Mikki's Posts

I started writing poetry at 7 and at 13 (seriously), then again at 15 and started again at 18 and then it stuck for several semesters, started again at 22, 29, 36, and 39. Stay tuned for further updates. I started writing poetry because I fell in love with the word sordid and I wrote 50 different poems using that word in a variety of situations and then I fell out of love with the word and instead became infatuated with the word paradigm but that didn’t work out at all because I never did figure out what a paradigm was other than it wasn’t a pair of dimes. I started writing poetry to be rebellious. I started writing poetry because there was nothing better to do on that cold wet snowy day when the big blizzard hit and all the electricity went out. It was fine during the day since there was plenty of light to write by but then the sun went away like it always does for the night and I was afraid to write by candle light because I’ve got this fear of fire. I started writing poetry so I cou...

January Shivers into the Room as an excited hairless dog It shakes to stay warm Trudges thru snow And licks icicles off Any edge it can Its advance is quick; Broken promises to self Only a fortnight in And speedily it Makes its exit April Joyfully Springs into view Bouncing here and there Like a child On a sugar high It floats on clouds Heavy with rain and Skips on sidewalks like A morning drizzle It brings joy and sadness Remembrances of birth and death The great circle of life Then it dances joyfully Over the horizon of view November Snuck in On a sunny warm day With a cool little breeze Then a sudden cold Evening It sucked the Warmth away Started freezing our little toesies Until yielding to Colder weather still Oy vey. Copyright 2009 Michelle Post

Home:                         Behind the nature center Warning to all:                          Please do not enter Likes:                       Frogs & Turtles, as friends not dinner Dislikes:                      Loud children & Indiana winters Temperment:                          Shy & withdrawn, of people he’s scared Favorite Foods:               ...

They flit and flutter here and there Bound up and down, go everywhere Yet you hang still, almost sentry like As they take seeds from you to sustain their life Gold and gray and yellow, Blue and red are these fellows The ladies too can be found There’s even a cute chipmunk around Providing shelter in all sizes and shapes Your relative is pretty fun to make Together you hang and stand Providing well for the birds of the land Donated or made with lots of love You feeders and houses for those up above. Copyright 2009 Michelle Post

The view goes on and on Tress as far as the horizon The little girls stood awestruck Excitedly tried reading the plaque Describing the park’s history Mom helped a little Mostly stopped the older one from hogging all the words Others came and went As equally amazed and impressed as the little girls Yet Some children cried and threw tantrums Some adults talked of other things Still those girls stood gazing off to the distance What did they see? I do not know. Looking where they stared My older eyes so accustomed to this world Struggled to see their childlike wonder Found at the majestic vista Copyright 2009 Michelle Post

Fire burn Fire build As men gather round you Coaxing you to start Modern man has tools many To make you come to life Fire build Fire burn You lick about the Pringles can Devour the paper plates and napkins As the wood breaks down Gives in to your power Fire burn Fire build Your uses here in the campsite Myriad; warmth, delightful and protective Breakfast, lunch and dinner But best of all you help make smores Fire build Fire burn We think we can control you Yet you know it’s just an illusion But you patiently remain enclosed Let us pretend to master you Fire burn Fire build Copyright 2009 Michelle Post

She wakes up early, Rouses the kids, Showers, dresses, gets things together… Today’s an early day. Thank God for school breakfasts. The kids are up though barely in one case, The eldest prods and moves everyone out the door, Keys, backpacks, purses, briefcase, permission slips, homework… She takes off hoping everyone has everything. Drops them at school and stops for fuel; Gas for the car, Diet Pepsi for her, Still carpoolers to pick up for the 45 minute commute. Work is maddening at times, Proving herself again at a new job every few years. Every time the questions, explanations, justifications: Kids wonder why they have to move, Mom and Dad want to help more, Friends who understand, friends who no longer call, Interviewers who reluctantly turn her away… Over-qualification haunts her like An unknown voice in the dark Taunting her achievements and punishing her for being smart. Long days are what she knows. She longs for the weekend, for friends and family— Support she couldn’t survive...