Tag Archives: NaBloPoMo

Maybe Monday

A poem inspired by a conversation I had recently, and also just because it’s Monday:


Maybe I use the word “maybe” too much,

imagining motives that might or might not be

the actual meanings for certain behaviors,

when maybe I need to just think and keep mum.

Someone’s suggested a savvy solution:

stay silent, stop guessing, and simply say “hmm …”

However, if I’m to hum “hmm …” for an hour,

what will become of my quizzical questions?

Will they queue up in my querying mind?

Will I develop a wrinkled expression,

willfully wandering, seeking solutions

to confounding conundrums?

Will I go crazy?

Hmm? Well … maybe.

Mountain Man

Today I attended the funeral of my brother-in-law, Jerry. He was married, had two sons, worked for 30 years as a self-employed building contractor, and loved nature. He climbed all 46 of the Adirondacks mountain peaks. The room was packed with friends, neighbors, and family who came to say goodbye. There was a tremendous outpouring of love for Jerry. My mind is so full of all of the beautiful reminiscences, quotes, anecdotes, stories, and descriptions of the man that I am at a loss as to what to say on this page tonight. All I can do is tell you a little bit about him through the following poem that I wrote for him.

For Jerry

When I think of you, Jerry,

I think of mountains

and oceans,

your arms and hands

gentle yet well-suited

for climbing

and fishing

and building.

I think of your smile

and of fatherhood

and of sticking with a plan,

and of your interest

in our family

and in many things

other than yourself.

I’m so sorry you are ill

but I’m thankful that you feel no pain

I hope for your recovery

and yet I know that you are climbing

the steepest mountain of your life.

(Is it number 47?)

And we are here with you

calling out to you,

steadying your feet,

handing you a rope,

but we don’t need to do that

you can handle it

you with those mountains in your eyes.

Some of us are up ahead,

and others of us, well,

we aren’t too far behind

we’re keeping our eyes on your light

shining like a beacon on the mountainside.


Saturday Night Flight

I’m traveling tonight from Tucson, Arizona to Albany, New York. During my 3-hour layover in Chicago, I passed the time by writing a song parody, to be sung to the tune of “Chicago” by Fred Fisher:

Chicago, Chicago

I’m charging my phone,

chrome table, I’m able

to sit here alone

On my way to New York, I plunge a fork into

salad, raw salad,

waiting for connections is just the time to

write ballads, (like this one)!

I’ll soon board

and move toward

that row in the back,

grab aisle seat, throw luggage on the rack


settle in now, sit back, close my eyes

soon I will fly in the friendly skies of

Chicago, Chicago and then New York!

(Below: Tucson International Airport, Chicago O’Hare Airport)

Here’s the original version of the song:


Haiku Hour

Photo by Greg Rakozy on Unsplash

Haiku Hour

Can’t sleep, up at five
check my phone for messages
someone liked my post

I eat my breakfast
granola and some coffee
now to get to work

I could try haiku
I get a pad of paper
broken pencil point

maybe I’ll give up
go back to bed and dream of
being late for school

but something tells me
try again, you idiot
so what can I do?

another coffee
a sharpened pencil this time
and an eraser

it’s five thirty now
the sun has not arisen
birds are still asleep

my street is quiet
I don’t hear any traffic
writing time is now

ten minutes have passed
I have not written a word
the page is empty

maybe I should try
a little meditation
and see what happens

find a quiet spot
close my eyes, breathe in, breathe out
repeat my mantra

buzzing in my ears
I feel like I am floating
a dog is barking

five barks in a row
silent for a moment, then
seven barks, then five

secret learned today:
all the world is poetry
glad to be alive.

© Lori Bonati, 2017

Badge 2017

Little Lorraine

photo-1494980947829-a7f5002f8c94Photo by Steve Shreve on Unsplash

Frank was a darkly handsome city boy, the oldest of five half-orphans (his father died young), and an Italian through and through. Alice was a shy, fair-haired country girl, an only child, and either German or French (nobody knew for sure). They met in 1948 and fell in love. Frank was twelve years older than Alice. He was also five inches shorter, but Alice looked up to him just the same.

Nine months and five days after their wedding, little Lorraine arrived.

They named her after a song (Sweet Lorraine), and at the age of three she was singing Nat King Cole tunes to people in the grocery store. When the Ted Mack Amateur Hour came to Buffalo, Frank put four-year-old Lorraine in the front seat of his Ford sedan and drove her to an audition.

On the way home, Frank told Lorraine that she hadn’t been chosen for the Ted Mack Amateur Hour because she was too young. Lorraine has a dim memory of this, or maybe someone told her about it later. Either way, she loves her father for explaining it to her that way.

Lorraine was never called Lorraine, except by her teachers. Everyone else called her Lorrie. Frank sometimes called her Lorraine the Brain.

In kindergarten, Lorraine followed her friend on the way to school. Her friend was following the mailman. When Lorraine finally walked into the kindergarten classroom that day (about an hour late), she announced to her teacher, “I’m late.” “I guess you are!” replied her teacher. Lorraine remembers this scene years later.

Lorraine’s kindergarten report card said: “Times Tardy: 1.” “What does ‘times tardy’ mean?” Lorraine asked Alice that afternoon as she handed over the report card to her mother. “What do you mean?” Alice asked, taking the report card from Lorraine’s small hand. One can only guess what was going through Alice’s mind as she realized that, not only had Lorraine followed her friend and had been late to school, but that she could read the words “times tardy.”

Stay tuned for more episodes of “Little Lorraine.” For now, suffice it to say that, despite her faults, and possibly because of them, Lorraine eventually made lots of friends (some of whom she followed), raised two amazing daughters, and tried very hard to become a person she herself could look up to.

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Tangled Up in New Headphones

“Oh what a tangled web we weave …” Sir Walter Scott

“Tangled headphones are my pet peeve …” Loristory

About a week ago, I was about to head out to the gym. As I mentioned in a previous post (“Gonna Be Some Changes“), listening to music at the gym is my antidote for boredom and exhaustion while trying to maintain an upright position on the treadmill. So imagine my panic when I couldn’t find my headphones!

I dug through my purse, my pockets, and my gym bag, to no avail. Where could they be? They had come with my new iPhone and I really, really liked them because the sound quality was good and they stayed put in my ears. (Did I just type Putin? No! Put in!) Let me rephrase that. My headphones stayed in place in my ears. Some of the cheaper headphones (like the ones you buy for $1 on airplanes) are constantly falling out. If you try wearing them on the plane then you risk the chance of having to elbow your seat-mate every few minutes while searching for errant earbuds. They most definitely would not stay in your ears while exercising at the gym.

My headphones were what motivated me to even go to the gym. Without them, I might as well just cancel my membership. But then I remembered that there was a Best Buy on the way to the gym. I drove there and found a new pair of iPhone headphones, identical to the ones I had lost. They cost $30. I told myself that $30 was a small price to pay for good health and reluctantly handed the clerk my credit card.

I’ve been to the gym a few times since then and I used my new headphones each time, storing them in a special pocket of my purse so I would not lose them.

Last night I decided to clean out my purse. What did I find? Kleenex. Old receipts. Pens. Pencils. Lipstick. Gym padlock. Tangled web of wires. Wait … what?


Yes, folks, what you see above is not one, not two, but three sets of headphones. (Did I mention that I also have headphones for my iPod that I carry in my purse in case I want to watch TV at the gym? They don’t fit in my new iPhone because … Apple.)

Somehow, my new iPhone headphones found my old iPhone headphones (and my iPod headphones) deep in the dark recesses of my purse pocket, and all three sets bonded. Literally. It took me about 5 minutes to untangle them. And even though I knew they were probably meant to live together forever in harmony, I took things into my own hands and came up with this ingenious plan:

headphones all 3-2

We’ll see how long that lasts.

Shweta Mehrishi Sharma‘s NanoPoblano post yesterday about lost keys inspired me to tell my own version of “Lost.” Do you have a “lost” story of your own? I’d love to hear it!


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Lines in the Sand

As promised yesterday, I’m posting more photos of the Sea of Cortez. I took them in 2006 while on vacation in Mexico. I thought this post would just be about the photos. But, as often happens when I start writing, I never know where I’ll end up. True to form, my voyage today to the Sea of Cortez has brought me to some unexpected territory.

The featured image above shows 13 birds (12 pelicans and 1 independent-minded seagull). I thought that was rather fitting for the Day 13 Nano Poblano challenge. Here are some other photos that I took that day:

I’ve always found footprints in the sand intriguing. The bird tracks were made by a seagull (maybe the one in the photo above). The wave tracks make me think about how temporary everything is, like these word-tracks that I’m typing right now.

I was surprised to see a U.S. Capitol building on a beach in Mexico. I wouldn’t have expected that, given the tensions between the two countries. But the picture was taken in 2006, before talk of any border wall, right? Wrong. I just Googled “history of U.S. border wall” and found this article on worldstir.com that gives a timeline of U.S./Mexico border issues since 1845. Construction of a border wall was first mandated in 1993.

One thing that struck me about that timeline is that U.S. policies toward Mexico have always been calculated to serve our interests and ignore theirs. First we took their land through war, then we encouraged their people to immigrate here for their cheap labor, and then we deported them again when the Great Depression hit. We even require Native Americans whose tribe spans both countries to carry documentation with them when they travel within their own land, and we arrest and deport them when they fail to do so. I’m interested in this topic because, having worked in Tucson schools, I’ve known of many “dreamers” who feel like they’re out of options, or who live in fear that their parents will be deported while they’re at school.

After reading the timeline, I was curious to learn even more and found a Library of Congress post about the history of Mexican immigration. The article begins like this:

“The first Mexicans to become part of the United States never crossed any border. Instead, the border crossed them.”

A line in the sand, the imprint of war. Why can’t we all be like the pelicans and gulls, and just learn to get along?

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Sea of Cortez

It’s Day 12 of the Nano Poblano blogging challenge. I’ve managed to get through days 1 through 11 without too much trouble, but today I really struggled to think of something profound, interesting, funny, or newsworthy. My mind was a blank, so I looked in my blog closet. (That’s where I keep all of my old, wrinkled, dusty ideas.) But my blog closet was empty, except for a bunch of hangers. Well, there was one thing hanging in it. A t-shirt. The t-shirt said, “I went to the Sea of Cortez, and all I got was this lousy poem.”

Just kidding. I don’t really have a blog closet, or a t-shirt that says that. But that’s how I felt, until I re-read the old poem below and thought to myself, “I kind of like it.” So here it is, my old raggedy t-shirt of a poem. I hope you like it, too. Tomorrow I’ll post some Sea of Cortez photos.

Oh, and by the way, I went to Nano Poblano 2017, and so far I’m getting a lot more than a lousy t-shirt. I’m bringing back a lot of great souvenirs (your posts).

Sea of Cortez

Thin white clouds as flat as sheets
lay pressed and cool against the sky
while underneath, the warm sea surged
like liquid glass on wrinkled sand.

A bent man in a canvas chair
sat silently and watched the waves;
his hearing ran out long ago
and so he listened with his heart.

Two boys with skin as pink as shrimp
dug holes and filled them up with stones,
then threw them at some guileless gulls
just to make them fly away.

The old man saw the flat white clouds,
the pink boys, and the pale blue sky
and felt the pounding of the surf,
a pulse that came in measured beats,

A song of stones hurled into space,
of blood thundering through the veins,
a sound that only mermaids speak
and only hearts can understand.

© Lori Bonati, 2017

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