Telling Stories

I looked at a random
new-born baby on TV
held by her mother.
From the other room
I heard my mom’s voice,
“That baby looks
just like her mother.”

I never could see that much
in the faces of new-borns
wrinkled and otherwise nondescript
even in my family.
Maybe my eyes were never
quite trained to it
and remain as yet
undeveloped.

My mom tells the story
that when my dad’s mom
first laid eyes on me
she said ‘I got one.’

I still wonder
how she saw it that day
that I’d grow to have her face
as mine.
But she was right
and so pronounced is our likeness
until all the family
knows who I’m from.

©2009 by Shari Lynne Smothers

All of a sudden
I understand
the sweet sick feeling
that’s been welling up
from the pit of my stomach.

At the back end
of each joy and delight
that passed through me
while in my hometown
was a sick
curly cue punctuating
experiences with—

In my quiet last night
I understand
it’s the downturn
of the roller coaster ride.

In all the excitement
of remembrances
we were creating in great detail
they included
the unplanned part that insured
I would miss home.

Tomorrow—
later today, I drive back to Houston
with the fun times dancing
in my spirit and the
aftertaste of melancholy
over all I leave behind in New Orleans.

©2009 by Shari Lynne Smothers

The joy seeps in
through the cracks
of laughs during dinner,
and at the movies,
on the way to any
destination.

Quiet delight
sways smoothly
in my head
while I’m working
at my computer

because I’m not at home
but in the home
of old friends and family.

The casino is fun
because I’m with friends
laughing at the sinister looks
drawn into the characters
on the machines.
Ratting around
shopping for speakers
falling asleep on a sofa not mine
seeing my friends’ moms
are still in good health
more food, gumbo, greens and cake too.

All make me grin inside
as I cherish and file them
in the made memories
for later days
I’ll spend apart from
my family and friends.

©2009 by Shari Lynne Smothers

So, it’s the 20th of April—that’s twenty days into National Poetry Month [NPM]. I just returned from a long trip that was truly a pleasure. Slowly the good feelings are washing away making room for the sobering thought that I’m falling short with my poetry postings.

Last April, I did better with my poetry offerings. This year, not so much. Once I set up this blog, I said that I would do something for NPM that was more than I usually did. My intention was to post daily as opposed to just whenever, as is my current post schedule.

There’s still time to do something productive. So, through the end of the month, (that’s the next ten days), I will post one poem each. So do come back; you may find something you like.

I invite you to share your responses if you like. And, if you have your own poems that you post, do drop me a link as well. I love reading new poets.

Enjoy!

If you see something you want to share with others and you’re on twitter, it would be great if you’d add #npm, #poetry or #poetrymonth to your tweet. Thanks.

And, do take some time to explore the great offerings submitted by poets and poetry readers to Twitter’s poetry categories.

Here’s one to kick-start my ten days winding up National Poetry Month 2009:

Led by Gratitude

I’ve set aside this space
to share my thoughts
released on the wings
of prayers, meditations
and gratitude.
Ideas flow freely through
my silence as I sit waiting
for the verses summoned.

The words dance on my page
choreographed by
appreciation of all
that I experience.

Thanks be to the
Holy Trinity

Amen

©2009 by Shari Lynne Smothers

Reading poems
makes me want to
write my own.
Writing them
makes me want to
read from more poets.

It’s a self-sustaining
cycle that could easily
consume me.
I know this because
I’ve let it loose in me
from time to time.

Beautiful timeless verses
of Audre Lorde in
A Litany for Survival;
The insightful, hopeful
message from Alice Walker imparted by
The Same as Gold.

They, the poets and their verses,
inspire in me this intense
longing to share
in their artists’ collective
with my own verses like Broke.
Still, I hesitate.

Through years of exploring poets
contemporary and long dead
I’ve vacillated between
wanting to participate
and keeping hid the way I can fall far short.

Hiding
wins often
until my verses shout to me
demanding to be shared,
and here is one place I let them out.

These words that demand the chance
to have an audience
don’t ask for or require
safety. So I make the effort
to meet their bravery
and stand by them and listen
to what any might want to say
mostly because I have no choice.

©2009 by Shari Lynne Smothers

A friend sent me
a poem by Alice Walker
in which she tells us
that grief is comparable to gold.

My wealth knows
no limits.
It’s boundless
and never
is fully spent.
For when it’s low
when I’m almost out
something
occurs
to replenish it.

I’ll never be
completely broke
in this life.
But one day
I will leave
all this wealth
behind me.
I’ll move
to another place
penniless
certainly
without my gold.

No purchasing power,
no list will I have
I will rejoice in my
broke-ness
and be fully
glad of it.

©2003 by Shari Lynne Smothers

From Pebbles in My Shoes © 2004 by Shari Lynne Smothers

Mom said
Your niece and nephew
are being dropped off for a while.

They weren’t on my schedule
my headphones in place
for an evening of transcription.

Relaxing, tweeting, reading
I’d procrastinated pretty good
about getting my work done

and paid the price
as I was caught unprepared
though thankfully I was rested.

I need all my strength
physically and mentally
to watch over the dynamic duo.

They’re busy children
and rarely have mercy
secretly plotting
and even aloud,

the boy told the girl
Let’s go beat up Auntie Shari,
and I think she liked the plan.

©2009 by Shari Lynne Smothers