"dazzle gradually"

"Dazzle Gradually" 2017 poems, paintings, new art & photography--a diary, a discipline, a delight. Read over my shoulder as I post my unedited poetry ---you can see it in the raw or get my first book and see how the work evolves with new books rolling out next year.

Polly Alice

Sunday, October 10, 2010


Sorry everyone, I can't seem to stop rhyming.  It annoys me too.  I don't mind if you skip the rhymed ones.
Hopefully it will pass, or at least get better.  I promised to write what each poem was about and I'm very behind.  This one was inspired by opening my car door while I had the keys in the ignition and my seat belt was off.  Why does my car tell me what to do?  Don't I have any choices left in life?  I hope I will never let my car decide when to parallel park or to brake.  What if it is wrong?  I'd rather be responsible for my own actions with my own errors, if it means I still have some responsibility left.  And who decided that everything in my house must beep?  The coffee pot beeps twice when its ready and twice when its done. There is no off switch.  I have no choice to but hear a loud grating noise.  My dryer beeps, and there is no choice about it.  My microwave beeps.  They are all loud ugly noises.  Surely advanced technology could solve this.  Why not no sound at all?  I can tell when the coffee is done.  Well, now you see why poems are better than prose.  My prose is just whining and angst.  Hopefully the poems have something else instead of that.  I mean there's the rhyme, that has to sound better than beeping.

Remember Bells?

I remember them, we called them bells.
Ring, shake, or strike-- then came a sound
which started softly then grew loud.
Bells were what called us to wake, or to pray
they even chimed the time of day.
Musical as birds, they pealed into arcs
of shouts or murmurs, hymns, or larks.
They were nothing like a beep, a bop, or a bark
they didn't make you grit your teeth like a shark.
They didn't nag you to buckle up
or shriek when the door wasn't shut.
They didn't wake you with a grinding roar,
or spike as the microwave door was ajar.
Bells were nice, gentle and sweet
low, proudly murmuring, or deep.
I wish that bells were coming back into style,
I'd take those loud beeps-- they'd be quickly filed
right in the recycler with all of the cans--
Beeps and bops would forever be banned.
I'd happily whistle all day long,
maybe I'd even have room for a song.

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