Christopher Donahue

Here’s my last effort from the poetry workshop.  It is a poetic form from the early-Renaissance troubadour days known as the sestina.  Basically, you pick six (6) words that mean something to you and use them at the end of the first six line stanza. The next five stanzas use the same words as ending words but jumble around the order. For instance, my first stanza ended with: yummy (1), Vermont (2), cats (3), mountains (4), vacation (5), and fun (6). The next stanza ends with: fun (6), yummy (1), vacation (5), Vermont (2), mountains (4), cats (3). The order jumbles for another four stanzas. The final stanza, the envoi, is three lines 5-3-1 that must include the other words 2-4-6. Or something like that.

What I learned is early- Renaissance poets took better care picking the six words than I did!

Maple sugar pancakes yummy
up away from town in Vermont
in the company of my trusty cats
away from the bustle high in the mountains
enjoying time like it’s a vacation
having fun

I like to have fun
eating treats so yummy
it’s like I’m on a flavor vacation
in maple sugary Vermont
cookies piled high like mountains
ravenously eyed by my hungry cats

Really, where would I be without my trusty cats?
Few friends of mine have been so dependable and fun
They live with me now near the sea but came from the mountains
they will gladly do tricks for something yummy
like they did in Vermont
when we were on vacation

I’m always ready for vacation
and ready to pack up my cats
traveling up to their homeland Vermont
to stay in the old farmhouse for fun
enjoying treats yummy
in a valley in the mountains

I love summer in the mountains
away from the city on vacation
grilling and cookies yummy
with Felix and Quiet Rustle the cats
Having nothing but fun
up in Vermont

It’s not a long drive to Vermont
away from the flat-landers in the mountains
Having fun
on vacation
with my cats
who like their treats yummy

Vermont on vacation
my pair of mountain cats
Having fun and treats yummy

copyright 2018 Christopher Donahue

My wife Andrea and I really enjoyed the poetry writing workshop these past two weekends at the West Roxbury Branch of the BPL. The workshop was facilitated by poet Mary Pinard who was wonderful and helped us all get over our fear of poetry and writers block. Here’s my extremely modest effort at Haiku English language-style:

February

cold, gray, and dreary

like enduring the flu

then my Valentine

copyright 2018 Christopher Donahue

One of my favorite places to go is the library. And that’s where my wife and I found ourselves on a winter afternoon last saturday. Libraries are special to me because I grew up in a family that revered books and reading. Also, I grew up in a time when books were where you found knowledge and wisdom, and books were kept in libraries. Nowadays knowledge is thoroughly mixed with opinions and kept on the internet.

My wife and I were at the library last weekend for a poetry writing workshop. We went on a lark and it was a lot of fun. I am trying to get her to post her poems on Facebook at least.

As a prelude to up coming National Poetry month, here’s some doggerel from the work shop:

A Letter To Wisdom

Dear Wisdom,

I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch

as often as I wanted to

the business of life

makes me forget to try

to connect with you.

As always, I’m not sure

You will get this

or that you will respond,

or I will understand if you do.

copyright 2018 Christopher Donahue

Damn, he was in a rush again. Why did he do this to himself?

A glance at the kitchen clock confirmed he was running late. What followed was a mad search for his wallet, watch, smartphone and backpack so he could leave for work. At the last second he realized he needed a lunch. The left-over chicken from Saturday would do the trick. He opened the fridge, grabbed a big, handful of chicken out of the bowl and tossed it in some plastic-ware.  He dashed out the door with minutes to spare to catch the train.

Later at work, he settled down to lunch at a table in the break room. Opening up the plastic, he eyeballed the bland, chicken tossed in there. His friends were debating how many about Spaghetti Westerns Clint Eastwood starred in back in the sixties as he noshed on his tasteless lunch.

“O.K., there’s The Good, The Bad and the Ugly. And there’s For a Few Dollrs More. But what’s the name of the first one?”

Silence. He looked up from his sad lunch.

“A Fistful of Chicken, ” he replied.

The millienials took him seriously.

copyright 2018 Christopher Donahue

It seemed like a good idea at the time, Christmastime to be precise.

The first blast of truly winter weather was hitting New England. It was a week  before Christmas. I looked out the window from our toasty warm kitchen  at the snow coming down. My thoughts turned to my little furry and feathered friends who were weathering the storm outside. I filled the birdfeeders earlier in the day and put two big, uncarved pumpkins from Halloween out for the squirrels to get the pumpkin seeds.

As the snow came down, we were taking a break from wrapping presents and setting up the Christmas tree.  My wife was assembling the necessary ingredients for making brownies in the pantry  when she came across an old bag of potatoes. There were only a few spuds in the bag but they were spongey and had sprouts growing out the eyes.

“These need to be tossed” she said as she handed me the bag.

“I’ll take care of it, ” I said.

Little did she know how literally I would  fulfill her request. My plan was to  toss the potatoes out back for the raccoons, opossum and other critters that were toughing out the storm.

Out on the back porch the storm was really blowing. I heaved the first potato and it disappeared into the snowy night, landing with a thump on the garage roof. Clearly, I didn’t throw it hard enough. I put more oomph into the next toss and the potato seemed to clear the garage. I couldn’t be sure in the dark with the snow coming down. I chucked the last spud and went back inside the house.

The next day dawned bright and clear. Unfortunately, when I went to work I could clearly see all three potatoes on the roof of the garage with a little topping of snow on each. I hoped know one would notice. Christmas was just a week away.

Over the next several days there was a thaw. The snow on the garage roof entirely melted away revealing three potatoes randomly arrayed on the roof.  My wife hadn’t noticed them so I thought I was in the clear.

My neighbor noticed them right away.

“Looks like there are three potatoes on your garage roof,” he observed dryly.

“I put them up there so Santa’s reindeer would have something to eat, ” I replied.

Being a man of tact my neighbor didn’t ask  anymore questions. He’s a great guy.

Christmas morning I  came out and found the potatoes in the drive way. They had rolled off the roof in the night. I discretely disposed of the spuds.

If my neighbor asks what happened, or my wife, I’m blaming it on Rudolph!

Merry Christmas!!!

copyright 2017 Christopher Donahue

Several days ago, someone cut me off when I was driving. I blasted the horn at them and gave them the finger.

And the elves were watching.

Another day, I was on the commuter train, standing in the aisle waiting to get off at the next stop. Contrary to the dictates of common courtesy, I declined to let the people in the seats to my left and right get up and disembark ahead of me. I just barged off the train.

And the elves were watching.

In the court house, I saw an attorney confidently striding along with a four-foot piece of toilet paper stuck to his shoe and streaming behind him. I did not inform him of his predicament because I thought it was too funny.

And the elves were watching.

At work, a woman passionately expressed her political beliefs. As she left the break room, I turned to a colleague and asked: “Has she been sniffing glue?!?!?!

And the elves were watching.

At home, I had the temerity to doubt whether my wife was right about something.

And the elves were watching.

Also at home, I saw a hair-ball coughed up by one of our cats  and made believe I didn’t see it,  hoping my wife would clean it up.

And the elves were watching.

I should stop.

The elves certainly have enough material. When Santa reviews the report, I hope he takes into account all the good things I did this year.

Hope for the best and prepare for a bag of coal under the tree is what my mother always said.

And the elves were watching!

Merry Christmas!

copyright 2017 Christopher Donahue

My mother and my sister both passed away three months apart back in 2010. Their deaths were unrelated,  but with both of them gone, our family holidays were basically blown up. My mother with all her cooking and holiday-drama was the center of the Thanksgiving and Christmas get-togethers. My sister who passed away, was the heir apparent. With both of them passed away, the center could not hold and the surviving family members spun out to find new traditions of their own.

Thankfully, my mother-in-law was still alive and the plan was to drive to Vermont and take her and her friends out to Thanksgiving dinner. And I was thankful to be spending the day with my wonderful wife. But things had changed in the Green Mountain state too. The old farm house was gone and we wouldn’t be staying over night in a bed-and -breakfast. My wife and I would drive up and back in a day because we both we’re working the following Friday.

Despite appearances, I was feeling a bit sorry for myself as we headed to Vermont that morning.  It was really foolish to feel that way. Several friends had invited us over to their homes for Turkey-Day, and in alternate years we had my mother-in-law down to our place for Thanksgiving dinner. And I planned to cook a turkey breast over the weekend so I could have leftovers.

Before we headed north, we stopped by a nearby church where friends were cooking dinner for people who had nowhere to go on Thanksgiving.  The years when I’m in town I like to volunteer with them. My wife and I had a quick coffee and chatted with our friends in the church hall before we headed to Vermont. The weather was beautiful and the drive up with no traffic was nice and problem free.

Three hours later we met my mother-in-law  and her friends at the restaurant. We were thankful to enjoy Thanksgiving dinner with them and the restaurant had a pleasant view overlooking the Connecticut river.  I was still feeling sorry for myself so  I ordered a Middle-Eastern hummus plate with the excuse I wanted to eat something light before the drive back. I told myself I’d eat turkey on the weekend.  After the traditional desserts, we bid adieu to my mother-in-law and her friends and headed home. It was a nice time.

Hours later, in town at a stop light, I realized I was being silly not having turkey on Thanksgiving day. I decided to stop by a convenience store deli and get a quarter pound of turkey to keep my streak going.

The deli was dark and shuttered as we pulled up. But across the street was the brightly lit church where my friends were serving Thanksgiving dinner for people who had no where to go. I looked at my watch and we still had time.

My wife and I entered the church hall. We were immediately welcomed by our friends who were surprised we’d returned.   I enjoyed a small plate of leftovers- turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing and gravy. It was wonderful. I felt like George Baily coming home to his friends and family.

The only person missing was Zuzu!

copyright 2017 Christopher Donahue

Vibrant yellow leaves swirled down and down until they landed around a distracted McQuade. He was raking and didn’t notice the new additions to his growing pile. He was taking the afternoon off to rake after visiting a friend that morning who was at home in hospice care.

McQuade had visited Justin and his wife Shannon earlier that morning. They had a wonderful time drinking coffee in the sunlit kitchen and reminiscing about college days. He’d known both of them for most of his adult life. He was Justin’s best man.  After several hours of pleasant chit chat, Justin got tired and Shannon put him to bed for a nap. That was the cue for McQuade to leave. Shannon broke down in tears at the door. McQuade hugged her. Again he said he would do anything for her and the girls. What else could he say?

Driving home, his mind elsewhere,  he almost drove through a stop sign and then a red light. It was good he didn’t have to go far. When he pulled into the yard, he decided raking leaves might be all he could handle at the moment. And it was such a beautiful day at least he’d be outside.

McQuade raked for a half-hour or so before he noticed the tomatoes.  He had forgotten all about the garden. Back in September, he harvested what he thought was the last of the tomatoes, then put the garden out of mind. But there were the tomatoes plants, still hanging on,  wildly overgrown and laden with quite a few green tomatoes.

Every year it was the same thing. The late crop  would come forth and not have time to ripen before the heavy frosts. It always seemed like such a waste.

He leaned his rake against the fenceand fumbled in his pocket for a pipe and tobacco. The pipe was a leaf raking tradition handed down by his father. As the wisps of smoke curled up from the newly lit bowl, there’s no denying winter is coming, he thought.

copyright 2017 Christopher Donahue

On an October evening, I stood under the starry sky thinking how the earth had again traveled around the sun. Summer drew to a close weeks ago. The change to Autumn reminded me the great celestial mechanism keeps turning, and spinning whether I’m paying attention or not.

Under the stars that night, I realized we are living in a universe-size time machine. The starry night sky is an illusion. The light from each star is delayed by years, or thousands or millions of years before it reaches my eye. Each twinkling star might have ceased to exits and I wouldn’t know. Any particular star could be destroyed, gone nova a thousand years ago and the light from the blast has yet to reach me.
And while the stars wheel in the sky above me, and I try to live in the moment, a few newly acquired gray hairs remind me this machine never stops.

Copyright 2017 Christopher Donahue