falling.

“He swore he would dance with the most beautiful girl at the party when Joe got married. He can’t be here, but would you do me the honor of allowing me to fill in for him?”

As we walked into the hallway, I looked back. I swear Jake Morrison was standing there grinning at me. I blinked, and he was gone.

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I hope you enjoy this little bit of romantic fantasy. Be sure and drop by my booth (59) at People’s Faire on Saturday, Aug. 27. I’ll be selling signed copies of my books.

Short Fiction

Hope Springs Eternal (or) Opportunity Knocks

BoutiqueAllie Edwards went to the mall. She didn’t know why. It’s not like she had money to spend. She couldn’t even pay her rent, much less buy something she didn’t need that would, in the end, make her feel guilty as hell.

No job. No prospects. No skills.

One thing she did have in abundance, was hope. Life had been less than fair to Allie, but as her old grandma would say, “Get used to it Miss Allie, life’s not fair, so get over yourself.”

She figured that meant there was no point in having a pity party.

She couldn’t even be mad at Mr. Hernandez for firing her. Business was down, she was the last waitress to be hired and therefore the first to be fired. Plus, in all honesty, she wasn’t too good at the whole waitressing thing. People who ate in restaurants could be downright demanding and mean. And balancing trays loaded with food, and knowing who was supposed to get what? Harder than she ever imagined.

But the job had allowed her to move out of her grandma’s stuffy apartment and into a place of her own. The thought of losing that bit of independence was enough to make her sad, but what could she do but move back with Grams if she didn’t have money coming in?

The mall’s bright interior lifted her mood. The stores with cheerful window displays made her smile. The air conditioning cooled her skin. Tempted by the food court, she almost bought an ice cream cone, but didn’t.

She stood before the window display of Winsome, a shop that catered to women “of all ages,” a bit optimistic in her opinion. You could not be all things to all people, especially when it came to women’s clothes.

“They should rethink who they want to sell to,” she said.

“I beg your pardon?” said an older woman who was also studying the window display.

Allie didn’t know why she spoke out loud, but that was her nature, saying what she thought, speaking when she shouldn’t.

“Sorry, I was thinking out loud. I do that sometimes.”

“Please, go on. What do you not like about the display?”

“Oh, the display is fine, it’s just that ‘women of all ages’ means any woman of any age would be interested in buying any one of those items, and,” she shrugged, “that’s flat out not the case.”

“Please, go on.”

“Well, take that cardigan for instance. The color is nice; most women look good in teal, but the style, well it screams skinny and young. The pants? Can you really see that cut on any woman under twenty-five? I don’t even know what to say about the dress. If it sags on a human female the way it sags on the mannequin, no girl I know would even want to try it on.”

“My, but you do have strong opinions.”

Allie shrugged. “Gram would agree.”

“What do you do, if you don’t mind my asking?”

Allie’s skin flushed. “Nothing right now. I was a waitress for a while, but to be honest, I wasn’t much good at it.”

“Have you ever done sales?”

Allie laughed.

“Why is that funny?”

“Gram says I’m too cheeky to work with the public.”

“Being a waitress is working with the public.”

“Yeah, and remember that part about me not being good at it.”

“How would you like to work for me?”

“Excuse me?”

The woman pulled a small poster from under her arm and showed it to Allie. It read, Help Wanted, Hiring Immediately.

“This is your store?”

The woman nodded.

Allie scrunched her face in confusion. “But I’ve never worked in, well anything like this.”

“My dear, you have shown more savvy than anyone I’ve hired in the past. Let’s call it a trial run. Ninety-day probationary period. What do you say?”

Allie started to tell her why this couldn’t possibly work, but for a change, kept her mouth shut until she built up the courage to say, “Thank you, I would like that. When do I start?”

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I hope you like this bit of short fiction. There will be more :). The image is from clipart.com, the story is mine.

The Path

Walk With Me

The veil of yesterday
shrouds the curtain of tomorrow.
Will there be happiness, or sorrow?
The future is not ours to know
as each daily trek we take
or any choices we may make.
The hours, days and years accumulate
and when our time draws nigh we pray
all will be blessed we came this way.

________________
In the neighborhood – (c) Sharon Vander Meer

Winter Trees

Winter Trees

Winter trees have bones,
some strong and straight
others curved and flexible,
some quite ethereal and spiderwebish
resilient in most every kind of weather.
Leafless, naked without their greenery
yet majestic and grounding
inspiring hope for tomorrow,
a tomorrow filled with promise.
Spring is on the way day by day.
Soon winter trees will be clothed again
ready for the dance of awakening.

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Photo of a winter day, Feb. 2, 2016 (c) Sharon Vander Meer

25 Poems of Christmas

25 Poems of ChristmasI have set a challenge for myself. In the next 25 days I will be posting a poem a day based on anchor words and phrases associated with Christmas. From these words I will create acrostic poems, some super short, some a little longer. Most will rhyme, some will not.

The art will primarily come from photos I have taken of nativities and other Christmas items I have collected over the years, or new holiday arrangements I have created. In doing this I honor traditions old and new, and share my Christmas spirit, something I couldn’t do in this way without the magic of the Internet.

The featured photo for today is of a music box nativity (left), and a bisque nativity. In the center is an arrangement of frosted greens and berries in a low fire raku pot created by Ann Trott, a gift from my husband several years ago.

Have a blessed and happy Christmas. I wish each of you love, happiness, safety, and serenity in the coming year.