The Garrulous One or Gimme the Meat

Phelps Park, Decorah, IA
Copyright Diane Ludeking 2012

 

This little poem is the result of a writing exercise I gave myself: pick a word from the dictionary at random and write about it.  My screen saver is words and definitions so I picked the first one that caught my eye.  Can you guess the new word?

The Garrulous One (or Gimme the Meat)

In a mound of tomato sauce slathered

starchy spaghetti noodles

lies the meatball

 

Simple carbs

empty calories

trivial drivel

 

Surround the meat

 

And in conversation

like this meal

I desire the meat

 

Tell me your truth

Share your struggles

Experience the witness

 

Leave the conversation coma for another

 

I desire the meat

Woolen Argyle Woes

 

 

 

Under the bedroom chair

a single woolen argyle sock

looks back at me

 

wondering where

its black, white and grey

partner has gone.

 

Sometimes partners leave

for a while, get lost,

go on vacation or

work where work can be found,

 

so you can find

new perspective,

the latent dream

written within you.

 

Sometimes it takes

their void

to learn that

 

we can keep

feet fashionably warm

and dance

without them too.

 

Sometimes the

loose threads,

pilling and thinning

in the toe and heel

 

of your aloneness

make way for a new

possibility, fitted over

the nine iron.

 

You are not alone

when the wedge shows

up in the bag beside you

wearing your long lost partner.

The Weight of Winter

Taken Christmas Eve two years ago.

The weight of winter is a comforter of snow in the pasture and an extra blanket on my bed.

The weight of winter is pine scents in my house and Carmex fumigated scarves.

The weight of winter reveals eagle nests in the tippy tops of trees and conceals extra pounds on my backside with layers of clothes.

The weight of winter talks emphatically about holiday spirit and whispers about seasonal depression.

The weight of winter is a crisp snowball upside my face and candy cane fingers.

The weight of winter is heavy canvas winter wear and lightly whipped eggnog.

The weight of winter makes getting to work a challenge and friendly gatherings worthwhile.

The weight of winter is bright from snow reflected moonlight at midnight and burning light bulbs at suppertime.

The weight of winter reveals the barren wooded trail concealed in summer’s lusciousness.

The weight of winter is dormant seeds and awakened sloth.

The weight of winter is the Big Dipper in the North and snowbirds in the South.

The weight of winter is warm breath on an icy window.

The weight of winter is a good book in front of the fireplace and a mischievous cat lap warmer.

The weight of winter is big holiday debt and little promises of spring.

The weight of winter is childish sledding splendor and grown up stress.

The weight of winter cannot be stopped but will end your plans without notice.

 

I would love to hear how you finish the sentence “The weight of winter…” in the comments.

On Wings of Kings

A writing prompt story.

Write about Wings and use the following words: blue, sign, bell, path, distance, vast.

The end.

On Wings of Kings

by Diane Ludeking

 

On Wings of Kings

A racehorse I once knew

The trainer’s daughter’s horse

So black, he was blue

 

On race day he is all piss and vinegar

From the barn, along the winding path

To the track and into the paddocks

I would endure his wrath

 

No sign of letting up

Lathered with sweat even before the tack

He’d toss his head and try to break my nose

Desire to reach the gates, he did not lack

 

Up goes the jockey

I hand them to the pony dancer

Off they go into the distance

For their pre-race canter

 

Into the gates

The bell rings

The gates open

Go, On Wings of Kings!

 

Out of the gates first

Rarely a winner’s move

He takes flight across the vastness

He’s found his groove

 

Around the last turn

Still in first

I hope that

He is not cursed

 

He wins, he wins!

On Wings of Kings

Does the impossible

On fairytale wings

Dry Backsides

My grandparent's outhouse.

An assignment for my writing class recently was to take a poem and rewrite it.  I love these kinds of assignments since they help with my empty mind syndrome and encourage poetic creativity in me.  I had a subject I’d wanted to write about for a few weeks so I found the perfect poem to help me accomplish that.  The original poem is by one of my favorite poets; David Whyte’s Loaves and Fishes.

Here is the piece that came out of me:

 

Dry Backsides and Toilets

by Diane Ludeking

 

This is not

the age of automatic toilets.

Not an automatic flusher, but this is how I imagine they look!

 

This is NOT

the age of automatic toilets.

 

Forget your grandparent’s outhouse,

and it’s crescent moon door,

and newspaper wipes.

 

This is the time

of dry backsides

and toilets that wait to be flushed.

 

People are angry

and one obedient toilet

surprises no one.

 

Another Arrow in a Quiver Against Resistance

Parking lot danger.

Originally uploaded by paulswansen

I have used The Four Agreements by Don Miguel Ruiz as my spiritual code for the better part of the last year. Over the last few months I have gotten lazy and forgetful of them so I decided to pull out the book again for a review. I wrote this poem earlier this year when these Agreements were literally oozing out of my pours like garlic. (The eighth stanza is the Four Agreements.) It’s a relatable piece even for those who are unfamiliar with this Toltec wisdom and for those who are friendly with it, there’s a Fifth Agreement too. I use these Agreements to vanquish resistance to my spiritual practices and break old, damaging patterns.

Parking Lot

By Diane Ludeking

I am slowly backing out of my parking spot

In my tiny blue Toyota Yaris

I am blinded by the enormous SUVs on either side

And sent into a panic when I hear a blaring horn

Who is dying? Who is crashing?

What’s with all the cacophony?

Hmm. Someone in a hurry

Speeding through the lot. That is all

I thought I learned in Driver’s Ed

That the person backing out had the right-of-way

Apparently that idea is the wrong-of-way

As proven by the glare I receive from my antagonist

When I am carefully retreating from my space

I am the blind one.

I cannot see who is coming

It makes sense that you should watch out for me

I do not have a fancy back-up camera

Extra mirrors hanging off my rear bumper

Or a loud, rhythmic beeping sound

To announce my backwards venture

I have no tools to help me see the impending doom.

The angry, rusted Isuzu truck

With a wire clothes hanger holding up it’s muffler

Is the shape of my next important lesson

But alas! I have tools of the best kind

They are not made of reflective, breakable glass

They do not show me only the physical objects in my way

They don’t even make offensive “Get out of my way!” declarations

I will be impeccable with my word

I will not take it personally, Mr. Isuzu

I will not assume you are having a bad day because you are foreign-made

And I will always do my best in order to avoid regrets

With these tools as my spiritual code

My lessons are much more black and white

They are not any easier to swallow

Nor are they any less frequent

But I can safely back out of my parking spot now

And as I pull onto the highway of life with confidence

And a newly discovered eagerness for adventure

I learn that there are no speed limits here

Giving Thanks from a Place of Sanctuary

Giving thoughts to the Thanksgiving holiday, I deemed this poem fitting because of it’s modicum of gratitude.  I do my best to give thanks every day, but a reminder to do so is always well received.

Sanctuary

by Diane Ludeking

My car has unwittingly become my sanctuary

Where I am alone to contemplate in silence

Or liven things up with some music or a book on CD.

On the seat next to me is everything I need for my pilgrimage.

My journal, laptop and several books

Are my companions into the unknown.

There is nothing else to do behind this wheel of initiation

But guide my car safely on these concrete rivers

And be alert to my surroundings and myself.

In my side mirror I acknowledge the setting sun

And the road I’ve already left behind.

Thank you for the life I’ve already lived.

And as I turn my focus back to what’s before me

I see dark, rain-laden clouds ready to burst

And wash away all that no longer serves me.

This cleansing I embrace as does the setting sun

For I notice the last rays of light

Have reached out to my raincloud and gifted it a rainbow!

Thank you for the beauty that leads my way

Through the uncertain storms of my life.

Thank you for reminding me that everything works together to create the atmosphere that is my life.

Hibernation – Not an Excuse to Neglect Self

Until April 2009, I had lived in the Twin Cities area for the better part of the ten previous years.  News of significant snowfall there this past week got me thinking about hunkering down for the winter and entering a form of hibernation.  Although there’s only been a few sightings of snowflakes in the Madison area, my fuzzy ponies assure me winter is coming.  I pulled up the following poem recently and felt it fitting for the upcoming season – both internally and externally.

Awakening

by Diane Ludeking

A hibernating bear wiggles her toes

Slowly turns over and is attacked by a stretch

The most amazing, gratifying stretch

The kind that sneaks up on you wonderfully

And lasts a whole minute

Accompanied by an equally alarming, satisfying yawn

And random squeals and peels of delight

The most yummy way to greet the day

She picks herself up

Indulges in one more delightful stretch to the sky

And wanders outside

Blinking away darkness into sunshine

Blinking, blinking, blinking

Nothing is changing, she cannot see

Blinking, blinking, blinking

Vague shapes begin to reveal themselves

As withered, fruitless trees

Starving, frantic rodents

Skeletons of creatures that just couldn’t hang on

Grey, grey sky

Barren, barren land

This is not the world she exchanged for a nap

The most distressing sound she has ever heard

Startles her and brings her massive form

Crashing to the childless earth

Only the earth will not receive her

There is an unspeakable battle that ensues

Fangs, claws, blood, earth-shattering cries

That echo off the lifeless surface of her reality

Exhaustion, defeat, wounds, deep life-hungry wounds

Devour her and she passes alone into unconsciousness

Serenity greets her

And she lives there for a time

Surrounded by nothingness

It is revealed to her that the battle that nearly took her life

Was a battle with herself

The distressing sound that started it all

Had been building deep within her for a lifetime

And once it was freed

Everything worth hiding came barreling forth

Finally she had heard herself clearly

Felt the wounds deeply

Had seen the life she’d been living

Was a shadow of her true self

And was nearly destroyed by the truth of it all

As unconsciousness slowly returns her to life

A sense of wasted time gives her urgency

She jumps to her feet and takes off running

Only it feels like flying, soaring

Through fertile forests that house healthy creatures

Splashing through streams of life-giving water

Adventure of the most amazing kind

The alive-kind

The I-know-who-I-am-kind

There is no longer a need for hibernation

When illusions have been vanquished

And true self has been embraced