Rainy Day (poem)

A rainy day
full of fog and a dreary feel
even though the temperature
is a pleasant 43 degrees outside,
and I am enjoying my three day weekend
since I took an extra day off work
for my birthday weekend.

Sipping my caramel latte
at Starbucks
and trying to find inspiration to write.
Life’s busyness
and a writing dry spell
combine to stop my pen
and my poetry.

The gray skies
are gloomy
but somehow that
inspires me
on this rainy February day.

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Purple Toes and Black Hair (a Poetic Ode to being Bold)

She decided she wanted to write

a poem about purple toes and black hair.

She is not usually silly

or prone to fluffy things,

but light-hearted poetry

seemed a distraction to her

from discouragement

and the problems in her life.

______________________________________________________________________________________________

She got a pedicure recently.

It was by a sweet Asian young woman

who did not speak much English,

but did a good job with painting

her toes a bright, pretty purple.

She picked it out to be

different and a bit funky.

She has a slight alternative side

that sometimes she hides well,

because some don’t see it as professional

and there are lots of different styles

that she enjoys.

______________________________________________________________________________________________

She once dyed her hair purple

and helped her friend dye her hair

green and then blue

when her friend hated the green.

They were going to the Tooth and Nail tour

to see two bands that they liked who were uber-cool.

The purple dye was only for one day and temporary,

but sometimes she wouldn’t mind

making it more permanent

if only she was younger,

or if she didn’t care what people thought.

That thought makes her sigh,

because people like to judge based on appearance,

and society’s fashion rules for women

can sometimes be quite oppressive,

confining, limiting, and immodest.

______________________________________________________________________________________________

She really wanted to be bold

so with her birthday she decided to dye her hair black.

She had never done that before.

It was a light, pretty black that she was drawn to.

But she got sick right before her birthday,

and thus her friend could not dye her hair.

______________________________________________________________________________________________

Time went by,

and she had second thoughts,

but it bothered her that

she didn’t take that bold step.

She almost took the hair dye back

but, even if she hated it,

even when someone told her she may look like Elvira,

she just knew she needed to try it.

She needed to not live her life in a box

or worried about what other people thought.

______________________________________________________________________________________________

She liked it, once it was done.

Black and bold

in her estimation.

But for some reason it quickly faded

and came to look more like a dark brown.

Still pretty, but not bold.  Not black.

Not the pretty black she had hoped for.

Funny, though, she observed that

many people did not even notice,

and she had thought it was so obvious

and so BOLD.

______________________________________________________________________________________________

She is quite glad that she tried purple toes

and black hair.

She keeps telling herself

that change can be good

when she feels stuck in a rut

and like she can’t feel her dreams anymore.

______________________________________________________________________________________________

*Poet’s note: Most of my poetry is personal, however sometimes I like to tell a creative story.  In the case of this poem, it is a true story, and I am the girl with purple toes and black hair.

Before hair dye picture of me (Rosemary Case, photographer)

Before hair dye picture of me (Rosemary Case, photographer)

Before black hair dye picture (Rosemary Case, photographer)

Before black hair dye picture (Rosemary Case, photographer)

Mid black hair dye (Rosemary Case, photographer credit and my Mom)

Mid black hair dye (Rosemary Case, photographer credit and Mom)

Instagram photo of me and my brother, Kevin (two days after black hair dye; Lyle Smith, photographer)

Instagram photo of me and my brother, Kevin (two days after black hair dye; Lyle Smith, photographer)

Toes are not the cutest subject, but I want to show off my purple toes and pedicure (Julie A. Smith, photographer)

Toes are not the cutest subject, but I want to show off my purple toes and pedicure (Julie A. Smith, photographer)

“Poet Girl”

She is shy, sensitive, confused,
and sweetly earnest.
Sometimes she wears
her heart on her sleeve and
her heart beats
with a passionate crescendo.
Hurt creeps in
and her heart becomes
weary, burdened, and timid.
Sometimes she wishes
to bury her heart,
to deny her heart.
She doesn’t always understand why.

Her poetic words flow fast
when she is inspired,
but sometimes she is too tired to write.
Sometimes she wishes she had more time to write.
Pragmatism can crowd out the poetic,
and that makes her sad.

She likes her yellow pages
in her old Webster’s dictionary,
and she finds adjectives incredibly cool.
She wishes grammatical perfection
came more easily to her,
but, alas, grammar is a struggle for her.
She likes words and communication,
and she finds her voice
in the power
of the written word.
Poetry is beautiful to her.

She is a poet girl.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________

Poet’s note: This poem is written for National Poetry month in April.  It is part of a poetic series exploring various aspects of being for girls and women, such as shyness, purity, and hope.

Link to my poems on www.poemhunter.com:

http://www.poemhunter.com/julie-a-smith/

A Shout Out to My Friend Christie!!!

I am attempting to try the QuickPress posting option for the first time as I sit here sipping my Cafe Escapes Milk Chocolate Hot Cocoa with immense enjoyment of the fact that I am off work today. I have a Keurig Elite Brewer, and while I am a HUGE Starbucks fan, I think that $4 or $5 for a drink there is a TAD expensive. Honestly, I like being able to brew my own cappuccinos, cocoas, and the like. Although, I must say, after I got the Keurig, I realized I really do not like coffee that much. It is more the chocolate type drinks that I love, such as mochas and hot cocoas.  I am also a fan of french vanilla and caramel cappuccinos, and one of my all-time favorite drinks is the double chocolate chip frappuchino at Starbucks (too bad I can’t make that myself!)  However, now that my local Wal-Mart carries the Grove Square brand for Keurig K-Kup Brewers, I am a much happier camper. Maybe I should have gotten a Tassimo brewer that brews more speciality drinks, but I got the Keurig Brewer. All is good. Does anyone else out in our blogosphere world have a Keurig (or Tassimo)? What is your favorite drink? Or what is your favorite Starbucks drink, if you are a Starbucks fan like me???

I love my Keurig Brewer!!!

Anyways, yes, SATURDAYS OFF WORK are one of my GREAT PLEASURES in life. After years of working two jobs and often working 6 days a week (and barely being able to get off work for friend weddings), I have such a grateful heart that I work a Monday-Friday job presently. Anyone who has even worked retail or has struggled to get by financially will understand what I am talking about.

So, I have been semi-uninspired of late to write, although I did enter a writing contest which was cool. That was interesting because you had to write a short story based on a photograph found in a specific Flicker pool. That probably was the hardest part for me, because I have never wrote that way before.  I guess I usually am inspired more from my personal life than from random photographs. But it was a good writing exercise and it is good to be writing.  (Writing is a goal for me in 2012, although my book has been on hiatus since I have been blogging and doing other pursuits as of late).

Today, the actual purpose of my post, which of course I am just getting to now, is that I want to give a SHOUT OUT to my friend Christie. She is really amazingly cool, and we have known each other for AGES. Yes, we are both in our seventies. Just kidding! (Side note: although, sometimes I am amazed when I think about how fast life flies by, and I feel it definitely seems to fly faster the older one gets). So, my good friend Christie is totally new to WordPress, and you should check out her first blog posting. I am really excited (actually, I am the one that convinced her to be on Word Press), and I want to get the word out about her blog.  I enjoy promotional communications, and it is always important to be supportive of your friends, you know?

Here is a link to Christie’s blog:
http://lostmyboots.wordpress.com/

I think you will appreciate Christie’s blog if you like Christian thoughts, a quirky sense of humor, and/or writings on life and the speed bumps along the way. She is also a talented singer (and plays guitar, as well), and her brother is producing off-beat films after graduating from film school in California.

Happy Saturday everybody!!!

Mud on my shoe (a poem about regret)

Muddy, Moldy Shoes

Muddy, Moldy Shoes (Photo credit: keristars)

I walk alone.

Sometimes the day is sunny.

Sometimes the day is cloudy.

Rainy.

Thunderstorms loom and threaten.

But, alas, there is no umbrella

to shield me

and to shield

the turbulent storm in my heart.

The dismal weather matches my fluctuating mood

of melancholy and regret.

 

The puddle looms but I don’t see it.

Am I weary rose-colored glasses?

Perhaps.

Sometimes a girl can only see a puddle

when she is already in it.

Such is life. Such is love. Such is heartache.

 

Mud clings to my shoe.

Tenacious.

Uninvited.

Bitter and lacking any mirth.

The epitome of my regret.

I try to scrub it off.

Still some mud lingers

maddeningly

mud

mud (Photo credit: Jared Kelly)

and it seems

nothing I can do will change that.

Mud intertwines with my regret.

Hindsight is always 20/20,

so they say.

I sadly agree.

 

You live and you learn.

So true.

Mistakes will be made.

It is inevitable.

Unfortunately,

growth often involves pain,

mistakes,

and heartache.

Some mistakes are cleansed by the cool touch

of healing waters

while others seem to fester like open sores

and linger on

and on

and on.

Thus, like the mud on my shoe,

these mistakes are not cleansed,

nor are they forgiven.

Regrettably.

 

Forlorn.

I walk on alone.

Hoping for a sunny day

and perhaps

a rainbow

or a moon

and a starry night.

Vincent van Gogh, The Starry Night. Oil on can...

Image via Wikipedia