Washing clothes now. Washed dishes already today. Feel like I have done well for the day, but I still have a ways to go to get ready for tomorrow’s trip to Houston. This is going to be another of those convention weekends which means not a lot of cleaning in the traditional sense, but I’ll be working on cleaning up my laptop a bit, I hope. 🙂

Since this is a short entry, here is a poem for you. This is from my Take Out From the Writer’s Cafe collection.

Poet Laureate of the Laundromat

Poetry full of iridescent imagery
awes my mind.
Words that sing an unknowable cadence
but speak volumes.
Intricate tapestries woven of words
creating miraculous visions…
But they are not my poems.
My poems speak fairy tales,
or slyly offer sarcasm to
prick a pompous bubble.
My poems offer philosophy,
but cracker barrel, not heavenly.
My poems weep remembered tears,
or share forgotten songs.
My poems tell of laundromats,
not Luxembourg.
The pictures they paint
aren’t by the numbers,
but they aren’t Degas either.
More Norman Rockwell than
Andy Warhol…
I leave surrealism to
those that speak in riddles.
I am a meat and potatoes girl,
uneasy in the banquet hall.
But my poetry is my own,
and to me, it shines like diamonds.
I am poet laureate of the laundromat
and I am content.

I’ll pop in a bit later if anything needs updating.  See ya!