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NaPoWriMo – Day Twenty-three

Posted on April 23, 2020 by Mary Beth Frezon

Windy, cold, sunny, cloudy – just another late April Day in the shadow of the Berkshires.

Something about sitting in the car
apple and cheese slices and some
peanut butter crackers on the dash
with a cup of warmed-over coffee,
window open to let the clouds in,
someone else is talking somewhere
else about everything else
about all this stuff while
the sky is blue streaked
and grey in turns with birds
that fit the curvatures above
while I am perched here below
mere mortal, lunch arrayed before me
I should be working but I forgot.

The best way out is always through. — Robert Frost

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NaPoWriMo – Day Twenty-two

Posted on April 22, 2020 by Mary Beth Frezon

Wow – a week to go? how did that happen? How was your April? How was your day?

Woke up to snow and January cold.
There was no mail in the box —
I stood looking at the daffodils
crushed down by a cruel spring night.
From there, things went on —
web pages just hung and didn’t load,
the pounding surf of the web reduced to
ebbs and flows of bandwidth.
It was warmer in the car at
lunchtime than inside the house,
and my cats looked woeful but
glad to get rid of me for an hour.
The daffodils were up when I returned
disregarding metaphors or forecasts.

My pen scratched and sputtered and
I realized finally – it had run dry.
I laughed at myself for having
muttered myself over this all day.
I cleaned it at the bathroom sink
flushing it with water til clear
then carefully filled it and – imagine –
only got one tip of a finger blue.
As I stood and scrubbed away the ink
the sky was orange at the horizon
and the sun a diamond in the
branches of trees somewhere near
I bowed my head to my task again,
the story of the day within.

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NaPoWriMo – Day Twenty One

Posted on April 21, 2020 by Mary Beth Frezon

A big front went through which made it rain and snow and hail and wind and then – Sun. A nice end to the day.

Before the trees leaf out in April,
hills are another shade of stubble.
Gold in the sun, violet below.
Pink in first blush of warm
the light slashes through them,
shivering each straight trunk
yearly urge to push upward.
Listen to those twigs whistle,
soon these low woods will be
chattering, all dark green
maple and poplar’s sap yellow.

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NaPoWriMo – Day Twenty

Posted on April 20, 2020 by Mary Beth Frezon

Today was a day about the day job. Felt strange and in a weird way lonelier than the past month and a half. But we trudge on folks, we trudge on. (And a hat tip to my Mom, Betty Frezon for a line in her chat tonight that ended up in this poem!)

I refilled the coffee grinder today
where it hangs ready to churn my
morning beans into a small jar.
I looked at the bigger jar with
its inch of oatmeal remaining.
I threw away the cheese wrapper
and rinsed the empty milk carton.
Took the trash out, bin rumbling
put some boxes in recycling too
gave coffee grounds to the garden.
The evening light shone out of
daffodils so delightfully happy
whatever time had been measured
was paused and pressed in amber.