Saturday, April 11, 2009

PAD Apr09 #10-- FRIDAY


It is Friday
We sit at a restaurant and think
Through the meal I wonder
How the meal is much like a life.

It begins
We enter a little unsure
Through the meal there's laughter
How the meal is much like a life

It is over
After eating we sit and digest
And remember the great food we've eaten
When its over we just have to go

Through the week we work and we play together
The week is much like a life
And it is Friday.

By Jim Rasfeld


5 o'clock and it's begun--week's end.

Time for a movie; time for a drink
Time to see your lover and time to uncover your true self.

And it's time to loosen up and play
at least for the next two days,

By Stacey Rasfeld

Thursday, April 09, 2009

Memory's Past

your room, four o'clock:
we lay in dim afterglow
dreaming of our future life.

Highland Park, summer:
we sat in grassy twilight
drinking dry white wine.

jazz club, off-night:
we sang through spotlit smoke
breathing in sparkling applause.

your car, after hours:
we kissed under crisp starlight
dancing close then away.

Crystal Cave, weekend:
we drove by dead reckoning
holding hands underground.

I close my eyes and I'm
with heat.

I open my eyes and I'm
in bed
clutching the cat.

Waking: A Memoir of Trauma and Transcendence

Wednesday, April 08, 2009


Today's prompt from the Writer's Digest Poem-A-Day April Challenge got my husband into the act. Both our posts follow.


day in, day out
the cat wakes me, looking for breakfast.
as soon as the sun is up, as soon as
she sees my eyelids twitch, she begins her refrain:
meorwr! a raspy scrape of complaint.
I give in: I
get up,
go into the bathroom,
take a pill, then
stumble into the kitchen.
she follows from room to room, impatiently
herding me toward her empty dinner plate and
stagnant water dish.
what do we want today-- the blue can or the orange?
she considers, eyes fixed, ready to pounce on my first wrong move.
I know my job: open the can, spoon out the mush, set down the plate.
fresh water.
one small caress as she licks the glass clean,
her smacking pleasure filling the room as I make tea and prepare for the day.

By Stacey


routine, routine, routine,
routine, routine, routine,
routine, routine, FUN!
routine, routine, routine.

by Jim

Tuesday, April 07, 2009

Poem A Day #7 - Clean/Dirty poem

Happy Tuesday night

-- the duality of today's poetry challenge prompt (clean/dirty) really hit home for me.

I've never been very domestic, and FINALLY have hired a maid to come in and clean. Guess what? They days she comes in, I end up doing laundry, going through paperwork, and generally doing all the chores around the house that I've been putting off. It's as if my mom is back in charge (and I mean, my MOM-from-when-I-was-12-years-old) and I've got to get my act in gear!

and so, we have:

Clean / dirty / clean

tidy up, straighten up, sweep -- just
look at this endless list!

When you get to the end, you have to go back to the beginning again.

Last night's spaghetti pots sit soaking in the sink while
the once-white stove top bears bright orange tomato rings-around-the-burner.

Stoop to scoop up piles of smelly socks into the washer; they'll be
"all-temp-a-cheer-clean" until Sunday's soccer game grounds
sweat and new grass stains back into the soft absorbent cotton.

You make your bed each morning only to toss and turn and crumple the quilts each night.

An endless loop-de-loop: you
vacuum dust bunnies and
straighten couch cushions because
company's coming, then
spend the next morning clearing empty beer bottles and
scrubbing pizza stains out of the carpet.

The joke's on us-- we disinfect by day and
invite chaos to dinner each night.

Monday, April 06, 2009

The Missing

It's almost taboo to discuss, but sometimes, it feels like those who have died are simply on vacation or living in another city. It's unreal to believe that the sun still sparkles on the water, cars still clog the freeways and people still line up for a mocha latte when our loved ones can't.

Are they in a better place? At the very least, the pain and confusion is over. And we are left with the beauty shared while they were here.
there are holes in every life, standing
empty like blank pages in a scrapbook

soft dreams of those who did not wake
murmur through our memories
but we only catch snatches of the conversation

ghosts move just beyond our field of vision:
we used to share every secret, every
steamy stolen night, every
sunny walk along the lakefront, every
frozen pay phone drunk dial --
now who can you call crying at midnight?

goodbyes pile up inside
baggage left unsaid and unresolved
and yet, if you wake up breathing, you win
another morning, another
beginning, another chance
for the next hello.

Sunday, April 05, 2009

another April day, another April poem... why? well, why not?

April Poem-A-Day Challenge #5: a landmark.

During this challenge, I'm finding myself obsessed with the topic all day and spitting out lines and images in a rush just before going to sleep at night.

From Point Vicente Lighthouse

A low moan sighs in rhythmic pulses
outward from this brown spit of land
--a warning of rocks submerged.

Waves crash and rumble
in a tumble of surf along the cove as
pelicans dive and wheel and glide above the churning water.

A stream of visitors
raise binoculars and telephoto lenses aloft
peering for a flash of silver fin or sudden spout.

be there whales passing here?
their migration route from south to north
stop to scoop up krill and linger in the warm current.

there be whales passing here
skimming underneath the shining surface
and we hold our breath
in awed witness to their graceful dance.

April is Poetry Month- join the Poem-A-Day Challenge!

I've taken on the challenge to write a poem a day for this month, writing from daily prompts set by Robert Lee Brewer (Writer's blogs).

Join in at:

So far, I'm keeping up-- Wish me luck!

BTW, here's what I've come up with so far:

April 1: Origin Dance

Catch a swirling starburst mix
add heat, water and light
and somewhere / everywhere an end to night

Breathe an open sigh into clay made flesh
add a stolen rib
and duality emerges

We fumble towards self awareness
striding through the shadows with blind will
and grope for one another
flesh into flesh

We come from clay and water and air
we strive and work and sweat
from microbe to meteor, we spend our short span of days
then to the spinning stars we return

April 2: Unknowing

unguarded word
two torn tickets
simply killed our love
instantly, permanently, ruthlessly, with prejudice
don't look back, at your peril
even to know the whole trashy truth

April 3: the problem with sugar

sticky and luscious sweets--
I'm addicted to these:
jelly beans (orange, yellow and green),
red licorice, gum balls and pralines.
peanut butter kisses beckon and
and chocolate raisins tease

but alas
my girth grows bulge by bulge
as my sweet tooth I indulge

April 4: miso

My black & white scared-y cat
takes her time around corners.
She likes to sleep in a cavern of quilts on the bed
and will sit on my hand while I watch tv
if I rub her belly.

She used to be fat,
but now her cheeks are severe
and her little paunch sways back & forth
as she sashays across the carpet.
Every morning,
she rubs her nose against the floor register
and lays along the warm vent awaiting breakfast--
her impatient cry my persistent alarm clock.