Posted in Lifelong learning, My Own Personal Weirdness, What I Love, Writing

A View From Here

Peaches lie all over the ground, tossed down yellow,
too early, by this morning’s storm. Bahia grass shushes the singing birds,
heads held high despite the damp. Melancholy swims up
and over me and clings as snug as the humidity.

The old neighbor appears, their new fence recently painted,
which clashes with their pile of old slate landscaping stones,
ivy springing eternally around everything in sight.

More peaches fall
and hit the rotting stump of the once towering
loblolly pine. Only one of the original five still guards the threshold separating
their wet grass from mine, but he’s not lonely. The gray squirrels
still swing from his branches and little finches nest in his crevices.

The Tuesday sound of lawn care services
blowing leaves from yard to yard interrupts
the hum of traffic as it crushes past too fast
on its way to the college down the road.
The harsh machine noise echoes through the trees
And sends our animal friends scurrying.

I yearn for neighbor’s past who cared
for the yards themselves, sweating
in the sunlight while joking about my use
of yellow fabric shears while I knelt weeding at the curb.

Their azaleas that smelled so heavenly
the day we moved in, now lost to occupants
who replaced them with easily maintained gravel,
which smells of guano from the bats.
Next I imagine they’ll try to replace the bats, to the delight
of the ever present mosquitos.

I smell damp earth and the light, sweet smell of the peaches.
A sociable squirrel we’ve named Randy
chitters at me through the screen,
daring me to keep him from his fruity treasure. A cardinal
stops to argue with him and he runs elsewhere
like always.

A copy of this poem also appears here, as part of a padlet of coursework from a writing class I’m taking.

Posted in Computers and Internet, Speaking, What I Love, Writing

Today’s Bonus Speaking Engagement at TPLWC

As I said before, another speaker could not show up today at the Tyler Public Library Writer’s Club Facebook Group, so I presented a very last minute lesson on poetry. You can watch the video here if you are a member of the group, but honestly, I was mostly just reading from a textbook, so don’t. I’ll do a better presentation on poetry another day and let you know when I’ve posted it. 🙂

Posted in Computers and Internet, Speaking, What I Love, Writing

Bonus Speaking Engagement today at TPLWC

Just found out that I’m substitute peaking later today at TPLWC at noon. I’ll probably talk about poetry, since that’s what I’ve been taking a class on lately.

Posted in Around the House, What I Love, Writing

NAPOMO # whatever

I’m not even bothering to catch up. 🙂 I am having an unanticipated quiet day at home, due to lost keys. I’m listening to the DVD of yesterdays musical adventures and cleaning up from all the fancy dinners.

Here’s an untitled poem from another quiet day this year:

I can hear:

tick   tick   tick

chime     chime   

HUMMMMM

No cymbals,

No shouts,

No tinny music

Just this:

tick   tick   tick

chime     chime   

HUMMMMM

No machines, 

No requests,

No frantic running.

Only quiet sounds:

tick   tick   tick

chime     chime   

HUMMMMM

Lisa Holcomb 2014

Posted in The Past Comes Back to Haunt Me, Writing

NAPOMO #8

good people share faith, love, intimacy

…  so trust the knowing in me

with effort, I metamorphosed myself…

synergy an interesting challenge…

into determined socializing.

 

and maybe eventually everywhere

the inevitable reward

my purpose:

i’m loved

our time is playful

so trust the knowing in me and maybe eventually everywhere the inevitable reward …

 

Inspirational web poem #2

Lisa Holcomb 2004

 

Posted in Lifelong learning, What I Love, Writing

NAPOMO #7

The Wind That Shakes The Barley

There’s music in my heart all day, 
     I hear it late and early, 
It comes from fields are far away, 
     The wind that shakes the barley. 

Above the uplands drenched with dew 
     The sky hangs soft and pearly, 
An emerald world is listening to 
     The wind that shakes the barley. 

Above the bluest mountain crest 
     The lark is singing rarely, 
It rocks the singer into rest, 
     The wind that shakes the barley. 

Oh, still through summers and through springs 
     It calls me late and early. 
Come home, come home, come home, it sings, 
     The wind that shakes the barley.

 

Katharine Tynan Hinkson

Posted in The Past Comes Back to Haunt Me, What I Love, Writing

NAPOMO #6

he can reach

the top of the table

under the crib

behind the piano

with ease

 

he grabs

a toolkit

a nail clipper

some cheerios

with tiny fingers

 

he finds

beads

rhinestones

plastic clips

in the shallow carpet

 

he’s just tall enough to choke.

 

 

Lisa Holcomb 10/27/04

Posted in What I Love

NAPOMO #5

WHEN I AM AN OLD WOMAN I SHALL WEAR PURPLE
With a red hat which doesn’t go, and doesn’t suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we’ve no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I’m tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick the flowers in other people’s gardens
And learn to spit

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and pickle for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes

But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.

But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.

Jenny Joseph


 

Who doesn’t love this poem? But honestly, I started the “weird” life early on. Why wait til I’m old?

🙂

Posted in What I Love

NAPOMO #3

If I can stop one heart from breaking,

I shall not live in vain;

If I can ease one life the aching,

Or cool one pain,

Or help one fainting robin

Unto his nest again,

I shall not live in vain.

-Emily Dickinson