Category Archives: humanity

Lost Opportunity

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10

stairs

The doors opened with a swish
and the dance began.
People exiting the train, others entering the train,
and many just shifting side to side
to allow for the ebb and flow.

I tucked your fingers under my arm as we alit,
and began threading my way across the platform
of the underground U-Bahn station.

Midway up the steps to street level,
I shivered as a blast of cold air swept by,
and I reached for you instinctively,
seeking your warmth to shield me from the wind.

You were gone.

Fearing the worst, I descended the stairs,
pushing against the tide of bodies
headed upward to the street.
I reached the platform and I saw you.
My suspicions were confirmed.

In the throng, you had slipped away,
and now you were heading hurriedly
in the opposite direction.
And in the arms of another.

My heart sank.
I wanted to go after you,
to claim you as my own,
but I knew that even if I managed to catch up to you,
I wouldn’t know what to say.

I don’t blame you.
I had taken you for granted,
thinking you would always be with me.
I was so, so wrong.

And so I let you go.
In sadness I turned away,
and retraced my steps out of the U-Bahn station
and onto the cold street.

If only, I thought…
if only I spoke better German
I would have called out to the other woman,
told her you were mine.
Told her how much I needed you,
How much you meant to me.

But I did none of that,
for fear of making a fool of myself.

I will miss you.
You were the warmest pair of gloves I’ve ever owned.

WordPress Writing 201, Assignment Eight: elegy.

Coffee Queue

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11

coffee

The “drive thru” lane of the coffee house
was perhaps not aptly named,
as “driving” implies movement,
not this line with mere glacial gain.

Sitting in my car that morn
I awaited my morning brew,
my patience growing thinner as
my caffeine headache grew.

Exhaust fumes drifted through the air
adding fuel to the fire,
igniting the glowing embers of
my ever growing ire.

When at last the car in front of mine
to the cashier’s window drew,
the driver seemed unprepared to pay
and so my frustration grew.

After all this time she had to wait
you’d think she’d manage to
have her payment at the ready
since she knew what amount was due.

Instead of moving through the line,
a discussion soon ensued.
What the hell was there to talk about?
Pay your money and move on through.

“Two dollars? Yes, we can do that.”
I heard the cashier say.
Oh great, I thought, and rolled my eyes.
Seems I’ll be stuck here all day.

At last the driver pulled away.
I moved up to take her place,
my money at the ready
so as not to slow the pace.

“The customer just in front of you
asked if she could pay
two dollars toward your drink order.
I guess it’s your lucky day.”

The anger that I’d fed upon,
self-righteous indignity,
was more poisonous than the exhaust fumes
and more damaging to me.

The lesson that I learned that day:
more patient I must be.
It was more than just a cheaper drink
that the driver gave to me.

The next time I get stuck like that,
I won’t begrudge the time.
I’ll just pay two dollars extra for
the next car in the line.

WordPress Writing 201, Assignment Six. Prompt: neighborhood. Form: ballad. Device: assonance.

Finding Happy

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8

The theme for this week’s Daily Post photo challenge is “happy place,” and the question is “where do you go to get your groove back?”

I don’t so much have a “happy place,” as I do a “contentment place.” When life gets a bit too chaotic, here are three of my “retreats”:

Walks with my buddy.
walks

Getting lost in creativity.
studio

Nature
oceanside

I actually have many happy places. In fact, I’m in one right now. I call it “home.”

Weekly Photo Challenge: Happy Place

GLove

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12

Skin so soft, I hesitate to touch it sometimes with my age-worn own. My knuckles, a roughened ridge spanning the width of my hand. Yours, an innocent row of dimples where hand meets fingers. When you reach up to hold my hand – or maybe just a finger or two – I am honored. It’s a gift, so swift in the offering that one might miss it, mistake it as just something we do, holding hands. But I catch it, and hold it, and tuck the feeling away in my mind, like a hand slipping into a glove, to keep warm for when coldness sets in.

skin

WordPress Writing 201, Assignment Three. Prompt: skin. Form: prose poem. Device: internal rhyme.

Brain Dump

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16

For a few months now, I’ve been writing “morning pages,” a concept introduced by author Julia Cameron In her book, The Artist’s Way. Basically it involves filling three pages of a journal each day upon first awakening with “stream of consciousness” writing, moving your pen (or pencil or crayon) nonstop to record whatever pops into your mind.

artists wayMorning pages are intended to circumvent the “inner critic,” that voice inside your head that judges and picks apart whatever you think or do.

If you listen to your inner critic and believe all the negativity it tries to heap on you, eventually your creativity gets blocked, and you couldn’t write a decent sentence or draw a decent picture or perform a decent free form interpretive dance – or whatever your creative bent is – if your life depended on it.

Cameron recommends that you don’t go back and read what you’ve written in your journal so you won’t be tempted to edit or censor yourself.

You know how as soon as you’re told not to do something that’s exactly the thing you want to do? Okay, maybe that’s just me. And most five year olds. But of course I just had to reread my journal entries.

I’ve culled a few of my thoughts to share with you. If you are a psychiatrist who’s reading this, feel free to list your diagnoses of my mental state in the comments below. Or not.

Here’s a sampling of my journal entries:

It’s funny how old sayings get truncated and then end up making no sense. “Sweating like a pig.” “Happy as a clam.” Then you can’t remember how they’re supposed to go. Am I sweating like a pig at high tide, or am I happy as a clam in a butcher’s shop? Maybe I should just clam up and stop sweating it.

spacer pencilI’m still curious as to why birds don’t interbreed. You know, like a hawk and a rooster. You’d end up with a hawk-a-doodle.

spacer pencil
I set a couple of goals for yesterday, maybe more, and at first I totally forgot about them. Then I remembered that I had set them, but couldn’t remember what they were.

spacer pencil
If something is misspelled is there really such a thing as misspelling it worse?

spacer pencil
Birds probably don’t dwell on rejection.

spacer pencil
Who knew ampersands could be so interesting?

ampersand
I had it figured out once, but then I got confused again. That happens a lot. Well, maybe not. Just sometimes. I don’t know… I’m so confused.

spacer pencil
I sure have a lot of things to not worry about. That worries me.

spacer pencil
I bet doggie heaven has lots of things to bark at. And smelly things to roll in. And it’s probably right next to kitty heaven so the dogs can sneak over there and eat cat poop. ‘Cuz they sure do love to do that!

Surprisingly, rereading my journal has not invoked that critical voice in my head. In fact, my inner critic seems to just be shaking its head, with that “I don’t even know where to begin” look of dismay.

For once, my inner critic is speechless. Maybe I’ll go do my interpretive dance now.

Pink Feathers

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“Go in search of pink feathers,” commands the channeled spirit, “and you shall find them.” Indeed I did find them. They were on sale at a store right around the corner. Manifested just for me. Must be a common directive for this mystic.

feather
“Don’t just ask the Universe for a thousand dollars,” advises one motivational speaker. “Be specific.” So I asked for one thousand two hundred thirty-two dollars and fifteen cents. I’m still waiting for the fifteen cents. Universe, do you hear me?

I don’t know when manifesting became akin to ordering from the Sears and Roebuck catalog. Don’t get me wrong. I believe wholeheartedly in manifesting.

My concept of manifestation, however, is the good old-fashioned kind. The kind where what one sends out vibrationally into the ether comes back in the form of self-fulfilling prophecy.

Henry Ford was on board decades ago, long before the “secrets of the Universe” crowd showed up (or did they manifest?). His oft-quoted words sum it up nicely:

Whether you believe you can do a thing or not, you will be right.

Perhaps a bit less mystical, but no less powerful. You are what you think. You attract what you think about. You are limited by your limiting beliefs. And yes, there is a vibrational field that holds your vision and works on your behalf to help make manifest your intentioned outcomes.

There, I said it. So I am a little woo-woo “out there.” But I’m comfortable with that. And I don’t need a pink feather to prove to myself or anyone else that manifesting “works.” And if – at the end of the day – I come up fifteen cents short, so be it.

It’s a beautiful morning, and I’ve sat at my computer long enough. I think I’ll head out to see what I can manifest today. No matter what order we place with the Universe, the Universe has an uncanny way of surprising us.

I like surprises. Sometimes.

manifest1

In response to The Daily Post prompt: Community Service