sipping coffee at 5 am while looking at a neighbor’s satellite dish (which to me resembles a sun warrior beseeching the sky for hope)
Satellite Dish Inspired Prose
Tag Archives: poetry
A Friday Hug for You
Sometimes, a hug can brace us for tomorrow
hope you’re all managing okay
am:)
A Poetic Soul – A Poetic Angel
Robert – who only months ago shared his stellar poetry through a powerful voice – is no longer here. His generosity and kindness – needed so desperately in this world – will never be forgotten❤️
Find his work here
Our Big Little Red Bug
Herbie The Lovebug is a Volkswagen with blue and red pinstripes and the number 53 on his chassis. In his movies, Herbie never fails to rescue his owners whenever they need saving. They need saving a lot. Herbie once traveled to Monte Carlo for a race. He goes many other places too. Racing is his passion and he is creative at winning.
A few months ago, Dad brought home a Volkswagen. The little bug sits next to our Grand Squire wagon. But it never appears diminished. Our little red car has no pinstripes or racing number, still I know it is kind and clever. Whenever Dad drives it, he always smiles.
(Each week en route to the gym, I pass by this poor little Volkswagen. I finally remembered to take a picture before driving by. Always, when I see this little car, I travel back to the little car in my childhood driveway — the red bug who had the power of getting my ornery dad to smile.)
Happy weekend:)
It is with a heavy heart that I update this post.
Holding My Friend to a Promise (originally posted 12/9/24)
For over thirty years my friend Robert Milby has been reading his poetry throughout the Hudson Valley, NYC, Long Island, NJ, PA, and New England. An engaging speaker, Robert has made 1,500 public appearances and has done hundreds of readings, open mics, lectures, presentations, participated in radio commentary and festivals, and has been spotlighted on independent tv shows. Robert has shared his enthusiasm and poetic talents through reading and writing workshops in schools and culture centers and has been a guest poet at higher educational institutions.
Robert’s numerous works have been included in magazines and anthologies. Add to his stellar resume and his four poetry books, his chapbook, Gothic, Orange was published through the County Historian’s office in 2018. He has been a Kirkus Reviewer, a “Best Poet” winner and a longtime Woodstock Poetry Society member. In 2017, Robert was honored with the title, Poet Laureate of Orange County, NY. His relentless devotion to poetry has never ceased. Until now.
Robert is battling stage IV pancreatic cancer. As a freelance writer, he has been unable to work for the past nine months. I understand this is a difficult time of year to ask for donations, but any amount you’re able to make will help Robert pay for his mounting medical expenses. (Go Fund Me link)
I would have given up reading my work in public, if not for Robert. His dedication and encouragement inspired me to share my own work beyond the written page. A deep-reader and researcher, Robert promised me that he’d share his voluminous knowledge of UFOs over coffee one day. I am holding him to that promise.
Thank you in advance for your generosity. (Go Fund Me link)
A Bony Cat and a Bowl of Milk
Too many mornings spent waiting. My Converse forever damp from crossing the neighbor’s lawn. Daily curb squatting since noticing the bony cat. Cereal bowl sloshing in my hands.
Finally on this damp morning the bony cat sidles near, laps up the Fruit Loop milk, then she bites me and sprints away.
I’m tiptoeing home to wash the blood off my thumb and to hug our German Shepherd who’s never bitten anyone except the paperboy but that was the day he tossed a Community Life at her head.
(Pictured here: back row left to right- my wise older sister Virginia, my baby sister Dolores sitting on Uncle Robert’s lap (mom’s brother), Grandma Gulli (mom’s mom), my other wise older sister Grace holding onto Tima, our beloved family dog, front row- my little brother Vito, I’m squatting in center. and our baby brother Robert in bouncy seat)
Snorky’s Sandlot
Snorky’s brown belly and back end are married together by a band of hamster white. His whiskers twitch and his tiny hands fondle food like Play-doh.
This morning I found Snorky curled into a frozen smile.
I will bury him in the sandy cemetery below the clothesline where our underwear already hangs in sad-mouthed shapes.
(Some childhood memories dig in like hamsters on spinning wheels-my siblings and I had quite a sandlot)
Helen’s Flight
I leave my husband, daughter, homeland, and slip away in the dark shroud of night.
The orange-red glow of the moon is veiled with clouds, Artemis’ hand already at play in this.
My own hand wraps around Paris’ fingers, my heartbeat is the phantom of Menelaus’ footsteps behind me. The ship waits at Gythium, water lapping its sides, gentle like my fingers stroking Hermione’s face.
wind whispers
a crow caws
Apollo’s triumph
We board the ship, my feet numb like ice. My skin smells of the salt-spray of the sea, the night air,
the heavy-wine scent of the watching gods – I know they are there, have known since Paris sent that knife-gaze into my heart. His hand cups my face, the thief coveting his prize. We raise anchor, and sail with the dawn.
the sharp horizon
a knife across the sun
blood in the water
—Caroline Hron Weigle
This gorgeous poem was written by the lovely Caroline Hron Weigle. Remember her name – she is an up and coming historical romance writer.
I painted the piece above a few years ago. I’d never given much thought to her name before – now she has one.
I hope you’re all doing well.
annmarie:)
going backwards ain’t how growin’ goes
blue grass blew up under there, landed there, over there
you see, look here bled blue on this over here
so they sang over there, banjo’d blues ‘round those mountains
got a banjo too, but no bluegrass livin’ in these olive eyes
listen here, do you hear the weary sky humming da blues
below her womb, flesh ‘n bone spawning bitter gods
swelling wellsprings of madness
manic rivers drying, warm water shattering man-walls
cause he be screwing the planet ‘n mother earth be pissed
don’t we know, going backwards ain’t how growing goes
great grandpapa’s mighty oak just felled by climbing fire
man ‘n his man-guns knocking things ‘neath blue-blue sky
no seed sown with lead, no gilded heart embraces love
listen here, do you hear the weary sky, how she hums da blues
she be blue, oh, so blue hummin’ above —
this mankind of ours screeching and scratching below
don’t we know, going backwards ain’t how growing goes
this piece inspired by a newly black-topped parking lot
here’s to looking up at the sky – still blue – still lovely
am:)
Recycling Experience
WE’RE NOT RUDE
WE’RE BUSY
PLEASE LET US DO OUR JOB
rubber-pink-finger points
cans, bottles—here
Gatorade empties rifled away—NO money for these
push the hair strands from your blue eyes
from your tee with the rainbow cat
rubber-pink-finger fires the final bottle
thank you, I smile
your lips don’t shift
more customers enter, I exit
with one 20—and two questions
do you own a rainbow cat?
do your blue eyes brighten when you smile?
hope you’re all managing the humidity
am:)
anntogether 