mini poems 14

1. Sun-kissed Water
2. Swift Summer Storm
3. A Thought I Thought,
4. Go get a Vase
5.  I Said Too Much, Hide and Swat
6.  Hoof-beats at 2AM,  Not Fashion’s Slave
7. Time is no Friend,  I Smiled Back
8. Hope was a Moping Chicken, Sometimes the Bite is Worse
9. Vapor Puffs
10. Life is a Picnic, Life is a Beach
11. Life is a Vacation
12. Eye-level Smudge, Desk Clutter
13.  

    

    It doesn’t matter what the source of water is: pond or stream, ocean or rain puddle.
    Light on water mesmerizes me. How about you?

    Sun-kissed Water

    My favorite sight:
    Long, slanting light
    that stoops down
    to kiss the water
    with its Midas lips.
    fluid gold or limpid silver
    stately smooth ribbons
    dancing white feathers
    Light on water is
    never harsh like
    metal’s glare,
    nor dully absorbed
    as light on soil is.
    Light-kissed water
    is alive
    and lively.

    Lori Fiechter
    6-26-02

    

    Too often, I suppose that I am content to be a spectator rather than a participant. It's less messy that way. 

     Swift Summer Storm

    Sudden downpour:
    I sit and watch at
    window’s breadth,
    staying dry.
    The storm would seem
    more real if I would
     take a step outside
    into the sting of rain and wind.
    I don’t want real.
    I want to stay dry.
    
    Now the sun returns.
    I  cannot smell the
    rain-washed air
    but sit and watch the
    kittens venture out.
    Black kittens, six of them.
    The shake their fur and
    lap the sidewalk,
    stepping daintily around the puddles
    and keeping off the soggy grass.
    
    Crisp shadows stretch themselves
    from all the trees
    and rain-heavy leaves
    shake themselves lighter.
    The show is over.
    I am still dry and comfortable
    in my air-conditioned house.
    But I feel thirsty.
    Lori Fiechter
    6-26-02

    

    Inspired by Emily Dickinson's "A thought went up my mind today"

    A Thought I Thought

     A thought
    I thought
    I'd thought before
    returned in fresh disguise
    And so, I thought it through
    once more
    Yet was no more the wise.

     Ungrounded thought: to
    Flit and fly, coquettish,
    like a butterfly.
    The net I tried
    Had holes too wide;
    The thought escaped
    and fluttered by.

     Lori Fiechter
    5-26-02

    

    It was a spring-time ritual at our house to dig out the vases that had been hidden away all winter.

    Go get a Vase

     The balsam is blooming now.
    First came the pussy willows
    and forsythia.
    Then daffodils and lilacs,
    Blue irises, gladiolus
    ( I called them "funeral flowers"
    and never liked them much.)
    Sweet peas, snapdragons
    and asters.

    I pulled out the step stool
    to reach the high cupboard
    the antiqued-green cupboard
    up over the freezer.

    Which vase? Clear glass or porcelain?
    Ornate or simple?
    Narrow mouthed or wide?
    And some of that green styrofoam stuff
    for the stems.

    I never could arrange them properly.
    But mom loved flowers,
    flowers and old vases.
    I didn't think about it then,
    When I was scrubbing off
    the winter grime
    and pulling out more vases.

    This one, Mom?

     Lori Fiechter
    5-31-02

    

    "let your words be few"
    Easy to say, hard for those of us with runaway mouths.

     I Said Too Much

    I said too much;
    I rarely say too little.
    I did not weigh my words
    but tossed them carelessly about:
    great heaps of salad greens with
    too many radishes.

    When I finally stopped to
    catch my breath
    I realized I had spoken
    past the point of prudence.
    My rabbit words
    outran my judgment
    yet again.

     Lori Fiechter
    July 11, 2002

    

    How do they know? How do they know the very instant I pick up the fly-swatter?

    Hide and Swat

    Grab the swatter
    and they know,
    Lying low till I let go.
    I put the swatter back in its place;
    Flies go flying in my face.
    Flies go flying in my hair,
    taunting, mocking,
    ”if you dare, try to swat us,
    we don’t c

    Lori Fiechter
    July 9, 2002

    

     I Smiled Back

    He smiled and I smiled back;
    He waved and so did I.
    And then, he looked right through me
    toward the kids who sat behind.
    I reeled my silly grin back in
    and cast my eyes aground
    to search for nonexistent coins
    that never could be found.

     Lori Fiechter
    7-2-02

    

    It was just our Amish neighbors (teenaged, I imagine) returning home, but at 2AM, the measured clop-clopping of hoof beats on our blacktop road sounded almost surreal.

     Hoof-beats at 2AM

     I heard the measured hoof-beats
    through my open window,
    clop, clop-clopping.
    I started awake, half-expecting to see
    Dickinson's chariot
    kindly stopping for me,
    Or else one of the Four
    Apocalyptic Horsemen:
    white, red, black, or pale.

    The sound died away to the west
    and returned again from the east.
    I got up and closed both windows,
    lay back down and listened to
    muffled hoof-beats at 2:45.

    No wonder I had nightmares.

     Lori Fiechter
    6-3-02

    

    I’ve never been fashionable, not even fashionably unfashionable. I remember being the last one in my seventh grade class to wear blue jeans to school. And they were weird: two shades of denim.

     Not Fashion’s Slave

    I am not fashion’s slave;
    We are not even acquainted.
    I saw her once
    with friends of mine;
    she looked my way
    And fainted.

    Lori Fiechter
    6-2-02

    

    Time is no Friend

    Time is no friend;
    He drags his feet
    when I urge him, “Be gone!”
    and dashes off abruptly
    when I implore him "Stay on!"
    He shuns me or bores me
    and often ignores me;
    I can't count the times
    that I couldn't count on Time.
    

    Lori Fiechter
    May 12, 2002

    

    By combining Dickinson’s “hope is the thing with feathers” with Wordsworth’s
    “hope that is unwilling to be fed”, I get:

    Hope was a Moping Chicken

    Mine was the feathered hope
    that could not fly
    and would not eat:
    A scrawny, sullen hen
    on a hunger strike.
    Waiting to die,
    Wanting to die.
    Eggless.

    Lori Fiechter
    April 25, 2002

    

     (on barking and backbiting)

    Sometimes the Bite is Worse

    I’ve come face to face with many barks
    that never bit at all;
    It is the unseen fang I fear
    from furtive, barkless dogs.
    
    I’m wary of all smiling dogs
    and won’t show them my back.
    For that’s the spot that smiling dogs
    most eagerly attack.

    Lori Fiechter
    April 25, 2002

    

    I know that you can’t see water vapor; it is invisible. Clouds are made of minuscule water droplets, gathered around tiny particles of dust or other cloud condensation nuclei. But “vapor puffs” sounds more poetic.

    Vapor Puffs

    (James 4:14)

    Why in such a hurry,
    frothy vapor puffs?
    My eyes get blurry tracking you,
    stratocumulus.
    Whatever drives you so
    in your wild flight across the sky?
    Had you a tongue
    and time to chat,
    you might return the “why?”
    
    For I also am a vapor puff;
    I hurry, scurry,
    plan and worry;
    rushing heedless in a headlong plunge,
     a plunge into tomorrow
    --as though I were made
    of sterner stuff,
    more solid than
    a vapor puff.
    But I am not, am I?

    Lori Fiechter
    March 9, 2002

    

One of our ministers is fond of reminding us
“This is not heaven; this is still the earth. This is no playground, but a battlefield.” I’ve also heard this quote:
“If you expect life to be a fine hotel, you’ll be disappointed; if you look at life as a prison, it’s really not so bad.”
And now, for a few tongue-in-cheek poems on life:

Life is a Picnic

Life is no picnic.
Well, maybe it is!
Replete with mosquitoes,
red ants, salmonella,
flies in the lemonade,
sand in the salad,
and brisk winds to
buffet the meager buffet.
Yes, life is a picnic
on an inclement day.

Lori Fiechter
March 9, 2002

 Life is a Beach

Soft breezes,
warm sand,
and blue, lapping waves:
Life is a beach.
stinging jellyfish,
toe-biters
(crustacean or fish)
jagged pieces of sea shell
that lacerated flesh.
Angry dark billows
that swallow and roll.
Life is a beach;
it is so.

Lori Fiechter
March 9, 2002

 I just read that if you don’t want to be disappointed by your vacation expectations,
don't think vacation; think  adventure. That is not a bad way to think of life itself.

Life is a Vacation

Missed exits.
Wrong turn.
Flat tire.
Short tempers,
back-seat squabbles.
Hold on,
we’re almost there.
Bad food.
Lousy weather.
”You call this a view?”
Hard beds.
 Thinning wallets.
Sunburn and chiggers.
and, “Daddy, what’s a
’tropical depression'?”
Evacuation.
Vacation?
Hardly what you’d planned.
But it turned out to be
quite an adventure.

Lori Fiechter
March 9, 2002

I tried to clean off the smudge with a tissue when I got home but it is a stubborn, gummy smudge. I think I only made it worse.  It did rain. The smudge is not so easily defeated. Guess I’ll try my fingernail.

 Eye-level Smudge

An eye-level smudge,
and the reservoir’s empty!
Why couldn’t it be on the passenger side?
I ought to refill the green washer fluid;
I could do it (couldn’t I?) if I tried?
But I’ve a plethora of “oughts” at this time.
For I think of the things that I
ought to be doing
At the time when I can’t do the things that I thought.
So I’ll live with the smudge--
sticky, pencil-thick streak--
It’s bound to rain sometime this week.

Lori Fiechter
March 12, 2002

 I’ve heard that an untidy desk is the sign of an untidy mind. How creative are tidy minds? 
With apologies to Sir Walter Scott

Desk Clutter

Breathes there a writer with soul so dead
who never to himself has said,
”This is my own, my native desk;
Keep off! Don’t touch anything!”
These untidy scraps of scribbles,
brain-engendered clutter,
are my bricks and stone and mortar.
Vanguards against the vacuum,
snares for the elusive sprite
you revere as Inspiration.
These are my props and crutches;
let them be.
Leave my desk to doubly die
beneath the vile clutter
which no one praised,
unkempt, undusted, and unfazed.

Lori Fiechter

March 12, 2002