From Stephanie Platter

THE MUSE
Writing is instinct, impulse, catharsis. It’s wordsmithing the poetry of every day happenings mixed with the prose of perfect wonderment. How does anyone deal with anything in life without a pen in hand? Stephanie Platter is a teacher, writer, singer, film critic. She learned to love coffee on the rain-stained street corners of Seattle. She learned to love people in church. For her, nothing beats fresh mountain air and sunrises, except maybe a meltably well-crafted sentence or a movie that makes her cry. Visit her movie review site: splatteronfilm.wordpress.com

It Started on Tip-Toes

Well, you have to begin sometime. I think you’ll need practice in order for it to look real. I’m sorry to do this. I know you’ve been homeschooled and I bet this is your first kiss. Isn’t it? Yes, I nodded in disbelief at my beloved drama teacher. Homeschooling comes with some well-earned stereotyping for…

Belonging

“You belong. Strong people moved to this land, worked hard, and struggled so you could live, so you could belong.” Each summer my mother said this over the gravestones of her ancestors, honoring those who went before us, were buried deep under the land they loved, and left a legacy for us to live up…

Harry Gets a Pedicure

Harry lingered over the single serving TV dinners and pondered the colloquial reference to TV dinners and how they must have come up with that in the 50’s when families first got tvs and would sit in front of the only shows that aired. The Ed Sullivan Show. Maybe I Love Lucy. Harry knew he…

Toothless

I would touch my tongue to the metallic spot in my mouth over and over. The hole was like a Sandcastle moat filling up with the tide. For three days straight I think I spent every second in my second grade class steadily wiggling that front lower tooth. While Amy Johnson galloped an endless merry-go-round…

Mary Poppins is Always Prepared

A lovely co-worker teacher-friend calls me MP. She says I am like Mary Poppins with a bottomless carpet bag of treasures. I’ll admit I am rather a bag lady, always the turtle shell on my back full of all that I need. An extra change of clothes, make up, granola bars. The weather could change.…

Words of Life

Hers is the voice in my head. When I leave the house, “Put on mascara, I can’t see your eyes.” “Don’t do anything stupid.” “There will always be somebody better and somebody worse.” “You need to learn to putz in the car and bip at home.” “Uff da.” “Many are the plans in the heart…

Awake

Awaken the soul. Listen And fuel the craving for Kinship.   Awaken the voice. Silence Then burst forth in glorious Singing.   Awaken the mind. Wonder At all that the world has to Offer.   Awaken the eyes. Dream of all that is yet to be Made.   Awaken the body. Open Hands wide to…

Swimming Lessons

You won’t understand unless you’ve been through it, in it, under it. Dunk then emerge. Half and then whole. At six years old I had my first swimming lesson. The lakes in Minnesota, though dark and cold and rocky on the outset, are not frightening or foreboding. They are still. Drop a pebble in from…

In a Different Life I’d Paint the Streets

In a different life I’d paint the streets By night, a stealthy lord. An artist loner dreamer type, Allegiance shown in words.     On business walls and reader boards On windows and on signage. I’d Banksy this and Fairey that Along my pilgrimage.   Art speaks the words I cannot say     Graffiti…

Just Breathe

Tie a yellow ribbon. Be on time. Set an alarm. Set two. Don’t forget your purse. Where are those keys? It’s heavy whipping cream not half and half. She’s had a hard year. Don’t bring up her trip to the U.K. Sing from your diaphragm. It’s not your fault. Don’t forget to breathe. Just breathe.…

Stop, Look, & Listen; Taste, Smell, & Touch

The senses are born to savor. Awake and link to memory all that you are taking in. Flavors : The perfect citrus jems; the meal salted, plated, warm; the scrumptious offering of garden fresh snap, the sizzling simmer saucing; the sweet! Your eyes close in pure delight. Flaky, croissant crust sugared and warm, fresh out of…

I Love the Masked Man

I have a crush on Prufrock. T.S. Eliot’s character. I have no idea why his poem is called a love song. It’s not about love. It screams Odysseus lost at sea waiting to be torn from the mast by his own longings. I don’t know why I like him. He’s moody, older, scuffed and stumbling.…

As yet untitled

I’d like to write a book called What to Expect When You’re Least Expecting It. Or… What Doesn’t Kill You Makes You Crazy. Or…  When Life Gives You Lemons… Make Lemon Bars. Are You Kidding With the Lemonade? Okay, that’s kind of a long title. How about The Tailspin of Perfectionism? Or maybe: Disappointment…the Disillusionment of Believing…

Home is a season

Home is a season A doing A done A longing A haven A song to be sung A knowing A settled A heart hanging hat A washing A wearing A knick and a knack A picnic A berry pie Lazy noon nap Adventures By lakeside A fireside camp A circle A diamond A threshold A…

Barbie goes to Paris

Not all who wander are lost. The first place I drove when I got my license was the grocery store. I don’t know why, but all of those lined shelves in sections, labels out, helps remove stress. All’s well with the world there. I don’t even have to buy anything. Just wander and feel better.…

Please won’t you be?

“Bowl is life.” The sign above the door boasts explosive clip art of a bowling ball striking pins over Ariel Bold font. You push the metal bar on the door and step into a rush of hot, stale air, the air of the alleys.  Incessant rolls of thunder and subsequent crashes on repeat. Marge at…

It’ll grow back

My heart an empty stained old thing It bends within its cage Withering whistling whip-stilled and struggling Rages and bursts again.   Be careful with that It’s an emblem, you see Once broken it takes quite an army To push on the sand till it’s swallowed by clams And pearlized by their tongues in their…