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- Dandelion Greens
- To Catch a Gerbil, Time on a Leash
- Faces in the Fog, No Grecian Urn
- Tennies in the Dryer, No Sweatless Success
- Just Singing in the Fog, Four and Twenty Grackles
- To Dust, How Does Your Garden Grow?
- Sadness Seeps In, Automatic Mode
- Savor, No Bowing out Gracefully
- Take a Bite out of Life, Really Unplugged
- How Much is that Metaphor in the Window?, The Windy Season
- A Wrinkle in Winter, Spring too Soon
- Odd Couple, Winter Wish
- Brevity, It is Still January
- Dirty Snow, Alter-egos
- The Ones That Got Away--(Because I Let Go), Snow-Bully!
- A Thaw!, Fast Forward Dream
- Snowy White Sleeping Beauty, Warm Memories
Dandelion Greens
I'd smell the bacon frying
and the schwaitze on the stove,
giving off a pungent, vinegary smell.
With Aunt Bessie in the kitchen,
we'd have wild greens for supper:
wilted dandelion leaves and
I could tell
just what was coming next:
"Would you girls go out and pick me
the newest, freshest leaves that you can find?"
She'd explain she was getting older
And didn't care for bending over
but our adolescent legs would work just fine.
To us, a weed.
To her, a salad.
Why, you could buy lettuce in a store.
But dandelion greens were so much more.
She made a great potato soup
and a splendid Hollandaise;
Her flaky apple dumplings reigned supreme.
She created culinary art.
and whipped up a mean soufflé
But I cannot say I miss
those bitter dandelion greens.
(but just the thought of them still tastes like Spring to me)
lori fiechter
4-19-99
To Catch a Gerbil
My mind is awake while
My body is still semi-comatose.
My eyelids are tiny lead aprons;
My arms, a set of fifty pound barbells.
But my mind is alert and agile:
Thoughts and images race like
caffeine-laden gerbils on a treadmill.
Those elusive fellows are tricky to catch:
items on my mental "to-do" list
weave in and out between
embryonic poems and essays.
When my mind is flooded,
I gather up all my strength to
reach over to turn on the light switch.
Instantly, ideas and thoughts flee
like scurrying cockroaches.
(I must learn to write in the dark.)
lori fiechter
4-10-99
Time on a Leash
Time races, pulling on its leash.
It drags, and we urge it to move.
It mistreats us, turning us gray and frail
and yet we beg for more of it.
When it has shrunk to a mere whisper,
We realize--too late--that we never
really appreciated it.
And, if time were but a pup again,
we would treat it differently.
But it is a very old dog now;
Too old to learn new tricks.
Lori Fiechter
4-16-99
Faces in the Fog
I used to see them clearly;
Now they are faces in the fog:
Forgotten, faded photos,
Creased with age.
They were once alive like me;
I shall someday be like them:
Just a name, a faceless inkdot
on Life's page.
I used to know their voices:
The timbre and the tone,
The inflection and the pitch
to each unique.
Ephemeral as foam,
They sang for but a moment
Then were washed out by the tide
into the sea--
Where all memories dissolve and cease to be.
(and I know that tide will someday come for me.)
lori fiechter
4-7-99
No Grecian Urn
I had the image in my mind:
A vase of porcelain, Lladro-blue,
A model of symmetry
and exquisite beauty.
But one day I examined
the piece in my hand:
It was ugly, marred;
coarse, and misshapen;
Only through my eyes
could it ever have seemed beautiful;
I made it;
I loved it;
It was precious to me--
For it was my own.
Lori fiechter, 3-30-99
I was trying to take a nap, but the racket
from the laundry room keep me awake)
Tennies in the Dryer
Tennis Shoes in the dryer;
sounding like
lead footed giants
trying to clog dance;
out of step,
out of rhythm,
but doggedly persistent.
Lori fiechter
3-23-99
(Time and chance, yes; but hard work and perseverance also help determine success--qualities that do not describe me, I fear.)
No Sweatless Success
I looked for success in my mailbox,
in an envelope, smooth and white.
My only task was to open the flap
And success--sweet success--would be mine.
I waited for years,
sorting out bills and junk mail,
dreaming of winning my own
sweepstakes prize;
Till I learned that success
is no lotto for the lazy
But a treasure to be quarried and mined.
That lesson was too hard;
The price was too dear;
I put my trust back in a box full of mail.
I live in my pipe dreams--
My melting-snail pipe dreams--
For they cost me nothing
and they cannot fail.
Lori fiechter
3-30-99
Just Singing
in the Fog
I heard a birdsong
through the fog:
A cheery chirping,
Brisk and bright;
A warm spring song
to melt the frost
that gathered overnight;
A merry melody of green
against the ground of white.
Lori fiechter,
3-24-99
Raucous and rowdy,
Cacophonous grackles;
Descending like Huns
speckling laundry with spackle.
To silence their cackling,
I can easily see why
you'd tackle two dozen
to bake in a pie.
lori fiechter, 3-16-99
To Dust
Is there a depth--
a poetic depth--
to which I might attain,
So that my old poems
will not seem stilted
and hopelessly inane?
I pick a few forgotten gems,
buried beneath a swampy crust,
And I wonder if these words I pen
Will all revert to dust.
Lori fiechter,
7-19-81, revised 3-22-99
How Does Your Garden Grow?
The ground, prepared;
The soil, tilled;
The air is moist and warm.
But I have nothing left to plant
For all my seeds are gone.
I've used up every poem seed
And some, I've planted twice.
These inbred poems are shriveled, weak,
and struggling for life.
I wanted more:
A garden filled with columbine
and sweet moss rose.
Instead, I've sickly, bud-less stems
(Perhaps I'll plant some potted prose)
lori fiechter 3-21-99
Even though we had only one day of really nice weather while on
vacation, I got a bad case of post-vacation blues when I returned home. It hit at the
strangest time--just when I walked into the supermarket to do my grocery shopping.
Sadness Seeps In
Sadness seeps in
like rain through the
old cellar walls
(those crumbling, cracked walls)
At first,
there is a slight dampness,
then a drop,
then a trickle,
then a flood.
Sadness seeps in--and wins.
I must choose now:
to wallow down here and drown
or move up to higher ground.
lori fiechter, 3-1-99
I am a creature of habit (too much so). We have two vehicles at home. I drive the van
to get groceries, or when I have the kids along. When I'm by myself, I drive the car.
Always. Even if I make a special trip to town to put gas--in the van.
Automatic Mode
I drove our car to town
to fill the gas tank in the van;
I know that makes no sense
but you need to understand:
there is no over-riding my
automatic mode;
My brain is programmed on "default"
and set on cruise control.
I need a software patch to unglitch
my brain's computer code.
Lori fichter
3-5-99
Grape Priorities
Shake the grapes hard
so the loose ones fall off--
the soft and
almost rotten ones--
They won't be missed
Now that I know
they were spoiled, anyway.
(or sour)
lori fiechter
3-5-99
You Never Can Tell
You can tell a lot about a person by:
the company he keeps
the magazines she reads
the way he spends his leisure time
the way she spends her money
the way he acts--
the way she talks to her children--
when no one is watching
Yes, you can tell a lot--
but you can't tell everything.
Riddles wrapped in mysteries,
all of us.
Lori fiechter
3-6-99
Savor a succulent, well-seasoned stew
of smiles and chocolate
and rich solitude;
Sit down with that letter
Or a good book or two.
Savor phrases that sparkle,
enchant, and allure;
melodies that haunt,
Word pictures that stir;
recalling incomplete memories
whose fragments endure
just under the surface,
tantalizing, obscure.
Savor the savory.
Lori fiechter, 2-15-99
No Bowing out Gracefully
Is there a worse pejorative than,
"past his prime"--
his fans preferring the "old wine"?
I will not exeunt with a
whimper or sigh,
But will stay on the stage
'til I die.
lori fiechter
2-16-99
Take a Bite out of Life
Nibbling around the
edges of life,
chewing nervously,
cautiously;
afraid to swallow.
Dining daily on stale crackers
Because I know
what they taste like
and I fear indigestion
from richer fare.
Lori fiechter
2-15-99
Really Unplugged
Disconnected from all reality;
Typing madly on a keyboard
that no one else can see.
The little world I lived in
Seemed real enough to me;
It had a rather comforting
true linearity.
A swallowing of fantasy--
you visited, but
I dwelled permanently.
Lori fiechter
2-15-99
How Much is
that Metaphor in the Window?
I'd like to buy a metaphor
But I'm not sure what I'm looking for.
On second thought--yes, now I see--
What I really need is a simile;
Or at least, some piquant imagery.
I'm thinking: crisp, and bright, and new;
No wrinkled skin or sickly hue.
But these wares are fresh as marrow-less bone;
I guess I'm forced to create my own.
Lori fiechter
2-15-99
The Windy Season
It has been windy now for days:
a buffeting, blasting,
wind "in your face";
I can't catch my breath.
How I long for a
piece of calm,
a sliver of serenity,
a momentary respite.
Halcyon days will come,
but when they do,
they will overstay their welcome.
And then I will grow nostalgic
and miss the wind.
Lori fiechter
2-16-99
A
Wrinkle in Winter
It is the perfect chance to wrinkle Time
Now that February's here:
Just fold the 28 up onto 1;
Let the whole month disappear!
Then, if you're looking for a place
to tack those 28 lost days,
The solution is apparent:
A double-dip of May's.
(Hello--fair, fresh, and fragrant greens;
Farewell--grim, gloomy grays.)
lori fiechter, 2-8-99
I guess I'm fickle. First, I want to skip February altogether. Then, when February starts to feel too much like spring, I get nervous. The day after I wrote the following poem, it was 70 F.--a new record for here in NE Indiana in February.
Spring too SoonYou've awakened much too early, Spring;
I don't believe that winter's through.
Although this mild weather's welcome,
60 is too warm, too soon.
So, have a cup of chamomile--
a soothing, soporific brew--
Something to help you slumber on
for just another month or two.
(until we're sure that winter
has clean escaped from view.)
lori fiechter 2-10-99
I was warming up a cup of milk in the microwave. One taste brought back memories of my Grandpa Kaehr and how he would request "milk toast" (warm milk poured over toast in a bowl) whenever he felt ill. I don't think he would ever have tried this recipe:
Odd Couple
Milk toast and habanero peppers;
Shouldn't they cancel each other out
to equal a
Culinary happy medium?
But no, the peppers always win.
...if you like spices with your milk,
try nutmeg instead.
Lori fiechter, 1-27-99
Winter Wish
A kinder, gentler winter
with a modicum of snow;
Less bluster and bravado,
Less nostril-numbing cold.
A winter with less bite and bark;
A winter with less sting.
The sort of winter I'd prefer
would more resemble Spring!
Lori fiechter, 1-27-99
The soul of wit is brevity
But I'm brief of necessity:
I've found that it is best that way--
to stop when I've no more to say!
Lori fiechter, 1-21-99
I meant to hibernate
when I overslept today;
The clock said 8AM;
How I hoped it would be May!
lori fiechter, 1-15-99
Two thoughts:
1) nothing looks quite so dirty as dirty snow
2)"Who can bring a clean thing out of an unclean? Not one" --Job 14:4
Dirty Snow
Tall mounds of white snow
iced with dirt;
(A mixture that should never be)
They speak of shattered innocence
and soiled purity.
Shamed-faced, bedraggled lepers, they,
"Unclean! Unclean!" they seem to say.
lori fiechter, 1-21-99
Alter-egos
Time and money
are alter-egos;
Like Superman and Clark Kent,
You never see the two together!
Lori fiechter, 1-21-99
The Ones That
Got Away--(Because I Let Go)
The secret is in knowing
which balloons to hold tightly
and which ones to release.
It is simple--but difficult:
Look at the words written on the sides:
"Temporal" or "Eternal".
lori fiechter, 12-2-98
Show-off! Bully!
You've proved your point;
Now why run up the score?
We know you're
big and tough and strong,
You needn't show us more.
See the lighted Exit sign?
That is your cue to go.
Must I put it bluntly, sir,
WE DO NOT WANT MORE SNOW!
Lori fiechter, 1-11-99
A Thaw!
I thought I saw
A bit of thaw;
I rub my eyes
and look outside:
The snow is shrunken,
settling down;
Why--there are bald spots
of bare ground!
It's true!
The mercury has finally
pulled itself above that magic 32;
No more dry and fluffy powder
that yields to every windy whim;
I see soggy, slushy, sinking snow
sliding off the piney limbs.
The highest, drifted mountain
Is but a lumpy, pock-marked knoll.
At last--the snow is finally fit
to pack and shape and roll
(and pelt--and melt!)
Ah, tyrant snow--
I am not sad to see you go!
Lori fiechter, 1-12-99
Fast Forward Dream
In my dream they were
alive, awake, and vibrant:
buds swelling, shoots sprouting,
blossom scents wafting
in the soft warm breeze:
heady scents of
apple and lilac and wild plum.
There was green--much green all around
and the smell of damp earth.
They were alive again and I was glad.
But it was just a dream,
a fast-forward dream,
For I looked outside and
they are still asleep,
hibernating beneath a
snowy comforter of white.
I shiver for them and for myself.
Lori fiechter, 1-6-99
Snowy
White Sleeping Beauty
She lies still and cold as death
in a coffin of snow:
No life or warmth,
No fragrance or melody,
just frozen beauty.
Winter seems forever;
It casts that sort of spell.
But we do not despair
for we have been given hope:
We wait for the kiss of spring
that changes everything.
Lori fiechter, 1-6-99
Warm Memories
It is January now and
We are in the midst of a winter storm.
Christmas is but a dim memory
And spring an apparition
Or a dream that once seemed real.
It could be worse:
What if we had no memories of warmer days?
What if the present moment
(this never-ending Narnian winter)
were all we knew?
Memories wrap our soul in warmth:
In the midst of winter's wrath,
we remember the mercies of spring.
And for the joy set before us,
We endure the present discomfort.
Lori fiechter, 1-10-99