I. The poem presents itself at the most akward of times; the poem is the itsy brown mouse zipping across the dining room floor just as your mother-in-law is properly seated. There are two poems here; it's all a matter of putting them down in order of importance.
II. The skin on my palm is peeling. Winter dry, I could halt the process with lotion or cocoa butter, but am content to do nothing. The whole mess started with a snow shovel callous that I wore as a Badge of Honor. I pick at the skin, scratch it until it becomes a map of places I've not been due to blizzard conditions. january turned to February turned to March ... winter isolation, I could halt the process with day trips and tea-soaked visitations, but am content to do nothing more than read.
III. The cookbook bought at an autumn yard sale, holds a secret more terrible than Ortolans en Brochette. Written in faint pencil across the top of the Table of Contents page, a single, slanted, block-letter confession: I COULD END IT ALL TODAY, IF I WASN"T SUCH A CHICKEN-SHIT. No more than that. Until the last page. There, dead center on the bottom, is a rusty smudge. A blob. A thumbprint. Had the cooked nicked his finger; had the scribbler found his courage?
Pat, these are OUTSTANDING examples of why you should be read by a MUCH larger audience! Top-notch wordsmithing, dry irony, and hard-edged realism in even the smallest of observations -- honesty, it's all about honesty. No hiding behind flowery pretense and stale convention. So great to read your work!
I was really intrigued by the last one...Wow. I could just imagine picking up that book and seeing the writing from someone's hand who had contemplated such a deed. The chills, and wondering if they'd been able to overcome such a horrible wish. They were all great, but the last one...wow. Michelle
All I have to do to know that 'just another day' is going to become one to remember, is to open your page, and be able to inhale your creativity. If one thirsts for inspiration in the written form, you can flood their banks with nourishment.
I read this three times, just because it's that damn good.
Perfection!
january turned to February turned to March ...
winter isolation, I could halt the process
with day trips and tea-soaked visitations, but am content
to do nothing
more than read.
That could be a poem in itself. I relate and like the blunt style.
This really is vintage Pat Gomes! Fantastic as always! that bold
ending really made this outstanding! I also love your anaolgy of "the poem skittering like a tiny mouse, across the floor etc" Superb!
wow, both of these are fantastic...i would probably hibernate and read if winter were that intense here, and the glimpse of life and despair of a stranger in the cookbook is just too perfect. i will read them over again
Under Amber Skies, written by author and poet Jill Eisnaugle, is a wonderful collection of rhyming poetry guaranteed to please every reader. In this, her second book, she writes of new friendships kindled, as well as old friendships solidified. She g
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Reindeer
I read this three times, just because it's that damn good.
Perfection!
Lisa
winter isolation, I could halt the process
with day trips and tea-soaked visitations, but am content
to do nothing
more than read.
That could be a poem in itself. I relate and like the blunt style.
Love Tinka
Ron
ending really made this outstanding! I also love your anaolgy of "the poem skittering like a tiny mouse, across the floor etc" Superb!
Eileen