Amputated Moon

Plain                                                                 Fits

Rejoice in plainness                                   Where the pieces always match

monotony breeds daydreams               but the shapes can change and morph

use them                                                        dream them

sometimes the unusual                          unpredictable

falls into your lap                                     pick up the piece

turn it around                                            examine its form

place it right in the middle                   see it for what it is

push it flat                                                   and make it fit

Pamela Olson, 3/13/08

This poem was based on the prompt from Two for Tuesdays (plain and/or fits)

Leave your house

lose your pets

sell your stuff

downsize to just

a rented apartment

change in career

(not mine)

choices made

another journey

has begun

children uprooted

new job

lost friends

smaller walls

just numb

Pamela Olson, 3/13/08

This is a memory poem from a move ten years ago written for Three Word Wednesday’s prompt to use the words apartment, began (I used the past tense), and numb.

The bruised shadows of night

plum-colored and swollen

cling to the westward sides

of fence, house, and eaves

recalcitrant wounds

unwilling to heal on their own

only time and the turn of the earth

will fade them into daylight

Pamela Olson, 3/12/08

She is posed in the chair

by the window

in the coffee shop

holding her iced tea

in one hand

newspaper unread on her lap

sunshine brushing her cheek

she glows in the morning light

sitting motionless

but her eyes are so tired

and her mouth pressed tight

into a frown

she seems ready to leave

instead she stays

allowing the sun to caress her

Pamela Olson, 3/10/08

The tide rises up

kissing the crabs and saw-grass

with gentle kindness

Pamela Olson, 3/9/08

This haiku was written as a response to this week’s prompt at One Single Impression.

beacons of patience

among the umbered slumber

of the oaks and hickory

the sycamores

show off their brightness

in the leafless forest

they revel in difference

white bareness of limb and trunk

wide and generous

I drink in their light

on this late winter day

dim-shadowed and gray

Pamela Olson, 3/7/08

Many thanks to Word Catalyst Magazine for featuring this poem.

 

you move

along the sidewalk

pushing a cart

with all your belongings

only a thin white blanket

lying tangled

within the basket

and twice-crumpled newspaper

what do I assume about you?

you pass by

the restaurant window

and stop to rest

from your labor

pull the blanket free

to wrap it around your shoulders

and the newspaper

flies up and into the traffic

you watch it go

with sadness

resolute

in your eyes

what do I assume about you?

I assume

this night

your sleep

will be a little colder

I assume

the dark will be lonelier

without the whisper of words

against your skin

Pamela Olson, 3/5/08

This poem is in response to the prompt from Three Word Wednesday (rest, sidewalk, twice).

Life changes to death

in the quiet space of breath

skin and bones remain

 Pamela Olson, 3/3/08

This poem was written in response to One Single Impression’s prompt for Change.

Vet your words carefully

simple-meaning

without metaphor or simile

Lose the articles, adjectives,

and adverbs

try to use symbols

Choose a small bit of paper

little more

than a scrap of trash

Hold the teacher’s attention

with your eyes

and your words

Then just let the note

slide. . .

and trust that he will find it.

Pamela Olson, 3/2/08

dawn slinks through the rain clouds

dripping into the bared limbs

buds swollen with life

the birds sing in symphony

notes of longing

measures of love

rejoice

March is here

Pamela Olson, 3/1/08