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Not Forgotten, High School arlene s bice

forgotten! How could I ever

high school moments remain

the dreaded mimeograph machine

comes to me in my nightmares

dripping purple ink all over me

especially my new sweater, ugh!

hands splotched for days on end

what boy would want to hold ‘em

clothes ruined forever, Mom yells

right behind it is the typewriter

ribbon saturated with the same

ugly purple ink that replaces

mimeograph stains, frustration

in replacing, filling, or just getting

it to work

so I can work

thankfully those days are long gone

let me write with a pad and pen

or my precious home computer.

how do I tell a building I love it

you’re an old place but the best place

with some old lace, painted a new face

you are a fabulous historic home

with a remarkable, airy tower room

feeling to me like birth from a womb

your many doorways were out of square

I tell you that I didn’t give a care

beautiful, cozy as my own personal lair

windows that rattled in the winter

wooden trim that gave a splinter

or two, now and then a vintner

in the basement where wine was made

year after year while the walls did fade

you were dear to me, whatever shade

I’ll always love & cherish our memories

Music    arlene s bice

music, music, music

most music is favored

music is mood –setting

it can put me in a mood

or take me out of a mood

my favorite music as a teen

was the latest new recording

and that changed week by week

we played 45s and danced to everyone

IWWG   arlene s bice

early days before the explosion

classes at Skidmore, 10 years straight

annual conference, 500 women gather

the International Women’s Writing Guild

offered so many classes each day,

which to take. . . . which to take

tough choice, poets, creative teachers

Judi Beach beautiful woman, fab poet

Marj Hahn different road, fab ideas

guided, lead, teased my mind

woke my senses, sparked me

new words, new ways, poems

wow!

Skidmore IWWG 2008

stealing a heart  arlene s bice

there were times when nothing else would do

like stealing the heart of a boy when i

became a teenager

it wasn’t my intention, even then i knew

he was not the one; wisdom at thirteen

every day the boy sat on my front porch

Mom felt sorry and talked to him

i went out the back door

It’s the hay(na)ku).

Lizzie

missing you

reading my notes

you

had opinions

meowed out loud

calico

without you

home is silent

you

were special

rest in peace.

            arlene s bice

write a “concrete” poem – a poem in which the lines and words are organized to take a shape that reflects in some way the theme of the poem. 

star

on top

to light the way

crystals and sparkles

tiny white lights & shiny

shiny balls, rounds & longs

silver and gold to glimmer, too

dresses the background of green

even if it isn’t fresh from the forest

brings tidings of joy in this dark time

out of season reminds us all of a happier

time

past

will

come

again

arlene s bice

and how terrific it is to write about a memory

i painted that floats in the back of my mind

and how terrific it was to live that memory

when i was there and how terrific it was to

dine in the open –air room that extended

way out over the beautiful azure waters

of Puerto Rico and how terrific were

the native foods of Puerto Rico and especially

the terrific seafood cooked in the terrific

way that only Puertorriqueños can cook them.