Pockets of Lovely

poetry to tuck alongside your to-do list

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The Last Days of Summer

September 3, 2019

by Abigail Rudibaugh

I find myself desperate
for the green and blue
temporary backdrop.

The older I get the longer
I want things to last—
like the smell of sunscreen
mixed with citronella
and the time it take
to untangle the hose.
Simple pleasures
measuring all that is glad.

Every thing feels more
temporary, the older I get
like winter, sure to leave
its mark—
sure to leave me
staring upward a bit
longer each summer.

· Labels: original poetry Tagged: HopeWriters, Inspiration, parenthood, PocketsofLovely, Poetry, Summer

For Everything There Is a Season

September 3, 2019

by Abigail Rudibaugh

Mountain pose took a full ascension to reach.
Both kids dressed, fed, doors locked,
seats buckled, caretaker swap,
left me tiptoeing into meditation.

But here I am showing up, unfolding my mat,
joining the class with arms reaching out
my palms turning up as I surrender
all the things I did not do right.

What a luxury to indulge in the responsibility
of finding where my body feels tense.

My toes sink deep into the black vinyl
as I plant my left leg. My little toe bubbles
under the new weight my right leg gives it,
rising strong and hips evening.

I watch my footprint fade back to the surface
like wet sand on a beach at low tide.
I am proud of my self, of my stance,
of my mind clearing up enough to hold this.

I close my eyes, hands to heart center,
body bent in warrior pose. Strong.

I lower my legs to forward fold,
up to mountain pose, arms outstretched,
palms surrendering yet again as I fold
with my left leg lifted. This time content
expecting the print I made to dissolve again.

· Labels: original poetry Tagged: HopeWriters, Inspiration, motherhood, parenthood, PocketsofLovely, Poetry, yoga

In Case We Miss It

July 31, 2019

There’s poetry
in half-eaten breakfast bars
in princess band-aids
she wears like it carries
a light of its own.

There’s poetry
in pool shoes layered in mud
in plastic coins gathering
on the bottom of the straw purse
in the crumbs unswept
under the kitchen table.

There’s flesh, blood,
hearts pounding,
energy pulsing,
preferences reflecting persons
reflecting unveiled treasure
upon treasure.

With a second look
we see them
if we are lucky
before we clear our plates
after breakfast.

Leave a Comment · Labels: original poetry Tagged: HopeWriters, Inspiration, motherhood, parenthood, PocketsofLovely, Poetry

We Went Nowhere

July 31, 2019

Yesterday was giggles
and all day pajamas
finding new life 
in cardboard and string.

We went nowhere

except for the mattress-
turned boat that helped
us find monsters.

except for the pantry
shelves holding new
countries and hemispheres.

except for the colors
we used to create
worlds of our own.

We went nowhere.

Leave a Comment · Labels: original poetry Tagged: HopeWriters, Inspiration, motherhood, parenthood, PocketsofLovely, Poetry

A Day of Yellow

July 31, 2019

Our house holds
a rainbow by lunch.
Blues in the sleepy
eyes trying to blink
open turn to purple
like grape jam spread
on everyone’s toast.

Green is the color
of distaste for the eggs
that keep the kids
from being excused.
Orange is sun warming
toys for another day of play.

But something happens
around 9am. Boredom,
wanting more snacks,
or wishing they could have
a show. The volume turns
up the walls like a kettle
of grocery lists and clothing
preference feuds staining
all we own a deep red.

We need a release so
we pack the bags and
head for the door.

Cool air and no rain welcomed
at the door and the kids
run up the yard opposite
the car. I don’t yell.
Something about the grass
hitting our feet and so much
air between us quiets
the churning boil, diffusing
all the red to a calm yellow.

Leave a Comment · Labels: original poetry Tagged: HopeWriters, Inspiration, motherhood, parenthood, PocketsofLovely, Poetry

Awake and Dreaming

July 30, 2019

My daughter creeps downstairs
without creaking a single board.
She knew it was way past bedtime.
Opening my door, I see her,
get out of my own bed to meet her,
and take her back upstairs.

But instead of her hand reaching
for mine, my outstretched hand
grabs her decorated paper.
“Mom, I made this for you!”
speaks out of a full smile shared
with both her lips and blue eyes.

The paper holds an ice cream cone
colored a bright rainbow flavor.
She must have turned the light on
(after I switched it off) and went
to work coloring at her table.

How could I be mad
with marker all over her hand
and an hour of missed sleep?
I’m holding her dreams
she still knows she can achieve
right on this colorful sheet.

Leave a Comment · Labels: original poetry Tagged: Childhood, Creativity, HopeWriters, Inspiration, parenthood, PocketsofLovely, Poetry

After Dinner Writing

July 29, 2019

The end to the day is the child
sweetly dreaming by 8pm.
There is a diligence, and a frustration,
when it takes longer than expected.
Rewind to 4 in afternoon when
the baby’s sleepy eyes wake from a nap.
Only ninety more minutes to explore and
build until the day turns into routine:
Cut the asparagus, bring the chicken out
of oven, and set the table for three.
Pass potatoes and retell the day
until the “all done” hands raise.
Wipe faces, pour toys into the warm
bath, and help find the set of pjs.

The familiar rhythm carries you
toward lavender lotion, and hair combing,
and promises of bedtime books.
Pull out the step stool and brush
each tooth until it tickles.  Tuck you
and baby into the suede arm chair
in the corner and read Goodnight Moon
and goofy Dr. Seuss. Pray holding
tiny hands—curled inside yours.
When you switch the light, decide
how many verses of “Amazing Grace”
you need to sing.  Let white noise
conclude with the crib of blankets,
Bunny, and a sleeping child soon.

When I think about the writing process,
it is much the same—
Preparing for the close of day and
preparing what you want to say.
Rewind to the morning at 10:15
when you see a tiger play ball
behind the zoo’s glass. Her power is
radiant, but you also glimpse
her loneliness, and you ache over
misconceptions just now coming
to surface—how maybe too much
power can isolate—you hold tight
the idea until it is strapped
to a folded notecard you carry with you
just in case. Jot down a few words
and hope they ignite into something
far more complete, later.

Tonight produces words on paper
and a heartbeat in punctuation.
The day can take minutes or months
as you slow to taste the possible words,
looking for the right flavor in your retelling.
You let the water rush onto your page
as the foam letters move and take
different shapes.  You clothe in a set
that fits you best: comb, rinse, and then
let it sit.  Read other writers until
you feel calm enough to turn off the light,
letting lullabies lead you to the pillow
you can finally rest your poem.

Leave a Comment · Labels: original poetry Tagged: HopeWriters, Inspiration, motherhood, parenthood, PocketsofLovely, Poetry, writing

Meet Abigail

Abigail Rudibaugh calls Cincinnati, Ohio home alongside her husband and two young daughters. A literary enthusiast at heart, Abigail spends her early mornings crafting poetry and the rest of the day looking for poems.

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Instagram post 2187144837441458477_8605418532 Happy Thanksgiving 🍁🦃
Instagram post 2186405871565952197_8605418532 “The world is full of painful stories. Sometimes it seems as though there aren't any other kind and yet I found myself thinking how beautiful that glint of water was through the trees.”
—from Octavia Butler’s The Parable of the Sower
Instagram post 2185688549893187376_8605418532 Daylight Savings Time
By Abigail Rudibaugh

With each month comes new changes.
I have felt them.

Not being able to write
on my back porch in the mornings,
the tattered robin no longer sitting
on the sixth fence panel to the left
while he watches the chipmunk
take his turn hunting acorns
on the ground.  I miss the deer.

With the turn of the season,
I’m moving houses all over again.

The man who trims his flowers Thursdays
was not out last week.
I imagine his mason jar lonely on the table
hungry for fresh air
with its room for fresh blooms.

My new morning finds home
in the corner coffee shop
espresso grinding, ear buds buzzing,
hustle all around this tiny table.

With each month comes new changes.
I have felt them.
Instagram post 2183661840146637005_8605418532 Whew!  I spent the morning wrapping my mind around logistics for the holiday week and then all of December because, my, how quick it fills up!

And then I poured a second cup of coffee and pulled up Twitter, but immediately felt myself even more worn out from all strong opinions and lines being drawn and people being mean and gosh, don’t we all have a pie or two to make?

So I’m exiting out of that mess and warming up my oven for some practice pie making and poem reading in the quiet afternoon hours.

We may even open a box of Christmas decorations because it’s raining outside and why not? ✨

Consider these flowers my virtual gift to you in the midst of a world that seems to constantly be shouting.  I hope your Saturday finds moments of quiet and slow, too. 💐
Instagram post 2182775678712560090_8605418532 Happy Friday!  It is an honor to announce the release of the Noble Pursuit magazine, in whose pages a Pocket of Lovely poem has a home. 💕

The mission is “to tell stories from a world of good that elevate hidden heroes, encourage hearts and inspire impact.” I mean?! These are the stories I need to be hearing and I trust they would lift your heart as well.

I put a link in my bio if you’d like to order your copy or follow @noblepursuitmag for more information.

Let’s walk into this new decade trusting good does indeed prevail.  May these stories help remind us.

And a big thanks to the ladies behind the scenes of this magazine who have worked so hard for so long on it.  It’s so beautiful. 💕 #livenobly
Instagram post 2182077503651641649_8605418532 This morning I pushed myself out the door and chugged coffee like it was water.

My writing time couldn’t be as long due to our schedule, but I knew I still needed it, even if it just meant writing a few more words that were not there yesterday.

I could choose to be agitated by the time constraint.
I could also choose to be grateful for those few new words.

You know where I’m going with this.

May I remind you to look for the good, even when your eyes are still more closed than they are open and your schedule feels like it includes everyone’s needs but your own.

There are pockets of lovely still, like the neighbor who leaves his Christmas lights on all night for you to see this morning,
like the wintergreen and pine diffusing,
like the surprising moment of calm in morning routine you let yourself sit down to marvel.

This was all before 8am.  Your day, my day, the various pockets, the collective good, are just getting started.  Enjoy. ✨
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