Yesterday I had a cholecystectomy or in easier terms – my gallbladder removed. After having an excruciating gallbladder attack on New Year’s night, I couldn’t gamble on not having another attack before school ends in June, so I decided to extend my Easter break by three days and get it taken care of sooner rather than later.
Anesthesia has worn off Head is clearer So is the pain Not unbearable – just making its presence known
Coughing is tricky Placing abdominal pressure A necessary precaution Changing positions Done gingerly No sudden movements
Dietary delicacies Crackers and chicken broth Jello and oatmeal Tea and ginger ale Keeps nausea away
Short term annoyances For long term gains and Maybe some fried calamari!
During National Poetry Month I am attempting to write a poem a day. Some I will post, some I won’t. I am drawing inspiration from a number of online sources. Today’s poem is a result of a prompt given at #verselove on ethicalela.com. Kim Johnson, Ed.D. provide today’s inspiration when she told us to “imagine being in a small coffee shop among friends” who are catching up and to share something about ourselves.
Weekend Coffee Share Poem
If we were having coffee… My drink would be black tea or maybe a chai latte.
If we were having coffee… We would catch up on the aches & pains of our aging bodies which would morph into a discussion about which Medicare plan we were choosing Since this year we will turn That magical number 65.
If we were having coffee… We would talk about our grandchildren and expound on all the wonderful things the loves of our lives are doing and how full if life they make us feel.
If we were having coffee… We’d discuss the latest books we were reading, and I would tell you to add Mad Honey to your list.
If we were having coffee… I would make sure we got out our calendars and made another “coffee” date sooner rather than later.
The wind whistles its ominous warning through the not quite closed storm window – a precursor to the impending thunderstorms and high winds Nature’s way of telling us to stay in hunker down be vigilant
I am working on my poetry muscles this month by joining #verselove at ethicalela.com. Today’s model was a Cherita, a poem that tells a story or tale. The form consists of three stanzas- one line in the first, two in the second, and three in the third. I had been thinking about a topic all morning when after lunch it just hit me – figuratively and literally!
Latte – A Little or A Lot?
I was bemoaning the fact that I had nothing to write about.
Fortunately or unfortunately a little story found me. I was looking forward to a chai latte after lunch on this bleak and rainy day.
I loaded up my Keurig and anticipated the warm beverage. So much so that I fumbled the cup and spilled most of it on the counter and onto the floor. Should I be satisfied with the three mouthfuls I saved or brew another cup?
Rainy days make me feel old because I let them shift my focus from what I can do to what I can’t do. My joints throb; my muscles ache – the rain just announcing its arrival. My knees sing “click, crackle, crunch.” A finger bends and has trouble bending back – it gently cries, “Oil can.” Walking around is made more difficult by this weather event causing me to be even more reliant on my “gait aid device” aka cane. I can let water flow from my eyes in despair, or I can look forward to the rainbow.
Today’s poem is a 4×4 Poem inspired by Denise Krebs and the directions and format can be found at ethicalela.com #verselove
It Won’t Get Me!
Arthritis stinks Predicts the rain It slows me down But I don’t stop
Rest when needed Arthritis stinks Medicine helps Exercise too
Can sit all day Or push myself Arthritis stinks Get up and walk
Aging is hard But life is good Movement is sweet Arthritis stinks.
I’ll do my best to keep looking for the rainbows, but there are two more days of rain trying to shake my resolve. Break out the relaxing teabags!
Fresh off the March Slice of Life Story Challenge, I am jumping into VerseLove, a 30 day poetry writing experience to celebrate National Poetry Month. I cannot convincingly say I will be successful in writing a poem a day, but I will give it a try.
April is also Jazz Appreciation Month which I think is very fitting. To me, poetry gives writers more creative leeway in format and word choices just the way Jazz allows musicians to improvise and branch out of more formal structures.
Poems bring me joy Opening my heart and soul Evoking memories – happy and sad Taking me deeper – inside to Reflect, retrace, renew Yielding to the call for quiet
Today we had a middle school club period; I moderate the Poetry Workshop. Our focus today was on color poems. First the students did a quick write about their favorite color, and then I shared Hailstones and Halibut Bones by Mary O’Neill. If you don’t know this book, you must check it out. It is a beautifully written and illustrated collection of color poems. Below is my quick draft that I wrote while the kids were writing their color poems.
Purple is royal and regal and proud. It can be muted, or it can be loud.
In the kitchen purple can be small or big Eggplants and onions; cabbage and fig
Purple is hyacinths, verbena, and aster. It’s also in sunsets over the pasture.
If you’re Prince, you see purple in the rain. If you’re clumsy, you see it after the pain.
Purple has many names; here are some: amethyst, lavender, magenta, and plum.
Today’s poem is a triolet. “A triolet has 13th century French roots linked to the rondeau or “round” poem. It is an eight line poem.
A (first line) B (second line) a (rhymes with first line) A (repeat first line) a (rhymes with first line) b (rhymes with second line) A (repeat first line) B (repeat second line) (Writer’s Digest)
Here is my draft of a triolet.
The stairs are always cruel to me my Mt. Everest for sure one at a time, knee by knee The stairs are always cruel to me I hate that others have to see that climbing stairs has become a chore The stairs are always cruel to me my Mt. Everest for sure.
Today’s poem is a Cinquain. “Inspired by tanka, the cinquain is comprised of 2 syllables in the first line, 4 in the second line, 6 in the third, 8 in the fourth, and 2 in the fifth. Plus, poets have the freedom to add or subtract one syllable from each line.” (Writer’s Digest)
This is my draft of a cinquian.
Tuesday feels like Monday first day back after break the countdown to the end of school begins.