Life: Instructions Not Included
Travel with Diane down haunting roads of unresolved conflicts. Her poems exhibit a fresh and provocative honesty. Her small-town, Catholic-Italian background, help to broaden her experiences, as depicted through her poetry with wit and imagery. Diane often quotes an old Irish proverb: "May we never forget the times worth remembering, nor remember those best forgotten." Perhaps now, she may live by these words.
1103780645
Life: Instructions Not Included
Travel with Diane down haunting roads of unresolved conflicts. Her poems exhibit a fresh and provocative honesty. Her small-town, Catholic-Italian background, help to broaden her experiences, as depicted through her poetry with wit and imagery. Diane often quotes an old Irish proverb: "May we never forget the times worth remembering, nor remember those best forgotten." Perhaps now, she may live by these words.
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Overview
Travel with Diane down haunting roads of unresolved conflicts. Her poems exhibit a fresh and provocative honesty. Her small-town, Catholic-Italian background, help to broaden her experiences, as depicted through her poetry with wit and imagery. Diane often quotes an old Irish proverb: "May we never forget the times worth remembering, nor remember those best forgotten." Perhaps now, she may live by these words.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781456739973 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | AuthorHouse |
| Publication date: | 02/22/2011 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 64 |
| File size: | 288 KB |
About the Author
Diane DePhillips, a mother of five sons and two step-daughters, is well-versed in life's twists and turns. She studied English at Drake University, graduating with a teaching degree. In addition to being a short-story author and poet, she published a romantic mystery novel, By the Scruff of the Neck (2004). She resides in Des Moines, Iowa with husband, Mike Bean.
Read an Excerpt
Life: Instructions Not Included
By Diane DePhillips
AuthorHouse
Copyright © 2011 Diane DePhillipsAll right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4567-3996-6
Chapter One
BY DEFINITIONScraps of scribbled speech
pressed between Pinsky and Poe
wait
while poet picks the perfect word.
Dynamic, delicate
concise, precise –
the collection savors sense and sound
assigning significance.
Like a precious stone
the final draft reflects
the soul of the writer.
FOR BEAUTY'S SAKE
When sister strutted down the street
careless ropes of broad
glossy ebony locks
spilled out from a chartreuse beret.
Mother rolled her agreeable strands
with ripped strips
of recycled sheeting.
With rags removed
twisted bouncy
obedient Shirley Temple
ringlets remained.
My walk on the wildside
bribed board-straight
filaments to crawl to curl.
Arguable hair brutally bent
twirled tightly
wound round the forefinger
fatally stabbed
with a bobby pin
initiated the torture.
Restricted movement stretched
from dusk to dawn.
Come daybreak
shackles rudely removed
Mother brushed with abandon
sweeping wayward hairs
with porcupine needles.
Such a dismal discovery
for a young girl:
the pain of pulchritude.
MOMA AND PAPA BELL
Moma Bell put up peas and berries
corn and cherries.
She struggled to raise her arms
like an athlete pumping iron.
Her hands were smooth
maybe from kneading dough
or churning cream slow
or mending clothes
earlier deposed.
Eight children took a toll
and two did not survive the Depression.
Papa didn't manage it well.
He lost the farm to find harmony
between neighbors and bankers
leaving him broke with a broken spirit.
He salvaged self-esteem, mostly –
proud, Scottish-stock, orphaned from birth.
Life was harder then.
I wish I'd paid attention
when they began to mention
the days of their lives.
FINGER BALLET
Her fingers danced a routine
digits dipping
keys tapping
a ballet of thoughts
choreographed into words.
Rhyme combined with time
to read:
another performance
published
DANNY BOY
My sister phoned last night
as I sat at the keyboard
weaving letters and space
into a patchword quilt.
She told me you died
at forty-one -
a heart attack brought on
by drugs and alcohol.
Immediately I pictured the Blutto cake
from your birthday twenty years earlier,
a round face, licorice hair
strategically placed, a cinnamon smile.
You worked at the deli then
building sandwiches,
managing employees
better than yourself.
We didn't know about your demons -
monsters so brazen even daylight
could not discourage them;
they surfaced soon enough.
Like shadows of crime
your mood turned melancholy,
honesty took flight and
you drooped through the days.
So you were dismissed,
never to return to the cafÃ(c)
or to any of us who
once thought we knew you.
Sometimes I picture your smile
or more of a bent lip
never showing your teeth
and I feel sad.
I'm sorry we lost contact.
I will always remember and miss
your spirit and gentle nature.
I hope you found peace.
ODE TO SUMMER
skin shines wet
and soles
pound pavement
stinging sweat spatters
blazing daystar inches
higher to heaven
arms sway like pendulum
up and back
up and back
up and back
stealing time from summer
WELCOME
Your alert clangs in the dark
with a torrent of pain
and prospect.
The knot in my belly
the knife in my back
confirm my confinement.
Squeezing eyes
I gulp a breath
hold it
empower it
to sedate me.
Young and foolish
I pledge
this
will be the only time.
Twenty-five years later
I celebrate
five
birth
days.
THE PRIZE
The clock struck farewell in Chicago
Where we crowd at Christmas time.
Spouse and I, five boys in tow
Hailed goodbye after breakfast time.
Pretzels, pizza, pop the vote
Were all assembled to appease.
Missing though as we combed each tote
Was the single Caravan key.
We spun the in-laws upside down,
Hunting through the house till lunch.
Then baby Matthew grabbed in and ground
The key in a box of Cap'n Crunch.
THE NAME OF THE GAME
I'm stuck by a boy who kicks at school
and isn't penalized or ruled.
He volleys, shoots and traps a ball
which referees flash red cards to call.
He marks a man without tattoos
tackles and sticks with molded shoes.
He sends players offsides for fun
then heads a goal straight to the sun.
The game I describe is squarely split
loyal fans disagree I admit.
Americans love their soccer ball
But the English clamor for more football.
AFFAIRS OF THE HEART
She eased up out of a chair
in the front row
toward a young man.
Stunned by the familiar cut of his jaw
continual line bridging his eyebrows
the angel kiss left from birth on his left cheek
she gestured to her daughter.
He approached the bronze box
lined in mahogany
and burgundy velvet
and he knelt.
The pain etched on her face
politely took shelter
as her composure broke
spilling tears
onto a black cashmere cardigan.
He rose and turned.
Recognizing the trace of his smile
she returned
into the chair.
ABSENCE OF ABSOLUTION
Black and white
White and black
Saddled with shoes that scuff and slide
I trample the halls of Holy Cross.
Loose-leaf ledger and logs
Scores of math and mind
Noble notes for future use
Accompany me for life.
Tripped by a triggered heart
Down a doorway of doubt
I mourn and scorn my god
And marry a man divorced.
Kneeling, aware of right and wrong
Confessing crimes to my cleric
I beg mercy but the bishop
Pardons only the pure and perfect.
LIGHTS OUT
wrapped in maddened remnants
my mind rips threads of joy
from a blanket of despair
mixed meds flank the sink
like soldiers in battle —
victory uncertain
on a good day
numbed senses hopscotch
fusing pleasure with pleasure
on remaining days
eyes blink back fading normalcy
beseeching patron St. Dympha
sacred sleep
my only true refuge
turn out the lights
BLACK AND WHITE
Fingers play chase up and down the scale.
Sons strike accord to trace your trail.
How familiar the sound of yesteryear
With you beside me, tunes in my ear.
My eyes well up in ardent regret
Since you are gone and miss their duet.
Revered and sacred is life to all
Till you slung a shot and death cast a pall.
Now sons accompany life with might.
One beats black keys, one whips the white.
Sharps and flats with treble and bass
Score the song of a smile on a proud Mom's face.
MILLENNIUM
Hand in hand around the world
A living chain to bridge a hole
Of fear, greed and hatred swirled
Together concealing the beating soul.
The heart of the soul is revealed when
All men yield personal needs.
And love begins for the sake of them
When mercy is pledged to sinners who plead.
So who am I to cast the stone
That breaks the back of goodness and truth?
And who should pity the weak who moan
For selfish acts of past and youth?
Gather us all, it's fitting to share
Passage of time in an age of strife.
Relish these moments if you care
For no man knows how long his life.
ALUMNAE
She sits in a gray folding chair
on the auditorium floor
with flushed face and fretful eyes
swathed in pleats of black acetate
a four-square poised atop her pate.
One by one her classmates
display sentiment
profess testament
file in regiment
toward the podium.
Thirty years earlier
another youth
with rude vitality
enacted a similar ritual.
Now mother and daughter
forage life's destiny
looking forward,
looking back.
I REMEMBER PAPA
I was Papa's favorite.
When I was a young girl, he rewarded good grades
and good deeds with a pack of Juicy Fruit gum.
He drew the vibrant yellow wrapper
from a drawer of seasoned walnut.
How easy it was then - to please a child.
A whiff of the sticky substance still
reminds me of Papa.
His flaxen strands were Kreml-styled,
mandating each hair to obedient file.
Tobacco stench glommed his rocker
and a wad of stringy mud
stood guard in an adjacent ashtray,
opposite the TV which displayed Hummel
figures of a baseball team, his tribute
to Mickey, Whitey, and Yogi.
His hickory throne rested on a pinwheel rug
cinched from slivered silk-seamed stockings
which Moma Bell braided and bound.
Sheltering his legs were patched memories
sewn from chewed-up shirts, overalls
and craggy swatches.
In the afternoon, I would serve Papa his nectar
from a Falstaff flute, remains of a closeout sale
from an eat-in-diner.
He died, frozen blue eyes gazing at me,
his good-bye girl.
MOTHER'S DAY
Five sons assemble
with ruby roses and righteous intent
bestowing beauty
on a modern matriarch.
Prose and poetry penned
by innocence
capture years of gratitude
with mindful sacrifice.
Memories of you threaten
propriety painfully
evoking echoes of
"If only Dad were here ..."
Soon bleeding hearts
will again beat
commemorating
your day
without you.
FORGET-ME-NOT
If only I could forget the urgent taste of Summer
on your salty lips
swelled from blistered days
and molten nights.
Surely I would forget the crawl of Fall
mounting limbs
languid from love
yet well rehearsed from bridal bliss.
I'd soon forget the whine of Winter wind
devouring your bated breath
constricting my consumption
too soon.
Still, the splendor of Spring
gregarious with growth aglow
blooms a recognition
of life forever gone.
A MAN FOR ALL SEASONS
Brave and strong, a man for all seasons
Loyal and proud, a man with his reasons
To shoulder the weight of a brother and kin
Concealing himself as a knight for all men.
What lies beneath this layer of pride
Is a trembling boy struggling inside
To portray an image for others to trust
By donning a mask to cloak his disgust.
Restless the rage as his brother's keeper
Regardless the course he drives the pain deeper.
Bittersweet memories for family and friends
Prevent resolutions that mark the end.
PRIORITY MAIL
I received your parting message
Dispatched by UPS
From the postmaster in the sky
With no forwarding address.
I scribble a mental love note
Prepared to send unsigned.
I imagine you miss me
And send you mail in my mind.
I wait for special delivery
Though your flight was quite unkind,
Forward a reply if
Only mail in my mind.
I will always have you near me,
Beyond the beat of time
For all I do is stamp a dream
And read your mail in my mind.
WAVING GOOD-BYE TO JUNIOR
He met with death too soon in life
With a plunge in Martha's sea
Unlike his life, an early death
Gained John his legacy.
At three he lost his famous dad
But found the strength to follow
A path saluting charity works
With no promise of tomorrow.
Family members old and young—
Jackie too was dealt
A hand of scars, fear and loss
Few men escape life's welts.
A generous gent by all accounts
With wit, charm and grace
Practicing law and a run at George
Marked time he could not replace.
And so we bid adieu to John
Our connection to the past
With reddened eyes we bolt the gate
To Camelot at last.
DO NOT DISTURB
In early hours
before stars surrender sparks
and a sleepy city stirs
I close reality's door
and open my heart to you
After a battlefield by day
under a big top at night
my mind contrives
a fantasy game
resurrecting you to play
At once we resume our tango
flesh-to-flesh delight
groping for time
reverie-confined
we kiss farewell too soon
I clutch a green of memory
tethered to our dream
and promise to dance
a dance of chance
when I open my heart to you
PERSPECTIVE
I lunched with a new-found friend
who disclosed her mother was ill
A deadly disease, breast cancer she shared
though I continued to eat my fill.
My chum was a classmate from school
with a mutual eye for design.
I asked the age of her mother and cringed;
she answered, the same age as mine.
My shoulders slumped with compassion
as she softly sobbed to herself.
I hugged her hand and touched her tears
while whispering pleas to myself.
Dazed by the news from my comrade
shaken to the soul with a cry
Now mindful of my mortal luck - but there
for the grace of God go I.
OCTOBER DAYS
She steps out of her common existence into the
Refreshment of the outdoors in her own backyard.
Immediately she forgets the ailing son and the bills
Accumulating on the bureau.
She fastens her jacket and pulls the hood up over
Her thin neck and auburn hair.
A shiver darts through her as she adjusts
The mittens and ties her scarf.
In the distance her eyes draw upward toward a tiny bird
Prattling with the tapping of his beak.
She moves forward to a winding, flatbed creek as
Her boots crackle, pummeling leaves beneath them.
Her nose wriggles and sniffs when she approaches
A raccoon that bow hunters have pierced.
She crouches over the gasping mass while leaves
Tumble from her shoulders.
She straightens her back
Jumps up and flees toward the house while her heart
Echoes the rhythm of the woodpecker.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY
Welcome son
My precious sweet
You gasp first breath
The day we meet.
Wonders before me
Ten fingers, ten toes
I'm gratefully eager
To assume my role.
Brothers and sisters
Parents and friends
Offer support
This task I tend:
Shelter and guide you
Provide a home
For a special one born
With Down Syndrome.
POTLUCK
the refrigerator stands
armed with cold chicken
peppered breasts and legs
sandwiched between saran -
covered casserole cadavers
divisions of meat
and cheese heaped high
lure the living
for a time
to disregard the dead
rations of side salads
veggie trays
join a company of
cake and coffee
to feed the troops
wanton warriors -
friends and family
mourners all
gather
and eat cold chicken
AT THE KITCHEN TABLE
Collapsed with cradled head
in hands
wet from weeping
the past surrounds.
Glaring at pictures of a couple
girl with anxious eyes
a crooked grin
facing forward.
Photos of a boy
glaze back
arms wrapped around her waist
locked in love.
For better for worse
for young and old
forever
vowed.
Even when hips spread
skin stretched and breasts sagged
she would be loved
for a lifetime.
But, whose lifetime?
As she sits
alone
at the kitchen table.
NOT MISSING YOU
I didn't miss you
when the sun banked
on the sand in Sarasota.
That happens everyday.
I didn't miss your smile
on the slopes in Keystone
by myself
where I bundled for President's Day.
And Las Vegas cards
held no significance
for me
when I didn't see your face.
Apple-picking in Michigan
left no appeal
since I didn't miss your eyes -
however exceptional.
While biking the Bahamas
breathless
where you fulfilled me
I failed to miss you.
But, Spring in Chicago
where you were born
reminded me of your gentle touch
as my heart ached.
And in Des Moines
home at last
where we won and lost it all -
I miss you.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Life: Instructions Not Included by Diane DePhillips Copyright © 2011 by Diane DePhillips. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of Contents
Contents
BY DEFINITION....................1FOR BEAUTY'S SAKE....................2
MOMA AND PAPA BELL....................4
FINGER BALLET....................5
DANNY BOY....................6
ODE TO SUMMER....................8
WELCOME....................9
THE PRIZE....................10
THE NAME OF THE GAME....................11
AFFAIRS OF THE HEART....................12
ABSENCE OF ABSOLUTION....................13
LIGHTS OUT....................14
BLACK AND WHITE....................15
MILLENNIUM....................16
ALUMNAE....................17
I REMEMBER PAPA....................18
MOTHER'S DAY....................20
FORGET-ME-NOT....................21
A MAN FOR ALL SEASONS....................22
PRIORITY MAIL....................23
WAVING GOOD-BYE TO JUNIOR....................24
DO NOT DISTURB....................25
PERSPECTIVE....................26
OCTOBER DAYS....................27
HAPPY BIRTHDAY....................29
POTLUCK....................30
AT THE KITCHEN TABLE....................31
NOT MISSING YOU....................32
BIRDS OF A FEATHER....................34
ROMA....................35
WHITE HOT LIGHT....................37
FROSTY MALT....................38
MOTHER THERESA....................39
THE PROMISE....................41
AUTUMN'S STRIPTEASE....................42
THE COVERLET IN THE ATTIC....................43
WHETHER OR NOT TO WRITE....................44
THE DESK....................45
SENIOR CITIZEN DAY OUT....................46
TUESDAY....................47
WINTER, WINTER, FLY AWAY!....................49
WHY DID YOU LEAVE?....................50
INSTRUCTIONS NOT INCLUDED....................51
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS....................52
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