April Poetry Month - Day 6

            Continuing with ideas from the book. This time, "The old neighborhood".

             Remember to share:

Tabatha Yeatts has created a link to poems teachers and librarians can print for poetry month, titled "Poetry in The Halls". I'm grateful to be one of the poets!

Jama Rattigan has a post HERE with many poets' goals for April.

The Progressive Poem schedule can be found on the right!

At Grandma’s  

We played mostly in the alleys,

hiding in the shadows of backyard sheds,

running down the dirt track

between the weeds.

I was Dale Evans;

Gary was Roy Rogers.

Fake leather belts held the holsters

for the shiny silver cap guns.

We chased train robbers

just like Dale and Roy.

Pop, Pop came the smell of summer.

Linda Baie © 

April Poetry Month - Day 4

             Moving through the book. This time, "Weather Words"

             Remember to share:

Tabatha Yeatts has created a link to poems teachers and librarians can print for poetry month, titled "Poetry in The Halls". I'm grateful to be one of the poets!

Jama Rattigan has a post HERE with many poets' goals for April.

The Progressive Poem schedule can be found on the right! Jone McCullough is today and my turn is tomorrow!

      We Are One

The spring rains were gone

when I visited my parents

in their small town near the Big Muddy,

the Missouri River.

The sun shone over the crops

near their town, but a scant few miles away

the river continued to escape from its banks,

blanketing the farmers’ rich fields.

They would have no crops this year.

My dad asked: “Want to see the edge?”

We drove the county highway till

the water stopped us.

Many worried about the animals

who had lost their homes.

Deer, porcupine, groundhogs, 

raccoons moved on to fight for territory, 

would displace others.

Too many meant their loss and the farmers, too.

We spoke of them, but as we walked the highway

closer to the water,

its surface appeared to undulate.

This was not a heat mirage from summer heat.

There were worms, thousands and thousands

twisting out of the earth, wriggling down the road,

like evacuees leaving homes before a hurricane.

Worms are not fast, the water was gaining,

while ahead, sun beat down,

steam rose.

Thousands were already gone.

The rains had quit,

the flood continued,

the worms fought on,

kin to humans this day.

Linda Baie © 

April Poetry Month - Day 3

             Moving into the book with new ideas. This time, "Life's Seasons"

             Remember to share:

Tabatha Yeatts has created a link to poems teachers and librarians can print for poetry month, titled "Poetry in The Halls". I'm grateful to be one of the poets!

Jama Rattigan has a post here with many poets' goals for April.

The Progressive Poem schedule can be found on the right!

Winter to Spring

This week, this April warmth,

I move clothes from closet

to closet, watching for that

blue and white striped summer shirt.

I haven’t worn it in years,

and Mom has been gone years, too.

She wrapped it like a gift  

despite no birthday or holiday.

She managed to get to the post office,

though hardly driving anymore.

Each spring I bring it out to join

the other shirts, letting it know

it’s welcome and loved

one more season.

Linda Baie © 

April Poetry Month - Day 2

             Moving further into the beginning of the book. This time, "Mementos"

             Remember to share:

Tabatha Yeatts has created a link to poems teachers and librarians can print for poetry month, titled "Poetry in The Halls". I'm grateful to be one of the poets!

Jama Rattigan has a post here with many poets' goals for April.

The Progressive Poem schedule can be found on the right!

The Years of Rocking

I’m touching the chair from 1901

when Great Grandpa’s hands

turned the wood and bent the strips

of my centenarian rocking chair.

I’m rocking the chair that

Great Grandpa’s hands

finished for daughter, Rosa, my grandma.

I’m dusting the chair that

Great Grandpa’s hands touched

those years ago, now rocked by

Grandma’s own children.

One was my dad –

little boy rocking.

I’m blessed with the chair that

Great Grandpa’s hands

created for years ahead,

rocking me,

then daughter and son,

my grandchildren, too.

Children smiled and hugged teddys

in their small rocking chair

made by Great Grandpa’s hands

with loving care.

Did he see them

from way up there?

Linda Baie © 

April Poetry Month - Day 1

             Moving into the beginning of the book. This time, "Haunting Your Childhood"

             Remember to share:

Tabatha Yeatts has created a link to poems teachers and librarians can print for poetry month, titled "Poetry in The Halls". I'm grateful to be one of the poets!

Jama Rattigan has a post HERE with many poets' goals for April.

The Progressive Poem schedule can be found on the right!

Blooming Comes With Thorns

In World War II, my grandfather, “Pop”,

offered two sons to fight,

gave up a son-in-law,

my father,

to the Pacific Ocean. He was a pilot,

shot down, gone.

Now Pop had another daughter

to rear, me.

My mother and I moved in with her parents,

Retirement from the farm to town

gave a fixed income, expertise

used in a feed store.

His small warehouse across the street

became my roller rink.

I skated in between the palettes

of animal feed sacks, Nutrena,

Purina for cattle, goats, chickens.

Sharp curves on the smooth concrete.

music drifting from the office radio,

pretending performer.

This sunny day,

I rushed from school, 

put on the roller skates.

You know, those clamp-on skates

tightened with the key that hung

around the neck on a string.

I yelled goodbye to Grandma,

and raced across to see Pop

to skate the school day away.

He waited across the street, watching.

He leaned down, not to hug,

but to grab, reach around,

and give me a swat.

We walked right back home.

No skating, only tears –

I hadn’t looked both ways!

It’s the only spanking I remember,

the time I started to grow up,

learned to pay attention,

to take care of myself.

Linda Baie ©