January
Poems about looking forward and looking back
Loving Me
By Winnie Shows
A love affair with myself.
What a thought.
Certainly "my type."
Geographically desirable.
Lots in common
And only occasional back talk.
Wonder if she?s available?
The Lord Spoke to Me in a Dream
By Winnie Shows
The Lord
Spoke to me in a dream
And He said,
"Wake up!"
Scenario one: You leave.
And I let go serenely,
And trust Divine Plan.
Music plays in the background
as silvery clouds part
to reveal the most dazzling rainbow ever seen.
Probability: 0
Scenario two: You leave.
And I howl to the heavens
in heartbreak for all the loss in my life
and for all lovers who?ve ever been left,
tearing my hair, rending my clothes, never leaving home again
OR answering another Internet personal ad.
Probability: 50-50
Scenario three: You leave.
I cry.
I breathe.
I listen.
Probability:
Love-Object-Place-Holder
by Winnie Shows
I love you for breathing.
You?re my love object-place-holder
Around whom I dance my soul-searching dance
and sort out life issues and use lots of tissues,
-- and you don?t have to do a thing.
You just have to exist.
I love you for existing.
You?re my state-of-the-art-pearl-finish-emotional-screen
on which I project my drama and fears, turmoil and tears
-- and you don?t have to do a thing.
You just have to show up.
I love you for showing up.
You?re my anatomically-correct-plastic-boyfriend-doll
with whom I lie down to learn to grown up
-- and you don?t have to do a thing.
The water?s cold today.
I?m surprised.
With the air so chilly,
I thought it would be warmer.
Throws me off.
But this is my grand experiment:
Doing the work when it?s not so pleasant.
Kick
Kick
Kick
Kick
Kick
Kick
Kick
Kick
The woman in my lane?s a splasher.
I inhale her thoughtlessness
with every stroke.
Kick
Kick
Kick
Kick
Kick
Kick
Kick
Kick
I forget to bring my kickboard to pool?s edge
and have to emerge from my watery cocoon
shivering all the way,
prancing like a deer,
trying not to let one centimeter more of me than needs to
touch the frigid ground.
This never happened on warm mornings,
When I?d slowly stroll the deck with my size six body
In case anyone wanted to look.
Kick
Kick
Kick
Kick
Kick
Kick
Kick
Kick
The aging Don Juan two lanes over
watches the women instead of the clock.
His head scans the crowd like a talent scout.
I look away before he auditions me.
Kick
Kick
Kick
Kick
Kick
Kick
Kick
Kick
When I?m ready for it again,
My kickboard?s gone.
Weird kickboard karma this morning.
I think the fat lady in the next lane stole it.
She does the dolphin stroke,
A fleshy sine wave in the water.
The stiff bosoms of her bathing suit
rise out of the water like dormant volcanoes.
Her huge undulating cheeks
repeatedly break the surface in all their glory,
reflecting the rising sun
-- a giant wave machine
that throws other swimmers off course.
Kick
Kick
Kick
Kick
Kick
Kick
Kick
Kick
I steal the splasher?s kickboard and continue on.
I Do My Best Work on My Back
by Winnie Shows
I do my best work on my back,
Tracking the migrating Vs
as they silently slide north.
Interpreting the skies
as the clouds whisper poetry
And the tops of the pines
sway in meter to my rhymes.
Locker Room Lesson
By Winnie Shows
Bowing humbly,
The wise woman elder shakes out her prayer towel
Steps on it with grateful feet
And begins her morning ritual.
She dresses serenely
As the rest of us step lively
On prickly blue mats
As if they were hot coals
And we hadn?t met Tony Robbins yet.
April
Poems about Money, Prosperity, and Abundance
Flow
by Winnie Shows
Any clutching
slows the flow.
Any clenching
chills the chi.
Any clinging
loses grace.
Any closing
lessens me.
All removing
opens space.
All relaxing
lets me go.
All reflecting
slows my pace.
All releasing
makes it so.
Quantum
by Winnie Shows
Forget the wand
or slight of hand
The magic is always in the AND.
I know what I want
AND
I absolutely don?t know how to get it.
I am so sad
AND
wondrous gifts are tucked in the sorrow that enfolds me.
Light AND dark.
Heaven AND earth.
Saying yes to it all
AND?
The Stance
by Winnie Shows
My friend dodged a bullet
When his nascent, impatient girlfriend
self destructed by email.
?Whew. That was close.?
Sometimes we dodge a bullet
or tai with the ?chi
or swivel our hips just right
as the bull thunders past.
Sometimes we don?t.
Where exactly?s the redemption?
The renewal?
The reward?
My Aztec grandgirl stands at the doorway
a waking
goddess,
wiping sleep from her eyes,
still part of her dream.
She runs to me naked for her morning hug.
I wrap her in a white blanket, hold her in my arms
and call her my Burrito Baby.
My Grandgirls are Magnets
by Winnie Shows
My Grandgirls are magnets
and I?m their True North.
They gravitate from either edge of the bed
Tossing and turning
Til they connect:
rosy cheek on older shoulder,
dimpled leg on giant thigh.
Flesh.
Contact.
I awaken loved and smothered:
Girls glued to all sides of me.
I carefully crawl over them,
extricating arms and ankles,
-- a game of human pick up sticks --
Onto the acres of available bed
And sleep at last.
In the morning
my yinyang girls are entwined about one another.
Flesh.
Contact.
The Sperrys
by Winnie Shows
In the living room,
Grampa strides in with ceremony,
removes his jacket,
sits with purpose in his favorite chair
and calls us to worship.
We gather from all corners and listen,
eager for the miracle to happen again.
He solemly opens his wallet
and reaches in to the holy of holies
like a priest at his altar,
extracting a single dollar bill.
He looks at it lovingly,
caresses it reverently,
elevates it like a sacrament.
The hosannas of anticipation
dance in my eyes.
He blesses me with it
and I accept it humbly,
my thank yous rising like incense
as he glows in happiness,
feeling divine.
In the kitchen,
fingering her rosary beads
beneath a picture of the Sacred Heart,
Grama slips me a five.
?Don?t tell your grampa,? she whispers.
The rosy fingers of dawn
gently caress the hills,
And I want to slap them!
Back! Back! Get outta here!
I like this darkness
The starkness
The stillness.
This time before time,
before sight, before sound.
I don?t want the light right now,
at least not your kind.
Be gone!
Don?t take this sacred space
That surpasses understanding.
My confinement
alignment
refinement
that emerges
at the edge of the night,
serene, pristine.
Answers, inspiration,
And sometimes the words of a poem.
The rosy fingers of dawn
gently caress the hills
and I challenge them
to an arm wrestle!
Thumb wars!
Anything to keep them away.
Stay back! Just -- a minute or two.
I want more to dawn on me
than you.
Gym Bag List
by Winnie Shows
bathing suit
towel
cap
goggles
soap
pad
pen
rhyming dictionary
thesaurus
OED.
July
Poems about learning and education....about words, numbers, symbols and dreams: the hidden university
Morning
By Winnie Shows
This is the sacred spot of day
In predawn silence
Dreams are caught
Or maybe not, and that?s OK.
Di's Death
by Winnie Shows
My inner paparazzi wants pictures.
She was the princess we hoped to be
Though not-so-happily, ever.
And now it?s after.
I want something to remember her by.
I want a piece of her.
I know flash bulbs exploded
As sirens screamed in the distance
as the lives in the car seeped away.
Did she give them one final crooked smile
Or perhaps, free at last,
wave a bloody middle finger in good bye?
And the gendarmes --
When they took those shutterbugs in,
did they do full body searches?
Did they check everywhere?
Someone must have snapped her at the Ritz,
or got her on the gurney.
Come on, your Highness, indulge our lowness
Just once more before you go.
Poems about work and career as spiritual practice
E Ticket
At my best,
I?m riding this wild roller coaster
hands in the air,
head thrown back
mouth open
screaming for joy
with each up and down.
At my worst,
I?m folded and fetal,
afraid and afoul,
covering my head and my heart,
holding on for dear life.
Aaaah. Let?s do it again!
The Goose
by Winnie Shows
Whoop! What was that???
The universe has goosed me again.
What did I do?
What didn?t I do?
What do I have to do or not do so you?ll stop that?
(Not do. Be.)
Okay ---
What should I be?
What shouldn?t I be?
What do I have to be or not be so this won?t happen again?
(silence)
I sit down gingerly and listen.
Fear
I awakened
wrapped in fear
from head to toe.
I gathered it together,
scraping it off my arms and legs,
removing its weight
from my chest and stomach,
flattened it out
then fluffed it up,
reshaped it
into a full-length fur
(fake, of course)
put it on
and got up to face the day
With the clicking of his kibble, Spot taps out a morse code message
Fifi purrs a sonar summary of all we?ve said and done.
The fish embed their code in the acquafier?s bubbles
While the birds distract us with songs of gibberish.
?They?re not doing such a great job
since we let them take over.
Send reinforcements.?
The Deal
by Winnie Shows
This is my deal with the birds:
Clean water in birdbath
One scoop of seed
(Except when my grandgirls come.
Then they get six, spread far and wide.)
Trees to land on
Appreciation
Listening for the first call before dawn
Even if I drift back to sleep.
September
by Winnie Shows
The flowers are fading
and the peaches have no taste.
The concord grapes,
so sweet and sensuous weeks ago
are past their prime,
cloying,
holding themselves together
like aging women
hoping to look young, fresh, juicy.
My tan is
dappled,
faded,
reptilian,
surrendering without grace.
My spirit?s faded, too,
Pulled equally forward and back
lulled
lifeless
lost
in the pause
between
heavenly summer
and earthly fall.
October
Poems about loss, grief, letting go and making room for more
Last Supper
by Winnie Shows
We sit facing one another
and the restaurant drops away.
I memorize your face and voice
as words fall off the menu.
I want this meal to last:
Bring the appetizers tomorrow and the salad next year.
Departure
by Winnie Shows
This is important:
I have to help you go.
Stoic in rush hour traffic
And tired of watching you pack,
I pretend to be a good sport and
Pick up your tickets.
Outside the Fed Ex building I crumbled
As grief thundered through.
Your tickets in one hand,
passport in the other.
I thought of burning both.
Then, like a mourning mother
shrouding her dead child,
I knew: Accepting is not enough.
I have to help you go.
Must send you on your journey,
Or I can?t resume mine.
I Mourned for Marci at the Spa
(for Marci Williams)
By Winnie Shows
I mourned for Marci at the spa -
The perfect place to grieve.
Alone in my homeland,
I stumbled, stunned,
Telling anyone who'd listen,
Tears dissolving my mud pack.
The massage was not that good.
The masseuse cried with me.
Swimming angrily laps
And steamed in the steamroom,
I ignored the happy vacationers
Who encircled me
Then gorged myself with apple pie and ice cream,
Graced with passion fruit.
No simple desserts here.
Waking at midnight with a hole in my heart
-- Was that a banshee howl outside my window
Or the vacuum next door?
I mourned for Marci at the spa
-- the perfect place to grieve.
Perhaps this could be a new market:
Grief-stricken Getaways.
Mournful Mondays.
Wounded Weekends.
I wandered in the mist
Cursing and crying,
Blowing on vacant webs,
Exposing them to others who might pass this way.
I mourned for Marci at the spa
And then continued on.
The fog lifted.
Playing with the Energy
By Winnie Shows
If I focus on the fear,
I probably won?t hear
What about this going?s good.
Entangled in the should
Or might or may or ought
I forget the gift you brought
And any further grieving
Blurs the gift you give by leaving.
I assume, with this upheaving,
There?s nothing else in store
And I won?t be getting more.
So I STOP
and take a breath
And vote for life, not death.
I create a sacred space
As I bless
your last embrace.
In a desperate moment,
The me I was
prayed to whomever would hear,
and the me I would be
reached back in love
took my hand
and gently led me
to become the me I would be.
In a desperate moment,
The me I would be
prayed to the me I am,
reaching for me,
knowing I would help.
In a desperate moment,
The me I am smiles toward
the me I will be.