The Coffee Mug



shattered on the floor
my favorite coffee mug
nothing big, not much of a thing,
just my favorite coffee mug--
sunshine yellow, with coffee beans,
and a coffee spoon printed inside at the top
along with a line from my favorite poem,
“I have measured out my life in coffee spoons”
yes, trite, you might say, emblazoned upon a coffee mug
but still, yes, I loved the mug, love the poem.
and there it was—
shattered upon the floor
there she stood,
apologizing—ad nauseam—
saying she’d buy another to replace it.
But it was not to be found.
Of course, the store didn’t have them anymore.

The mug was the first broken thing.
The first of a few, if it wasn’t liked,
didn’t fit into the ideal 
of what could be
forged of me
if pinched in the grip of tongs 
and held in the fire long enough
to be broken down to a molten,
malleable state, pounded upon the anvil, 
shaped, dipped in water to sizzle cool enough
to start the process over again—
for easy fracture.

Many things ended up broken, 
shelved, stored in closets—
pictureless frames and frameless pictures,
parts of me 
hidden away, never to be seen
sitting on shelves
in black closets—

until I emerged
chipped but no worse for wear
unbroken into the light.

A Razor Sharpened Tongue

image courtesy of iheartdogs.com

When the devils dwelling

within humanity’s heart

show themselves

through the horrors

of animals beaten, tortured

starved, or treated                   

with the willful disregard

of neglect–

I do rage,

wishing, at the very least,

for a razor sharpened

renegade tongue,

with which I could do damage–

wreak havoc,

slice and dice with it,

and after I’m done—

take all my slicing

and all my dicing

into arms strong enough

to carry the weight

of cruelty bled out,

drained of all its bloody

need to hurt, ignorant

of the suffering it has caused,

and toss it all into a funeral pyre

built to destroy all these

blood drained devils dwelling

within humanity’s heart.

Finally, finally leaving us to treat

ourselves,

other creatures,

our world

as if we truly do

have the souls

God has given us.

But it would take more, much more

than a razor sharpened tongue

to cut all the devils out.

so I turn my hands

to help, comfort,

aid as I can—

small drops,

yes, very small drops

to wash the darkness

of all the devils out.

Return

pexels-miriam-fischer-2671074
Weekend Writing Prompt #267: This weekend your challenge is to write a poem or a piece of prose in exactly 31 words using the word “Return”.
https://sammiscribbles.wordpress.com/category/weekend-writing-prompt/

I envy the monarch’s, the hummingbird’s arc of return,
infinite, eternal.
My jealousy consumes as I have
no return, no cycle—
Only the damnation of this linear thing,
finite, directionless.

Always There

Photo by Tina Nord on Pexels.com

As I prepare the hummingbird feeders
To place in the yard,
My mind gathers the threads of my what-ifs,
Thinking to knit
Some alternate reel
Of these last few years.
But my what-ifs unravel
As my hands no longer possess
The dexterity to knot 
The ends and edges
Of time I never found
To circle the earth,
Looking for you
As I took wide gaited steps,
Covering as much ground 
As possible.

Yet still, knowing
Had I found you,
My words would 
Have stumbled
Over each other,
Clumsy from lacking sense
Of time lost, wasted—
	And yet, I think of you every day, after all these years.

The you before the world shrank with color draining away,
The you before the new penny color of your hair faded to white,
The you with warm blue topaz eyes reflecting sunshine prisms,
	Not the ice glinting gemstones they became.
And I—
	I had fresh, pure words,
	Weaving us a blanket of innocence and love
	As we curved toward each other in youth.

But I cannot stride the world anymore
In search of you.
Thus, I let you go,
Hoping you find softness
Like the hummingbird
Who brushes her cheek against 
The petals of a dinner plate hibiscus
In search of nectar.

The Promise of a Nation


Photo by
@caldwellkelsie

Anger paralyzes,

I search for words—

Pour what I feel

Into them—

But my anger

Melts them,

Turns them molten metal,

Defiant to the forms,

The constraints,

The molds I attempt

To use to shape

This gob of white hot liquid metal

Into meaning

For feelings

Overwhelming me.



Paralysis crushing,

Submission—

It is what they want—

Make us heavy once again

With chains and shackles,

Place and close the Master’s padlock,

A designation of second class,

Something much less than they,

Round our necks once more,

Making of us an example,

So others live in fear

Of what they come for next

And so acquiesce—

Staying silent, eyes lowered,

Hoping to escape notice

By allowing them to feel smug and safe.



My anger burns bright white stripes,

Others will not die bleeding the red.

Remember the stars provide the light

Of what we know is right.

We will not live on our knees

Or on our backs, being beggars

For shredded scraps

Of what is the promise of our nation.



Handmaid’s Tale on the Horizon

Brevity of years
Right, paid in blood + death, destroyed
Fiction drips history

https://sammiscribbles.wordpress.com/2022/06/25/weekend-writing-prompt-265-brevity/

Brevity in 12 words

Endlessness

Image courtesy of Pexels.com

https://godoggocafe.com/2022/06/21/tuesday-writing-prompt-challenge-june-21-2022/

Todays prompt: Begin a poem with “endless”

Endless winds rustling

Through leaves baked a thin crisp green
By summer’s noon sun.

Endless wilting flowers
Reaping words of empty dust
Sands away meaning.

Endless hope sprouts blooms
In the dry cracked refuge of earth
A survival scented thing.

Ablaze

image is my own

https://amanpan.com/2022/06/21/eugis-weekly-prompt-ablaze-june-21-2022/?amp=1

Coffee in hand,

watching the summer sun rise here,
would that I could gather
these colorful threads of light,
golden rose, orange raging gem hues,
weave of them a perfect thing for you,
I do not know what it would be,
but a picturesque thing—
so pure, so perfect, encompassing all
you did not know you wanted, needed:
words would fall away in breath stolen,
our spirits cleansed by the sight
would bask in its light.

Being human, I have no talent
for weaving or creating
a thing so new
for you.

Wounds I Healed: The Poetry of Strong Women

Now available on Amazon

#1 New Release Bestseller!

I’m honored and humbled to have two poems included among the works of such talented authors. The work resonates with the strength it takes to not just survive—but to thrive.