Tulip

Tulip

She barks when someone enters the house
She barks when a guest rises from her chair
She barks when the telephone rings
She barks when a dog comes into view.

She just barks!

She is a terrier, and terriers bark
People speak, and some dogs bark
Some dogs bark more than others
Those would be terriers.

She just barks!

I will work with the barking
Others can help with the barking
But Tulip is not a mean dog
Barking is part of who she is.

She just barks!


I am linking this to Poetry Jam, where I provided the prompt this week, and I hope others who are not familiar with Poetry Jam will take a look. .  The prompt was to write an "Anaphora poem," which means a poem with repetition of words or phrases.  I wrote this after having had a home visit from a dog trainer who knows and loves toy fox terriers as I do.

Iceberg

Iceberg

I am an iceberg, as are you,
so much below surface
unspoken, unseen, out of view.

I see my iceberg clearly,
am familiar with its form;
others think they see, may not.

Aquaintances want to believe
can interpret, can empathize,
but do the best they can.

I cannot be known, require distance;
my iceberg will never reveal all
nor will yours, if truth be told.

We strive to know one another,
momentarily think we do;
but iceberg truths do not surface.

Contributed to  Open Link Monday at Imaginary Gardens and Real Toads and Poets United Poetry Pantry #89

The Pelt - A Wordle Poem

The Pelt

The pelt is cumbersome
reluctant to be important
though entranced with itself
as so many seem to be.

Its dense and dark essence
murmurs skeptically in the night
pays no attention to the map
finds direction in stray smoke.

It cannot answer questions;
its senses are on overload
knows love is not cement
and explanations  ethereal.

This is my poem written for Brenda's Wordle 45.The words which had to be used were  pelt, cumbersome, smoke, reluctant, entranced, dense, map, answer, stray, murmur, senses, cement.  I did use all of them.

Statue

Statue
Mortal statue
bronzed livelihood
humanity covered
stands dusk to dark
silent beggar
artist or entrepenaur
night after night
year after year.

If I touch him
I fear flesh cold
that oil runs through
his veins (and mine?)
that his heart is as mechanical
as his movements (and mine?)
every five minutes or so.

Perhaps this is future,
he is ahead of his time.
I wonder who is watching who.

This poem is linked to DversePoetics.......where Victoria presented a prompt entitled "Sculpting a Poem."

In Waikiki, along a busy shopping street, there are many of these 'street statues.'  These people stand for hours in one position every evening.  Each his his particular place to stand.  I took this photo of one of these people.  You can see his bronzed container at his feet.  People deposit money.  I do believe this is the way these 'statues' earn their livelihood. 

Ambulance

Ambulance

It is a bewitching drive near twilight
along the highway lined with trees,
more stunning under light of rising moon;
each branch is artfully laden with snow.

But I am not mesmerized by ethereal beauty
that lines the highway at rush hour.
I fight distraction, stay alert, awake.

My eyes alternate between straight ahead
and gazing through the rear view mirror.
Brake lights flash on and off in cycles,
traffic snakes slowly in all lanes.

The drive home is endless, quiet, solitary.
Then suddenly in my rear view mirror
I see the revolving red circles of light;
a siren interrupts the surreal stillness.

An ambulance signals other vehicles
to move over, and cars change lanes to enable
the ambulance to edge its way toward exit.

As the circles pass me I note two shadows:
a passenger and an attendant by his side;
perhaps it was heart attack or stroke,
or maybe a fall or terrible accident.

The shadows do not share their secret,
and as I watch the flashing lights wind
onto the sluggish off ramp I say a prayer
that the shadow passenger will be okay,

and I remember the time it was me inside.


This poem was written for    Margo Roby's "Three Trials Tuesday Tryouts"  where she stated:

"Today, we have options. I know: Whoo hoo! The first, is to take a poem of yours that is not connected to place and is not working particularly well. Perhaps its rootlessness makes it vague; perhaps it’s a series of images with no connecting thread; maybe, you got started and then the poem went nowhere. Rewrite the poem as if it were a new idea, but first consider how you might set it, or connect it, in place. What kind of details can you give the story you want to tell, that ground the story for us."


Thus I looked through some older poems and found one that perhaps I could work with to provide 'place' details.  I am not totally satisfied with the result and probably will continue to work with it.  This was the original poem I started with, one I wrote in 2009, if anyone wants to compare.     

Ambulance

What I Am Trying to Say

What I Am Trying to Say

What I am trying to say
is this: life is never easy or fair
gives more challenges than rewards,

but in perseverence comes gain;
you just have to keep marching
one foot in front of the other.

If you stumble rise  again,
pull the lever on the slot machine,
there's a chance you'll be the lucky one;

you won't know it until you try.
No pain, no gain; what I'm saying is
you just have to keep moving on.

This poem was written for my own prompt for "Mary's Mixed Bag" over at Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads.  I began my poem with the beginning words of Poet Charles Wright from an untitled poem in  his book Country Music: Selected Early Poems:

What I am trying to say
Is this--

I hadn't heard of Charles Wright until this year when  friend of mine went to Palm Beach Poetry Festival.  I asked her if she would select for me some books by poets there and have them autographed and then send them to me.  One of the poets was Charles Wright, and I now have his autographed book.  I do really LIKE his work.

My Dogs



Basil (4 1/2 months) and Tulip



Basil (with his long tail!! Breeders generally dock their tails...but
since he didn't come from a 'breeder' he has a par excellence. LOL.)

Just sharing a bit of something that is not poetry here. Feel free to skip. A couple weeks ago I mentioned acquiring Basil, my third toy fox terrier dog. It is hard to get a good picture of him as he is so fast and squirmy. He is doing quite well. The vet estimated his age to be 4 1/2 months. He fits right in with his older sisters. Tulip (shown with him below) gets along very well with him. They are both fetchers, dogs that enjoy the chase. Plus they enjoy chasing each other. Violet, my oldest terrier, is kind to him but prefers to ignore a lot of his puppy antics! My biggest challenge at the moment, as you might guess, is training him to do 'everything' outside. Today there were no accidents! Usually, at the most one. He is learning. I am also taking him to puppy class. He is the smallest in the class. Other puppies are large breeds. The trainer has seven dogs herself, three of which are toy fox terriers. She brings some to class to play with Basil during a bit of 'playtime' since the other ones are so much bigger. I am now working on 'sit' and 'down' with Basil as well. Not easy, as he is very squirmy. But he is also very food motivated, so I think he will GET IT soon!
Anyway this is just a non-poetry share just because I had time.

I Am the Silent One

I am the Silent One   (response poem)

I am the silent one,
silence my hand grenade,
voiceless vindication,
Smug, I ignore your inquisition.
Fists clenched, I don't wish to explain;
you cannot trick me into speech.

My lips are clamped, muscles taut.
The more you ask the more I ignore.
Your words are a dissonant melody;
I cover my ears to tune you out
your words as well as your scream.


Silence  (poem responded to)

I am one who hears your silence;
questions asked that go unanswered.
I notice what you ignore, do not say,
and the silence is loud, speaks clearly.
I hear what you do not wish to say
your silence beats a drum so loud
that I have to cover my ears.
Your silence makes me scream.

Kenia's Wednesday Challenge at Imaginary Gardens and Real Toads today was to write a poem in response to a poem of another person.  I followed my own drum on this and instead wrote a poem in response to a poem I had written.  A few days ago I wrote the poem Silence (second poem above - some of you have seen it). The poem I wrote today is I am the Silent One, which responds to Silence.

Fate

Fate

So much depends upon
right place at the right time
a minute too early, hit by a truck
a minute too late, we're in luck.

So much depends upon fate
correct turn on the way out the gate
onboard the plane that does not crash
right lottery ticket for a million cash.
tornado passes but misses the house
right spot to meet one's future spouse.

So much of life we do not control
choice plus chance equals whole.


William Carlos William's poem "The Red Wheelbarrow" begins with the words 'So much depends upon...' These words inspired the above poem.  This is being linked to dVerse Poets Open Link and to the prompt for Poetry Jam, which is to use William's words as inspiration for one's writing.

Silence

Silence

I am one who hears your silence;
questions asked that go unanswered.
I notice what you ignore, do not say,
and the silence is loud, speaks clearly.
I hear what you do not wish to say
your silence beats a drum so loud
that I have to cover my ears.
Your silence makes me scream.

Word Verification - Please read!

I am sharing this instead of a poem today.  I found the link at one of the blogs that I follow.  I think it addresses the word verification issues very clearly.  If you use Blogger, please read.  If you have 'word verification' checked, it truly is hard to comment; as sometimes you have to try 3 or 4 times to decipher the words.  This blogger gave permission for her link to be shared.  READ this information (which is VERY well explained), and do pass it on.  All commenters will be thankful.

Blogger Word Verification Woes

The Winding Path



 The Winding Path

The path always leads to the mountains
though it first may meander through canyons
across rushing rivers, through deserts.

Sometimes you can discern the peaks,
but other times they are out of view,
obscured by fog, shrouded by clouds.

Enjoy the shadows, savor the light,
the trees that frame meandering trail;
savor dazzling scenery along the way.

Keep your eyes on the horizon;
continue to look ahead, up, never down,
and you will reach the illusive summit.

This was written for dVerse, where Brian's prompt today was to choose one of a few photographs by Reena Walkling, over at Missing Moments ; write to it.   This scene very much reminded me of Palm Springs, a city I love, where the mountains are always within view (and I realize I miss it right now); but then again I often think of mountains metaphorically as well.

Here is another of Reena's photographs (on her website) that I loved; in fact perhaps goes even better with the poem above:

Heaven

Heaven

Heaven is ethereal
intangible (isn't it?)
It exists, but where?

Is it in the sky
invisible to naked eye
as many believe?

Or peaceful tropical island
everyone, everything loved
relishing warmth and view?

I'd like to believe
paradise with a tropical drink
silken sand washed by warm waves.

I believe, Lord, but also want
you to forgive my unbelief.
You understand, I know.


This was written for Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads, where Laurie's prompt today was "ethereal." I have been doing a lot of thinking about 'heaven' and 'prayer' and some other heavy stuff lately.  My poem reflects my thoughts.  I have to credit the words in the last stanza " Lord, I believe. Help thou my unbelief," to Dave who quoted them to me in respose to a poem I wrote yesterday. Thank you, Dave.

Miracles

Miracles

I want to believe
try hard to believe
but mostly I am cynic
wish I weren't
wish I didn't remember
I prayed and prayed
many others prayed
for healing
but she died.

This was written for Chris' very thought-provoking prompt at Poetry Jam.  Her prompt was "Have you seen a miracle lately?"  I am sorry if I rain on others' parades.  I know there are small miracles on a daily basis, but what about big miracles. Do they still happen?  Those of you who believe in miracles, how do you find faith?

Several Short Poems

And Having Remembered

And having remembered, then
what next? will the memory change you
inspire you make you sad appall you?
how many memories are best buried
rather than dug up and written in poetry?

The Boat

The boat is always going by, set afloat
never standing still. That is the way of boats
they float from place to place show sites
you didn't know you wanted to view.

A Dream

Was it always a dream then?
Don't you wonder sometimes about reality
I know I do. I often question what is real
and often wish again to live the dream.

Something I Know

There's something I know
that no one taught me
and has to do with belief
and if you believe
you will know it too
otherwise you may
consider me fool.

Emotion

An emotion can start out hopeful
and end with a knife sticking out of it
you never know when it will change
you can hope for the best
believe yes truly believe
but things can turn sour
before you even realize
and the knife will stick your throat
and you will choke on your own blood.

Loss

Loss and loss and more
Loss - that's what
the sea teaches
and the waves continue
to lap up and overpower
and the sand will never tell.

I belong to an online writing group. We have been a 'group' for I don't know how many years, perhaps 15. Someone provides weekly prompts. I provided them this week. These are some short poems written in response to my own prompts. Often I don't blog these, but I decided to this time.

Seasonal Haiku

Winter

The deer in soft snow
stands still outside my window
dogs bark them away

Full moon in winter
reminds me that spring will come
cycle continues

Grass hibernates now
green not at all visible
nature remembers

Spring

Buds on the maple
harbingers of blooms to come
hint of rebirth

First robin returns
I know hopes will be reborn
new life imminent


Summer
The cardinal trills
I harmonize its carol
we flirt in whistles

All my world is green
I remember my childhood
I played in the grass

Autumn

Green to orange to brown
leaves live out their life cycle
death will lead to birth

Robins and cardinals leave
melodies sung somewhere else
but they will return

Grace, at Imaginary Gardens and Real Toads  has provided a Haiku challenge.

Poetry

Poetry

Sometimes the poem
changes you slowly
you don't know what to say
but suddenly words come
torrential words that express
what you didn't know you knew,
and you laugh, cry, smile
at your cleverness until
you finally realize why it is
you love to write poetry.

No Second Chances

No Second Chances

Life offers no second chances

once possibility is rejected

it disappears forever

When fortune comes your way

grab the brass ring while you can,

take a chance on fate and run with it

and smile as long as it lasts

and pray it will continue forever

Opportunity will not come again

If you say no to chance

if you ignore the brass ring

you'll never know

what you missed

I am glad I said yes

grabbed the brass ring

first chance

did not miss any moment

I had with you.

This was written for Carry on Tuesday: Prompt 144, which was to take these opening lines from a Sarah Maclachlan song Angel:  "Spend all your time waiting for that second chance"  and use them in your writing. I didn't use those words exactly in my poem, but they were my inspiration.  Thanks, Keith!

 

The Dance

Photo by Talon

The Dance

Candles blaze bright
in the shadowy night
the flames flicker
I am hypnotized
cannot turn away
from their dance.
they draw me close
I cannot flee
fire singes me
but I do not mind
pleasure in pain
I move closer
my mind captive
my eyes fixed
I feel the burn
see the beauty
I must possess
I move closer
I have to watch
the dance

This poem was written for this weekend's photograph challenge at  Imaginary Gardens and Real Toads.  We were able to choose from one of Talon's photos and write to it.  I have always been slightly hypnotized by flames

Confidential

Confidential

Life is a blur
passes by in a fog
all visions ransacked
by weeping customers
interview inconsequential
to confidential charms
ransacked by fair trade
belt filled with stickers
and nothing matters
nor changes...  Ever.


Written for  The Sunday Whirl (#43)  where Brenda provided these words:  trade, customers, confidential, fog, weeping, visions, blur, charms, belt, interview, sticker, ransacked

Bursts of Poetic Philosophy

Bursts of Poetic Philosophy

Life is too short not to forgive
someone who hurts you
as only through forgiveness
can one eventually forget.
The hardest person to forgive
is usually oneself.

The biggest regrets at life's end are
regrets of what one did not say,
regrets of what one did not do.

One may not make a 'ding in the universe'
but one can make a ding in the world
of others who know you.
There is great power in One.

    Steve Jobs had said, "I want to put a ding in the universe."

Life is shorter than you think
but at the end it may be
longer than you wish.

At the beginning of life
one wishes years to pass
at the end of life
one wishes for past years.

The above is written for dVerse Poetics: Poetry and Philosophy to a prompt by Charles Miller. 

 The above 'bursts' express some of my philosophy.  Primordial truth (which Charles mentioned) or not, I don't know; but it expresses some of MY truth.  I will probably add a bit to this in the next day.....

Brats, Burgers, and Beer

Brats, Burgers, and Beer

I hear a bat fluttering on the other side of my wall,
try to sleep though yellow full moon lights my room
and the next door neighbors are having a wild party.
I lie with my small transistor radio close to my ear,
and if it is a clear night I can even listen to Nashville
and savor music I know will be forever out of reach.
The neighbors are grilling now, I peer out behind curtains
from upstairs bedroom window. I smell brats, burgers,
beer, and the too-loud laughter keeps me from sleep.
I try to taste sleep, the night air, my own sweat
on this hot summer night before air-conditioning.
Just another summer childhood night, long gone.

This was written for  Margo Roby's Tuesday Tryouts.  I think I did 4 tercerts as she suggested, used all senses (I think). I hope it gives a sense of place. This poem is 100% true of my childhood. I can see this scene from my upstairs bedroom window (only screens in those days - no air-conditioning) as if it were yesterday.  And yes, I did think I heard a bat flapping behind a bedroom wall.

The Life I Wanted

The Life I Wanted

This is the life I wanted,
and I could never see,
but wait....

that is past tense,
not present tense.
I had the life I wanted,
lived my perfect dream
with a perfect love...

but it all crashed
when my beloved died.

Now I have memories
no more dreams
but memories are okay
of the life I wanted
and I could never see.

This poem was written for Carry On Tuesday. The prompt was to use the words: This is the life I wanted, and I could never see.

I Want to Burn!

I Want to Burn!

I dream of spice
my taste buds crave it
the hotter the better
my tongue can take it
my life reflects it.

I like my food hot,
despise bland
with no apology
let me read your menu
and choose hottest of hot

Bring on curry,
add hot pepper,
Tabasco, chili powder,
bring it on with no feeling.
give me a jalepeno night.

Food reflects one's life
Bland life, bland food
Spicy life, spicy food
I'll choose spicy all around
food and life agree.

I submitted this to Poetry Jam: Recipes and Seasonings prompt  and dVerse Poets Open Link Night 30. 

Wordle #42

Wordle #42

Life moves at a staccato pace
I try to close the latch,
dart in and out between shadows,
become an exile among the living.
Reality billows, leaves innumerable scars.
Metalic ruins impede my progress,
but rebellion is second nature to me
and when petulant people offend me
I willingly expose their dubious nature.
Life fuses with destiny, as it must.


This poem was composed for  Sunday Whirl #42.  The words were staccato, dart, billows, ruins, metallic, exile, fuses, petulant, dubious, rebellion, latch, scar.  I used all of them.  I  also submitted it to Imaginary Gardens and Real Toads Open Link Monday.   I also always try to think of TITLES for poems, don't just like to call it Wordle #42, but this one stymied me.  I am sure I will think of something eventually.


 New Addition,...... This is the  post previous to this one where I shared photos of my new pup, acquired Saturday, and about whom I am so very excited.  Take a look if you haven't seen him!

New Addition

I may not write a poem today. We will see.  I did NOT resist temptation. (If you read my last poem.) "Basil" has joined the family.  He is 6 months old and probably weighs 3 1/2 pounds.  Actually the 'girls' accepted him MUCH easier than I thought they might.  I can see already that Basil is going to be a 'fetcher' like Tulip and will probably give her some competition in that area.  (Violet is not a fetcher. Violet is an interceptor and a hoarder of thrown balls, but will not return one to me.)  So now that I know they will get along okay (but I won't trust all out of my sight for QUITE a while), the hurdle is potty training.   One day at a time.  Today? So far so good! LOL.

Temptation

Temptation

lead me not
lead me not
into temptation

for I am weak
know myself
will succumb

cannot resist
the excitement
the warmth
the kisses
the cuddles
the love
(the challenge)

deliver me
deliver me
from a puppy

but sometimes
when tempted
one must say
YES!




This is linked to Imaginary Gardens and Real Toads, where Fireblossom's prompt today is Temptation!  Secondarily submitted to Poets United Thursday Think Tank where Ella came up with the prompt YES!

Just Life

Just Life

Hot and cold
so much of life is neither
most of life is in between
average, mundane

just life

I wonder sometimes
if we look for hot
or look for cold
but ignore between

just life

I embrace tepid
lukewarm, average,
there's a lot to be said
for the everyday

just life


This was posted in response to Peggy's prompt at Poetry Jam: Hot and/or Cold.  I hope you all will take a look at the prompt and post in response.