(C)2021 Noreen Braman
Fear Springs
fear springs from loss of certainty
imagination overwhelming logic
unless the monster is real
stalking prey randomly
Retreating into darkness
lying in wait.
(C)2021 Noreen Braman
The uniformed Marine, the lace enrobed bride,
pledged love in a somber Lenten church
knowing deployment was calling
for an undeclared war.
The shadow of second widowhood
fleetingly on their minds,
taking joy in the celebratory moments,
watching a toddler dressed in crinolines
center stage on the dance floor
ecstatically declaring “now I have a daddy!”
©2021 Noreen Braman
Four Day Verse
Thursday
Still working on birthday poem lines
Falling asleep in front of the TV
Waiting for the double shift to end
No peaceful sleep until he is home.
Friday
A strawberry margarita and brownie with ice cream,
rare dinner out with the
overtime working love of my life,
required undivided attention.
Saturday
Spring opening of the farm stand beckons
with fruit and flowers and tomatoes
but first a list of household chores
and a night of Ray Bradbury.
Sunday
Glorious Sunday! Freedom all day!
just deal with the ants, hang up some plants,
dodge the chilly raindrops, indulge in Sunday dinner,
gaze at 4 blank sheets of paper.
Will think about that Monday.
©2021 Noreen Braman
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Birthday Greetings
Second birthday in pandemic,
88 cases and 3 deaths this week,
reminder that my double shots
weren’t party drinks,
but sobering reminders that
the older we get,
the more precious are the celebrations,
adapted to the twists and turns,
changes of plans,
and universal obstacles,
testing resilience, and connection to others,
Showing the lifesaving worth of a simple yearly greeting.
Thank you all for being part of my support system,
as hopefully, I am part of yours.
©2021 Noreen Braman
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The Silent Spring Revisited
In a neighborhood without regimented landscaping
old growth trees spread at will
and reward the lack of human intervention
by housing song birds seldom heard
along the manicured streets.
Refugees in the treetops
fleeing construction of another gated community
more warehousing of consumer goods
and asphalt-bordered rows of retail.
Listen now to their songs before
They become nothing but echoes.
©2021 Noreen Braman
April 4, 2021
A tisket, a tasket,
too busy with the basket
and eggs and cake and roasted beast...er
for anything profound this Easter.
April 5, 2021
Well, Well, Well
Well-read books create well-read readers
except a new book read by a well-read reader
can become a well-read book after time.
Assuming a well-read reader first has to read well,
bored kids whining about “nothing to do”
might just be told, “Well, read!”
meaning even a well-read book
might not be well read
by even kids that read well.
and that doesn’t create well-read readers,
or even readers who read well.
And this doesn’t even address
picking between
a well-written book
or a book written well,
which only deepens this well-known dilemma.
©2021 Noreen Braman
Third Generation
The legacy of widowhood hung heavy
two generations of fatherless children
taking on inherited grief
and ghosts embedded in the shadows
whose whispers can only be silenced
by self induced oblivion
swearing to break the cycle of chaos
she tells him he is lucky
that he got out alive.
©2021 Noreen Braman
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Digital Dueling
Look what I found,
Here, (insert link) and here, (insert link) and here, (insert link).
It totally contradicts what you told me,
Here, (insert email) and here, (insert email) and here, (insert email).
Do you know there are actually photos,
Here, (insert .jpg) and here, (insert .jpg) and here, (insert jpg)?
So why are you debating me,
Here, (insert tweet) and here, (insert tweet) and here, (insert tweet).
I thought we were supposed to be friends,
Here, (insert Facebook post) here, (insert Instagram feed) and here, (insert Messenger chat).
©2021 Noreen Braman
It is almost NAPOWRIMO 2021. Something I’ve been stumbling through for about 10 years, having fun, pulling words out of the air, some making lyrical sense, some not. Most of the time I didn’t go back to revise, it was on to the next day’s thought. I’ve been writing poetry since childhood, have had a number of publications in newspapers, anthologies and online publications. A picture book idea consisting of poetry won an award, and was presented as a staged reading by a theater company. Had an exhibit of illustrated poetry at a library, lots of readings, including at a presentation when the Anne Frank exhibit came through New Jersey. A few gems among the rocks. My computer and my file cabinets are overflowing with the good, the bad, and the ugly, not sure which category is the largest. It’s been a fun ride, a therapeutic ride, a life-documenting ride. Now as I approach that time of life when thoughts turn to decluttering, downsizing, and even Swedish death cleaning, I wonder what I should do with all this confetti. Maybe, as Jo March did in “Little Women,” I will burn it all. She started over, I don’t think I will.
Then again, who knows. It’s like the old story, “The Lady or the Tiger,” firepit or filing cabinet — I don't know what door I'm going to open — Good, bad or ugly.
Poetic Revisions
(for all those poems I wrote that should not have seen the light of day)
This is a placeholder for the first line of my poem,
Here is where I used an amazing alliterative phrase
But this line was ironically unrelated to
the symbolism taking place here.
I deleted these words completely
And replaced them with some even less lyrical
Trying a third time to capture the metaphor
Which sounded too much like a simile
Saying something about how art differs from craft.
This stanza sits waiting for wordplay,
a clever conclusion of a profound thought
literally a literary revelation
as soon as I finish revisions.
©2021 Noreen Braman
Today is Poetry At Work Day. Since I've been working from home for months, I have easy access to a lot of my own poetry, some about my work, some about another person's work. This one is a particular favorite and was previously featured on the web page of an NPR show the no longer exists in the particular form it was in 2000. I think it prety much sums up the first work day of a new business in my town.
Opening Night at the Jamesburg Dunkin Donuts
“We’ve been crushed all day,” says the man behind the counter
who unlike the other workers, wears a crisp, embroidered, denim shirt,
denoting his position as a higher authority, maybe even the franchise owner.
All day long they’ve been doling out coffee, doughnuts and ice cream
like Atlantic City card dealers- here’s your hand, let me scoop up your money.
By 8 PM, the stock is depleted, not a chocolate doughnut in sight
but the ice cream counter can make up for that
even though the night is unseasonably chilly for June
big dollops of mint chocolate chip tantalize the lips of customers
some who stay to revel in the clean newness,
sitting at the burgundy tables, scraping the floor with the heavy wooden chairs,
leaving chocolate sprinkles, doughnut crumbs in their wake.
A huge van equipped for cross-country travel tries to park outside the window
back and forth it goes trying to fit, while the children inside
illegally unrestrained, press their faces against the window.
Finally they are in the space and the door slides open
and out bounds Dad with three in tow - pale blondes,
one for each hand, and one to hold his shirt tail.
Inside he picks up the youngest and stands him on the counter, leaning far over
to see what doughnuts are left.
Hidden behind the line of coffee drinkers, soda buyers and ice cream lickers,
the other two children discover the freezer and it’s all too easy to open the door,
inside, a wonderland of ice cream cakes, complete with sparkling trims
little plastic graduation hats, diplomas and glitter.
It seems perfectly logical to help daddy out and bring him the cake
and they drag it by the box until the corners give out
and the ice cream cake with its chocolate top
and frozen roses and crunchy bottom
rolls out of the box and onto the floor,
in front of amused coffee drinkers who have no idea that the cake is real.
And daddy, who notices at last, shoves the mutilated frozen treat
back into the box, and back into the freezer,
and quickly departs with his purchases, and his three little blondes,
two of whom seem confused that they have no ice cream.
Finally some one asks, are those real cakes, or just displays,
and finding out they are indeed consumable,
tells the tale of the upside down cake -
which is immediately removed by the teenage girls
who dish out the ice cream in their white shirts and hats
and the glitter is swept up and the melted ice cream mopped up
as the dealers at the counter don’t miss a beat
pouring the coffee, wrapping the donuts, collecting the money,
smiling and hoping this crush of business
continues after opening night.
©2000 Noreen Braman
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| 15 Years Ago |
I look at the photo of me on the back cover, and wonder what that version of me would say if someone had told her how those 15 years would play out, and how fast they would go by? Six new people have been born to my own children, I found the Love of My Life and have been together 10 years, I lost a job and quite a bit of money in a recession, reinvented myself more than once, discovered a new focus on the importance of laughter and humor, and had lots of personal “adventures” in physical health, mental health, home ownership, work life, family life, love life, finances, friendships, and aging. Some of it has been funny — at least in my philosophy of “today’s disaster can be tomorrow’s funny story” — but some of it not funny at all. In fact, these past few years have, at times, really tested my ability to live on “the Smile Side of Life.”
The CoVID19 pandemic has changed life as I knew it, and I am not sure the changes are temporary. I’ve been “working from home” since March 2020, and don’t see an end to that anytime soon. I’m encouraged by the creation of vaccines, but disappointed in the slow distribution, and lack of confidence some people have in its safety. History may define this period of time as “before masks” and “after masks,” a line of demarcation similar to the Industrial Revolution. And — while only 12 days into the New Year of 2021 — the year has already started off badly, and is reserving the right to get even worse. I don’t anticipate that the recent events will ever become tomorrow’s funny story, at least not during my lifetime. As a mother and a grandmother I feel the heavy weight of these past few years and want to spare my children and grandchildren from the consequences. However, at this point, I am feeling a bit powerless.
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| 2021 ©Noreen Braman |
