Quiet pursuit of alone time
is continual in the crush and hurry
that is my life —
of necessity.
Covetous am I of even minuscule moments
presenting with nothing and no one
needing me.

Still, deviant to my solitary nature
an innocuous act with trivial impact
of connecting on social media
catapults me into being
now — forever —
part of something crowded,
much bigger than me
even in only my own company.

And in a not-quite-ironic way, I find I like that.

© 2012 Shari Lynne Smothers

Prompt: from 3 Word Wednesday’s words – deviant, minuscule, trivial

Big Tent Poetry Wordle 2.28.11

Gazing into the flame
burning brightly
it came, tangle of a
question, idea, concern, obligation.
Scuttling persistently around my mind
an ambling parade to wake my
worry muscle. The collective
adamantly populated
my head, set to defy me
in my quest for emptiness.

Slowly, in the flame
burning down
in the tangled mass of thoughts,
a familiar face emerged.
His boyish smile betrayed that
even as I sought
to withhold my audience,
he would say more in his typical
controlling, helpfully annoying style.

Quietly, in the flame
burning away
a subtle change in thought
brought a gasp from
the rambling ambling head;
cause unknown since I couldn’t see
far down as his bloodied thigh.

Then poof, he was all gone
leaving me free to meditate
in peace
by candlelight
in the moments left to me
before the flame did slip out completely.

© 2011 Shari Lynne Smothers

***********************
For the Big Tent Poetry prompt of Monday 2.28.2011. Challenge is to use one of the following starter phrases and one or all of the wordle words.
“Say more ________”
“There is also the matter of _________”
“He started by __________”
***********************

This post is part of my #SHINEonline challenge commitment for 2 posts weekly; 2 of 2 for the 8th week.

I woke early to a raindrop orchestra outside my window,
playing a mellifluous symphony in the key of nature.
First a gentle blush then swelling
in a forceful crescendo—for long minutes.
I listen and watch peacefully through the movements,
through my window, wrapped in my blanket
against the cold air that seeped in.
The volume decreases diminuendo
leveling to loud cadence. Then decreasing more
it returns to the gentle melody.
Almost as if each drop strokes its contact points,
like drum brushes delivering gentler impacts.

Beyond the parking lot, trees have unwittingly
joined the musical. Bare branches high up
sway under the falling drops, following the water’s lead
marking time to me, their audience.
Heavier rainfall forces more frenzied movement.
The shorter, dense leafy evergreens, more hesitant to perform
are compelled to movement by rhythmic drops.
They sway and flourish almost imperceptibly
yet keeping time with the rain-cum-conductor.

People making way to cars, do their parts
respecting the raindrop symphony by walking hurriedly,
hunched under jacket or umbrella,
guarding against the continuous downpour.
Here’s a jacketed fellow with not even a hat.
His goal: get to port cover before the next deluge,
missing as many drops as he can manage.
Now drivers, in cars they add their voices,
tire splashes, to the rainy morning masterpiece.
All for me, their captive audience.

© 2011 Shari Lynne Smothers

This post is part of my #SHINEonline challenge commitment for 2 posts weekly; 1 of 2 for the 3rd week.

This poem is offered in submission too for the We Write Poems Prompt #38

This is a draft that has seen a few revisions since I wrote it on Monday. It will likely go through a few more before I’m ready to call time. But I wanted to post it because I like it now—and I’m working on another piece for this site, as well as writing for my other blogs.

I’m writing regularly but posting is off somewhat. So I’m working to get back on track quickly before the end of February. Needless to say, I’ll be working with my editorial calendars, to keep myself on track. More to come on that front too.

3WW words for 11.24.2010: advance, pander, shuffle.

The autumn rains come
to pander to the evening air.
Cold temperatures advance
and the leftover heat
from summer nights
is made to shuffle away.

I’m compelled to protect myself
to cover better
so as not to catch my death
from trusting summer clothing.

© 2010 Shari Lynne Smothers

We enter schools,
stones to be chiseled
from the rock that
holds us: the history
that is our parents’
and theirs before them.
The habits we learn
from the way
we interpret things.

Schools, planned to
bring out the best,
obliterate the rock
leave us stones,
purple, yellow
ruby red, black,
shimmering, brimming
with knowledge, skills
and open minds,
the ability to
think through things.

We emerge
precious stones
outside our
hidden state.
Set to light the world
in our own right,
paving the way
for new stones
for successive
generations.

School is
anywhere we learn
so location
is relative.
Take care to
build them the best.
Since,
for better and worse,

We continue.

© 2010 Shari Lynne Smothers

Select a title from the New York Times Bestseller List. Let the title inspire a poem. I chose: STONES INTO SCHOOLS, by Greg Mortenson, as of 11.10.2010.

This poem was written to a prompt from Big Tent Poetry. Get the prompt details here.
All links and poems submitted are posted here.

3WW words for today: gesture, immediate, treasure. This poem just popped into my head from a true life experience with a less-that-patient, overburdened waiter.

I know that gesture.
You want to pressure
me for my immediate
response.

Prod as you will.
But I’m likely still
even at my age
to give an answer
to accommodate,
only to have to
come back to you
to change it.

It’s not that I treasure having
this thing you want most hastily.
Truly I can’t decide
if I want
the ranch or blue cheese dressing.

© 2010 Shari Lynne Smothers

WWP prompt #27: Write a Healing poem

In my Spirit I hear Your whispers.
They are the memories I cherish
the friends who stand by me
the magnificence in nature around me
and myriad daily random acts of grace.

The voices of my parents
guiding, teaching me
raising me through childhood joys
and times that threatened
to bow my back permanently.
The mother who taught me to read
and read everything I wrote.
The father who defended me and taught
me the psychology of diffusing bullies.

Your whispers I hear in the rustle of
countless flocking cedar waxwings;
the flitting of hummingbirds
to the honeysuckle tree;
the butterflies and bees that
pollinate the flowers in between;
when my four-year-old niece decides
to whisper an important message to me.

I hear Your whispers in my sad hours
letting me know You’ve not
left me alone there.
I know it when I can find
a smile from my soul
in the midst of my abject sorrow.
When I say “Thank you, God!”
and You say, “You’re welcome, Shari!”
in an audible tone.

I cannot misunderstand
what is evidenced throughout my life;
I find my joy alone
and in communion with the world
that is around and moves through me.
And in my times of strife, Your whispers
awaken these graces,
these memories that sustain me,
and whatever is my difficulty I trust
that it too will, in its time,
move on away from me.

© 2010 Shari Lynne Smothers

3 Word Wednesday: Abrupt, Kernel, Wield
In the photo: my mom and my youngest niece, when she was very new. I’m sure they were discussing big plans.

Babies wield
a magical power
to abruptly, gently
captivate us
in the small moments.

A sudden, small smile
beneath knowing, new eyes
expressing more
than a kernel of insight
of ages
not theirs, that
they get you.

I sit mesmerized for
long moments after
the scene’s played out.
And humbled
beyond measure
when I catch one
in a picture.

© 2010 Shari Lynne Smothers

Body
drafted in the
images of
parents,
raised
in the shadows of
forefathers,
suffering
the lineage of
all his ilk
before them,
from time and when
parts better and worse.

It all comes
down to one
every one
each new life.
Infused with
the hopes and dreams
that it will grow
into a person
sloughing off sins
holding to better parts
proffered it,
hopefully,
to one day
save us from ourselves.

© 2010 Shari Lynne Smothers

This poem is inspired by the We Write Poems prompt #26: Collections.

I heard it said
you know you’re in love
when all the hokey
song lyrics
unjumble, come clear,
ring the truth
of the triple thee.

I’m wondering
what you know
when the lyrics
of This Masquerade
and the like
come to make perfect sense
to way down deep.

Does it say something about me
that the author and I could
communicate
from a place of
complete understanding of
how it works
to be so caught up?

Maybe I’ll wear the masque
that shows me
befuddled,
lest whatever the truth says
reads clearly on my face
for any to see and
think they know me.

© 2010 Shari Lynne Smothers

This poem is inspired by the Writer’s Island #27 Halloween prompt: Masquerade

3 Word Wednesday: Fragile Rampant Tremor

Thoughts occurred to me
then wouldn’t leave me.
Shaking me,
quaking deeply
before steadying to
a nauseating tremor,
at three in the morning.

Enter
my rampant paranoia
over things I can’t control
at an hour
it’s wholly unnatural
to be awake at.

Abruptly as it comes
Fear leaves me
staring, wide-eyed
trying to peace together
the fragile broken
sleep that was mined
for rest, not thinking.

The riders at night enjoyed
ferns and flowers in their car
and were served smooth beverages
in the shiniest clear plastic
creating the finest ambiance.

The magenta strumpet of the
midnight motor-coach tour
made a furtive fumble of her
tainted turquoise ‘kerchief
to get one man’s attention.

And as could be guessed
the gent of the nightly ride
wearing manners nonpareil,
his costume soot blackened
softened in the mist,
recovered her cloth from his
drinking cup, as he
casually exclaimed “Oh, f—!”

© 2010 Shari Lynne Smothers

Prompt: #118 Digging. Wordle offered by Barbara, Nicole, Marian V., Mark S. and Rallentanda, at Read Write Poem. Pick as many (or few) of these words as you want and write a poem using them.

Click here to see what other writers have submitted.

One luminous, still, summer day,
you said it was perfect to paint the shutters.
To my delight you let me, even though mom said
only use my brothers. Well into the job,
I beamed brighter than the sun’s rays
when you said my work was outstanding.
That day, I thought I could be
a professional house painter.

A very different summer day was
imbued with my own heavy countenance.
My small shoulders drooped with the weight
of what I’d witnessed.
My opened, young eyes stung as
the early light seeped into the dew-kissed morning;
Memories played
of your raucous argument with Grandmama the night before;
I learned it would be hours more
‘til mommy and daddy would come to collect us, and,
Tears of sadness flowed because
your hero status was no longer so nosebleed high.

That day, Granddaddy, you were almost
just a man.

© 2010 Shari Lynne Smothers

Prompt: #117 Create a Hinge, by guest celebrity poet, Zachary Schomburg, at Read Write Poem. Write a missive (letter) to a departed loved one in the first part of the poem. Then write a confession unrelated to the missive.

UPDATE: Read the great contributions to this prompt at get your poem on #117.

Watching television
not the best idea just now.
Luckily I often find it looking at me
as I work on editing
which captures most of my attention.

One of my favorite shows is airing.
But is this the right word
to translate my thoughts
to comprehensible language?
Vincent D’Onofrio’s character is making
insightful assessments from the start.
I’m languishing for ideas on
where best to cut each line for
emphasis and to maintain cohesion.

The suspect is nervous;
surely he can’t be caught
this early into the show.
Now, what to punctuate with
for maximum clarity?

Cut to the alley scene;
put this word on the next line.
He’s caught and he knows it not
thanks to the genius trap
set by Vincent and Kathryn
in perfect conjunction
with the hubris of the villain.

Thankfully a commercial!
I can put the TV on mute.
Oh, now that’s what the poem
is supposed to sound like!
D’Onofrio and Erbe
vanquish the bad guy and save the day.
I think it sings now
so I’ll let it play.

©2009 Shari Lynne Smothers

Prompt 071 from Poetic Asides: Write a juxtaposition poem.

This was a very interesting prompt. Like any prompt, there are many ways to interpret the path to completion. I hope mine is in keeping with the spirit of the prompt’s intention, but I can’t be sure.

I live in the moon.
My precious shell
pierced amply by meteors
to form my oddly shaped windows.
Sunlight and rain flow in
bathing the trees I sit underneath.
The glow of stars reflect all around,
they hit the sides and
the stream I splash my feet in.

Twenty-four hours
there’s enough light
so day or night, I can indulge
my abiding drive to write
to the neglect of every other endeavor.

I sit, invested for hours,
pulled in, moved to tears
by thoughts beautiful and sad.
Page after page is curled
as I ink my ideas to them.

I’m safer here
to follow my inspirations
more than in any other location
with freedom to create
and room to build anything
to amazing crescendos
and resonant resolutions;
Since no telephone rings this far out.
No one’s radar detects me to tell me
what I ought to be doing.

Back on earth from my home
friends and family absently
turn their backs to me
expecting me to be unavailable.
It’s fair and reasonable and offers last minutes
to reflect on and delight in my recent efforts
even when I wind up with
less than the next prize winning verses.

©2009 Shari Lynne Smothers

Prompt: #105 Borrowed Words posted at Read Write Poem for the whole story.