Blowing the Curve

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Blowing the Curve

Parents of teens, who are learning to drive, know firsthand the cost of commitment, the price tag of trust and the truth of teachable moments. Sometimes those driving lessons may be quite expensive, as we discovered not long ago.

A simple crunch with a concrete curb can spell a trip to the body shop.

Still, driving lessons are life lessons, and the bridges we cross are inevitable rites of passage for young adults … and their parents. Curiously, many adolescents do seem to experience a metamorphosis into humanity, right around the time when they receive their drivers’ licenses and begin seeking access to the family car.

Squealing Tires and Heart’s Desires

A failure to communicate

May prove prophetic, far too late.

Consuming milestones of fate

And wasting wounds of woe – but wait!

My first young driver grabbed the wheel

With over-anxious teenage zeal.

As passenger, I did appeal

And wondered at the scene surreal.

My pilot’s confidence grew strong

Each journey, as we rode along.

Considering I could be wrong,

I sighed and watched her steer to song.

But vague impression, most absurd –

One frosty moment, it occurred.

Her young hands slipped, and vision blurred.

She crashed, but I said not a word.

I held my speech and fumed within,

But counted blessings, ever thin.

Still grateful, lest what could have been,

I paid the bill to my chagrin.

At last, I saw upon that hour,

As family funds this did devour,

We could not tuck her in a tower.

For parents must equip, empower.

The call may come, armed with a test,

As willful ones watch, unimpressed.

Yet could it be, though youth may jest:

Perhaps, indeed, Mama knows best.

Posted for a variety of prompts:

Easy Street Prompts (“Mama knows best”)

Heads or Tails (“call”)

Meme Express (Sunday invitation to Simply Snickers)

Monday Poetry Train (poem/s)

One Single Impression (“blowing the curve”)

Saturday Scribes (“failure to communicate,” “consuming,” “wounds,” “prophet”)

Simply Snickers (“wait,” “watch” and “willful”) 

Sunday Scribblings (“milestone”)

Theme Thursday (“I felt an impression”)

Love poetry? Check out Simply Snickers poetry prompts. Or, look into The Meme Express for blogging prompts.

A Valentine’s Vitriology

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A Valentine’s Vitriology

(On the Underestimated Consequences of Valentine’s Day)

Do you look forward eagerly to Valentine’s Day each year, or do you dread this February 14^th holiday? Will thoughts of Valentine's Day bring you hearty happiness or heartache? Does the mere mention of Valentine’s Day warm your heart or chill you to the core?

Valentine’s Day Is Vile

(A Limericked Look at a Day Most Mistook)

I snort at chaos with a seal,

As heart-shaped contents may reveal.

To downturned grin

And much chagrin,

A Valentine packs no ideal.

This moment puts us on the spot,

Selecting greetings oft store-bought.

The good old days

Have gone a-ways,

I pity lovers who’ve forgot –

While counting Valentines I’ve got.

“I can’t make you love me,

If you don’t.

You can’t make your heart feel

Something it won’t.”

Bonnie Raitt

American singer and songwriter

(1949 -   )

Posted for a variety of prompts:

AC (Valentine’s poem/s)

Easy Street Prompts (“underestimated consequence”)

Friday Flash-55 (55 words)

Heads or Tails (“pack”)

Meme Express (Friday Freedom)

Monday Poetry Train (poem/s)

One Single Impression (“chaos”)

Simply Snickers (“select,” “spot” and “snort”)

Sunday Scribblings (“the good old days”)

Relapse Perhaps

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What does it feel like to wake up with multiple sclerosis (MS)? Here’s a quick peek, in rhyme, at the reality of multiple sclerosis (MS). The hairy MS MonSter, who consumes myelin, may be horrid indeed.

Petit Chaperon Rouge illustration by Gustave Dore (1897)

Back to Square None?

An M.S. Morning Revealed

The MonSter waits beside my bed

To jump and jolt inside my head

And set my weary soles ablaze –

Oh, Lord, here comes one of those days.

I swallow hard and try to rise,

And blotches block out both my eyes.

Then reeling, with the world a-roll

I make mere standing my first goal.

Now suddenly, I feel an urge –

But wonder, will I drain or purge?

Oh, no. I’m melting. Now I’m hot.

What is this gruesome thing I’ve got?

My brain is banging ‘tween my ears,

Confirming all my darkest fears.

My fingers flutter as I lunge

For anything before I plunge.

Alas, I stumble; one foot fails.

I tumble downward, heads o’er tails.

Then, flopping on the floor I find

Discomfort of another kind.

For suddenly, from top to toe

Electric shock sets me aglow.

Too weak to stand, my frame a-twitch,

I ask, “What did my nerves bewitch?”

The inner workings of this beast

Are scary, hairy – in the least.

No heavy lifting he’ll permit,

When once the myelin he has bit.

With all I have, I find my way

Into the hall, this darkest day.

I stumble slowly down the stair,

Then wonder what I’m doing there.

Despite my words, I can’t explain

This Monster bringing numbness, pain.

Tomorrow I may walk a mile;

Today, I’ll have to sit a while.

c2010 by Linda Ann Nickerson

Posted for a variety of prompts:

Easy Street Prompts (“inner workings”)

Heads or Tails (“square”)

Meme Express (“heavy lifting”)

Monday Poetry Train (poem/s)

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Getting on Track

Getting on Track

Here we are . . . standing on the edge of a brand-new year. What surprises are in store? How will we know, if we have met our goals at the end of another 26 fortnights?

The High Roller Plunge

A Limericked Squeal on Life’s Appeal

The game begins at New Year’s dawn.

We stare at streaks of days long gone.

Tomorrow’s last call croons along –

I feel a headache coming on.

We strap on skates and stand to play,

To greet our goals without delay,

Creating comments most cliché,

But burying what doubts betray.

We never number going home

Among objectives freely sown.

Still, as the track spins up and down,

We, like the birds, forget our own.

Perhaps the secret’s in the ride,

And not achievement, product, pride –

Could be the leering lookers lied,

As we leapt off the ledge, wide-eyed.

c2010 by Linda Ann Nickerson

Posted for a variety of prompts:

Easy Street Prompts (“like the birds”)

Meme Express (“headache”)

Monday Poetry Train (poem/s)

Saturday Scribes (“going home,” “never,” “last call,” “tomorrow,” “creating” and “burying”)

Simply Snickers (“stalk,” “stare” and “streak”)

Weekend Wordsmith (“game”)

Love poetry? Check out Simply Snickers, a brand-new weekly poetry prompt. Try your hand with weekly prompts!  Or, look into The Meme Express for daily blogging prompts.

Click here to visit Linda Ann Nickerson’s poetry and humor blog, Nickers and Ink.

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