Monday Morning Cold Poem - Happy Birthday Patrick

Apology:

Format don't work right.
Nevermind. My 10 readers will understand.

COLD

Wrapped in my paisley comforter
I feel the cold seep through the shuttered
window behind me, tiny dust motes
like snowflakes twizzling through the air.

After a breakfast of oatmeal and dried fruit
I pounce outside to see what's become
of the world.

The birdbath has frozen!
A sheet of ice, not fit for
skating has barred every single
bird in the neighborhood
from bathing or singing
in the shower.

Soon, my little darlings,
Soon.

*

Ladies and Gentlemen -

Let's give a special welcome
here at the Prescott, Arizona, Rodeo
to Pat Kiernan, celebrating
his 50th birthday today at the
oldest rodeo in America.

That man can ride!

With wife Sue sippin a beer
and kids Ian and Patrick lickin their
fingers from the famous sausage
burgers with mustard

Patrick holds up one arm in the air
barely mussing up his black hair and
rawhide pants as the ending bell
clang clang clang signals Victory.

Good going Mr Kiernan at fifty.

*

Now, if you'll excuse me I've got 3 books to read in my oh-so-comfy bed.

Chernobyl at Midnight

Linda Hamilton's Disobediance for Reading Group, men and women both and they love it!!!John Sandford's Predator book

*

Last night on Austin City Limits I discovered Father John Misty. Listen to him here. 

Honeybear was my favorite song. He goes around hugging people

Donna's 70th Bday Party - cast includes Sarah Lynn, Carlos, Mary, Dr Mel and Nik, Joyce Burke Margolis and more

Quote of the day:  Uncle Richie is buying a new boat!

 Sisters - Amy is making martinis - strong!

 Hands down, David was the fastest runner there.

 Meredith and her two sons were there.

 Donna has a green thumb. She and I both have plants from Winnie Bannigan even tho Winnie is long gone.

 Scott and me. I'm sposed to be at his house on Sunday, today, for film noir.

 Nikki always looks sensational. This was a short purple dress.

 I call this Donna's Gift Shop.

 Childhood friend Joyce who didn't like me calling her glamorous. Her older brother fought in Vietnam and is still married to the same woman.

 Tyler bought a 2004 Jaguar.

 Josh and girlfriend Alicia. I told her there's a famous Spanish pianist - view on YouTube - name of Alicia de Larrocha,

 Part of my dinner, including lasagna, beans n rice, and salada, and broccoli.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY DONNA CARTAGENA

Whoever thought you'd be a
Cartagena?

Whoever thought you'd move
to Jersey, where the tomatoes
are sweet and juicy.

Remember in Cleveland we'd eat them
with a pinch of salt?

I could always count on you, Donna.
You picked me up and drove me home
thru the iron gates of the loony bin.

We're all survivors and live
in the here and now.

Like me, you love the clouds
scampering thru the sky.

And trees! They have souls
I'm sure you know.

You're surrounded by children
who keep you young.

You're still a beaut!

Pour me a hot cup of Starbucks, please,
no room for cream.

I tip big.

 Donna has Buddhas all over her house.

 Patrick is a talented jazz musician. He and his Aunt Donna were playing Heart and Soul, which we played with Daddy when we were kids.

 Ellen talks to Mary, who drove us home. Carlos sat in front with a cast on his broken foot.

 Scott, the observer.

 This is a red bud tree. Mine died several yrs ago and I planted a lilac in its place.

 Sarah Lynn arrives. She

 Dig Sarah's shoes. Trish sits at table. Her daughter Danielle came with.

Sarah brought an advance copy of GRAVITY, her novel, coming out in November.

Some cake!!! From Costco.

I AM THIRSTY

A great thirst overwhelmed me
After a birthday party
where vanilla cake with
white icing spread its
sugary joy across the table

At home, I simply
walked into the bathroom
while stars shone in the milky way
turned on the faucet and
drank an entire cup
of cold refreshing water.

Poem: Lonely as a Maiden Aunt

LONELY AS A MAIDEN AUNT

Alone in my bed
used paisley coverlet atop me
I feel all alone
and am.

I could read
I could listen to music
I could close my eyes
and remember days
when the kids still lived here.

What's that sound?
High winds sailing in
like a Vivaldi Concerto
for Spring

A chorus played on all
the trees on our street
dare I go outside
in my PJs
hold out my arms
as if I'll fly away?

No one can stop me.

*



Shortly, we're driving to Jersey to celebrate my sister Donna's 70th birthday.

Uber.

I had misplaced by purple camera. Had it last night for bloggin. Looked between all the red cushions on couch. Then went into coat closet and there it was in the pocket of my fancy black rhinestone cowboy jacket.

Who had put it there?

Packed a bag full of goodies in case I get low. An apple and cheese. And ate hummus and carrots.

Folks we'll see include

Nikki and Dr Mel, who planned the surprise party.

Sarah Lynn Deming, my very own daughter.

Mom isn't going. Ina will be there to take c/o her.

Dad? Hey, Dad, where'd you go? Haven't seen you in ages!

Deborah Lew Harder on WRTI is playing Dance Patterns. Let's listen here.

Poetry and Music Cabaret at Huntingdon Valley Library

Brought my purple camera but forgot to use it!

Lovely Lynn Levin was there in her hippie-like top, black with colorful embroidered patches.



She's a person who brings out the best in everyone.

Linda Barrett did a great job driving in the dark and the puddles of rain. Mom Jane sat in the front seat and looked absy b'ful with her hair pulled back in a ponytail.

Linda read poems about people she knows and also some fantastic erotic poems. I think Lynn called them narrative poems. My daughter Sarah told me HD wrote narrative poems.

Or are they imagistic?

Lynn herself read an erotic poem and I told her it took a lotta guts to write that.

And to read it, too, she said.

Rem Murphy brought a bunch of folded poems. Wrote about poets he personally met. Allan Ginsburg was a cold fish.

Lynn suggested we take turns reading our poems.

First, a few pictures.



Rem once taught English comp at Temple University and Camden Community College. Behind him is Beatriz at our Saturday Beehive Writing Group.



Look what I found!

Lynn Levin's Sonnet Writing Class above at the library several years ago.

While driving to the reading tonight, Linda was listening to BP with the GM.



Bob's wife, Dr Sheila, kindly photographed us. I had no idea who he was but I said I love your daishiki. Then I told him about my son/law Ethan Iverson, who was still with The Bad Plus. He knew of them, of course.

Bob is still on WRTI-FM.

Sharon Moreland Sender, head librarian, was our gracious hostess. She loves poetry and read a short poem by Ezra Pound, who was born in Wyncote, PA.

This may be the poem:

ALBA

As cool as the pale wet leaves
of lily of the valley
she lay beside me in the dawn.

Praps my all time fave poem is a translation by Pound of The River Merchant's Wife.

The River-Merchant’s Wife: A Letter

BY EZRA POUND

After Li Po

While my hair was still cut straight across my forehead

I played about the front gate, pulling flowers.

You came by on bamboo stilts, playing horse,

You walked about my seat, playing with blue plums.

And we went on living in the village of Chōkan:

Two small people, without dislike or suspicion.

At fourteen I married My Lord you.

I never laughed, being bashful.

Lowering my head, I looked at the wall.

Called to, a thousand times, I never looked back.

At fifteen I stopped scowling,

I desired my dust to be mingled with yours

Forever and forever, and forever.

Why should I climb the look out?

At sixteen you departed

You went into far Ku-tō-en, by the river of swirling eddies,

And you have been gone five months.

The monkeys make sorrowful noise overhead.

You dragged your feet when you went out.

By the gate now, the moss is grown, the different mosses,

Too deep to clear them away!

The leaves fall early this autumn, in wind.

The paired butterflies are already yellow with August

Over the grass in the West garden;

They hurt me.

I grow older.

If you are coming down through the narrows of the river Kiang,

Please let me know beforehand,

And I will come out to meet you

As far as Chō-fū-Sa.

*

Why is this so great? Is it a yearning for love that may or may not come.

*

Sharon put out some cookies. I injected in my belly. I told her if I didn't have diabetes I could sit there all night and eat.

LILLIES OF THE VALLEY

Simplicity itself.

Like a lace curtain.

Or a candle glowing in the night.

Look deeper.

On the slender bendable

stalk, swing tiny beads

like pearls.

The story of their ancestors

shines through. Lavender

soft as a cat's ear comes

from within

And, oh that smell,

that aroma, heaven

clumb down to earth.

THE LAST MAPLE

When I moved in

thirty years ago

three maples with

stunningly green

leaves waved to me

every morning from

my kitchen.

Off to work I'd go

to Bristol Bensalem

Human Services, closed

down, they said,

for Medicare fraud,

but who really knows.

What I do know is how

I loved those trees.

Rough bark the squirrels

would shimmy up

and build their nests

on the top most branches.

Everthing has a lifespan.

One by one, they died

from the inside out.

Did they know?

Does a tree have awareness?

Of course they do!

My new roof, installed

by Bob's Home Improvement

is something I must ponder.

Chirp chirp chirp

go the baby sparrows

in the pink birdhouse

out front.

Welcome to the world

of the living. 

DIABETES

Let's take a tour of the pancreas

Diabetes has been know since the reign of

Thutmose the First in ancient Egypt.

Overabundunt urine, unquenchable thirst

weight loss and finally death.

Put your hands on your belly, comme ca!

The pancreas, pink as a cat's tongue,

has dominion over insulin

which swallows up your food.

Not to worry, except if you're me!

A nifty invention that clicks like

the keys on Wanda's harpsichord

allows me to remain with the quick

and not the dead. 

Listen to Wanda Landowska here.



In her Connecticut home. 1879 - 1959. Read about her here.

Holy cow!  Gotta run upstairs and turn on the TV for International Jazz Day! PBS, of course.

Leftovers:



THE LAST MAPLE

When I moved in
thirty years ago
three maples with
stunningly green
leaves waved to me
every morning from
my kitchen.

Off to work I'd go
to Bristol Bensalem
Human Services, closed
down, they said,
for Medicare fraud,
but who really knows.

What I do know is how
I loved those trees.
Rough bark the squirrels
would shimmy up
and build their nests
on the top most branches.

Everything has a lifespan.
One by one, the trees died
from the inside out.
Did they know?
Does a tree have awareness?

Of course they do!
How about my new roof, installed
by Bob's Home Improvement?
That's something I must ponder.

Welcome to the new world!
Chirp chirp chirp go the baby sparrows
in the pink birdhouse out front.

Talk about diversity!
I love sharing my world
with feathers soft as my red couch.

*

the PBS Evening News.

The Rohinga are being ushered inside and outside Myanmar.

WHO AM I

My coffee-colored arms ache
from carrying my two-year-old girl
along miles of dusty road.

Our lungs are filled with dirt,
mud and slime. Rough men
abuse us. Their breath stinks
of onions and cocaine.

Once eons ago we lived at home.
All was good.

Allah was good. Now the sky
has fallen upon us, no one knows
our name, and we do not exist.


*

LILLIES OF THE VALLEY

Simplicity itself.
Like a lace curtain.
Or a candle glowing in the night.

Look deeper.
On the slender bendable
stalk, swing tiny beads
like pearls.

The story of their ancestors
shines through. Lavender
soft as a cat's ear comes
from within

And, oh that smell,
that aroma, heaven
clumb down to earth.

*

BREAKFAST

Fresh pears, a hunk of cheese, crackers
and a cup of good coffee.

I could be in Paris, sitting in an outdoor
cafe, leaning back in the warm sunshine
and watching the writers pass by.

James Baldwin, Jimmy to his friends,
Papa Hemingway before he checked out,
Gauguin, before syphilis ravaged his brain.

Next stop for me, the Garden of the Luxembourg,
to watch the picnickers and to savor a small glass
of dark Merlot.

*

ORANGE

Inside the orange carapace
resides sweetness unrivaled
once it swung on trees
in Florida, ripening
to send across the world.
Sweetness unrivaled.

*

FROM THE RED COUCH

Bill's pickup gleaming in the waning sunlight
Speed Limit 25 on my curb
Pink birdhouse filled with a sparrow's nest
Soon I'll have more grandchildren
Feathers soft
Feathers lovely
Who but the great Whomever
Could create a bird.

Conference today at Willow Grove Giant - Meet Your Funders - Tree poem for Arbor Day

Next door I asked Jill Alexander to take a pic of me, which she did, but it wouldn't come out here. Will try again later.

I erroneously went to the conference yesterday, all gussied up in my best clothes.

The conference was well attended. Perhaps 70 people in the big room at the Willow Grove Giant.

Two women behind me were from Hedwig House. I'm on their mailing list. They have loads of funders. They'd never heard of New Directions.

At the end of the meeting I got up and announced, My name is Ruth Deming and I run New Directions Support Group for people with depression, bipolar disorder and their loved ones. Remember our name in case you wanna refer anyone to us.

We save lives!

Am now sipping on the coffee from the conference. I heated it up in my copper frying pan, helping clean it out.

As we sat upstairs in the huge conference room we heard a loud PWISH, which meant it was pouring outside. I had brought a hat to cover my head.

If you double click on this pic, you'll see some lovely pants Ada bought me from Chico's.

The sweater is from Hatboro's Sweater Mill.

Every time I closed my eyes during the soporific conference, I was afraid I'd fall out of my chair.

As you know, I'm no shrinking violet but I couldn't find anyone to talk to, except Judy Dyke, whose son Eric has spoken and demonstrated yoga at New Directions.

All heads were buried in their iPhones.

Today, April 26, is ARBOR DAY!

The NY Times suggested we write a poem about our favorite tree.

Scuse me as I go offstage a moment, think, and return with a freshly made poem. 

THE LAST MAPLE

When I moved in

thirty years ago

three maples with

stunningly green

leaves waved to me

every morning from

my kitchen.

Off to work I'd go

to Bristol Bensalem

Human Services, closed

down, they said,

for Medicare fraud,

but who really knows.

What I do know is how

I loved those trees.

Rough bark the squirrels

would shimmy up

and build their nests

on the top most branches.

Everything has a lifespan.

One by one, the trees died

from the inside out.

Did they know?

Does a tree have awareness?

Of course they do!

How about my new roof, installed

by Bob's Home Improvement?

That's something I must ponder.

Welcome to the new world!

Chirp chirp chirp go the baby sparrows

in the pink birdhouse out front. 

Talk about diversity!

I love sharing my world

with feathers soft as my red couch. 

Survey Says - Poem: Who Am I ? The Rohinga

McAffee wanted my opinion of the installation of my anti-virus yesterday.

It was so poorly written I couldn't follow who I was asked to 'grade.'

Finally I said I'm gonna answer everything in one paragraph. Dave (friendly Dave) was very good but the person on the other end was terrible. He couldn't get my credit card to work.

Thing is, maybe he was doing everything in his power but for some reason it wasn't working.

*
I keep one frozen dinner in my freezer.

Amy's Indian Food.

Scott heated it up in his toaster oven, formerly mine.

Ate it while watching the PBS Evening News.

The Rohinga are being ushered inside and outside Myanmar.



They are one of 135 ethnic groups in Myanmar. BUT they are not recognized.

WHO AM I

My coffee-colored arms ache
from carrying my two-year-old girl
along miles of dusty road.

Our lungs are filled with dirt,
mud and slime. Rough men
abuse us. Their breath stinks
of onions and cocaine.

Once eons ago we lived at home.
All was good.

Allah was good. Now the sky
has fallen upon us, no one knows
our name, and we do not exist.

Flowers galore - Poem: Lilies of the Valley

 Above is where the Lily of the Valley grows. It's now on the shelf by the kitchen window. Mixed in is Sweet Woodruff given to me by my friend CC.

Scott and I walked around the block. I'll meet him on his deck.

My sister Ellen was here and we took her on a tour of his renovated house, including the huge deck.

Had to photograph the lilies in the dark, on the steps to the basement.

A guy named Phillip Eliot (sp) wanted to follow me on some website. He rejected my great story Two Men. I think he wants all his followers to buy his crime fiction book.

It's possible I will self-publish my novel. The way my friend Nick Breslin did his book of essays.

We always say, If they can do it, so can I !

LILLIES OF THE VALLEY

Simplicity itself.
Like a lace curtain.
Or a candle glowing in the night.

Look deeper.
On the slender bendable
stalk, swing tiny beads
like pearls.

The story of their ancestors
shines through. Lavender
soft as a cat's ear comes
from within

And, oh that smell,
that aroma, heaven
clumb down to earth.

Ms rejected - Poem: Green Meadows

I held my breath, as I waited to read their decision:

Hello Ruth,

Hope you are doing well and enjoying a better weather!

I am sorry that I could not get back to you sooner.  

Thank you for sharing your well-written fictional manuscript for consideration to publish with the Auctus Publishers.

The  members of the Editorial advisory board strongly feel that Auctus should continue focusing on its current themes on memoirs, true stories, non-fiction, and historical fictionals and hence your manuscript is out of consideration.

I hope that you find a publisher whose focus meets the content of the manuscript.

With kind regards,

***

It's fine with me as there would be loads of work to do.

***

I should write a poem a day, don't you think?

***

Click to enlarge.

Both the pink birdhouse and the yellow one are inhabited. 

The birds might be sparrows or wrens.

Can you see the robins?

GREEN MEADOWS

Swaths of green meadows
line my street. The sun
a lifetime away, cast its
violent turbulent light
to do what it will to
the Earth.

Joe was across the street. Mailed something to my friend Carlos.

Swaths of green threaded with pink bleeding hearts.

73 degrees outside.

I may visit my next door neighbor now.

In shorts? Why not?