Jo B. Paoletti
  • Home
  • About
  • Writing
  • Gender Mystique
  • Contact
  • Everything Else

The Middle (poem)

2/9/2021

0 Comments

 
Picture
0 Comments

Writer's block

9/16/2019

 
I have no idea what to say
or how
or who might be listening
or might want to listen.
If they knew I had something to say.
If I had something to day.

The Great Dismal Swamp has nothing on you.

Vulnerability #UULent2019 poem

3/7/2019

0 Comments

 
Picture
0 Comments

Unrequited love, fruitcake edition.

12/15/2017

0 Comments

 
Picture
Here I am.
Studded with candied bits,
Heavy with rum and honey,
Fragrant and rich.
Made for you.
Love me.

Your stickiness disgusts me.
Too sweet, too moist,
Clinging to my teeth.
You make me shudder.
Begone!


Here I am.
I’ll win you over yet.
Just a bite;
Love me.

Come to the party;
You’ll find a lover there.
I’ll watch, savoring a snickerdoodle.


I was made for you.
If you will not have me,
Leave me for the jays.
Farewell.
0 Comments

Sail away

5/29/2017

0 Comments

 
Sail away

Were you my anchor,
Or were you the ship?
Discernment is needed
For this farewell.
Our home was the harbor,
And you the graceful ship,
Sails straining with the wind.
Take up the anchor of our love,
Carry it with you to new adventures.
And back, someday, to me.

0 Comments

What right have we?

5/27/2017

2 Comments

 
It turned out to be a meditation, not a story.
What right have we to love
While weddings turn to funerals?

What right have we to live
While babies drown at sea?

What right have we to eat
While others starve in darkness?

What right have we to peace
While millions flee from war?

What right have we to live
If not to help our neighbors?

Sing it. Say it. Do it.

2 Comments

The secret of my success

5/24/2017

0 Comments

 
Today's prompt was to embed a hidden message in a story or poem. I took the easy way out, so you should have no trouble finding it!
PictureSkipping rope in Milwaukee, WI, 1950. Life (via Google Images)
The secret of my success

Maybe you need a break;
Also, a cup of tea.
Keep this sage advice,
Easy as can be.

When you push too hard,
Or strive to be a star,
Remember that “all play”
Kept Jack from going far.

Pause every twenty minutes,
Laugh, or dance, or sing.
A little levity in work
You need to give it ZING!

0 Comments

Footpath Poet

5/4/2017

2 Comments

 
The prompt for today was a challenge. It was just this:
Let’s play Writer’s Clue! Stories are about a person in a place with a problem. We can use the basic structure (modified to inject conflict) from the game.
For this story, write about Mx [1. a non-gendered title, in case you’re wondering. Now I’m wondering how to pronounce it…].___________ in the _________ room with a __________.
Even after breakfast, I was stuck, too many ideas running through my head. So I took out my trusty Motherpeace tarot deck and drew three cards. The first was an artist, the second depicted a dangerous, chaotic situation, and the third featured a broken weapon. And out came this story.
Picture
The narrow footpath was crowded with vendors and beggars when Priya arrived. Finding a small space, she spread out her mat and settled herself at the edge, carefully laying out her paper, ink, and pen at her feet. Finally, she placed her carefully hand-lettered sign for all to see: “Poems to order”.  With a deep sigh, she rested her hands on her knees and waited.

Without warning, a small pack of schoolboys careened around the corner, shouting and laughing. They saw Priya, but too late. in a matter of seconds, the lead boy tried to stop, but instead fell forward onto the mat, with two or three more boys landing on top of him. Seeing Priya’s startled face, the boys raised a chorus of apologies. 

“Oh, sister, I didn’t see you!”
“Forgive me, miss!”
“Sorry! Sorry! Let me fix it!”

Priya refused their help, holding each hand gently before pushing it away. She gathered their scattered materials and arranged them on the mat as before.The paper was dirtied, but the ink bottle was still stoppered. Her only pen, though, was snapped off just below the nib. 

Smiling, Priya dipped the jagged end of the pen into the ink and wrote:

The artist sits waiting
Not for peace, or perfect tools
But for the sudden breeze
The drenching shower
The sudden shock
The artist waits for chaos
And tames it with a broken pen.

Handing the poem to the boy, she gathered up her mat and walked into the crowd.
2 Comments

Packing list for the coming year

1/30/2017

0 Comments

 
Packing list for the coming year

For the journey ahead
I will need supplies.
Sturdy shoes
clean dry socks to prevent blisters
a cozy hat to keep my head warm
layers for cold days and hot.

A good supply of trail mix
some sweetness
some crunchy, salty bits
soothing coconut flakes.

And of course, some company
chatty and quiet
urgent and calm.
A marching song
A spiritual
A lullaby
One step and then another.
Hoping for fresh water every few miles.
0 Comments

Return to the river. Video and a poem.

11/4/2016

 
It was laundry day today. I originally planned to got to the movies and see Dr. Strange (in 3-D!) but the weather was just too fine, so I headed to the river instead.
Later, I headed to one of the two places in town (so far) that carries microbrews and had dinner. A woman who had been at my talk stopped by and we had a nice chat about being liberal in North Platte. Much to digest. Here is that poem, in case you'd prefer to read it than listen to my cold-ravaged voice.
How far has the river of time carried me?
How do I map the distance, the depth, the eddies of life?
Here I am, an old woman (or nearly old)
standing on the bank of the same river I knew as a child.
As if I never left.


Yet nothing is the same.
This water, 60 years ago, was in a cloud, or a jelly glass, or an antelope’s eye.
The swings in the park behind me are new. Safer, and smaller.Or maybe I am just bigger.


I’ve met a few old friends and driven by many more, in the graveyard.
What hasn’t changed? The sky. The smell of the river bank. The reddish brown squirrels.The yellow autumn.
The flow of the river, always south and east.
And somehow, in ways I cannot see or say, but only feel — me.

<<Previous

    What's this?

    My Gender Mystique blog focuses on my work on clothing, sex, and gender. That's not all I do, so this blog is about everything else.

    Picture

    Archives

    February 2022
    January 2022
    November 2021
    February 2021
    January 2021
    December 2020
    November 2020
    May 2020
    April 2020
    February 2020
    December 2019
    November 2019
    September 2019
    March 2019
    February 2019
    January 2019
    April 2018
    March 2018
    February 2018
    January 2018
    December 2017
    October 2017
    August 2017
    July 2017
    June 2017
    May 2017
    April 2017
    March 2017
    February 2017
    January 2017
    November 2016
    October 2016
    September 2016
    August 2016
    July 2016
    June 2016
    May 2016

    Categories

    All
    ALLtheHolidays
    Blog Recycling
    Ethical Consumption
    Fiction
    First Dates
    Indian Film
    Leisure
    Mortality
    News
    North Platte
    Personal
    Poems
    Retirement
    Ruminations
    Social Justice
    Srk
    SRK Quest
    Story A Day
    Teaching
    Unitarian Universalism
    Writing

    RSS Feed

Proudly powered by Weebly