That’s “Poem to Prime the Pump” — lots of writing to do this afternoon.
for sweet baby j
tower
a wooden square on the bottom,
two or three teetering rectangles,
and something fancy on top:
the block with the bell inside it,
or the clear plexiglass pyramid.
it doesn’t really matter,
it’s all crumbling down
as the stout wooden airplane
finds the sweet spot
every time.
i’ve rebuilt […]

Recently on Facebook I said, “After many years of collecting Christmas music, I finally downloaded Handel’s Messiah… and singing the Hallelujah Chorus chokes me up whether I’m in a church or the kitchen. I’m a big sap.” Here is the rest of the story. A Stafford poem

whether i am standing up front, clustered with the […]

We woke up with the alarm clock this morning, not by human means.
This was a tremendous relief. We almost feel human.
R left early since the rest of us didn’t have to be anywhere quickly.
C walked to the bus stop with the rest of us tagging along.
J wants to be held while we wait and yells […]

I.
the boy
holds his mother’s hand
only when offered, yet
does so with gladness,
except in the street.
the hand, all dimpled knuckles,
is soft and insistent,
like a secret with five fingers.
II.
the little girl
yanks and jerks
forward, then backward,
pulling fingers until they crack,
not to be naughty, but all the better to
jump a crack, hop, spin into the grass, dance,
pull back, then launch […]

I was very excited to get a poem yesterday from a friend of mine, who wrote about her boys in the same style as these simple verses I’ve been doing. It’s a nice way to get a snapshot in time! Try it!

You get out of bed in the morning with great purpose,
close the bedroom door […]

This past summer I co-presided at a memorial service for a man whose young adult daughter read a long poem consisting of statements about her father. It was a fantastic litany of good and bad all jumbled together. This is in that vein, though today was mostly good.

You read with confidence now, and even when […]

this time, we found
just the right spot in the park:
a short walk to a “hidden playground”
a cathedral of trees, a path to the marina.
and we had
just the right snacks:
granola bars shoved into various pockets, doled out
as a distraction when playground time was over,
with no whines for water.
just the right temperature:
cool enough for jackets, warm enough […]

There’s a road near my house that has got me quite puzzled,
The rules about right-of-way leave me bumfuzzled.
I’ve had this thing happen on more than one day.
Am I just a bad driver? Well, what do you say?
I drive in the right lane, which merges with left.
I turn on my signal and then start to drift.
When […]

Our life is so enriched by Free to Be, who is so much more than an occasional babysitter. She’s a wonderful friend and a Christ-like presence in our family.
I wrote this (sans pseudonyms) for her birthday. For this poem, she is F2, just so the meter works out. (Though that makes her sound like a […]

unedited, unfinished
i mumbled the passion story to myself
for most of saturday:
scraped food, loaded plates into the dishwasher
take; this is my body
spread mulch with a heavy rake
he threw himself on the ground and prayed
poured goldfish crackers, screwed on cup lids
they offered him wine mixed with myrrh
rocked a baby in the unseeing dark
the women saw where […]

Every year I have this crazy idea to write a poem a day during National Poetry Month. Ah well, April 3—too late this time.
The only way it is possible is to write really really quickly and not edit. And so…

He pushed the stroller up the sidewalk,
putting his back into it;
it was a heaving protest […]

for R

one far off day,
his perfect hands

that clutch
the toothpaste, or the baby’s
cortisone cream,
Just So, in the abundant middle,
molding them
expertly to his tightening fist

will cease to be—
along with the rest of him—
and perhaps i will miss those
shriveled up reminders
littering the bathroom,
and wish i had not sighed
as i smashed them all
flat.

I was curled up by the Christmas tree with Oprah’s magazine
When there among her Favorite Stuff was a thing I’d never seen.
A pair of gloves for iPhone users—featuring a dot
Of rubber on the index finger… I cried, “They must be bought!”
But in my haste I threw that ‘zine on the recycle pile
And when I went […]

jjm, 5-14-1947 - 1/28/2003
Relics: A Diary
January 28
As the phone call ended downstairs
I folded down a corner of the Secret Garden,
perched it atop a stack of books, way too optimistic
for the fortieth week, and turned
toward the door to my husband’s
ashen face—
I turned toward the door, the door,
the door beyond which
there be dragons, as the mapmakers used […]

This is a Christmas gift for C (little she-who-is), who is afraid of Santa. The pseudonyms don’t quite work but you get the idea.
‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house
not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would […]

three is harder, they warn;
no longer one for each hand.
and yet with
global warming
planes as missiles
war on terror
nuclear madmen
the end of an empire
just how invincible do they think
five fingers
and a palm
really are?

I have no idea where this came from. Other than the fact that my girls get the hiccups a lot.

There was a little princess; Little-She was her name,
She had a sister M, who was a princess just the same.
They’d play and giggle all day long, and splish-splash in the tub,
Until the fun was interrupted with […]

And now for something completely different…
Our freewrite this week in the online writing workshop:

A “spoonerism” is sometimes good inspiration for a humor poem or nonsense verse. Named after W.A. Spooner (1844-1930), a spoonerism is the swapping of the initial sounds of two words to create two different words.
A few examples: “bird watcher” –> “word […]

a draft

the ripe glow between the rooftops
is a wedge of strawberry pie.
always hungry, i throw on a sweater
and pad toward this mid-evening delicacy.
i step straddling over a wire fence,
scramble up the backyard hill,
ready to feast; oh! it was a mirage,
not a sliver of thing to be gobbled up,
but a long roll of wool
carded clean and […]

unrevised
i’m home, but
i don’t want the pilgrimage to end,
so in the plod of rush hour,
i look around and see not
minivans adorned with little league stickers, not
hummers that make me furious, not
steel machines inhaling their fossil fuels and
blowing code orange smoke rings,
but the people inside, pilgrims on the way
to their sacred everyday places,
they are modest as […]