Showing posts with label Nostalgia. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Nostalgia. Show all posts

Thursday, March 27, 2014


photo © 2014 jennifer wagner

extra treats,
longer hugs.

laryngeal paralysis
& age
are taking you
the next phase.

we mentally
try to hear
the future

of hefty paws
padding the floor,
and your bones
with the creaking of the stairs.

we say things like:

remember when he stole that entire ham?
we’ll never have another dog
like him.
he’s happy;
he’s had a good life.
i want to be the one to dig his grave,
when you know,

your slow-wag tail,
your chocolate eyes
melt us

and each of us
for how
we can learn to say,

do svidaniya, drug.

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

I’ve been working on this one for a while.  Too emotional.  Our big, mellow Labrador, Druke, is 13 years old and the signs are all there.  “Druke” is how we spell his name, pronounced “drug/droogk” meaning “friend” in Russian.

до свидания, друг

Thursday, December 12, 2013

What Flavor are Your Snowflakes?

Remember when
came in our favorite flavors—

running to catch them
on our tongues,
delighted smiles
on our faces?

Mine’s peppermint!
MmmGrandma’s peanut brittle!
I got egg nog!

Catching them in our hands,
licking the

dark chocolate-orange,
sugar plum

and catching in hollows

where mittens

in the perfect snow globe
of our imaginations.

Do you think we’re meant to
carry those wishes
with us
as we grow?
And as we grow,
that they should grow too?


clean water
filling hollows,
a fresh well
for life.

But that’s my flavor,
what’s in your snow globe?

2.5 billion people in the world do not have access to adequate sanitation.  That’s one in three of the world's population.  Poor water/sanitation/hygiene is the second leading cause of death in children under the age of 5 in the world, sub-Saharan Africa being the top affected region.

Statistics and information:

I can’t personally vouch for any of these organizations/charities as far as donations and outcome.  I’m doing research myself for our family to get involved.  Here’s to impacting our world with our dreams.  Happy Holidays!

Saturday, August 10, 2013

Little Dark-eyed Junco

photo © 2013 Jennifer Wagner

Welcome to Rubbletown,
and thanks for leaving.
Don’t let the saloon doors
hit ya on the backside on yer way out.

Rope yerself a farmer’s daughter
cuz the sheriff here does all the ropin’
of the choicest stock.

He gets a cut down at
The Delmonico,
making fodder for Madame Maynard’s
…err, establishment.

That sheriff, he’s a mean cuss.
See them boots?
Silver-tipped and intricate all up the sides?
He dips ‘em in rattlesnake venom.
And he’ll kick ya ‘til yer skin splits
and rots, black as raven’s feathers.

He’s the devil alright.
And the devil deals in hearts.
That’s why I’ve sleeved
a spade.

One day he’s gonna ask
the wrong "purty lil' thang"
to dance.

© 2013 Jennifer Wagner

At dVerse we’re writing cowboy poetry.  The Delmonico was a Hotel and Restaurant and suspicioned to have rooms leased to Madame Henrietta Maynard in Port Townsend, WA in the early 1900’s.  I’ve based my fictionalized poem on accounts found in the “Bars & Bordellos” booklet from the Jefferson County Historical Society (pictured). 

Tuesday, February 5, 2013

Postcard 77

i had just turned six when
Elvis died
my mom with her long, dark hair
and my aunt, blonde and long too—

sat out on the steps
with their friends
and their short shorts, sobbing;
Tab and real Pepsi
in the bottle
Virginia Slims between the index
and middle

i watched,
barefoot in the warm shade;
topaz eyes full and wide,
little legs tan; and tendril-bleached,
umber hair, wild—

even i knew i wouldn’t  forget
where i was that day
when i heard
‘Are You Lonesome Tonight’
in the background
and cried too

Copyright © 2013 Jennifer Wagner

Sliding in to link up with the amazing poets at dVerse Poets Pub for OpenLinkNight.

revised 2.6.13

Saturday, January 12, 2013

Jukebox (Boombox), Baby

Joan Jett on cassette
softball summers
of field-dirt-crusted scabs
on my knees
and thighs
sliding into second
my dad said I never did it quite right
because there should be more on my thighs
if I were

a cherry Tootsie Roll Pop
with a ‘tude
sneaking gin and Jack Daniels
and smokes
dreaming of VW Super Beetles with glitter in the paint
or a ‘64 convertible Mustang, cherry red too, of course—
and The Outsiders

in audible
relief, mom and dad,
I didn’t turn out wielding
a six-string and blowing sugar pops
but still I do
Love Rock ‘n Roll

Copyright 2013 Jennifer Wagner

At dVerse Poets Pub master prompter and poet Stuart McPherson has us writing about 'Growing Up'

Thursday, June 28, 2012

Old Tan Oldsmobile

I could practically smell the cigarettes

Though the windows were rolled up
In the aging tan-colored Oldsmobile

It is the first thing I noticed, strangely

A sun-shriveled old face
Peered above the steering wheel

Crowned by a large straw hat

We were united he and I
Two travelers, strangers

Our only common ground the numbing freeway

I began to wonder about his life
And wonder if he wondered about mine

I imagined him an artist
A widower, missing his children

Who again forgot to send a card

I could see him on the old dock
On the summer lake at dusk

Sitting cross-legged, casting his line

Thinking of the malignancy
That took them all from him

That steady current in his own veins

I craved to know his stories
A little girl version of Manolin

And suddenly he was The Old Man and the Sea

As I made my exit
My eyes lingered on the aged auto, aged hat, aged man

Continuing together to amble the road

I silently wished him farewell
And for his final battle, one

Not so bitter-sweet as Santiago’s

Copyright 2012 Jennifer Wagner 
Added to The Poetry Pantry