When I sit down to write, Sister Carmalita is hitting my knuckles with a ruler and chanting “You dumb bunny!” I am sure she really wanted to say “You dumb shit!” I am not making this up.
Prose is torturing me lately, I get caught in run-on sentences and different tenses; but poetry is shorter and easier. I am so naive! Writing poetry demands discipline, focus, and the determination to travel to the ends of the earth to find the perfect word. I know that I have enough angst and sorrows, and these emotions are a requirement for writing poetry. I decide that writing poetry is foolish, but I will try anyway and see how it goes. I am a risk taker.
One single raindrop
Quietly grows a deluge
One plus one plus one….
Tree Bones and knuckles
Black blood crawls through hollow veins
Thin capillaries expand
Green Spring still a dream
Cat fight, screams and howls
The night symphony begins.
Loud clashing sounds hurt, but still
I stop to listen.
Roger would have loved the Sister Carmalita story and added it to his catalog of stories with a few embellishments. He loved to laugh and make others laugh.