Category Archives: poetry

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.

Lost and Found

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16

Hoo boy! So I’m taking this poetry class thing from WordPress, and today’s assignment was to create a “found poem.”

The description of a found poem was given thusly:

A found poem is composed of words and letters you’ve collected — randomly or not — from other sources, whether printed, handwritten, or digital, and then (re)arranged into something meaningful.

Well… I found something alright, but I don’t know if it would qualify as poetry. Perhaps my source of these collected phrases was a determining factor in how this would go. A Trader Joe’s monthly flyer can be pretty random even before you start cutting and pasting.

The good news: I kept it short. I think my found poem would have perhaps been better off remaining lost. Oh, and there was a suggested theme (face), and a poetry device (chiasmus). I didn’t even attempt to throw those in. All for the best, I think.

Here goes:

found poem

Oh, wait! Did they say “meaningful?”

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.