Sitting at my desk, I look up to see a placard over the door that says “NOT AN EXIT.” But it leads to a room with a sign over its other door that clearly reads “EXIT.” So would it be a “Prelude to an Exit?” Whatever. Today you have another choice to make. Write an EXIT poem. Or Write a NOT AN EXIT poem. Decide if you want to leave a situation or remain in the one you’ve been in.
MARIE’S ENTRANCE:
I’m an introvert.
I feel the need to exit
before I enter.
© Marie Elena Good, 2021
WALT’S EXIT:
POETIC ESCAPE
I get lost in my words. Every thought leaves me to wax poetic; it is therapeutic. Poetry is an escape that takes me to distant places, to see loving faces, to share traces of myself, to fly a mile high then to land again. To share my heart and soul, to lose control and be verbose, or closerthanthisclose. I go where my words take me. They are an escape, not an exit! © Walter J Wojtanik - 2021
Responses
Good morning, Walt. THAT is a “wish I’d written it.” ❤
Mornin! Yours is quite good too Marie! Probably one of your best in my opinion. They always have a nice punch to it. This one is like an uppercut. 👌
Aye, a punch it has, greater, in point of fact, than Two Shillelagh O’Sullivan’s.
Oh me of half Irish blood, yet had to google this! 😀
Aww, shucks! Thanks Benjamin! You are too kind!
👌
I like your poems, Walt and Marie. Each has a nice spin on the word, Exit.
Thanks Mike!
Thanks much, Mike!
She is very good, isn’t she?👍🏻
Yes!
Walt: I love your exit line “They are an escape, not an exit!”
Marie: Hi, fellow introvert, I know what you mean!
We get it, don’t we? 😉
Thanks Debi! I’ve never thought poetry to be an “exit”. There are great adventures in words, great romances, heart passion, and some sorrows in poetry. I escape to place, to people. My words carry me.
I wish you did too! Thanks, Pard.
[…] Poetic Bloomings “Exit” Shared with @Experimentsinfc #APoemADay on Twitter ©Misky […]
I Think I Smell Coffee
Night’s wick
burns darkness until dawn.
I wake,
and exit these blind contours
into morning’s perfume.
Magnifique Misky! I really like this one. Such a contrast with a satisfying ending, or should I say, beginning?
Thank you!
👌
Excellent. Such an economy of 100 dollar images.
Thanks so much, Debi.
I find this enchanting,specially the first two lines.
Thank you, William.
Absolutely love /night’s wick/– what an image!!
Thanks so much!
*sigh* Oh to write like this …
You have your own voice that is quite beautiful. ❤️
I ❤ you.
Very nice.
Thank you.
Wish I smelled it too, Marilyn! A brisk poem!
So perfect Misky! The ultimate aroma to rise by. The first part of waking…exiting…up.
Thanks, Damon!
ah yes… what a wonderful smell and your poem is delightful
Thanks.
Lovely poem, Misk!
Thanks, S.
Walt, I got lost in your words too friend. It’s exquisitely Walt, and that last line is KAPOW! Love it.
Thanks Benjamin. If I lose you next time, I’ll include a map! ;). I live for KAPOW. Thank you!
👌
MORNING EXIT
Before we get out of bed,
we must exit a fumbling state of mind,
naked and gormless.
We must shake off the night—
shift gears, put our foot on the gas,
and engage the day with gusto.
Accelerate—turn the page on yesterday;
like old news, or expired food,
and begin anew at last.
Benjamin Thomas
Talk about kapow! Good one!
😂 Ka-blewy!
Ka-blewy! LOL! 😀
Yes, a good kapow!
Thank you again for a new word. You have lessened my gormlessness, Benjamin!
You’re welcome! I just learned it myself.
Wow, I love every line of this…
Thanks Mary.
EXIT STRATEGY
Life is a ball of memories
that we accumulate as it rolls downhill
picking up speed with the greed of gravity.
The ball gets bigger,
bounding and bouncing about,
picking up milestones, various stages in life.
Until it loses steam—
the fervor of momentum, serving the law of physics,
the force behind it subsiding.
At the bottom of the hill—
it stops, stands inert, still warm,
and someone picks us up, treasures
the memories of us.
Benjamin Thomas
Love both, Benjamin, but this part in particular “treasures the memories of us.”
Thanks Debi!
Bingo!
Goodness. Beautifully penned.
Thanks.
You’ve been rocking this poetry thing for a while now! I love your work Sir!
Thanks. Poetry’s really been fun. 😊
Ben, love “the fervor of momentum.”
how lovely
Love this, Benjamin, especially the ending.
Thanks Sara! It was fun writing this one.
Exits
In a few days I’ll be making my exit
from my small town in Colorado
which I’ve been so busy in
and leaving it all behind,
well most of it anyway.
I’ll still have writing assignments
I’ll be working on in my motel rooms.
From Wyoming, I’ll watch for the right exits
along I80 and meet three sisters in Nebraska.
Then we’ll watch for more exits
until we meet our oldest sister in Ohio
whom we’re all going to see
before she makes her final exit,
hopefully that’s not an exit
in the near future.
Maybe on the way back,
I’ll meet a special poet friend.
Then I’ll exit that Colorado town once again
and retrieve my husband who I left
sweltering in Phoenix heat,
of which he’ll gladly exit
for Colorado mountains.
Lord willing, of course.
Safe travels, Connie, and lots of fun with the sisters!
Puts me on blue highways, this does.
Love the idea of those Exits– and the ramps and the GPS and the…. be safe! & happy Sistering!
Love this, Connie! I pray your sister’s final exit leaves you all with plenty more time and opportunity. Goodness.
And am I allowed to say I CAN’T WAIT!!!!!!!!! ❤
Thanks Marie. Our oldest sister had a heart attack last month. She’s doing better, but still not in the best of health.
I’m really looking forward to meeting you, too!
I’m so sorry to hear that, but thankful she is doing better. As you already know, I LOVE that you and your sisters take these road trips together. So cool!
Marie for some reason the site won’t let me post a poem… this is just my life right now… but it will let me comment… could someone post a a comment to me, and I will reply with my poem…
Got it taken care of, Mary. Sorry about that! I’m not sure why it wouldn’t let you post it.
Marie
I like that your exits lead to other places. Your poem takes my on a journey to many places. I’ve driven I-80 into western Nebraska.
Wow, sounds like quite a trip!
Yes. Like I tell my daughter when she travels, “Be smart, be safe!” Love this little travelogue.
Yes, Connie, I also loved this travelogue of the heart.
Enjoy your travels and may you meet adventures that will make you laugh…
Thanks everyone! Packing up today and taking off tomorrow! Lord willing and I think He is.
EMOTIONAL EXIT
It’s the little things.
Minute. Infinitesimal.
That make big splashes.
Things that should protect us.
Are the ones that betray—us.
Like eyelashes.
Tears profoundly whisper.
Abstruse feelings.
Words can’t utter.
Benjamin Thomas
Fascinating. A;; the periods are like teardrops/
Oh, nuts. Sloppy typing again. “A;;” is supposed to be “All,” and I could use one of your periods at the end.
Admire your concise and almost sparse vocab here… words like/minute/ infinitesimal/– the idea of betrayal by an /eyelash/–soooo much in that!
Thanks Pat, I’m glad you enjoyed it.
Thanks William.
I’m left shaking my head in awe of your creative mind. Eyelashes of betrayal. Profound whispers of tears.
Wow …
🙏🏾 ty
“Tears profoundly whisper.” That’s artistry.
double wow… and there are some feelings that only the soul can understand.
Absolutely.
I like the brevity of the lines, that say so much.
Ty 😊
Exit Stage Left
Some people have a dramatic flair
a “look at me” center stage air
but I like being peripheral, on the fringe
having all eyes on me, makes me cringe
others, at hogging an exit scene, are deft
as for me, I just *exit stage left.
*exit stage left
noun: A timely and inconspicuous exit or departure, done so as not to make a scene or attract attention to oneself. An allusion to stage directions in theater, indicating when (and where) an actor should leave the stage from a scene.
For me, this is an example of succinct verse and a perfect title.
Thanks William
Some really subtle rhyme here–great!
Love this piece Debi. I can’t help that the title reminds me of the cartoon character Snagglepuss. His tag line was “exit, stage left” Stage right, even!
That’s how I even know the phrase. I can hear him saying it in my head.
Another way we are alike, Deb. Excellent piece.
Debi, I know this stage edge comfort zone as well. Loved your poem.
I like this one and there are some that do like to make big dramatic encores that I am really leaving this time, and others just quietly go.
Know the feeling, Debi!
SHADES OF TILL EULENSPIEGEL
Whilst skylarking through shenanigans
at the home of the batty Brannigans,
I indulged in some buffoonery
by dabbling at cartoonery
involving algebraic
matters quite prosaic,
followed by bits of boolery
and other choice tomfoolery,
until I make my exit
muttering, “long live Brexit.”
Although technically not Limerick, I’m sure Ogden is grinnin’
Oh. My. Word. The height of cleverness!
Good use of words William!
Ah, the Preston wit! You amaze me sir!
Ahaha! My smile is broad now.
oooh love this, and the ending….I have friends in England who have made me understand how confounding and confusing Brexit.
Love all those fun word rhymes
I love this, William! It is so clever and fun to read.
Walt, you expressed my feelings about poetry… perfection…
Thanks Mary! I’m sure we all have those feelings for poetry.
Marie, I so understand this poem… I am actually painfully shy… put me in with people I know barely, I go into wallflower mode, and with those I know… it is only a bit better…
So many can relate that it makes me feel like it should no longer come as a surprise. I’ve always felt like odd-man-out for being such an introvert, but I’m beginning to wonder if we are much more common and perhaps even the majority.
yeah we just keep quiet
Spot on, Walt. With both feet.
The way I entered the world Bill. Both feet first! 😁
Doors
There are doors that go in
Doors that go out and
Doors that swing both ways
Each door taken is a choice
Each choice made is our own
And all have consequences
Some good and others not
So choose each door wisely
But choose nevertheless
Or suffer stagnation
Claustrophobia
Or suffocation
Always remember the adage
“When one door closes,
Another door opens”
In truth you have to open it
If you can find it
But what if there are multiple doors
And only one is the right one
Choose wisely
The door that you choose to open
May be your last
That’s a new one. I hit the wrong key entering my email address and it posted my poem under Anonymous. Interesting.
So many great lines and thoughtful content packed round with truth!
Interesting indeed. Another point of interest: When I saw “anonymous,” I assumed it was Daniel. That has happened to him more than once out here. But I didn’t think it sounded like his work. It comes as no surprise this is actually you! Nice job!
That makes me think of something fun to do. Maybe have an Anonymous poem day and see if we can guess who wrote what.
That WOULD be fun! Except it could be super hard, because I think most of us would try to do something different. 😉
I’ve submitted pieces that made me wish I had hit the wrong key.
I love this poem and I believe we make more choices than most care to acknowledge…
I love this take on the prompt!
The surely had an Early feel to it, even bore you said. Good one!
Wise counsel Earl!
I thought I chose “OUT”
But it was not an EXIT
Now that door is locked
Ohhhhh …. Talk about few words with a punch! Love this one, Earl!
Indeed
😂 Good one! I can see this one playing out in real time.
Earl, we do too often assume two way portals.
Marie is right
Good one, Earl!
Great use of the prompt, Walt and Marie! I enjoyed both your poems! So many directions to go with this one.
WHERE DO WE ENTER
And when is it time,
To go
When do we appear?
Will they let us know?
Is there a right moment?
To exit
A socially acceptable sign?
Yes, wait a bit!
Hesitating to enter
Not knowing when to leave!
We have to trust our exit,
Like knowing what we believe!
We can so easily enter,
Into life’s circumstance
But how do we navigate?
Is it time to end the dance!
Some exits have flashing lights!
To guide us on our way,
We know when something has ended,
There is nothing more to say!
We can enter at our own risk,
Taking our own life by the hand,
We just have to know where to go out,
If we do, we’ll understand!
Some signs aren’t so obvious,
Like maybe an exit doesn’t exist
Like entering our walk for the day,
Might end in a blinding, heavy mist
Maybe our timing to enter is slightly off,
Maybe we should adjust our idea to depart,
Or maybe we jump in with both feet,
Surrendering to it, right from the start!
(c) Janet Rice Carnahan 2021
I can almost see the heavy curtains// like Life’s a Stage // this fits so well stanza by stanza…
Thank you for your kind words!
Much to contemplate in this piece. Well done!
Love it Janet!
Much to ponder here, Janet. You write each stage so clearly, it is easy to read your angst in these thoughts. A powerful piece here!
Powerful is right.
Janet, our paths and daily itineraries do so depend on the people around us…I’ve felt this constant angst. Well written.
You poems cause me to ponder and this is one of them
This is wonderful, Janet!
Oh Marie! Another I wish I’d written that. SOOOO perfect and so applicable to me so many, no–most of the time! Perfect.
Wow … thank you so much, Pat!
Exit Wounds…
It has been a decade
Since you decided
You didn’t want me in your life.
I accepted it…
But the shot you made
As you walked away
More that bruised my heart.
It caused my soul to bleed,
And it has bled ever since…
For you there were no exit wounds,
But
For me it was a bloody mess.
You reached out to me,
And I know I should feel joy…
But all I remember
Is how you sullied my name
And thought you were justified
For surely you can’t be wrong.
I know that I will reach back,
But I am wary…
For I know that
I will say something you do not like.
And you will leave me again
With exit wounds
That will bleed me out…
Mary Elizabeth Todd
July 11, 2021
My oldest nephew trashed me a year after my mother died. He told me I was to have no contact with his wife or his children. I tried once to reach out to him, and sent him a gift, and I got trashed even more. He has his problems… and I pray for him… He contacted me last week wanting to come down right now to visit… but he said, my children want to visit the farm…I told him i had plans and company until August. He would have to wait…I know I am strong enough to mend this, but I know I will be crushed again… He wants me to be moved out of my home so he can move in it. I can live here until I die. I just needed to express myself… I post most of my poems on fb but this one I will not because I know people who will tell him what I wrote.
Positive thoughts for you, Mary. Think you’ve expressed this tragedy well albeit painfully…. perhaps there’s true healing in the future. We all need a shot a redemption…
I Know this and I know he is not a soul that is saved, and I do love him.. Praying for wisdom and strength..
We must forgive others in order for God to forgive us. This sounds like a lesson your nephew needs to hear and heed. Sorry for your family struggle. We all have one or two of them if we look hard enough, I know I have and still do. Of course, even the act of forgiveness from one side is not always met with forgiveness from the other. That’s when it’s time to give it over to God and let Him handle it. Blessings.
Thank you Earl, and my brother who was mentally ill was his father…He has some of the signs of his father….
Oh my. The ache of this. I’m so sorry, Mary.
The title, btw, is brilliant.
Thank you….This is one those times I have been wrestling with the Lord.. in the end, I will open my door to him and his family…but I know it will be stressful for me…
Sorry, my comment got misplaced…. Powerful. I felt this. I have family members in the same vein. Anytime I reach out to them there’s an wound inflicted. Sadly,I don’t reach out to them anymore.
I understand that and I wonder about his motives… I will reach out this time on my terms, meaning you visit when I say… and it is because of his kids and his wife… my poor nephew is so damaged, and he doesn’t see it…
Such a stark relating of heartache.
thanks for stark is a good way to say how I have been feeling…
Mary, sad to hear of this hurt in your heart, the healing seems to come so slowly when the wounds are so deep. Praying for a miracle of peace between you that doesn’t depend on either of you, but on the grace of God.
thank you… Yesterday I almost did not go to church but I did and the preacher talked about Jesus telling the woman who washed his feet with oil to go in peace… those words resonated with me, and have grown a little stronger…I try to remember that I am an instrument of His work. Not always easy…
Yes Mary, the hammer feels the blow as well as the nail. The saw dulls its teeth as the wood yields. The crowbar strains each molecule of iron as the boulder is oppressed by gravity. God uses tools, and they are priceless in His hands.
You are priceless too, our friend, in His hands.
Thank you…
Mary, you can forgive as God tells us to do but He doesn’t expect you to go right back for more hurt at your nephews hands (or mouth). He doesn’t sound trustworthy. I am so sorry for your pain.
thank you, and he isn’t…
This is a sad situation, Mary. I hope it gets resolved (in your favor).
Marie, I so appreciate a short poem which says a lot. Walt, everything about yours is to be enjoyed…the content, the structure, the rhyming, the length, the choice of words. Magnificent, both of you.
Thank you, Daniel!
Thank you, Daniel. I am humbled.
Sitting
When one can not
find an exit in the fog,
one might pause,
sit a bit in meditation,
in quiet contemplation,
to discover a singularity,
the present moment’s clarity,
or maybe just because.
To survive the fog,
one must be willing,
like a blind dog,
trusting itself, running
headlong into the mist,
accepting whatever comes,
including this,
the brilliant phosphorescence
of a new way to see the world.
To escape the pea soup
of not knowing,
one could make room for everything,
the invisible, the showing,
joy, grief,
misery, relief.
As a spider weaving a web,
starting from nothing,
grasping the difference
between action
and accomplishment.
This took me on a journey of sorts. The final stanza especially grabs me.
I agree.
Agree with Marie!
I love the metaphor and visual of walking into a fog. Losing your senes of direction, but finding a new one. Excellent.
Pure wisdom here, Daniel!
So profound, this.
Wow. Daniel. Those last five lines. What depth perception your poetry has. I marvel.
I have a deep love of fogs and mists… and when they lift they are magical… this poem is magical..
A WAY OUT
The question is a way out,
Of what?
The easy road
The road less traveled
The straight route
From here to there
The fastest point from
A to B
Will we see something different?
Will we be someone different?
Will we glean a new perspective?
Or just shift and change
An old self-image
Until we need the next way
To move forward
To move on
To move back
And then we wake up
One day
Expecting something new
Something, someone, or ourselves
we left behind,
Only to find,
We have effectively
Just gone around in endless circles
Trying to circle a square,
Or a removing a knot,
That was actually,
Never there!
(c) Janet Rice Carnahan 2021
Ooooo …. what a lesson-in-poem!
Yes
Awesome, Janet.
Yes, Janet. That knot that was not there. I’ve struggled so to undo something that was not really done, but just was. Great insight here.
powerful
Grace
I step from the trail believing
myself well equipped for the foray
boots to my knees and an eager gleam
in my eye reflecting sun’s glare
from purple black drupelets rising
above insect-shredded triads
raggedy green leaves already turning
rusty orange cupping hands of red
berries clustered around those perfect
ones so ripe they lure you past
sprawls of poison ivy and waist high brome
where last night’s herd bedded in
mashed whorls of grass no doubt sated
on these tasty jewels so delectable a finish
to their foraging in summer fields buck and doe
alike able to pick their way past thorns
and no doubt passing the skill along to
spotted toddlers now dotting cooler woods
but here hooked spines snagging skin better
than burdock’s famous Velcro until
intent on winning this war I tug
at immature berries only now beginning
to lose the rose glow that clearly shouts sour
determined not to leave without something
to show for my journey; move to wipe hands
on my jeans only to find myself trapped
by a thousand tiny teeth their ripping shred
as I try to back out of this blackberry patch
my entry so much more graceful than my exit.
Pat,
I’m beginning to feel like I could recognize your work without your name attached. The consistency of imagery, thought, emotion, captured moments in time, simple things in life … all beautifully staged. You always wow me. This one with the bit of humor made my smile broaden.
I feel the same way, and thanks for a new word: drupelet.
So elegant, Pat.
Pat!! What a richly real visit into the bramble I am so familiar with along the backroads of my childhood. You left no finger unpricked and no berry unpicked in this. Beautiful, photographic. I can see the red streaks on my forearms.
But I can also taste that warm cobbler and it’s oven-browned rippled crust now topped with sweet cream.
I suspect I’ve said this before, but Damon I look forward to your comments. Utterly poetic in themselves!
Thanks Marie, just comes out that way. Takes a Poetic mind to hear a Poetic voice, and that’s what’s so special about this clan.
❤
they are right this is so you… and what a lovely rendering with a touch of a smile for me
A beautiful poem with a spot of humor!
Superb, Pat! Love your work.
Two Doors
His door is always open
It has no lock or key
The sign above it plainly states
That what’s inside is free
Free to all who walk through
Of their own accord
Of course there’s still the other door
But that would be absurd
We all must choose a door
Before our final breath
Which one determines where we’ll be
After we’re put to rest
Perfect cadence, as always. (One of your traits, btw. 😉 )
Very nice Earl.
Earl, truth.
love
Brother, I can read you all day! Great stuff.
The Front Door is Locked
The front door is locked
as I sit alone, stories in my head
waiting to be told.
My life is another page turned
remnants of a song I sang last night,
a keepsake on my table.
I look out the window
to where clouds and trees loom
like a painting I once saw.
A clock says it’s time to go,
but visions linger.
Weather forecasts on my cell,
fortunes to be told,
a trill of a songbird, then gone
the call of the road,
but not now.
A friend now lost once said
there’d be a lot of living to do
even after she’s gone,
a soft voice cracking with delight
fire in her eyes.
Kissed by memories
I allow myself another moment
before taking to the highway
entrance and exit ramps
panoramas passing before my eyes.
Mike, this is lovely. A stirring of the simple, and the deep. Love it.
This is so rich in images, one would swear it were a drawing.
I feel the hesitant anticipation here, the pensive prep to a departure, packed with memory.
I Love the kissed by memories line….
What’s up Mike!! Excellent poem here. Love the journey this took me through.
Simple, with a trace of yearning. Lovely poem, Mike!
You paint a wonderful vignette, Mike!
THE SOUL’S BLOOD
The soundless tears exiting a suffering soul
are its’s blood shed from wounds inflicted.
They are never truly silent though, or inaudible,
for they echo the screams of pain deep in the ravines.
They are the toil of twisted emotion seeking an escape
from the prison of the inner being.
They are the hemorrhage and eruption of anguish,
Volcanic ash—that people are now seeing.
Benjamin Thomas
Gripping title, and remains so throughout. So many haunting phrases, not the least of which is “toil of twisted emotion seeking an escape from the prison of the inner being.” Goodness…
Yes. The phrases are so vivid. you should have “MP” after your name: Master of Phraseology.
Spoken like a true wizard, Bill. And so true.
Thanks Marie.
Those exhoes….yes, Benjamin, well done.
YOur poems are often powerful, and a truth that cannot be escaped…
Thank you. 😊
Powerful. I felt this. I have family members in the same vein. Anytime I reach out to them there’s an wound inflicted. Sadly,I don’t reach out to them anymore.
The Interruption
Stark naked
on a folding
cot, the couple’s
lovemaking is
interrupted by
a pink-cheeked
grandmother.
“Oh my, isn’t
this the exit?”
Male of couple,
face flaming
from being caught,
as well as for
Grandma’s mistake
bellows, “Can’t you
read the sign
that says No Exit?”
Pink cheeks firing
up, the grandmother
says, “I am close to blind.
Your excuse is mistaking
the No Exit sign for a
Bedroom.
LOLOL! Pink-cheeked chuckles from here in Maumee! 😀 Good one!
Thanks, Marie!
LOL as well. I loved the humor.
Glad you enjoyed it!
Rolling on the floor here.
So glad I made you laugh!
😂😂😂 Good one Sara.
Thanks, Benjamin!
😁
Laughing out loud as well, Sara! Love the pink-cheeked grandma…
Thanks, Damon!
this made me laugh out loud
Now that’s a tough thing to do. Thanks, Mary.
Not nearly as blind as she says!
Not even close!
Haha. This caught me off guard. Unexpected twist at the end.
A TRANSPARENT EXIT
Tears are transparent.
They are the most genuine part
of human nature.
They show us exactly what is within,
and without.
They transmit rays of light
to see through—mind, emotion will,
allowing safe passage.
Making visible the hidden
seat of affection.
They are the liquid sign,
connection—of joy, fear, and grief.
Benjamin Thomas
Oh, yes. Indeed they are. Love the imaginative description and take!
Same, here
Ty
Okay Benjamin…that haiku-first-stanza nails it.
Absolutely!
👌🔨
there is a sweetness in the sorrow in this poem…
EXERT SIGN
a heavy door
the hinges stiff
it takes a grip
upon the knob
a shoulder’s thrust
against the edge
a shove of muscle
mind and heart
a will to leave
a will to leave
a want that’s deeper
stronger than
the room I’ve been in
far too long
the hinges stiff
a heavy door
© Damon Dean 2021
Broad smile here
Thank you William, glad you liked it.
Good one. I love the perspective of this It can take several different meanings.
It really can, Benjamin. I read, and then reread, and then read again. This can be taken lightheartedly (as the title would suggest). Yet, I could also see a much deeper non-literal meaning … a need for change in life circumstance that is exhausting to come by. Almost like an abstract piece of art that carries different meaning and feeling, depending on the eye of the viewer.
Well done as always, Damon!
And super creative take on the prompt, btw!
Thank you Marie, yes it started light and moved to pensive.
Expertly penned. (y)
Thanks Brnjamin. And your bouquets of Blooms this week are marvelous in color and form. Loved them all.
Thanks Damon! 👍
Love the title. Very clever.
I like the flow of this poem…and it did make me smile also…
Glad you enjoyed it.
Wow! Clever title and follow-through! Great poem, Damon.
Thanks Sara.
More B. T. Brilliance.
Loved your 17 Marie. I know exactly that moment of hesitance.
Thank you!
Walt, you aptly describe this passion of poetry! Well EXpressed.
Thanks Damon.
My Exit…
There were jokes about me
At my office…
I had been there so long
I was dubbed “Moses caseworker.”
Because I wore black on many days…
My coworkers said I was witchy woman.
I sometimes got called- the witch with a capital B
From he ll…Angel had been taken by the other Mary…
She really is an angel.
I was tough, it didn’t mean I didn’t care.
When I was handed a new case…
I was informed it was a Mary Todd case
Meaning nothing would be normal.
But I heard the jokes that I would never retire…
That they would find me dead at my desk…
They didn’t know me…
I had a dream…
From the first time I put pen to paper
I knew who I was in my soul…
I was a poet and a writer…
A wanderer, who listened
To the wind blowing through the trees
In the forest that is my home.
This job I had had for nearly three decades
Was a place of teaching for me.
It was time for me to leave
For I heard the wind speak to me.
On my last day after my luncheon,
My supervisor said,
“You are not really going.”
I smiled and said, “Watch me.”
I made my exit from the work,
That had consumed my life.
It was in many ways a quiet exit…
A cousin or two came to celebrate, and
Two friends traveled far to be there.
It was an end of an era…
A coworker said to me…
You succeeded in your work…
She knew I wanted to be a writer,
And she told me to give up my dream…
I had had my success in life.
She was a realist…
I respected that for I was one too,
But I had a dream, and I had to try.
I heard her words.
They froze me for a time,
But then I remembered…
I had made an exit to my job,
But not to my life,
And I had much more to give…
Mary Elizabeth Todd
July 12, 2021
You are a force, Mary. Thank you for all the years you worked so hard to take care of those young hearts in desperate need. Now, write on. 🙂
Thank you and I also had the nickname as Terminator…because many of my cases were Termination of parental Rights cases.
What she said, Mary. Your work shines.
Beautifully penned, and well told. It really tells a story.
thanks
The storytelling, again, is done wonderfully.
thanks
There is no exit….
Imagine…
You are in a room.
You hear the fights-
Every night,
And see the results-
Every morning.
Imagine
You are ten,
And every loud noise
Makes you jump,
Expecting to hear
A scream.
Imagine
Pretending to sleep
And you heart races
As you hear
The door knob turn
And then your bed creaks.
Imagine
The fear
That is with you-
Every waking- and
Sleeping minute-for
There is no exit.
Now
Imagine
What freedom
Would mean,
If this was
Your reality.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
July 12, 2021
POW! Now that has quite an impact. Devastating, yet very powerful.
Thanks and it worked…we had a training session years and years ago where the leader had us close our eyes and imagine…and last night I remembered the method…
Goodness. Horrific things people must live through. 😦
more than most know…. frontline workers always see the worst… but we are there to keep the rest not only safe from the dangers but also safe from knowing how bad things can be.
Spot on/
thanks
What a nightmare!
DOWN THE MOTHER ROAD
Sometimes, as they say in Spanish,
“Prohibida la salida” there ain’t no exit;
there is no off ramp on this road called life.
There are no shortcuts to reach our journey’s end,
or small mercies down the epic lanes of route 66,
we just put the pedal to the metal, clambering down
that mother road.
The situation never gets easier, or old, as we take
the grand tour around the hinterlands of hard times.
We just tip our hats, let the suffering do its work.
There is no exit when your young’un is a hungry,
and he’s gunning for the breast with a vengeance.
We just bide our time, let em’ drink til the cows
come home.
There is no exit when there’s no grub on the table neither.
We gotta go the extra mile through blood, sweat, and tears,
keep yer nose to the grindstone for them vittles, you see?
But just between you and me—when the going gets tough,
the tough keep going down that ol’ mother road,
like we’ve been told, spankin’ that ol’ Route 66.
Benjamin Thomas
Wonderful and the reference to Route 66 clicked a memory of a tv show.. Yeah life has a way of getting even harder when times are tough… GREAT POEM!!!!
Thanks! Fun.
Well told. Excellent use of “voice” for this particular piece. “We just tip our hats, let the suffering do its work,” particularly speaks, to me.
Thanks Marie.
This brought back memories of being on that road, or what’s left of it, anyway. Wonderful.
👌
THE RUGGED ROAD
There is no way around—
the great wall of a young fractured mind.
There is no escape—
when you’re the convict, your loved ones
have ill-defined.
There is no way through—
the bunker you’ve built, solid over time.
There is no getting over—
normalcy’s hill, you always get to climb.
There is no way under—
the rapids of guilt, all joy seems to be a crime.
There is no way out—
survival mechanisms, methodically designed.
There is no way past—
the hurricanes of pain, they’re always in behind.
Your life has been forecast—
the interest is high, but your card has been declined.
You’re stuck on a long rugged road—
with potholes, but there is no exit sign.
Benjamin Thomas
Pow this hits home and leaves a powerful impression…
Thanks.
Expert use of form to drive home the image and emotion. For me, the use of two-line stanzas that finish their point on the second lines and punctuate with a full-stop period is brilliantly effective.
Thanks!
Such skillful use of rhymes and near=rhymes, especially, for me, “hurricanes of pain.”
I liked that also….
Thanks William.
Excellent poem, Benjamin!
Ty Sara! 🙏🏽
finally… it came up allowing me to post… sort of fits with this poem….
The Exit Sign Is not in View…
Car wrecked and scratched
Two weeks ago
(Dealing with the others insurance is not fun,)
My new air conditioning is broke,
And I am broke since I bought it,
And it will have to be replaced,
My roof needs replacing,
My oven has been broken for over a year,
My dishwasher for even longer,
I can’t make gravy worth a dam-n,
Three of four ceiling fans are broken,
A leak in a pipe, fixed, but
Missed fixing the hot water pipe
To my bathroom…
For now, living is
In a sauna and going to cool off
In a near frozen river (I have a well)…
My dryer decided that today it would break.
My iron levels I know are getting low…
Trying to decide whether-
To let it get lower, so I get an iron infusion,
Or take more iron in hopes I get better…
How I wish-there was a device
To test my iron each day
To stay ahead of the game
Instead of walking blind
Hoping I am on the right track…
Until I know I am not.
When the dryer died,
I cried,
Because I am weary.
But I have good friends, and
Some dear relatives, and
There is hope for some things changing-
That is all I am saying, and
I sent my novel series to the second agent,
And I know that is a toss in the air,
Until I find the right one…
But I am trying…
In the meantime, I write every day…
This is the life I have.
It is a gift…each day is a gift,
And it is also a dance…
This is the dance card
I have been given,
And the exit sign
Is not in view…
Give me strength
Give me wisdom…
I will get through this…
Mary Elizabeth Todd
July 13, 2021
The short lines have a pounding quality, which seems fitting.
Thanks and was it you who said something about my short lines before… I tried it again in this one…
Storms, not a reason to exit…
My life has been a series of storms of late.
It is like the end of the major storm
That hit me a year ago…
It has worn me down.
It is chaos,
And I prefer cosmos
To chaos.
I took a shore ride
In yesterday’s sun
To clear my head of the storms
That were shaking my life
Like a series of tornados.
As I was driving home…
I stopped on my driveway…
Where the giant trees
Were battered
By the blows of a tornado
A quarter century ago.
I remember that night,
And the destruction
I saw the next morning…
For I was sure my forest
Would die.
I was wrong.
I stepped into the sunlight,
And felt it dapple my skin.
I looked at the tall giants,
Damaged by that storm,
But still standing.
Strong, tall,
Reaching for the light.
It was peaceful…
They were peaceful…
Scars were there,
For life often scars us.
There was also life…
Seeking out
The good in the air,
And the sunlight on their leaves
Looking as a cathedral
In an ancient gothic church.
It is a holy place,
My forest,
For God walks
In the gardens of His creation.
There is cosmos
In the gardens, and
I found it as I stood there.
Earlier
I had wanted to give up
And stop fighting,
But looking at these tall giants…
In the heart of my forest,
I knew, storms are
No reason to exit,
Or to give up,
But only give us strength
To continue to reach for the light.
I took a few photos,
But knew they would never expose
The cosmos of that moment
As I stood with God
In His cathedral
Created by His love.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
July 14, 2021
second stanza… should be I took a short ride…
for some reason… some of my stuff is listed as Mary Elizabeth Todd which has a painting I did for a friend… and some of it lists me as etodmar which is the name Better homes and garden gave me for ten years… actually it was Etod Mar….
Such a memorable line: ” … prefer cosmos to chaos.”
Thank you and I do…
Marie, I love the twist in your clever poem.
Walt, your words may be an escape for you, but they stay with me for some time.
Thanks Sara! Glad my words stay with you. apparently I got my point across!
[…] Poetic Bloomings PROMPT # 342 – NOT AN EXIT […]