In the Moment

Best advice I've ever heard
aside from "Love your neighbor as yourself"
came courtesy of Deborah J and worked its way
into my heart, popping off my mental shelf
in little spurts of inspiration every day.
Stay in the moment, Debbie said,
to actors on a stage but like most all
such wisdom this has broader application.
At this moment, I am caught up on my bills
and prayers, no dreadful thoughts
for several seconds, committed no great
sins against Big Ten Commandments for
even longer. Limited by lack of temptations,
for this moment I am Right, capital R,
as all good Southern girls were raised to be.
There's comfort in that, knowing I will fall,
and fall apart, no doubt any time,
but right this moment? I am fine.
There's no one cursing me by text or phone,
I haven't let a person down. Supper's in
the oven, wine is waiting in the glass,
tomorrow's possibilities lay like sparkling
specks on troubled waters, but for just
this moment, I'm content, and dry,
upon the shore. Tribulations, stresses
that press in relentlessly are kept at bay
and in this moment I am blessed.



(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

Beneath the Sky and Tree

A patch of grass beneath the spread 

Photo borrowed from
http://www.ju90.co.uk/blog/visit7.htm

of leafy arms had charm enough for just 

the one to sit and rest a spell, 

melt into earth as breeze and shade

of trees and lake held back the midday heat.

But still, as pleasant as it was for one,

the one would always rather while away

such moments as not one alone but one of two

forms underneath the branches, lost not

in quiet contemplation, wrapped instead

in concentration on the other's sleepy laugh,

arms and legs there intertwined.

(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

 

Vienna Haiku Times Two

Vienna sausage
childhood delicacy that
still pleases palate.

But please don't tell me
what these weinies are made of.
Might spoil appetite.




(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

The Hope of Seeing

The Chinese symbol for love
looks, to me, like someone reaching
out as well as pulling in, of looking
heavenward while pointing to the earth.
It looks happy, as is fitting.

No poetry today, no verse or rhyme,
no easy flow of words from pen
or tongue could possibly or adequately
convey the way her heart sped up
at just the hope of seeing him again.
It made no sense, the quickening of breath,
warmth spreading everywhere
until, she blushed a little at the thought,
surely everyone could tell, just by
the way she seemed to smile from eyes
to mouth and back without
an easy explanation.



(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013


Just feeling a little romantic. I come by it naturally: my mother is a romantic, as is my sister. There are different kinds of love, all of which are valid and necessary to optimum human existence, but I personally think that romantic love, when coupled with other kinds - friendship, selflessness, a desire for God's best for another - can bring together the best of what love can be. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.

Angry Birds Rhyme

When we went to the store 

to buy bathroom decor

I was surprised 

when my grandson was certain

that instead of the fish,

the thing that he wished

was to have Angry Birds 

on the curtain.

I'm not "up" on the game,

nor know them by name,

but these unhappy 

wing'd cartoon creatures

shared my outlook today,

decidedly grey,

their frowns mirrored 

in my own sour features.

Poet Watkins has said

that such rhyme I should dread,

but I say, it must be cathartic,

since now I can smile

and no longer taste bile,

my mood now improved from lethargic.

(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

At the Bus Stop

The sister's holding Robert Frost,
which catches my attention. How often
do you find fourth graders reading
anything these days, not to mention something
of that calibre? "Whose woods these are,
I think I know," I quote, and help her find
the page. Waiting for the bus beneath
third quarter moon, we talk of poems and school
and why our grandson lives with us.
"I write poetry," I say, and nod my
head his way. "Sometimes about him,"
which pleases all three children, bonded
by innate desire for recognition not just
as someone in the crowd, but someone special.
"Would you write about me?" the brother asks.
not shy at all but sensing that I need more
information on the subject quickly adds
that he likes racecars and mermaids, his tone
daring me to find this odd, perplexing combination
guaranteed, perhaps on purpose, clever calculation
to insure my fascination and continued interest.
Moon and sun are both on site to watch
them board their smelly yellow transport
as I walk back to the apartment, thinking
on the kind of boy who doesn't mind a bit
his standing out as just a little different.
His sister, too, now that I think about it,
wondering who she has around to talk
about the deep things Frost inspires.
Observing them today, I think her brother
may turn out to be the sort who, in later years,
will be best friend and ally, sounding board
for dreams and schemes and mermaids
taking breaks from all that water,
working pit crew in Daytona.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

10,000-Plus, As Of Today

10,000 views is quite a lot, for someone such as I,
or is it someone such as me? I always have to look it up, and having done so, thank you God for Google, now I'll stick with I, and stick with writing poems each day, with that much of an audience. I alone can see that one or two offerings account for greater part of traffic, and must disclose that it's due to art that I've attached, not so much poetic excellence, but whatever, I am grateful. Some days
I'm more inspired, some days it's just a discipline,
but then again, being somewhat wild in certain layers of myself,
some structure (and what's more, the motivation
of commitment to a daily poem) is just the thing I need.
Or one thing that I need, among so many others, some
of which I'll find this week, in fact and fantasy,
and some for which I'll have to wait awhile,
smiling as I contemplate those items of concern.



(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013