Wish

Wish

I wonder sometime if I will learn to behave.
I stand here, feel lynched by your mob unfairly.
My mouth hangs open, but no words come to protest,
and I wish all memories of you jettisoned into space
never to return. I don't want to hate you...or cry.

This was written for Three Word Wednesday..  The words were mob, behave, jettison.

Deep (another Rubaiyat)

Deep
(Another Rubaiyat)

Some days I cannot circumvent the deep,
it pursues me when I awake from sleep,
takes my mind where it doesn't want to go,
brings to surface thoughts I'd prefer to sweep.

Though when your deep brown eyes give off their glow,
I know this look I will never outgrow.
When you smile, you bring your own wonderland,
and your warmness could melt the deepest snow.

Deep hurts sometime are hard to understand,
and thoughts about them would be better banned.
Deep talks leave me feeling magnifico;
when one communes with others, minds expand.

Some days I can't circumvent the deep.
It accompanies me like a herd of sheep.
I can't escape the dormant volcano
until late night when I enter deep sleep.


(This poem posted for  dVerse Open Link Night   is a work in progress.  I am not satisfied with it, will continue to work on it as I find the time today and tomorrow. It is written in Rubaiyat form, introduced on Real Toads.  It is also posted at Poetry Jam, where the prompt is "Deep.")

Rubaiyat

Rubaiyat

Feel the rush of subliminal sunshine
then embrace the mellow rustle of pine
spinning smug tales from its fulcrum of dreams,
a beautiful connection with universe divine.

Surface of life is not all that it seems.
sometimes shudder at the untidy themes
but turn ruddy face to the wind to the wind and rain
and when evening descends embrace moonbeams.

Be not gullible, sing out the refrain
hold on to what you have without disdain.
don't shudder when faced with those who malign,
contentment once lost is hard to regain.

This poem was written for Sunday Whirl (where we were challenged to write a poem using rush, mellow, gullible, rustle, smug, shudder, fulcrum, sunshine, ruddy, untidy, subliminal, spinning) amd also for Real Toads where we were challenged to write a Rubaiyat (four-line stanzas, 10 syllables per line, aaba rhyme pattern). There were a few words I would not have chosen to use (ie. gullible, untidy) if it had not been for the wordle words. LOL.Visit both sites for more details and more poetry!

Wild

Wild

I hear wolves howl,
I howl with them,
I am free to run with the pack.
I court danger. We protect
one another. In dreams I run.
In dreams I AM wild! I AM.

I was never a wild child,
was always a good girl,
followed my parents' rules:
did the right thing,
didn't smoke, drink, do drugs,
have sex, stay out late, court danger.
I lived by the rules always,
made parents proud,
went to church on Sunday.

I feared wolves then,
ignored their howl,
avoided them, eyes downcast,
didn't regret, still don't.

But now I hear them again,
they call me, kin I can't ignore.
At last I follow them into the forest,
join them as they hunt their prey,
follow rules from beginning of time.
I become a predator with watchful eyes.
I know my role, I live on the edge,
have only today. I protect,
am protected by my pack. I sleep with
one eye open. I dreAM wild. I dreAM free.

I wrote this poem in response to the dVerse Poets  challenge today:  Wild.  This was fun.  Thank you, Mark K., for the prompt.  Also shared with Real Toads!

Thanksgiving Thankfulness

Thanksgiving Thankfulness

Sometimes I'm awed when a little one I love
asks questions: Where does God live? Is God
a man or a woman? Where is Heaven?
Can we visit her in Heaven? Why not?
Her thoughts are deep. I'm thankful for that.

And I'm thankful for times like
when I was pushing a shopping cart in Target
and she was walking beside me, then blurted
with spontaneity, I love you, Grandma.
I'm thankful for that.

And today she said before Thanksgiving dinner,
I'll sit in her chair today, Grandma.
She really misses being here, would
like to have been. Tears filled my eyes.
I am grateful for that.

dVerse has a giving thanks challenge presented on American Thanksgiving , and Real Toads has a gratitude challenge the day after Thanksgiving.  I wrote this poem first for dVerse, but it definitely fits Real Toads as well .  I enjoyed writing this poem about my 'little' granddaughter who is getting 'bigger' every day.  She turns 4 on Saturday.  I am thankful for many things, but she is high on my list!

Failure

Failure

She saw herself a failure,
her heart was hollow,
her life lay fallow.
She tried to drown herself
in misery, but the creek
was too shallow. She
couldn't even succeed at that.

This was written for Three Word Wednesday.  The three words to be used were: hollow, misery, and shallow!   Happy Thanksgiving, those who celebrate tomorrow!

Paradise

Paradise

 Paradise is not lost,
you just didn't find it.
It was around the corner
on the street you did not take,
the one you didn't give a glance.

You missed your only chance
by staying on the straight and narrow.
If you had turned a bit, only a bit,
to glance in another direction,
you would have seen a beautiful view..

But you did not turn your eyes,
claimed to know where you were headed.
Truth be told, your path led nowhere.
No one could tell you anything then
or now. You have your illusions.

Paradise exists; trust me, I'm here.
I saw the corner, and I turned.
It's beautiful, sun always shines.
I'd hoped you'd discover it too.
You didn't; I'll enjoy without you.

I wrote this poem in response to the challenge over at Poetry Jam.  I wrote on the idea:  Take the title "Paradise Lost" and make that the theme or topic of your poem.  I tweaked it a bit to express paradise not lost, at least to some.  Check out Poetry Jam for some more poetry.

Thanksgiving 2011

Thanksgiving 2011

Thanksgiving, God bless us all,
so much to be thankful for.
We bow our heads in prayer.

Yet we often find reason to complain,
we want more, better, are not satisfied
with what we have. We deserve,

need, should have. Give me, give me.
Blame the haves for what we have not,
blame the have nots for their sad plight.

We point fingers, then shake them,
give the finger, resent our neighbor,
the rich, yes damn the rich. Outrage!

The poor, yes they drain us all.
They're not us. Not you, not me.
Let's find a way to work together.

But be sure that we get our due,
we work hard, are under paid,
but don't play with my check!

Occupy where? Thanksgiving,
so much to be thankful for.
We bow our head in prayer.

This was written for Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads:  Open Link Monday.   Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.  Really!

Fire and Ice

Fire and Ice

      Some say the world will end in fire;
        Some say in ice. -- Robert Frost

Diamond dream drowned in
mindless silence, trapped
by fires of his own making.

Spark! His mind  smoldered
oblivious while planet turned,
slowed, as sky darkened cold.

What had blazed brightly
was now buried in ice,
 illusion frozen in stillness.

This poem was written for The Sunday Whirl.  The words were:  diamond, mindless, spark, fires, ice, smolder, oblivious, sky, silence, planet, trapped, drowned

Loose Change

Loose Change

Be sure to count your change before you go,
you don't want to be screwed, you know.
A lot of change is loose, I say.

What? he say. You don't say.
Yes I do say.  Then he say
What's that about screwed?
Nothing, I'm not in the mood.

Change is inevitable, I see it daily
in my face (damned mirrors anyway)
in my pockets if they don't have holes.

Ho's, he say, not even one?
HOLES, I say, not whores.
Has your hearing changed for worse?
No, I didn't say for whores.

Anyway, so much change
that I think I'll take to the bank to cash in.
You can't do much with change,
and mirrors sure don't help.

It's cash in hand that'll change the world.
No, I didn't say Wall Street crash. Cash!
Cash, who has it all? Where did it go?

Steve Jobs has died, so we can't blame him.
Maybe Herman Cain, he's got big pockets.
On the other hand,  I'll just keep my coins
and keep my mouth shut for a change.

dVerse Poets today challenge us to write about CHANGE.  As Frank Sinatra would say, I did it MY way.  I also posted it for Poets United Poetry Pantry.

Lonely

Lonely

I am lonely tonight.
The house is quiet except for the television.
Anderson Cooper. I usually watch his show
in the middle of the night when I'm sleepless.

He feels like a friend right now. Today I watch early.
I guess that's okay. Noise, I need noise.
Silence feels like a graveyard, makes me want to scream.
There is nothing warm in this room right now.

Tonight my dogs make themselves scarce.
One cuddles inside a blanket on a chair.
The other sleeps in her kennel in another room.
I brought each to me, and each went away. Alone.

Hard when even dogs don't care. I feel the silence, know
no one wants to hear these things, too personal,
uncomfortable. People prefer sunny even if,
yes, even if it is a lie. They know what to say.

People can smile, express platitudes, all so fine.
I am lonely tonight, thankful for Anderson Cooper
my talkative companion right now. Sometimes I have
to take what I can get. Today is one of those days.

This poem was written for Poets United Thursday Think Tank.  The prompt challenged us to:  "This week start a poem with I. I am here, I live, I breathe, I whatever. Take a deep breath and think about yourself. What is the first thing that comes to mind? Tell us about you in poetry. We can’t wait to learn a bit about you and what makes you tick."  I started my poem with "I am lonely."  This is how I feel tonight, as I  wrote this poem. But it is the ME tonight that you meet in this poem, which will not be the same ME tomorrow.

Finding Future

Finding Future

I try to form new dreams, or so I say;
not easy as it seems, I often stray
The path is often so diverse,
I sometimes amble in reverse.
So many distractions along the trail
I wonder if I will ever prevail.

I unlock each new gate with open mind,
changed future to narrate, I seek to find.
Footprints are left in mud and sand,
severe weather they must withstand.
Life has its challenges to overcome,
but hope rewards the venturesome.

This week at dVerse Poets we were challenged to write a Staccato Poem by Beth Winter.  A staccato poem has two or more stanzas.   Each stanza follows an aa, bb, cc rhyme pattern.  The lst, 2nd, 5th, and 6th lines have ten syllables.  The 3rd and 4th have eight syllables.   Additionally, within the lst and 2nd lines, there is also an internal rhyme (usually the 6th syllable).  Let me tell you, it took a bit of 'playing' with words to accomplish this; but it was a lot of fun. The link above will take you to a more thorough explanation and to other Staccato Poems.

(Afterword:  I am a bit embarrassed as I was told I didn't get the staccato poem form right; and indeed I didn't as I checked again. I tried to think of a way to correct that with this poem,to make ir a 'true' staccato poem;  but to do so easily does not seem possible with this particular poem......so I guess I will just consider this a 'flawed staccato poem' and leave it at that.)

A Gift

A Gift

I awaken early, find solace in pre-dawn
in a world still sleeping, dark, silent.
Only flames in the fireplace dance.

And me? I sit near the hearth, dog in lap,
with an impetus to create, to use this time,
precious moments gifted me by internal clock

which awakened me early by most standards.
And so I write here, this poem to you,
to let you know I am thinking of you, reader,

even before the sun arises. borrowed time,
and my act right now, which some may find foolish
to me (and to you) need no vindication.

This poem was written for Three Word Wednesday.   The words that we were challenged to use were: Impetus, vindication, and solace.  You will find them in the poem above.  I wrote this poem upon rising this morning.  It is totally true. That IS a picture of my hearth. Had I not awakened so early, this poem would not have been written.  And, in case you are wondering who the "you" is in this poem, it IS really YOU, the reader, whoever you are wherever in this country or world you are.  We meet each other through our words.  And often, though unexpressed, I DO think about "YOU."  (And thank you, Three Word Wednesday, for giving me the words to use.)

Wild

Wild

Embrace the wild that runs through your veins.
Name it, don't tame it, claim it for your own.
Proudly, loudly, flaunt it, ample or meager,
and pray for more, as it will serve you well.

            Embrace your fear.

There is zest in wild, spark that fans flames.
Wild propels us, takes us to new levels, thrills,
doesn't allow us to stagnate before the fire.
Wild creates and searches, seeks and finds truth.

           Embrace your fear.

Wear bright colors, red and yellow and orange,
be visible in the universe as you howl to the moon.,
Don't be afraid to take a stand, it is your right.
Appreciate chaotic, as wild pulses through your veins.

            Embrace your fear.

This was written for Writing Vice Versa, a site where we had to use four words:   ample, meager / tame chaotic.  And so I did.

Autumn

Autumn

The summer flower has run to seed
her beauty on hold for another year
deep within the earth her seeds are stored
to be reborn perhaps April of next year.

We all have our seasons, mine is summer,
and each year it arrives and then departs.
My emotions seed happiness in spring
and sadness in fall when summer departs.

Autumn now is summer's last dance.
only a few trees hold on to their leaves.
The summer flower has run to seed,
her beauty on hold for another year.

This poem was written for Carry on Tuesday where it was suggested we use John Clare's words "The summer flower has run to seed." I am pretty emotional about the seasons, and this is what came to my mind.

Two Short Poems in Response to This Week's Wordle Words

 

Dancer

Motionless, she balances on tiptoes,
her body as eloquent as her strength.
Safety inconsequential, she swivels,
points her fingers prayerfully to the sky.

Bees

Bees swarm coral skies
cleaning the air, almost eloquent
as they balance safety and strength,
free for a time, such a short life.

The above two short poems were written in response to the words Brenda provided for The Sunday Whirl.  The words were:  bees, balance, cleaning, coral, finger, eloquent, motionless, safety, rapidly, point, strength, swivel.  I could not, for the life of me, figure out how to work them all into one poem.  So I wrote two very short poems in which I used both.  Some words I used in both poems.  I will be interested to read the poems of others to see how they were used to write ONE poem.

Excuse My French

Excuse my French

 Excuse my French
but sometimes life's a bitch
no doubt about it
when it rains it pours.

When things look good,
it's fools gold you see.
I'd ask you to lend me your ear,
but you'd be bored to tears.

Without a doubt,
you can wine and dine
when you're out on the town,
but you don't fool anyone.

Everyone is on the same page,
to make a long story short.
We smell a rat. It's you. You stink,
and you won't be saved by the bell.

Excuse my French
someone has to be a scapegoat
We won't let you pass the buck:
So take a flying f _ _ k.

Brian Miller over at dVerse Poetry challenged us to write a poem using an idiom or two.  This poem used 15 different idioms.  They are all italicized.  I used one twice, so i guess that would make 16 total idioms.  This was fun really.  Thank you, Brian, for the prompt.

She Sings

    She Sings

She sings, yes she sings.
She sings her dreams,
joys, hopes, and sorrows.
She sings her memories
and things not remembered,
but which come from the deep.
She sings from her heart and soul
rather than mind. She sings strong.

    She sings, yes she sings.

Words come, music follows.
Intertwined they join with the flames
that dance and leap in the hearth,
and the songs blend
and rise higher and higher,
as do her arms in praise
of something unknown,
perhaps it is God.

    She sings, yes she sings.

Bear watches, attends,
does not speak, but hears,
accepts and understands,
though he cannot sing.
Bear protects the hearth,
the singer. Still, unmoving,
he loves the only way he can.
Steadfast and true, unwavering,
her only friend, one who listens.

    She sings, yes she sings.

I wrote this one for the prompt I gave on Poetry Jam this week.  The general idea was to create a still life scene (or to use a still life already existing) and write a poem around the 'still life.'  I chose to write about the two who watch over my hearth.  If you have found your way to my blog and have never visited Poetry Jam, please follow the link and join us there.  I also submitted it to Poets United  Poetry Pantry.

Veterans Day

Veterans Day

November 11, Veterans' Day:
My son-in-law career army.
I think of him today,
not a veteran yet:
dedicated to country, wife,
and three children, my grandchildren.
Bosnia, Iraq, Afghanistan,
he was there on our behalf.
I am thankful for his service,
his commitment to America,
to us all. I am thankful
he has been a good husband, father,
has stayed safe,  undamaged,
and pray that someday
when he is a veteran
he will have remained so.

Thinking of all who still serve,
especially Vince Gonzales,
the best of the best,
and all veterans today.

I guess I loosely wrote this poem in response to the Poetic Asides prompt today, which was to write a poem using numbers. It is Veterans Day, November 11.  This is my response.

The Way of Love

dVerse presented an interesting challenge today.  In short, one had to find a piece of prose that sounded poetic.  Second step, write out the prose so that it "looked like" poetry.  Third step was to change that again into "whatever meets your definition of poetry." 


I chose a paragraph from Ann Morrow Lindbergh's Gift from the Sea.  I went through the three steps. Below you will see my poem that resulted, followed by the quote from the Lindbergh book.  I will not share my second step.  It was an interesting technique, fun to 'play with' this morning.  Stop over at dVerse - Meeting the Bar - Critique and Craft - Prose to Poetry  to see what others have done.


The Way of Love

When one loves someone
it is impossible to love them
each moment, each day, the same way,
but this is what many expect, demand.
We have little confidence in the rhythm of life,
of the ebb and flow of love, of relationships.
We are ecstatic, joyful at the flow of the tide,
frozen at its ebb when we fear it will not return.

We demand constancy and continuity in love
when the only continuity possible,
is growth, fluidity, and freedom.
We must be free-spirited dancers,
barely touching as we pass,
moving to the melody we alone hear
yet partners in the same pattern,
hearts harmonizing to the same tune.

We cannot possess or demand,
must not expect, even hope.
We must accept the other
for who and what they are now.
All of us are islands surrounded by sea
continually assailed and deserted by tides.
We must learn to accept the winged life.
and that in nature ebb always follows flow.

--------------     paragraph from Gift from the Sea follows   ---------------------------------

The "veritable life" of our emotions and our relationships also is intermittent. When you love someone you do not love them all the time, in exactly the same way, from moment to moment. It is an impossibility. It is even a lie to pretend to. And yet this is exactly what most of us demand. We have so little faith in the ebb and flow of life, of love,of relationships. We leap at the flow of the tide and resist in terror its ebb. We are afraid it will never return. We insist on permanency, on duration, on continuity: when the only continuity possible, in life as in love, is in growth, in fluidity, in freedom, in the sense that the dancers are free, barely touching as they pass, but partners in the same pattern. The only real security is not in owning or possessing, not in demanding or expecting, not in hoping even.......One must accept them for what they are here and now, within their limits -- islands, surrounded and interrupted by the sea, continually visited and abandoned by the tides. One must accept the security of the winged life, of ebb and flow, of intermittency.

Possible or Impossible

Possible or Impossible

Her life is empty, but still she has pride.
She holds her head high, walks proud,
presents herself well, always gives a smile.
All see her projected picture of success.

In her imagination she has friends, a full life,
is surrounded by people who love her
and whom she loves. Her substance is different,
her life an act, she cries inside. She feels alone.

Maybe another day things will change, she'll will that.
She will change illusion into reality, sleight of hand.
Tomorrow is another day. It will be her fresh start.
Possible or impossible? She has hopes, she'll see.

This poem was written for two prompts.  One of them was Robert Brewer's prompt for Poem a Day, Poetic Asides, Day 9.  The prompt was to write a poem using (Something) or (Something).    And the other site for which this poem was written was Robert Lloyd's site Writing Vice Versa, where Robert challenged us to write a poem using the words:  imagination / substance, and empty/full.      I still am not able to post my poems in the Poetic Asides site.  I tried again.  I thank Elizabeth C. for posting my links there.  It angers me that I cannot do it myself.

To Seek

To Seek

I drank deeply of all life gave me
I hitched wagon to an extraordinary star
and grabbed the special brass ring.

When my dreams came to an end
I mustered courage to go on,
am trying to perceive another star

so I can go on seeking, as it is
only in seeking that one lives,
and I must find my way to live.

I have learned life is not simple,
nothing predetermined, safe, sure,
but I will find my way, I pray.

   My beautiful memories will stay
   a part of my life every day,
   as life goes on today.

Silence

Edward Hopper's Cape Cod

Silence

Arms folded, she tries to talk to him,
but he is silent, as always silent.
He doesn't look at her when she speaks,
seldom does. He plays with the dog,
always. At least the dog barks. Sound.
Why does she try?

It has been a difficult life.
Living alone would have been better,
but now she is trapped here with him
cannot leave this old house, this man
who promised all he did not fulfill.
Why didn't he try?

When she was young, naive, foolish,
she believed her man would change
fantasized he would fulfill her hopes,
that somehow they'd build a life
in his remote, rural family homestead.
How do dreams die?

Now she has nowhere to go, nothing to do,
seldom leaves her country prison,
knows no one, sees no one. She's captive
to deafening silence, norm now, along with
bruises from times he's hit her.
Would it be better to die?

This poem was written for Painting Poems - Tuesday Tryouts, where Margo Roby challenged people to look at the painting and respond to it in poetry.  So.....I did!  I also submitted it to dVerse Poets Open Link Tuesday.

Normal

Normal

She just wants to have a normal life
she says again and again.
She has her dreams, her standards,
says repeatedly she wants to rise up.

And I ask What is a normal life?
Anything but this she says
as she sits in the overstuffed chair
from which she seldom rises at all.

And as she gazes out the window,
I ask her What are your plans?
She looks at me with blank expression,
says Nothing today, I'll start tomorrow.


I was somewhat stumped by the PAD prompt for Day 8. It was to write a 'normal' poem or a 'paranormal' poem. I chose to write a 'normal' poem.

Can't Wait

Can't Wait

Every day I wake up STARVED,

go to the kitchen

turn on coffeemaker readied the night before,

flick on laptop as I pass,

take the dogs outside,

feed the dogs (they're hungry too),

put toast in the toaster

to eat with cheese or peanut butter.

Coffee is ready to drink.

I pour a large steaming mug.

Toast pops up,  ready to eat.

I really can't wait to enjoy my food,

but then, BEFORE I eat, the dogs signal

that THEY need to go outside AGAIN,

and, of course, they dawdle outside
as I STARVE,

as my toast and coffee cool down,

and signing onto my computer must wait.

But FINALLY, at last I can eat.

This poem was written for Poetic Asides Day 7 PAD prompt "what won't wait."  For me, eating breakfast is high priority.  I don't understand people who wait an hour or two before eating or those who skip it altogether.  The above is basically my every-morning routine.

Addiction

Addiction

I don't read books any more,
seldom watch television
except to keep up with news.
I love to watch Harry's Law
but don't take time to view it.
I would say I am a poetry addict,
poetry my drug of choice.
Every addict has one.
I need a twelve step program
to pry myself from its tenacious grasp.

For Robert Brewer's Poem a Day prompt for today he challenged us to write a poem about "addiction."  The above is my effort.  I guess there are worse addictions.  As you respond, do any of the rest of you consider yourself a poetry addict in any sense?"My name is Mary, and I'm a poetry addict." Isn't that how it goes? Anyone else out there?

The Watcher

The Watcher

(A Wordle Poem - explained below)

He watched her walk silent in prayer
across flaxen field dappled with dread.
The swish of her pleated plaid skirt
reignited his passion seemed dead

From a distance he followed her,
the woman with eyes turned to heaven
as if she was either searching for something
or was trapped in her own delirium.

He darted between trees, to remain unseen,
his heart resonated with passion seldom known.
His eyes strove to pierce the darkening air
She walked faster still, anxiety chilled his bone.

Hearing an earth-splitting high pitched sound
he gazed to see seven spirits, seven shells
descend from clouds to earth. They emitted
the demonic din of dissonant bells.

Caught up in excitement, yet fearful still
he watched the seven spirits writhe and dance
to their frightful awful music, as they beckoned
the watchful woman to enter into their trance.

Still lurking in a dark places, he saw
the woman smile and consent to yield.
He wondered if this was what she sought
as she walked this eve through flaxen field

Together they swirled, together they twirled,
seven strident voices screeched after sunset,
shells opened,closed to the tormenting beat.
He watched from afar, overwhelmed with regret.

He turned away from the dreadful scene,
returned  the way he came, wondered why,
turned around when piercing music stopped,
watched seven shells slowly ascend into sky.

And what became of the prayerful woman
who surely had sought this unknown?
Did she rise as well in one of the shells
or return to her earthly home alone?

He was curious but also disheartened,
he was afraid in his core she was gone.
If earthbound, he feared she'd be changed.
He walked away, dispassionate, until dawn.

This was written for The Sunday Whirl #29. The words we were given were: dappled, piercing, shell, air, strident, reignite, delirium, emit, pleat, pitch, swish, seem. I truly did not know where these words would take me. Again, as so often, they carried me to an unexpected place. This poem, though no gem, was fun to write. I had not originally used rhyme, but after I completed the poem I worked with it to include rhyme. Just for fun!

Painting You

Painting You

I mix paints to find the colors,
to paint your essence.
I fail, as there is no color
bright, rich, beautiful enough
to personify you.

I settle for a combination,
you always liked colorful.
I end up with a rainbow
violet strongest of all.
You would have liked that.

I blend the paints, strive to
achieve the right shades, hues.
You would have told me
the most important thing
is to try, have loved me for that.

This poem was written for dVerse where the prompt was to play with color.    Oddly enough, I have been thinking about this again, thinking about painting again. This prompt came at a good time for  me. Thank you.

I am also submitting this to Poets United Poetry Pantry.

Broken

Broken

"A promise is a comfort for a fool." - proverb

She makes a promise,
intends it, or so I think.
I believe.

With ease she overrules it,
negates it, retracts it,
changes her mind.

She justifies her reasons.
I question promises now,
I disbelieve.

This was written for Robert Brewer's PAD Day Five.  The prompt was "broken....."  I am not as skeptical as I appear above, but one must keep in mind the possibility of human failings.  I have learned to keep promises in perspective.  Another quotation I came upon was this one:  "We promise according to our hopes, and perform according to our fears" by Franxois Duc De La Rochefoucauld.  I like it.

Unexpected

Unexpected

I found you
when I wasn't looking,
something unexpected,
a priceless gem
who changed my life.
You weren't looking either,
but you found me, and I
changed your life too.
Sometimes things just happen
that make a person smile.

Written for PAD day 4, where the prompt was to write about finding something unexpected.

Young Love

Young Love

They gazed into eyes
did not wish to look away
eyes glimpsed into hearts
before words had been spoken.
They sensed it was deep
but did not know it was love,
only that it was special.

This was written for  dVerse Poets Pub where we learned about  Man’yoshu Japanese Poetry.  One of the forms of this poetry is the choka.  My choka is written in the 5-5-7-5-7-7 form.  Traditionally, these poems have been written about such subjects as nature, love, longing, or hunting.  I wrote a 'love poem.'  Oh, that all love would be this sweet.

Legacy

Legacy

"I want to put a ding in the universe."
          -- Steve Jobs

I shall strive to make a ding, granted
a minuscule ding, only on planet Earth,
almost imperceptible, legacy nonetheless.

I shall strive to leave a unique fingerprint
so people will remember I lived, remember
me.  My life. You are reading it now.



        

Window



Window - Inside Looking Out.



Window Outside Looking In.

Window

I am Window, not inside or out.
I see both views, trapped in glass.
I scream for what I miss, no one hears.
I try to move, but I am held firm, fast.
No one sees me, all look through me.
I am nothing to anyone. I cry.

I yearn for warmth of home, hearth,
to be with people who  love and laugh,
to hear happy voices of children I see
but do not see me. I wish to move
freely, move at all. I pound on myself,
free me please, but no one hears me.
I scream in futility. Then cry.

I wish I could feel the wind as it blows,
the warmth of the sun, to move with deer,
shuffle through green grass, crunchy leaves.
I wish I to soar with birds, feel the chill of rain.
I pound on myself, but no one hears me.
I am Window, entombed in glass.
I am nothing to anyone. I cry.

This week I provided the prompt for Poetry Jam.  The prompt I provided was "Windows."  I hoped people would take a look at windows in their environment (and photograph one or two) and write something that came to mind.  The two photos above are two different views of a window in my home.  One is from the inside looking out. The other is outside looking in.  I decided to write as if I were THE WINDOW.  If you are visiting through somewhere other than Poetry Jam, I hope you will visit the Jam and link YOUR own Window poem too.  The more the merrier.

Procrastination

Procrastination

Procrastinate when you are young and have time
to plant a seed to grow into a tall tree,
time to take one path and then another,
time to put decisions on hold for another day.

But don't wait too long or life will pass you by,
and you'll still be thinking what you want to do,
what you should do at the end of your life, and
will regret doing little with life before you die.


I do believe the above strongly.  One can procrastinate for a while, but eventually your time runs out.  I am at the point now where I know I have to do what I want to do TODAY, as I have fewer tomorrows than I have yesterday.

This poem was written for Poetic Asides November PAD.  On today, Day 1, the theme was Procrastination.  I am going to attempt to use Robert Brewer's prompts daily throughout November, but if I don't manage to, I will cut myself slack as having done the best I can.  I also will be writing for other prompt sites in November.  I predict November will be a challenging writing month for me.  I will also post this for dVerse Poetry Open Link Night just because.

I am also going to put in a shameless plug today for another site  Poetry Jam.  I am the one posting the poetry prompt there tomorrow.  I hope some of you will give the prompt a try.