AprPAD Day 3 Follow ______

FOLLOW THE DOG

Follow the dog, she knows where to go down

The street and to the left then two more blocks

To the blue house with the red door and green 

Green grass. A right turn takes you all the way

Past the gated yard and the big mean dog 

Who always barks and growls as we go by

The house. Follow the dog but not that one.

She looks at me to make sure I'm still here.

Walking close behind her, she stops and sniffs

The grass, somehow she knows we're almost home.

Caren E. Salas

The Last Page

The last blank page of my journal seemed so
Naked inside a book filled with scribbles
And stickers, magazine pictures pasted
Next to fortunes from cookies, random quotes,
A hospital bracelet, thrift store price tag,
A magic playing card: the King of Spades,
Stolen from my magician friend, my love,
Thoughts, frustrations, secrets, memories, words,
Mistakes made, dreams yet to be realized,
But with this poem, my journal's complete.

Caren E. Salas

Photo: http://uncomfortablemoments.blogspot.com/2011/01/dear-diary.html

HAVANA (Day #13 poem about a city)

History crumbles away when it rains.
Marble stairways are cracked; streets need repair.
Yet in narrow alleys, doors are open
Friends, neighbors, strangers, dancing without care.
The salt water spray on the Malecon
Doesn't stop the trumpet player playing,
And there's always time for conversation
Over some rum, and maybe a cigar.
Beautiful city, beautiful people.
I hope I will be back again someday.


Caren E. Salas

We met a new friend, Luis, playing his trumpet on the Malecon.

He invited us to his house for dinner with his family - yes, that kind of stuff really happens.

Photos by William Salas

THE FLOWERS

The grounds keeper said we might as well take
The flowers; he'd be throwing them away.
So we did. Every bloom and bud we could
That wasn't crushed, spent, damaged or broken.
We gathered them gently into our arms
And took them home where we put them in jars,
Vases, bottles arranging them as well
As we could. The flowers brought color back
Into what had been a very gray week
And a bit of light into our dark times.

Now, as each day passes, more flowers fade;

Petals dropping silently, leaves drooping.

Maybe we can dry the roses, maybe

We can press some of them into a book. 

If we lay them in the garden, might seeds

Take root and in the Spring grow back again? 

Anything to keep these flowers alive,

To make them last a little bit longer. 

Because while I still have the flowers here,

I won't really have to tell her good-bye.

 

Caren E. Salas

.

The Shoe - Day 14

When the man with the size 10 shoe stepped on

Their trail, the ants were suddenly

Thrust into DEFCON ONE; red hot alert;

A panic of gigantic proportions.

Who do we follow? Who do we follow?

The wake of destruction: catastrophic!

Dead comrades covered 30 square inches

Of ground ahead of them. The casualties

Must be collected! The march must resume!

The work must continue! No time to mourn,

Or wait for the other shoe...to drop.

Caren E. Salas

Prompt today was "follow" 

Photo from:  http://fireant.tamu.edu/

Some Things - Day 16: a "Possible" or "Impossible" poem

You can't make me love you if I don't; you
Can't make me someone that I'm not. You can
Force me to perform with violent means
I guess, but you can't make me enjoys it,
Or ever want it to happen again.
If you try and show me something very
Far away, I won't see it without my
Contacts, and I can't remember something
I have not lived, no matter how I try.
Some things are impossible after all.


Caren E. Salas



(Something about that phrase "Nothing is Impossible" has always bothered me. There are just some things in life that will not happen. Get over it.)

Pantry Raid - Day 9: A Hunter or Hunted Poem

Tomato paste, evaporated milk,

Hot cocoa, enchilada sauce, peanut

Butter, lasagna noodles, cereal,

Instant mashed potatoes, chocolate cake mix,

Flour, sugar, salad oil, salt, pepper,

Cinnamon and other spices, honey,

Camomile tea bags in a jar, several

Cans of chicken soup, a bag of croutons.

All this food but nothing really sounds good

To eat, so tell me: Where are the cookies?

Caren E. Salas

 

Just Do It - Day 3: A "Tentative" poem

Standing on the edge of the swimming pool

Black lines across the bottom, the cool blue

Sides, tiled with numbers: 3 feet, 4 feet, 6.

Inhale, exhale...one foot slowly lowered

Into the water. The smell of chlorine

And the sound of ripples lapping against

The steps. Hesitation. Fear of the cold...

Not fear really, but anticipation

Of that sudden shock before adjustment.

Inhale, exhale...just do it. Just do it.

 

 

Caren E. Salas

The Murder

Twilight's quiet interrupted, pierced by

Screams and cries of countless distant creatures

Gathering together out of sight, yet

With undulating waves of sound announce

Their ominous presence in the valley

The rustling of leaves and wings in restless

Wait, the cacophony growing as each

Moment passes, in anticipation

Until suddenly the sky turns to black

The feathered flight of a murder...of crows

Caren E. Salas

Photo by William Salas

(taken moments after the one from the previous post)

Two and a Half Hours

The two and a half hour car trip seemed like
An epic journey when I was seven.
The mountain roads weaving around each curve
Made my stomach dizzy. The only lights
Were the headlights of the few passing cars
Brave enough to be on these roads at night.
I tried not to cry. I tried not to think.
I just held onto my special pillow
And prayed as hard as I could, staring out
Into the black and wishing I could fly.


Caren E. Salas

(for Grandma Bustos)

Ill Fated Balloon

The jagged rock slashed fabric and wicker
As the balloon crashed into the mountain.
We clung to the ballast straps, the pilot
Doing all he could to mask his terror
In the face of embarrassing failure.
Our lives in his hands, we looked for guidance;
His blank expression gave us no comfort.
Yielding to gravity, we plummeted,
And though he searched, the pilot couldn't find
An "easy" button to help him through this.

Caren E. Salas


photo: examiner.com

Something...in the Water

Two notes, like a single heart beat, a glimpse,

A shadow, that uneasy feeling creeps

Into your stomach, the beat increases

Something brushes past bare legs and startles,

Too far from shore; just try to keep afloat.

The beat again, a tug, a gasp, shock, fear

Screaming will do no good, it's too late now.

No real comprehension of the nightmare

Unfolding beneath the surface, gasp, splash!

Then silence. Relax, it's just a movie.

Caren E. Salas

April PAD prompt: "Something ____"  After running the possibilities through my head Something Wild, Something Boring... Something in the Dark... I remembered we had just watched "Jaws" recently, and found my inspiration.

photo: en.wikipedia.org

Accept - Reject

Cell phone buzzes, vibrates, incoming call;

Screen lights. Accept. Reject. The choice is mine.

Split second flash of thought, weighing whether

To answer or ignore, to forgive or

Forget; the name appearing reminds me...

Of my heart still stinging from betrayal;

My ears still ringing from words left unsaid;

My eyes still burning from tears yet falling;

Accept? Reject? Mind racing, must respond.

I won't accept the pain, or the caller.

Reject.

Caren E. Salas

Day 8 of Robert Lee Brewer's PAD challenge: a "rejected" poem.

photo:  ehow.co.uk

The Last Straw

One day I'll hit the wall, feel that last straw
Crushing the camel, fists clenched, hair on end
I'll try and maintain composure only
To fail miserably, screaming out loud
Furniture flying, and small animals
Running for cover away from my wrath.
That one day, all bets are off, I can't be
Responsible for my actions against
A universe bent on seeing me fall.
Fire in my eyes, I'll stand and face my foe.


                                         Caren E. Salas


Robert Lee Brewer's Wednesday Poetry Prompt: "One last thing..."

What the Moon Thinks

What the Moon Thinks

Shining down on a dark and lonely world

I seek the lovers and children below

Dreamers who reach up to capture my glow

Will find only empty night in their grasp

I light up the path home, guiding the lost

Secrets are hidden in shadows I cast

Even the tides must obey my command

In my honor, the mermaids sing sweet songs

Some think there's a man in me, you can know

When my love, the sun, reflects on my face.

Caren E. Salas

photo by Eugene Ireland

Wednesday Poetry Prompt by Robert Lee Brewer

The Last Page

The last blank page of my journal seemed so
Naked inside a book filled with scribbles
And stickers, magazine pictures pasted
Next to fortunes from cookies, random quotes,
A hospital bracelet, thrift store price tags,
A magic playing card: the King of Spades,
Stolen from my magician friend, my love,
Thoughts, frustrations, secrets, memories, words,
Mistakes made, dreams yet to be realized,
But with this poem...my journal's complete.

Caren E. Salas

Photo: http://uncomfortablemoments.blogspot.com/2011/01/dear-diary.html

Old Tricks

Robert Lee Brewer's latest Wednesday prompt was to write a "new start" poem, and as I thought about the new year, my thoughts were drawn to the fact that "New Years' Resolutions" are really pretty futile. About the only thing I can hope for is to just close my eyes, take a deep breath, pray...and leap.

Old Tricks

I feel like the proverbial "old dog":

The one who can't learn a new trick, looking

At the new year expecting to find hope

And excitement, having no idea

How to actually make that happen.

My old tricks have proven unsuccessful,

And I scoff at the new philosophies

Designed to make me believe in myself,

When that's not the problem. I can believe

All I want, but my world has other plans.

I take a step forward, but I stumble,

I'm tripped, distracted, or derailed, often

All at the same time. My ambition aims

Higher than my energy lasts; my will

Constantly beaten down by a desease

Both exhausting and unpredictable.

So every day I start over, every

Year I dive in, not knowing if the pool

Is filled. Will I splash or crash?  "Cannonball!"

I cry, an old trick, but still my best one.

Caren E. Salas