• Skip to main content
  • Skip to footer

Elaine Ambrose

Bestselling Author, Ventriloquist, & Humorist

  • Home
  • About Elaine
    • Privacy Policy
  • ALL BOOKS
  • Blog
  • Books
  • Contact
  • Storyteller
You are here: Home / Archives for poetry

poetry

Midlife Happy Hour – An Excellent Excerpt

May 19, 2022 By Elaine Ambrose

Chapter Four – The World Can Kiss Our Attitude

We never decided what to name our group of six middle-aged women friends. Suggestions varied from “Six Pack” to “Six in the City” to “We Were Seven but One Died.” Every time we met, we would vote on a new name, but we couldn’t agree so we stayed with the “Midlife Happy Hour Club.”

 “That’s so boring,” Kitty said. “Can’t we add something sexy?” 

“How about that waiter?” Linda replied. The joke was old, but we were, too. We clinked our glasses, savored the martinis and wine, and settled into a familiar pattern of camaraderie. We had promised Pam, the one who died from breast cancer, that we would carry on without her.

 “Chop them off now so you won’t get sick!” She’d whispered at the end, as we took turns pressing ice chips onto her lips. We nodded in solemn agreement. “And promise me you’ll all stay friends. Keep laughing. You don’t need boobs to laugh.” 

Over the years, the Midlife Happy Hour Club gathered regularly to acknowledge the fact that life sucked so we should laugh hard. The agenda varied, and we could grow equally passionate about politics, religion, nail polish, or the best stool softener. Sometimes we placed a glass for Pam. 

Birthday Card Blues

One memorable occasion was to celebrate Linda’s birthday. Such annual affairs often took a wicked turn as greeting cards turned into cruel and unusual punishment for still being alive. 

“I’m weary of birthday cards that mock seasoned women,” said Debby. “Over the hill, my ass. We couldn’t climb a hill taller than a plate of cookies even with sturdy tennis shoes and an industrial crane.” We agreed and vowed to stop sending each other stupid, insulting cards. Unless, of course, the card included a lovely photo of fit, shirtless dudes in cowboy hats. We’re shallow like that. 

A flock of perfect women tittered past on heels that cost more than my first car. “Look at her,” laughed Debby as she adjusted her don’t-give-a-shit matronly body. “She’s so skinny if she swallowed an olive it would show in front and back. I should stab her with a fork to make sure she’s not a poster.”

Linda, the birthday babe, gasped with feigned indignation. “I read that some women are paying for a fake butt. Can you imagine making your behind bigger on purpose? I can see mine even when I walk forward, and I didn’t pay a dime extra for it!” 

“Stop,” Jenniffer said with mock chagrin. “At least we don’t have periods anymore and can wear white pants without worry.”

“Ha!” I retorted. “The last time I wore white pants my grandkids told me to hold still so they could show a movie on my butt.” 

We Love Midlife Happy Hour

Friends for Fifty Years

Kitty bit into a carrot cake muffin smeared with enough cream cheese frosting to adhere a Buick to the wall. “Mmm,” she moaned. “I just eat this for the vegetables.”

“True,” I agreed. “And this medicinal lemon drop martini has just enough citrus to cure my scurvy.”

We giggled and snorted with middle-aged abandon. We loved the glamorous gals, we really did, but our biggest consolation was knowing they were growing older, too, and would someday arrange their own midlife happy hour. By then, we would be watching reruns of The Carol Burnett Show and reading salacious novels in big type. We would live together in a quaint cottage near the park and pool our savings accounts to hire off-duty firemen to rub our feet. It was a glorious plan. 

(I’ll be reading excerpts from three books Friday evening in Garden City, Idaho at an event I’m hosting titled “ATaste of Poetry: Conversations with John Roedel.” John Roedel will read from his poetry and discuss storytelling to a sold-out audience. My readings will include three genres: memoir, children’s books, and humor. This excerpt is from “Midlife Happy Hour – Our Reward for Surviving Careers, Kids, and Chaos.” The book was a finalist for “Book of the Year for Humor” and won two writing awards from the Independent Press Book Awards program.)

Filed Under: blog Tagged With: #humor, #JohnRoedel, #literary, #midlife, #writing, #writing awards, poetry

Please Pass the Potatoes and Poetry

August 13, 2018 By Elaine Ambrose

My upcoming memoir Frozen Dinners contains a chapter titled “Potatoes and Poetry.” The manuscript chronicles how I spent my childhood days on a potato farm near the village of Wendell, Idaho and wrote poetry and short stories after chores were finished. My first national poetry publication came when I was 12 and in junior high school.

That poem titled “Endless River,” written on the banks of the Snake River, is one of eight poems in the memoir. Now I cringe at the novice pace and irregular rhythm, but I didn’t change the poem for the book. Subsequent poems were written using techniques with iambic tetrameter, rhyme schemes, free verse, or sonnets after my English teachers taught me about meter, rhythm, and rhyme. They also encouraged me to read poets Emily Dickinson, Robert Lewis Stevenson, Robert Frost, and Walt Whitman.

I continued to write poetry and short stories through high school and college. Noting the job market wasn’t too favorable for poets, I entered a rewarding career in journalism. Now that I’m mostly retired, I intend to write more poetry.

Preliminary cover for hardcover book “Frozen Dinners” – Colors will vary

My memoir is a departure from my humorous books, including Midlife Happy Hour and Midlife Cabernet, and I was hesitant to include the poems. But, I decided to take a chance and include eight. Here are three of the poems in the book.

I wrote this poem in memory of my twin sister who never breathed.

Solitary Sibling
In the mysterious void of initial creation
I shared my mother’s womb
with a growing mass of defective development.
She came first and was promptly discarded.
I emerged yelling and the doctor was elated
at my ten fingers and ten toes.
I was worth keeping.
Now free and independent,
I avoid darkness and cramped quarters.
Still, I acknowledge my first companion
and wonder if the heartbeat I remember
was my mother’s or hers.
Did I feel my sister’s soul evaporate
as she lost her humanity?
Or did I absorb her essence?
That would explain my ambivalent beliefs
and excuse my sporadic loneliness.

This poem describes the year I rode my bike on a daily newspaper route.

1964 Town Crier
Ragged, rhythmic clouds of breath escape from my mouth
as I push my burdened bicycle over the patches of frozen snow.
Frost fills my nostrils and hardens wayward hair
poking beneath my knit hat like spikes of rigid spider legs.
The only sounds on this dark moonless morning
come from the rustle of my frozen pant legs
and my boots squeaking and crunching through the crusty layers.
I know every house on my paper route,
so I keep my head down in a futile attempt to ignore the bitter
winds that slice through my coat.
Take a newspaper from the bag, slap it into a roll,
stick it into the can, keep going.
I’m 12 years old, and I’m outside in the brutal
Idaho winter at 5:30 am to deliver 70 newspapers.
Every day. By myself.
My fingers hurt. Snot freezes on my lip.
A dog growls but doesn’t leave its shelter. Crunch. Breathe.
My bag becomes lighter as a sliver of daylight
emerges through the dark.
I arrive home, and my father sits to read the newspaper
while my mother hands me hot cocoa with marshmallows
happily bobbing and melting on top.
My aching hands circle the mug, and I lean over
so the steam can warm my face.
Silent tears roll down red cheeks.
I am the Messenger. I am the Town Crier.

This poem, written in iambic tetrameter and an ABAB rhyme scheme, won a poetry writing contest from Writers Digest.

Idaho Farm Girl
This vibrant land yields ample crops
and cradles coffins of the dead,
expanding to the mountain tops
and plunging to the canyon bed,

still clings to me on muddy feet
and tempts me not to leave so fast.
This family dirt is bittersweet;
the dust to dust of ages past.

With scratch of hoe on stubborn weed,
and boots on trails in search of space,
this sun-burned girl, the scattered seed,
returns to claim my resting place.

Three of the seven stories in my children’s book Gators & Taters are written in rhyming poetry. Still back on the farm, the first story involves a truck driver named Wendell who hauls two alligators named Cleo and Clyde. They love Idaho potatoes. Gratuitous plug: Gators & Taters won a writing award for Children’s Literature in the 2018 Independent Press Awards Competition.

Frozen Dinners – A Memoir of a Fractured Family will be released by Brown Books Publishing Group in November. The book is available for presale, and the premiere party is scheduled for November 8 at Telaya Wine Company in Garden City. The eBook version also will be available in November.

Filed Under: blog Tagged With: #memoir, Frozen Dinners, Idaho, poetry, potatoes, tv dinners, writing

Do You Need Daily Erotica?

February 13, 2017 By Elaine Ambrose

daily erotica authors

Eight years ago, I organized a writing group in Eagle, Idaho called “Writers Who Wine.” We met to read our work, critique prose and poetry from others, and to focus on writing prompts. And, we enjoyed wine.

After a few festive meetings, four of us decided to create a book of poetry called Daily Erotica – 366 Poems of Passion. We chose the  provocative title because we  knew Daily  Poems was too boring. We brought our poems to my cabin for a weekend in the fall of 2008 and rated the submissions from 1 (Oh, yes!), to 2 (Warm, but not sizzling), to 3 (Get out of here. You can’t write.)

daily erotica authors oct 2009We published the book through Mill Park Publishing and released it on February 14, 2010. The book is dedicated to all the women who are searching for their lost libidos.daily erotica coverThe 366 poems begin on February 14 and span every day for a year. The content varies between romantic, silly, and a bit naughty. The authors are convinced their writing is better than the insipid lines in the bestselling book Fifty Shades of Grey. Here are two examples:

September 17

All that I am

unafraid

unashamed

uninhibited

undressed,

I am yours.

 

September 2

The first time she saw his smile

she knew he was worth the wait.

Finally, after all these years,

she let down her guard,

opened the door to her heart,

and invited him inside.

He took off his boots

and decided to stay.

 

Response to the book was fun and we enjoyed presenting selected poems at various events and for community organizations. The four of us ranged in age from 37 to 57, all of us had children, and three of us were divorced. One in the group, Gretchen Anderson, had been happily married for more than 17 years. The other three, Liza Long, Rachel Hatch, and I found true and lasting love after the book was published.

Copies of the book are available on Amazon.com for $12,95 or from the authors or Mill Park Publishing in Eagle for only $5.00.  If you’re interested in a unique Valentine’s Day gift that will last all year, email me at [email protected]. I’ll deliver Monday and Tuesday to downtown Boise, Eagle, and Meridian.

Everyone sing along now, “What the world needs now is love, sweet love. It’s the only thing that there’s just too little of.” (I don’t like ending a sentence with a preposition, but that worked for Jackie DeShannon and Dionne Warwick when they sang the famous song.)

This Valentine’s Day, be a lover, not a fighter. Read and share Daily Erotica.

daily erotica authors sitting

 

 

 

 

Filed Under: blog Tagged With: #love, #Valentine's Day, #wine, #women, erotica, gifts, poetry, writer's group

Footer

Awards

awards

Badges

badges from other sites

Awards

awards

©2022 Elaine Ambrose | Designed & Maintained by Technology-Therapist

 

Loading Comments...