WORDS

All posts in the WORDS category

ALMOST TWO POEMS

Published October 13, 2021 by Nan Mykel

POWDER PUFF WORDS

She’s staying at the “Laurels.”

At  Obleness her nurse was “Summer.”

Amazing what a difference

words can make.

“Mimosa,” the pink blooms, the lacy

leaves, an apron of delight.

Words become painted with use.

But how explain the loveliness

of “mayonnaise?”

DIFFICULT QUESTIONS

As a newbie at the door, two

questions are problematic.

If worse comes to worse,  should I

be resusitated?  (Ask the kid who was

cut out of my will).

And…how much pain do I feel,

right now?

(No pain, no gain.  Don’t hurt enough,

nothing to soothe).

As One of You Observed: Yes I do long for a Group

Published January 23, 2019 by Nan Mykel

My current posting on facebook:

What’s happened to Face Book? Unexplained (to me) Changes
 New fiends (Freudian error, I promise) have unexpectedly been added. I’m not agin’ them, I just don’t know them. Yet. Looks like I will soon, tho.
 I sat down to tap out the announcement that I’m contemplating starting a new group. It will begin the Sunday during

I wonder if…

which the first person joins. Don’t call me, please. I prefer e-mails, I even answer them. I’m deaf and tongue-tied on the phone, as many marketers will vouch. Re the envisioned weekly group, tentatively known as the confidential Women’s Poetry Support Group: 

Membership initially limited from 2 to 12 females by birth or choice. Time one hour with freedom always to go longer. Revolving leadership after group has solidified. Members will either bring a poem they have currently or formerly authored which either expresses or elicits feelings. Ideally members would provide readable copies of their poem so members can read and listen at the same time. Group will begin with each member stating how they are feeling at the moment, and the immediate antecedents. Goal is growth rather than fixing, like the spirit of the former women’s consciousness raising groups. Rudeness, aggression, hostility, put-downs or non-acceptance will be greeted with the banging of metal on metal (spoons battering pans).

 Preference will be given to those not currently in another poetry group. The group will not aim to siphon off other poetry group’s members. I hope to meet in my apartment Sunday nights at 7 pm; parking across the street at the credit union.

Obviously there will be no videotaping of meetings.   nmykel@gmail.com

How Is It That Words Can Comfort?

Published June 25, 2017 by Nan Mykel

Most times words miss their mark.

They rain down in torrents, oblivious

to us and us to them,   not even in

our existential language.  We feel

bruised  by them, misused,  overcome

as though embattled.  How, then,is

it even possible that at times they

wrap us so lovingly in tender being-

ness? Respectfully intermingling

heartbeats, glorious validation?

Validation, I think that’s the clue.

We’re less isolated and alone when

reached by words that vibrate and

resonate  with our  core, be it rotten

or despairing, fragile or caring.  Push

on through the brambles of the

irrelevant and when you find your-

self embraced, hold on tight!

WORD PLAY

Published February 27, 2017 by Nan Mykel

WORD PLAY

Her white hair is wreathed in words. They surround her work space even now, and accompany her at day’s end.

She can still feel the thrill that shot through her four-year old body the day she discovered the word for “the day before today.” That must have also marked her discovery of “the day after today.”

Sometimes she made mistakes. In the second grade she was singing along with “Or would you rather be a mule,” when she changed it to “rather be a queer.”  She sang it in front of her teacher, who assured others that she didn’t know what the word meant. She didn’t.

Expanding her vocabulary sometimes led to embarrassment, as in the fourth grade when she proudly announced that Francis Scott Key was her fiancée (not ancestor).

She still had things to learn after high school graduation, when she sent The Little Boy with a Dog’s Tail off to a children’s poetry magazine.  A kindly editor returned it to her, advising that little boys have something known as castration anxiety and would get nervous about a tail falling off.

It was probably inevitable that she taught Sallie, her firstborn, to read at two. Years later a neighbor confessed to having secretly put Sallie to the test, which she passed.  There was insufficient time for the education of the next three babies. Sallie does not appear to have been harmed by the experience.

 

 

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