The Kitchen

green jelly in a fine crystal dish
salt and pepper shakers in the form of colorful roosters
on a polka-dotted table cloth
cream-filled doughnuts from the bakery down the street
and porcelain trinkets as far as the eye can see
kitty-cat clock on the wall with emerald green eyes
tail swinging side-to-side, counting the seconds of silence
chemical scent of Lysol with just a hint
of the apple-cinnamon room spray that is her trademark
no crumbs, no smudges
this is her sacred room
where she will spend her remaining days baking, cooking, cleaning
cooking, baking, cleaning...
mopping with citrus-scented Spic 'n Span
washing the same dishes time and again with blue Dawn dish soap
because it cuts through grease and leaves her hands soft
just like the commercial says
visitors admire her clean, white surfaces and lace-trimmed dish towels,
and how they can see their reflections in the linoleum
they wish they had the time to keep their kitchens this spotless
but confess to themselves that if they did have the time,
they would likely spend it doing something else

days, months, even years pass by
as if caught in a science-fictional time warp,
her kitchen remains exactly the same
her visitors however, become fewer and fewer...
until there is only the grocery delivery boy left
bringing the neatly-filled brown paper sacks to her kitchen door
every Thursday at 1pm
he smiles politely and accepts the glass of orange juice and fresh-baked cookie
because he knows his hostess won't take "no" for an answer
sitting in the breakfast nook they chat about the weather
while he sips the tangy, pulp-filled juice
that's likely to be his only souce of Vitamin C for the day
as she launches into neighborhood gossip he gobbles the rest of the cookie,
drains the last few drops of OJ, and rises to leave

he doesn't know it but this is the last delivery he'll make here
the last time he'll step foot in this clean, sunny room
and see the old woman's welcoming smile and friendly eyes
in the years to come he'll most remember her sturdy but
soft-as-satin, wrinkled hands folded on the table
though her husband had long since passed
she always wore her wedding set, along with a couple of jeweled rings
permanently anchored in place and guarded by swollen knuckles
the freckles and age spots somehow made her appear very wise
and she was -
as wise as she was kind
no, the delivery boy will never forget those hands
or the smell of that kitchen
and he'll wish he had stayed on occasion for a second glass of juice ~

Copyright ©2009 Angela Schofield

Partners

Shall we walk together, hand-in-hand through life?
My destiny is yours
Say you’ll stay by my side and I will never stray
My place is in your arms ~

Copyright ©2004 Angela Schofield

A Lifetime Spent With You

With the naive dawn well behind me I enter my best hours
I want to spend the afternoon getting to know you
I hope you're patient, it may take hours and hours and hours...
Let's walk to the cafe down the street for lunch
Hold hands as we stroll around the park
Take a scenic drive and talk about our childhoods
Maybe cuddle on the couch and watch some T.V.
Then when evening comes we'll sit outside in the dimming light,
quietly enjoying ourselves and pining the long lost day
When stars appear we'll hold hands and enjoy the heavenly view ~


Copyright ©2008 Angela Schofield

For My Beautiful Mother on Her Birthday

I hope
your day is filled with fun
filled with love
and as bright as the sun

I wish
you joyful laughter
beautiful singing
and presents after

I pray
that you have all you need
all you want
and all you could ever dream...

I love you Mom

Untitled

and so it is over and done
in time I'll forget this one
but today the loss is pain,
dark and stabbing sharp

cowering in the corner
eyes tightly shut, waiting
for the sun to rise and set,
rise and set

and here I'll sit
as the light comes and goes
from narrow, empty spaces
revealing your truth ~

Copyright ©2004 Angela Friberg

Love Poem

come to me my dear
let me cherish you in full
life ticks away fast
all of nature names your love
the wind says you're mine ~

Copyright ©2009 Angela Schofield

Author's note: This is a form of Japanese poetry called Tanka (5-7-5-7-5)
I wrote this poem in high school, ha!

Your Love

Your love is Caribbean warmth
Your love is a tropical paradise untouched
Your love is a hot cup of cocoa on a blustery day
Your love is the marshmallows that float on top ~

Copyright ©2006 Angela Schofield

For Josh

Those who truly listen will discover truth
and wisdom
beneath the toughness
beyond the language lies
a talented, creative mind
overflowing with ideas I could listen to
forever
like a fawn that has never glimpsed the lions,
the world is his to run free
so young, fragile, and full of dreams -
he could do most anything
excites my mind and moves my heart
to beat like the pulse of exotic drums
distant, gradually growing nearer
images of him pass through my mind
with the sweet cadence of a flowing river
sending thoughts like ripples to my shore ~

Copyright ©2004 Angela Schofield

Author's note: Josh was a college buddy. We were tight friends, bound by our love of music (especially the Indigo Girls), taking the same classes, sitting next to each other, giggling and goofing off in class (Our poetry professor hated us!). Even with the welcome distraction I still somehow managed to get straight A's. He on the other hand had ADD and didn't care much about grades, routinely receiving C's and D's (even with my aid).

We came from opposite backgrounds; me the white, backwoods country girl and goody two-shoes and he the innner-city boy with a Korean heritage, rough exterior, and juvi record. He was only a couple years younger than me but had this youthful, rebellious exuberance about him that made the age difference seem greater. And I, of course, had a major crush on him.

We parted ways soon after I left school and I've thought of him from time to time, wondering how his life turned out. I doubt he even remembers me, some people just touch our lives and become instantly memorable, and he touched mine for some reason. I'm sure whatever path he's chosen for himself has been a wacky, imaginitive, and successful adventure. He was full of potential and an extremely creative and gifted young man.

Man, Haiku is harder than it looks! Structure makes it more challenging but I've always been partial to structure in poetry. I'm starting to get bored with my cookie-cutter, sing-songy poems though. So lately I'm trying to break out and free flow when I write, but the concept seems a little lost on me, or the other way around. Maybe I just need to tap into my imaginitive inner child; she's there somewhere fingerpainting a rainbow-haired unicorn or some crap.

Haiku of the Day

Photo courtesy of jmhuttun

tender the tendrils
clothed in crimson bodices
bowing to the sky ~

Copyright ©2009 Angela Schofield

The Sailboat

The ocean thinks nothing of a sailboat
caught in its powerful current
It sends waves randomly, mercilessly
because it must

The small boat topples then rights itself
again and again, struggling for the shore
It will succumb to the sea, sinking helplessly
because it must

If only you were the sail boat and I were the sea...
But as it is, I cannot hate you for raging on
while to your depths I plummet silently
because you must ~


Copyright ©2003 Angela Schofield

Haiku of the Day

is this what you see

wherever you are tonight

do you think of me? ~


Copyright ©2009 Angela Schofield

Okay so I typed "photo" into Google, picked this one, and just wrote this really fast. I forgot how difficult it is to be limited to 5-7-5! I'll try harder next time.

Longing

I long to be fulfilled in every way
hot breath, soft lips
a mouth hungry for mine
and when we kiss our souls meet
know me, love me
reach deep inside
bring me to the peak of bliss
let me slide back down
cradled in arms
smooth and strong,
my heart safe and sound ~

Copyright ©2004 Angela Friberg

Author's Notes:
I'll never forget my 10th grade English teacher taking off points for using a cliche in a poem. She said it was otherwise wonderful but the cliche ruined it. I thought it was wonderful even with the cliche. It's great to have your own voice and your own way of describing things, but sometimes the common phrase just fits better. I tried to find something to replace "safe and sound" at the end of this poem but I can't bring myself to delete those words, I like them too much in that anchoring spot at the end. So forget what the poetry critics have to say, you can't go wrong if you are honest and write what feels good!

Haiku

Grazing, lazily
Softened by the morning fog
Landscape lush with green ~


Copyright ©2004 Angela Schofield

Gosh, I miss doing the daily Haiku on poetry.com before it got jacked up. I guess I could start my own - pick a random photo off Google and just write!

Random Thought of the Day

Why is it so often the most beautiful of people, inside and out, who have no idea they are beautiful?

My Grandmother Is...

My Grandmother is:
a purple housecoat made of satin
lavender and cold cream
bobby pins, so her hair won't flatten
a hand like velvet on my cheek

My Grandmother is:
a gentle spirit, deep as a well
strength, wisdom, and love
worry when the baby robins fell
relief to find them safe above

My Grandmother is:
the beauty of lilacs in full bloom
Bingo cards and slot machines
trips to coffee in the afternoon
'Wheel of Fortune' every evening

My Grandmother is:
a farm girl who worked hard all her life
old Cadillacs and dollar stores
a friend, a mother, a loving wife
but a grandmother to her core

My Grandmother is:
all these things, and more...

Copyright ©2002 Angela Schofield

Haiku

my heart the sun that
sinks in the evening sky
longing for quiet ~


Copyright ©2004 Angela Friberg

7 minutes (flirting with a girl)

waiting in line at the grocery store
just a glance
her eyes meet mine by chance
then quickly look away
I can't help but notice her face light up
and cheeks flush when she smiles
such friendly, inviting eyes
she seems so nice
as if I already know her
soft and sweet
something deep down is telling me
to reach for that bag of
Skittles I'll never eat
I brush her bare arm
her skin is warm, lovely
I know she noticed
pleasant chills run head to toe
getting goosebumps
so new to me,
dangerous, thrilling
I stand slightly closer than
a stranger really should
and there's a feeling like
electricity between her body and mine...

wait. what am I doing?
I have a boyfriend waiting for me at home.
(at least someone will eat the Skittles)

but now my heart is pounding again
and all I can think of is this
beautiful stranger, this graceful creature
just inches from me
I need an excuse to lean in again or speak to her
but the line is moving and we're almost there...
it's too late.
I watch as she empties her cart onto the conveyor belt
and makes small talk with the cashier -
he's ringing her up far too quickly
Jerk.
as she bags her mundane items
she makes the briefest glances up at me
as though she's trying not to,
but can't help herself
suddenly I feel embarrased, exposed, foolish...
as if the whole world knows
my private, forbidden thoughts
but then as she leaves she gives a coy smile
that unmistakably says I noticed you too
and with that my day is made ~

Copyright ©2000 Angela Schofield

words are just thoughts until someone else hears them

our lives are a vision
scattered with false words,
ambiguous smiles, and pleasant chatter
a comment on the world
every view unique,
but does it really matter?

we swarm the streets like insects
in this political reality,
souls barren, minds weak
at the end of the day
when I fall to my knees,
it's Your name I will speak ~

Copyright ©2008 Angela Schofield

Fragile

where woods meet the shore
there as water meets the sky
we'll meet, you and I
to plan the plans and dream the dreams
as fleeting as the sand's warmth
or the way you look at me
one by one the waves roll in
kiss my toes and then retreat
and you, holding that sand dollar
as if you're afraid it will break in your hand,
look perfect and still
perfect and still... ~

Copyright ©2009 Angela Friberg

Crushed

removed from his delicious affections
I am crushed.
screams converge in a lump between my chest and lips,
I pause in breathless need ~

Copyright ©2003 Angela Schofield

I the Butterfly

I the butterfly
wrapped by silky desire forbidden
fastened still in quiet shadows
born in your love ~

Copyright ©2003 Angela Schofield

Letter to My Love

To the world, a hard shell
but I know the softness inside
I know your strengths, your weaknesses,
the sound your heart makes when you sleep at night

Something beautiful in your soul
no words can describe
Like the perfect love song
you play my heart in perfect time

And wherever you go
my heart follows your lead
I'd follow to the river's edge
descend my heart's reprieve

For your response I'll wait
'til my time here ends
if I find no greater peace
than the comfort that it lends ~

Copyright ©2003 Angela Schofield

Particles

Red party, blue party, holy party
Birthday party
Part of me, part of you
Breathing the same particles
Of gas and earth and toxic things
Ice partly melted
Blood parts the waters
Imparting logic where
Ramparts block the truth
Of gas and earth and toxic things
For the most part people do
Nothing in particular
Partly here, partly there
Departing from humanity
Never fully anywhere
Breathing the same particles
Of gas and earth and toxic things ~

Copyright ©2004 Angela Schofield