April 15, 2017 – POEM:  Let’s Pay the Taxes with Asparagus

Let’s Pay the Taxes with Asparagus

I shove the signed tax return into the bill basket.

          It’s the same every year – pay, pay, pay.

I tug on my rubber garden boots, mentally scrounging

          for the money to pay, pay, pay.

Sun warms my dismal spirits.  Cut back on groceries,

          and eat lunch in so we can pay, pay, pay.

The mint is fragrant, the chives are shivering,

          and the asparagus is up! Hurray, Hurray, Hurray!

Among old stubble and encroaching weeds tender tips push through

          in response to the sun’s rays, rays, rays.

Succulent green spears, from rhizomes once planted

          in forgotten autumn days, days, days.

Cupboards bare – groceries meager. Yet, we live like kings

          on asparagus, three times a day, day, day.

Taxes mailed by deadline making us poor.  But, we’re rich

          with extra asparagus to give away, away, away.

Note:  This received Honorable Mention in the poetry division of The Anuran, a literary magazine published annually.  May 2017 by Isothermal Community College, Spindale, North Carolina.

On April 13, 2017, I was invited to the 16th Annual Poetry Slam where I "read" my above poem.  And, the judges were KIND and I won First Place, Adult Division for this author reading her poem.  YIPEE! I love competition.  I love winning!!

September 1, 2016 - First Post

This spring I won First Place in the Poetry Contest at Isothermal Community College which was published in the Anuran, their literary magazine.   Hey, I even got paid for it!  And, I was invited to the Poetry Slam and got 1st place in that too. So, I had my 15 minutes of fame and now have a big head about it and wanted to share it with the world.

But, this is a great way for me to introduce you to who I used to be before I arrived here in this county.  I was a plant manager's wife and continued to be one when I arrived.  In previous locations I gave cocktail parties for salesmen and special tool and die people at a moment's notice even though I held a full time job.  I would rush home to get it all together before the guests arrived. I didn't know that other women didn't do this.  It was an exciting time in my life. I have an extensive repertoire of recipes that I will also share with you in the coming months.

When I arrived here in 1985 I went on sabbatical and eventually ended up going to ICC to obtain my AA degree in Political Science.  I took creative writing classes and loved it as well as worked on The Patriot Staff [the college newspaper].  I wrote a column of observations by an older student on campus called Vintage Potpourri.  I had a fun time and feel one should never stop learning to do new things - thus - here we are at a BLOG!

THE NEW CORPORATE WIFE

The impromptu hostess met us at the door.

She said, “The kids are in bed,

the pizza will be here any moment.”

“You’ve a lovely home,” I said to the wife

of the newest member of the old corporation.

She returned a worried smile to me saying,

“I’m only half unpacked.”

I tried to reassure her having noted the boxes

waiting in the garage unpacked.

“It takes time to settle in.”  Yet, I thought

three weeks is ample time to unpack a two-bedroom

apartment into a four-bedroom house.

We cozied up on the floor with pillows

around the coffee table in the TV room.

The hostess called from the dining room,

“Only my good things are unpacked,

we’ll have to use the Waterford.”

She brought out crystal stemware – the water goblets, not wine,

and set each goblet down with the landing of a butterfly.

Then she produced a chilled bottle of cheap Grenache.

The rose colored liquid gurgled into the glasses.

I thought, “how dé classé”,

the stemware would not improve this meager vintage.”

We saluted to good health and good business!

I set my goblet down firmly.

The hefty weight of the lead crystal

clunked richly on the cherry topped table.

The hostess let out a soundless gasp.

I surmised she’d never used her Waterford before,

and her heart was in her throat.

She couldn’t replace one of them on

her husband’s current salary

since he’d taken a cut in pay to move here.

After the second piece of pizza and goblet of wine,

I set the empty stemware down.

The crystal rang strong, and true, and clear.

The hostess half rose to answer.

She filled it again, half hoping to dull me.

When drained, I slapped the base of the crystal goblet down

to make an emphatic point in my conversation.

It clicked and she came to attention.

Too eager to please she asked, “More wine?”

“No, thank you, I’ve had more than enough,”

of her wine and her Waterford.

Comment about the above poem.  The instructor at the time, Liz Watson, wanted a "voice" poem and reminded us that all good writing tells a story.  I did most of my creative brain storming at my first house in this county at the kitchen sink washing dishes looking down into what I coined "Quail Thicket" and reflected on all the things that I had witnessed as an executive's wife.   This incident quickly came to my mind.  NO, I wasn't the young hostess and I wasn't the old guard corporate wife in the poem either.  I happened to witness this at a cocktail party.