Shampooing

A poem for my Mom.

At the kitchen sink,
the unceremonious baptistery of our ritual,
I lay all my hopes for re-creation in the skillful art
of your hands, and bend my head under
the drowning rush of tap water.
 
Your hands, slick with shampoo,
caress my hair and scalp until the suds begin to bubble
their familiar cleansing litany.
 
Under the water again,
I watch the bubbles swirl around the drain
and disappear, carrying away
the residue of my world.
 
The water stops.
I lift my towel-dried hair
and breathe the welcome air,
full of the promises of a clean beginning.
 
………………………………………………………………..
This poem is being shared at One Stop Poetry for Mother’s Day. Click here to submit your own poetry and read the work of other great poets. Happy Mother’s Day!
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April PAD Prompt Day 4: Type of Person

The Religious Narcissist
.
Because he has been chosen from among men
to be favored by God
he knows he is infallible.
.
God speaks directly into his ear,
so do not question when he
contradicts, blasphemes,
adulterates, manipulates Scripture
.
because he has been chosen from among men
to be favored by God
.
his choices might destroy families,
pull houses to the ground,
set towns ablaze,
bring his child to her knees–
but he feels no call to answer
the plea in his daughter’s eyes
that beg him to come back down to earth
for just one moment and affirm her
.
because he has been chosen from among men
to be favored by God.

Valentine Candy: For My Four Girls

dripping drool kisses

drizzled with sticky syrup

hugs all covered with

gooey hands filled with the hearts

of my sweet, sweet valentines

…………………………………………………………..

This poem was my attempt at a Tanka, a form being explored today at One Stop Poetry. Visit their site to read more poems and add your own: http://onestoppoetry.com/2011/02/one-stop-poetry-form-todays-form-is-tanka.html

Belief

Once belief is broken,
promises become lies
and idols are toppled,
revealed as scraps of wood
whose worthlessness cries out
to be worshiped,
not loved.
……………………………….
This poem was written in response to a poetry prompt from Robert Lee Brewer at http://blog.writersdigest.com/poeticasides/CategoryView,category,PoetryPrompts.aspx

Last Chance

Memories in boxes
stored in strangers’ houses,
necessities packed,
checked into this flight home
from our poverty of means
to face our challenges.
One more step ’til I am gone,
one last chance for you to say you love me…
.
in silence, you let me go

An Opening

like Spring softly
comes slowly you warmly
come silently to touch me,
with soft-rain kisses
opening slowly flowers,
with a sunlight dream
opening silently my soul
bursts soft colors warm beneath you.
.
now Winter is long just a memory,
forgotten.

Friendship

You and I
are like two trees
planted side by side,
whose trunks meet and
grow together as one
large trunk before
each branches out
into their own
piece of sky.

Solitary Confinement

Your brutal silence envelops me
like a shroud,
a tailor-made prison,
ever shrinking,
constricting my soul.

I long to rise from this dead place;
I want to plead for my life.
But fear of your words
stabbing me to
a quicker death,
keeps me frozen.

Your silence is a wall I cannot see through,
and one I am afraid to break down.
So once again I offer myself
on the altar of reconciliation,
allow misconceptions of me
to be truths,
and submit once more
to this death
to which you have condemned me.