Mmmhmm.
This water is good.
It’s good when the air is dry.
I can’t hardly wait
to recall how it tastes
when the temperature is high!
And the door
out to the patio,
I like how light comes through the glass.
But when the weather
is warmer,
I’ll like how it lets me pass.
About Design
My husband says, “Write a poem about design.”
And he’s right. That’s what’s been on my mind.
The reason I haven’t written poems this past week
is I’ve had a dozen vector graphics that I had to tweak.
It’s amazing what some points, some lines, some colors in between
have the strength to say. How much they can mean.
And how much there is to learn when each mistake’s a class
and the notebook is my brain and I have to write so fast.
The Words, the Pictures, and the Music
Unlike the brain behind my face,
my hard drive’s running out of space.
I could delete the words,
the pictures and the music.
And they would be gone without a trace.
I think that I should just hold on
before my files are all gone.
I could take the words
fit a thousand in each picture and set each picture to music.
And then maybe they would fit…
or overflow?
And then maybe they would fit…
or overflow?
What Language
I speak to my husband in This-ish.
I speak to my baby in That-ish.
And what language do I think in, you might ask.
I think about what I am seeing.
I think about what I am doing.
And being poetic’s becoming a difficult task.
Watch and Play
You always do fine in the nursery.
There’s plenty of toddlers to track.
While your mama’s away
you watch and you play
until your mama comes back.
All Caught Up
Wouldn’t if feel wonderful to feel
all caught up?
Everything behind you,
nothing but the breeze and the sunshine on your face. I’d be
scared.
Wouldn’t you feel scared?
Losing that tension that keeps a few things from getting done,
a few projects from flying
would be like losing gravity.
All caught up:
caught up by the atmosphere.
Yes, it would be clear.
But I’d be scared.
All Poetry Is Lost
Today was going to be the day I got caught up.
I guess that will be tomorrow.
If you run out of things to do,
I have a list you can borrow!
But I’ll write on that some other day.
Tonight I’m only here to say…
All poetry is lost
when your child must be trapped in a plastic contraption
to write it.