Saturday, November 3, 2012

Spirit of the Boardwalk (OctPoWriMo Day 17)


A message written in the sand should always wash away
Always wash away
Always wash away.
A message written in the sand should always wash away
Now what shall I do?

The memories of my childhood are floating in the sea
Floating in the sea
They drift away from me.
The memories of my childhood are floating in the sea
Now what shall I do?

Ferris wheels and roller-coasters sinking in the waves
They’re sinking in the waves.
They could not be saved.
Never thought the boardwalk would be sinking in the waves.
Now what shall I do?

A Sandy message on the beach should always wash away
Always wash away.
I guess another day.
A Sandy message on the beach should always wash away.
Now what shall I do?

Cheryl L. Crockett  November 3, 2012

Friday, November 2, 2012

Time in my pocket (OctPoWriMo Day 18)


When I tried to put time in my pocket
It oxidized and then “poof” disappeared.
I put more in a bag and zip-locked it.
Returning, I saw the contents were cleared.

What happens to time that I try to save?
Eluding my grasp as hard as I try.
Why does it sneak up and make me its slave
But then leave me without saying “good-bye”?

See my distress; I have had no success.
May I please just keep some time for later?
I have to confess: I would be so blessed.
You may call me a procrastinator.

By Cheryl Crockett   November 2, 2012
OctPoWriMo Day 18

Thursday, November 1, 2012

It's not about the questions (OctPoWriMo Day 2)


The questions I don’t want
to answer are harsh
yellow lights
at the crossroads
of my destiny
blinking silently
reflecting
in the curtained windows
of buildings
in my periphery.

I take out my book
and read a poem
but it doesn’t help.

The questions I refuse
to write on a page
are the skin-crawling
scratches of indelible
chalk in an invisible
hand of a patient
instructor behind
a locked door
at 3:01 p.m.

…as I pretend to
have finished more than
two of the assigned chapters.

Writing my questions
is a little too much.
Once they are
“out there” where
others might see,
some well-meaning
person might
offer assistance…

Can’t he see me
studying my encyclopedia?

these questions that 
I choose to 
keep to myself
are small flocks of
starlings before
autumn flight
casting silver
reflections, I think
they are key to the
answers I fear
and from which
I flee.

Cheryl Crockett November 2, 2012
OctPoWriMo Day 2 (one month later)

Beginner’s Limerick (OctPoWriMo Day 1)


I am a beginner, it's true...
Excited for all I will do.
    I get a great start
    Then things fall apart.
'Cause my problem's poor follow-through.

Cheryl Crockett  November 2, 2012
OctPoWriMo  Day 1

Wednesday, October 24, 2012

Writing on the Double

#OctPoWriMo Day 23
The challenge suddenly appeared and I wasn’t expecting a moment of inspiration, but…
My reaction to a challenge like this is less physiological and more psychological.
First, I thought: “Can I do this?”
In their blog posts, Morgan and Jordan have encouraged us to write one poem a day and not be hard on ourselves if we aren't writing everyday. I know I am a poet but am I really capable of that level of production? 
The answer is “yes”. I can produce at least one poem a day and have been doing it for a while.  Yes, they're mostly haikus. I have missed days and the directors of this project say I should "be gentle" with myself.
Being gentle with myself was very necessary with news of three deaths in as many days (and a fourth person receiving hospice care). But the poetic challenge I saw was to laugh (mid-month). #save4later
Because I didn't know about it, I was late to #OctPoWriMo, and though I am glad I found it, I’ve never done anything like it before. Well, OK, I do #GH4A but that is a much smaller and (excruciatingly) slower endeavor.
So, why can’t I keep up? I am a poetess and I do love words! I have a very encouraging set of accomplishments that keep me from shying away from an on-line poetry challenge where poets encourage and help one another grow. I love this kind of environment.
Am I alone in thinking every poem should be a masterpiece? Of the few I have posted, most have barely qualified as "pieces" (forget the mastery), and the entire internet has access to them!? I could just crawl under my desk and hide after re-reading some of my posted poems.
But, my palms aren't sweating. I know how to write poems and if I want to post them before the Linky Tools interface expires for any given challenge, I have to get to writing, on the double. These challenges are good for me and I know it. (I also know I will probably write for at least one of these challenges in December).
We were asked to record audio or video of our favorite challenge poem we’ve written so far in this month of poetry prompts and entertaining video examples. In response, my body doesn’t seem to be going through any changes as I consider how I will accomplish the task set before me. I’ve never posted audio or video of me reading my poetry before. How do I do that? After all, I know it can be done. 
I looked on my computer and found something called “Movie Maker”. It seems easy enough.  OK, I picked my poem “Autumn Good-bye Song” and wrote down what kind of images I will put with the audio of me reading the poem. And instead of just my voice for audio, I could record a track of music to play softly behind the poem. I have a plan. (hear this poem read by the poetess)
Since this will take more time than what I have today, I dusted off my Sound-Cloud account (yay, I remembered the password) and read the poem into an audio file to post with this blog.
My reaction to a challenge like this is less physiological and more psychological. First, I thought: “Can I do this?”  Then my mind started to answer the question. My last thought before writing (for 25 minutes and editing for another 15) is:
“I CAN DO THIS!”

Thursday, October 18, 2012

Put your hands together

Put your hands together
(Haiku String)
By Cheryl Crockett   #OctPoWriMo Day #16

My hands move apart
Curtains open on my day.
Decisions unmade.

I have two choices
…Conflicted; neither is best.
My hands weigh options.

Barbed wires pierce my soles.
My hands stretch to the left and right.
I am on the fence.

Hands fought for my rights.
I can’t choose not to decide.
Time is getting short.

Some ways I like both.
There’s so much more I dislike.
I can’t handle this!

Exasperated
I put my hands together
Bow my head, and pray.

Monday, October 15, 2012

Proven Friend #OctPoWriMo Day 15

Proven Friend
A Pantoum

To show my thanks, would flowers be enough?
For she’s the one who helps me lift my load.
As single moms, we both know life is tough
It’s easier to tread this stretch of road.

For she’s the one who helps me lift my load.
When otherwise I’d feel I was alone.
It’s easier to tread this stretch of road.
Her words bring comfort when we’re on the phone.

When otherwise I’d feel I was alone.
When visiting, I know she’s there for me.
Her words bring comfort when we’re on the phone.
With love she demonstrates sincerity

And when we talk, I know she’s there for me.
As single moms, we both know life is tough
With love she demonstrates sincerity
To show my thanks, would flowers be enough?

For my dear friend Liz, who would not expect me to write a poem for her.
First she was my friend. Then she began to help me with my dad.
That is a true friend.
#OctPoWriMo  Day 15

Thursday, October 11, 2012

MORNING MOMENT
By Cheryl L. Crockett ~ October 10, 2012

Maybe I was dreaming
an errant feather
brushed my brow
just before
I stretched to turn
to the glorious side

Before I yawned and caught
the faint fragrance
a fresh batch
of new mercies
left for me

Before I opened my eyes
enough to squint
through sun-laced lashes.

I remain oblivious.
Reality is waiting in the hall
somewhat impatiently.

So, I inhale
slowly and deeply
to save this
wonderful moment

as my angel hurries from view.

#OctPoWriMo #10

Tuesday, October 9, 2012

Autumn Good-Bye Song

By Cheryl L. Crockett  ~ October 9, 2012
(hear this poem read by the poetess)

Lowering my window as my curtains reach to me,
Floating on a frigid gust that shakes the maple tree
And rustles red and amber leaves to finally set them free,
I listen to the music of their good-bye song.

Cozy in my sweater and my cup is steaming hot.
I look and see so many swirling swallows in a flock,
Flitting-flutter-fleeting, headed southward from my block.
I listen to the music of their good-bye song.

Colors of October wax then wane to brown and black.
The darkened leaves descend and die, but birds are coming back.
(And for their yearly autumn trip, they never need to pack!)
I listen to the music of their good-bye song.

Flurries are so quiet, I can’t hear them coming down.
I wake up so surprised to see some snow covers the ground.
As winter starts, there is no hint of autumn to be found.
No longer is there music of the good-bye song;

Don't forget the sounds of fall's good-bye.

#OctPoWriMo #9