Coffeeshop Writer's Group - Poems: Diabetes and the Bike - Yellow Day - The Flying Bride or Why I Paint my Nails

We all loved Martha's poem The Snow Visitors. She looked out her upstairs window and saw snow tracks of all the animals who visit by night.

Regulars.

Martha had a great idea. Why doesn't our Coffeeshop Writer's Group put out a magazine of our fine poets. She hadn't been with us when we used to meet at Weinrich's Coffeeshop. We published Icing on the Cake, underwrin by Stephen Weinrich!

Couldn't find a photo of our Icing on the Cake poetry journal. Everyone above was published in it. Here we are during one of our meetings at Weinrich Bakery.

Marf, this was a wonderful place to meet. But they closed down the coffee shop on weekends cuz it didn't make a big enough profit.

Martha, the idea person in today's group, had another great idea. I told her that I'd written poems about possible deceased donors for my kidney transplant.

She suggested I have a display case at our library - the Upper Moreland Library - on transplants. Look, I have a photo have Margie Peters, library director, on file.

Margie Peters, FW.  That stands for Fabulous Woman.

Okay, who's the next victim.

Carly Brown gives full attention while Marf reads. She's got a couple of story ideas in her shiny blond-colored head, but they're germinating.

This is funny b/c the same is true with me. My poem Diabetes and The Bike  came to me while riding my stationery bike but I was nervous, as I always am, about writing a poem I'm happy with. It came out better than I expected.

I told the group that the most important thing I do all week is to write a poem. Martha, I think that astonished you. Carly you probably feel the same way, right?

Short stories are much easier for me to write than a poem.

Linda always spots me when I try to shoot a candid shot of her. She perks right up and always takes a great foto.

Her poem Lobsters is so good I want it for the Compass, which she pronounces COMpass. 

OMG! You have no idea how hungry I am. At the Giant, I ate the most delicious


tapioca. We used to eat it as kids.

Unfortunately, by eating two containers my sugar shot up to 165, so I'm sitting blogging, waiting for it to come down, and then I'll eat my lima bean soup which is in the slow-cooker.

I burned the first batch and sat the burned pot out on a pile of wet leaves on the deck. The house stunk!

Donna read a poem called Andrew's Plight about a homeless man who takes shelter on a train. Donna said she thinks a lot about homeless people. Linda said she does too.

I asked when they last saw homeless people. The Upper Moreland Library has a few, as does the very same Giant where we meet.

After the meeting, I went to Van's Jeweler in Hatboro. Last week I brought in a b'ful bracelet of Venetian beads my niece gave me for my birfday. For only $10, Mr Van, who is from LAOS, transferred the beads to an elastic band so I can easily put it on and off.

What a terrible photo!

That's better, Ruthie!

But I do want you to look at the one-cup coffeemaker that my sister Ellen gave me when I went over after the group.

It's made by BODEN, and says Made in Denmark on the glass carafe. I am ecstatic! My first Danish-owned object.

My mom kindly gave me some coffee filters for when I brew my coffee. My sister Donna has provided me with enough coffee so that I won't fall asleep for seven years.

So I went upstairs with mom and we spent two hours going over her papers.



Here's mom now. We had a frank talk about when she's no longer here, what we should do. I was shocked she has no burial insurance b/c she always told me to get mine own, which I'll never do.

She showed me various files which I'll need to know about and also let me have several old-time photos she's now able to part with

Gramma Zali. My name is Ruth Zali Greenwold Deming. Zali is mom's grandmother. Jews name their children after deceased relatives.

Dad was a Marine during WWII. Here's his carte d'identite and mom's also. Oh-oh, hers expired in Sept, 1945. Wonder if we can renew it.

For my millions of fans out there, I was born in Camp Lejeune, North Carolina. I'm really in a chatty mood now but must stop myself... I was gonna say that in elementary school I would do state reports on North Carolina, the Tarheal State. Luther Hodges was the govnah!



Told the group I'm working on a short story where the female lead is gonna kill someone, but the author of said story has no idea who she'll knock off.

They reminded me that last week I said I'd never killed anyone, but did intend to. My female characters have suffered rape and one poor woman was thrown overboard on a cruise ship and left to fend for herself. I left the ending open like in The Lady and The Tiger.

DIABETES AND THE BIKE

Diabetes, if not controlled,

is a spreading cancer to

every vital part of the human

organism or even a cat or

floppy-tailed dog

whose owners hide the insulin pill

inside what they call a “treat”

The name “diabetes” sounds sweet

like a playful nymph frolicking

in the woods with Zeus, who will

trick and capture and ravage her

all the same, just as diabetes

will get us

perhaps it will ruin our eyesight

so we can no longer read a book

or comb our hair in the mirror

perhaps it will bring heinous pain

to the bottom of our feet

said a friend who has painfully

trundled off to the afterlife

Hedge your bets, says I,

as I climbs aboard my stationery bike

set in front of the television whose

rabbit ears quiver as it pulls in

news from Japan

I speed up my pedaling

as we hear an “inside report”

on the young babyfaced leader

of Korea North who dwells

in the land of Pyongang with

his banditos who terrorize

the land where mountains

hold their breath and plan

to topple them one day

Tired of the eternal nonsense

I blow my nose in what used to

be a light-green T-shirt

and switch channels

but the charismatic leader

has his hooks in me

and I watch and with the

mountains, plot his demise.

Won’t be easy, but I think

we can do it. Are people

killed off in fairy tales?

Solomon Grundy met his

demise of unknown causes

on a Sunday. Nuns pray

for peace, I pray: Almighty,

send down a multi-colored

balloon and lure the gentleman

aboard, we will take him to

a kindergarten class, give him

drums and a tambourine

to amuse himself with

and teach him to be a man.  

Quick comment on Yellow Day: Oh, will you shut up, Ruthie! What are you, manic?

Anyway, I started a similar poem last week b/c the same yellow tinge filled the air. I wrote a very bad poem about it and it's one of very few poems - or maybe the only one - I've actually trashed.

YELLOW DAY

On the eleventh of January

I awake to Yellow.

I blink my bleary eyes

and gaze from my

upstairs window at what

seems to be my street

but you can never be sure

dementia and parallel universes

and doppelgangers makes

reality an ever uncharted sea

Yellow becomes the color

of the sky today

the air the grass and

the toppled-over

nativity scene across

the street

if ever there were an

apocalypse

this is the perfect day

I practice tumbling

over and over like a

dizzy acrobat

rehearsing for the

next brilliant move

of Einstein’s world.

L
La Mariee by Marc Chagall.

I've always admired Donna Krause's beautifully polished nails. She does them herself! Perhaps that's what influenced me to get "my nails done."

As I wrote the poem, I think I discovered the underlying reason why I do so!

THE FLYING BRIDE: OR WHY I WEAR NAIL POLISH

Dad told me he liked plain

girls like my unadorned mother

who to this day, nails tinier than

mine, wears no earrings and applies

lipstick only

on Thanksgiving while the

turkey spews its juices

in the oven

Hands are for our own

private viewing

others may look if they

choose

I let a nail artist

have her way with me

an artwork I can see

the moment I wake up

before I greet the sky

Each time I go

Another color I try

like painting the kitchen

new colors every day

Green for the kitchen

not for the nails

Shades of red my favorite

not too red, you know,

no bullfights or toreadores

for me

A nice airbrush of pink

the color of Chagall’s

Mariee - the flying bride’s dress.

Smooth too when you rub

the nails against your lips

I wonder if I shall do that

on the very last day.

 Delicious lima bean vegetable soup. Needs some seasoning, tho. Hmm. I don't use salt. Help! What should I do?