Nightmare

Nightmare

He heard
     the crack
          sat up in bed
               rolled over again
                    silence

He heard
     footsteps
          listened in bed
               to what had disturbed
                    silence

He heard
     the click
          sat up in bed
               his bedroom doorknob
                    turned

He heard
     the creak
          reached into the drawer
               his bedroom door
                    opened

He heard
     the scream
          after the shot
               as the intruder
                    toppled

He heard
     the siren
          after the shot
               the only noise now
                    above silence

Dreams

Dreams

I don't dream,
I don't let myself.
If I am about to dream
I awaken somehow.

I fear my dreams,
avoid them any way I can,
stare at TV instead,
don't care what's on.

I fear my dreams,
prefer  reality
even if it is a CNN repeat
of yesterday's news.

In the middle of the night.
I won't dream.....ever.

For Your Own Good

For Your Own Good

I hated leaving Basil at the vet today
knowing what he would go through:
anesthetized, four teeth extracted -
baby teeth that did not fall out.

It was for his own good, I knew,
but he would not know this or care
when he woke up in excruciating pain.
What is the value of pain anyway?

Extraction really had good reason,
but did he  really understand
how pain would be for his good?
Who judges the value of pain?

What is the trade-off for betrayal
when one who is loved makes one suffer?
Do humans or animals forgive?
Is for your own good a reason for anything?

Basil could have lived with doubled teeth;
but quality of life, it will now be better in the long run.
That is what I tell myself, but today he doesn't understand.
It was done out of love. He hurts. Is that love?

Is pain ever justified? Will he ever trust me again?
I think he will, as he is sleeping  on my lap.
Dogs forgive or forget quicker than humans do,
at least that is what I tell myself today.

Renewal

Renewal

Breathe in, breathe out
tulips and daffodils are in bloom
the world is fragrant in spring
all remnants of winter melted away
and plants jostle for prominence
on earth's expansive canvas

     What a glorious time of year!

Gaze left, gaze right
The flowering crab is in bloom
and buds are on the maple
glance down, grass has greened
what had been dormant lives anew
and robins frolic on the lawn.

     What a glorious time of year!

Where is God?

Where is God?

I believe God resides in this tree
and if you question why, I say why not?
Can I prove it? No, just have faith.
Can you prove your God exists?

A tree is filled with mysteries:
one of them is God, nothing
more mysterious than one's beliefs.
I bow down before my tree.

I pray to my tree, and my chance
of having the prayer answered
is as good as yours. At least
I can see and touch my tree.

Can you see and touch your God?
Maybe that's not important to you.
But me, God is visible in my tree.
And where is your God visible?

 

What Death Shatters

What Death Shatters

What death shatters

is a subtle thing, invisible,

its cloud hangs over all experiences,

a knife in the heart that twists.

You scream silently,

don't let others know,

go on as best you can

though much of you has died.

Your faith is shattered,

but you go on anyway,

act as if all is fine.

Sometimes it really is.

Your smile may be real

or may be forced, and

most will not see the difference.

Act as if is not a bad thing.

You go on because you must

and have the  love of life to survive.

What death shatters

is a subtle thing, invisible.

The Alchemist

The Alchemist

The alchemist is good at his craft.
Supple, he mixes acid and oil,
chooses the best juices,
sprinkles quality powders,
and works his own special magic.

But who will gauge his success,
give him kudos when he succeeds
or sweep his slate clean if he fails?
Who will comfort him in his loneliness
when he has no joy and cannot sleep?

Who, just who?

Silence

Reflections - by James Rainsford (used with Permission)


Silence

Leave me alone with my silence,

except for rustle of leaves

and the eventide trills of birds

which bring harmony to my path.

Sometimes I crave shadows

where I can think without distraction.

I need to be alone, even lonely,

to be so still I hear myself breathe.

I wish not only to live, but to be really alive

know light will seek me beneath these branches

then find and illuminate me among the shadows

Light has its way to find and fill the holes.

So as I walk I inhale my hopes, my dreams

and I exhale my prayers, my plans, my poems

and discover things in the shadowy dusk

as you leave me alone with my silence.

 

Poetry

Poetry

Poetry, you enlighten me, enliven me,
brighten my days, enhance my nights
take my thoughts and make sense of them
figure out what I mean when I don't know.

You find words I didn't know I had in me,
then give me permission to play, to laugh,
to cry, to reminisce, to rant, to dream.
With you I am free to be me.

You are company when I am lonely,
my entertainment when I have none.
You sometimes confuse me, anger me,
challenge me, but will always speak to me
even when the rest of my world is silent.

Poetry, you are a beacon
that illuminates my world
a lantern in the fog.
Poetry, you are light.

Dogs Rule

Tulip (5 years old) and Violet (7 years old)

Basil (5 1/2 months old)

Dogs Rule

I wake early, not for me, but for them.
dress myself, being a modest sort,
take older dogs outside first, then baby,
bring them all in, excited to be fed,
even though everyday food is the same.

Dogs eat as my coffee brews
and bread toasts, but they don't care.
I'm starved as they, maybe moreso;
but about the time I'm ready
to cut cheese to put on toast
a dog stands at the door, implores
with desperate eyes to go out now,
not soon, not even five minutes, now!

So, as my toast cools, I take out
whoever wants out to do something,
and when I come in, toast is cold
and cheese doesn't melt at all,
but that's okay, I tell myself.
as it's all routine with dogs
who really are in charge here.

Dogs wind me around their paws,
lure me outside, interrupt meals,
postpone my priorities with looks
I can't ignore, as I don't want
a mess on the floor. I yield happily.

In my house it is the dogs
who decide the plan, but humor me
for food, entertainment, and fun.
And I just follow along, a puppy
with my own tail wagging for love.

Connect the Dots

Connect the Dots

As a child I completed connect-the-dot pictures
to discover what was there with behind the dots
As an adult I still strive to connect dots
but now I know I'm in charge of making them
as well as connecting them to make a picture
It was so much easier when someone else
knew the picture, when someone else drew dots.

This was written for my own prompt over at Poetry Jam.  I hope others will take a look at the prompt of "Connections" there and consider writing and linking, as wel as enjoying other poetry linked there.  I also do hope to write another poem for this prompt; but tonight I was thinking about how simple it was as a child to connect the dots to make a beautiful picture.  Adulthood is not so simple!

Surreal-ity

Surreal-ity

It is not what he sees but how he imagines it
black, white, crimson or shades of gray,
the cooing of the dove overhead,
sweet taste of the chocolate on the plate,
the scent of grass, freshly mown, wet
and the frame, is it the mountains or the forest

or is there no frame at all, all an illusion,
imagination, unreal, nothing concrete or tangible?
Perhaps there is nothing to see, smell, or touch
as  bony fingers reach for nothingness
pretending to perceive something in the sea
where only the serpent swims free

and snares all treasures for itself,
slippery with greed oozing from appendages
covered with oil that were perceived as gold
that glittered as he always thought it would
but slipped through his fingers before he knew
and he realized nothing was real at all.

Shared with Dverse Poets Open Link Night.  Also with Poets United Poetry Pantry #94.

No Through Road



Photo by Shanyn Silinski

No Through Road

No through road
often life is like that
one false turn after another
often spattered with dirt
and you spin your wheels
as you try to turn around
and get out

but then again
sometimes the road
that leads nowhere
has a magnificent view.

Happy Ending, or Not?

Happy Ending, or Not?

Once upon a time there really was magic
and all wizards worked together for good
not only for themselves and their own people
but for everyone who lived in the known world

If there was someone who didn't have something
but needed it, he would go to visit a wizard.
Poof, it would appear. Food, clothing, shelter,
rain for the crops, wizards had the key.

And some other wizards could cast spells,
and they cast spells of love and happiness,
cured illnesses, cast out evil demons,
and everyone was happy with their lot.

Then one day a greedy wizard proclaimed
it wasn't right joy should not be so abundant,
should only be available to those who could pay,
and he began to charge a price for happiness.

And when the other wizards heard this
their hearts hardened too, and all wizards
began to charge for good they did, and
for a high price, could be convinced to do bad.

And life changed greatly in the land;
people wanted and hated those who had;
people suffered, but had no money to pay;
only the wizards were happy and rich.

Only the wizards could pull the strings,
decide who lived, decide who died,
set a low price, or set it way too high.
The wizards became tyrannical gods

And life went on this way for a long time;
struggles were abundant, joys were few,
and people wished for the good old days
when kindness and generosity ruled.

So is there a happy ending to this  tale?
Perhaps each of us has power to decide
if the wizards stay, at their high cost,
or if they're rounded up and kicked out of town?

Claudia, who lives in the land of Grimm, at dVerse Poetics challenged us to write a fairy tale.  It took me a while to come up with one; but here it is!

Singing

Singing

I am singing tonight, no reason but I'm singing,
even though I am not good at carrying a tune.
I'm running down hallways, one hand gesturing the beat,
delivery inconsequential to my inherent need
for drama in delivery. I'm smiling as I sing,
and even though no one follows my lead
I won't allow anyone to limit my enthusiasm
or listen to sources that cite previous instances
where they claim I inappropriately burst into song.
I'm happy tonight, no reason but I'm singing. Yes!

This poem was written for The Sunday Whirl #48 where the words to use were:  singing, sources, previous, carry, limit, hallways, gestures, drama, drives, follows, delivery, hand, inherent.  I used all of them, but changed the form of one of the words.  The Mr. Linky for this will be up on Sunday. 

Perspective

Perspective

I used to try to convince others
of the rightness of my beliefs
but now I appreciate others' views
for what they are and ask that others
appreciate mine the same
as we're individuals after all
and my perspective does not
either add to or subtract from others
beliefs of others and vice versa

Maturity

This was written for A Word With Laurie over at Real Toads.  Laurie's word today was "Perspective."

Why Indeed?

Why Indeed?

Sitting in a restaurant
with women I hardly know
what to talk about is the question
and, of course, no one asks me
anything, so I sit there
in silence which feels weird to me.

I try to think of something
that we can discuss but
people either do not know
what I am talking about or
add three words so subject ends

Again there is silence
and I wonder whether others think
or if eating in a restaurant
is what it's all about and
talk doesn't matter at all.

Strange to me. I don't mind
eating in a restaurant by myself,
but if I am with people I like
to at least interact. Weirdo
that I am. And that is why I
truly prefer my own company.

Happiness

Basil

Happiness

Happiness is warm soft smooth puppy fur.
I run my fingers through it again, again,
savoring the moments I have to stroke
innocent little Basil so new to life
who already trusts me implicitly to care
for him as I care for each of the others.

I don't want to disappoint Basil ever.
He rests in my arms or lies behind me
on the chair, always touching. He warms
me as I warm him. I guess this is life,
mutual warming, joy as intense as feeling
one's own version of warm, smooth puppy fur.

This was written for Peggy's  prompt at  Poetry Jam.  The prompt this week is "How do you feel?"  Take a look at it for more specifics, and write your own poem.  Those of you who are reading my site regularly know that I have adopted little Basil who is about 5 months old now.    Right now HE is 'happiness' to me.  There truly is nothing like the feel of puppy fur.  I took a small video of him today, playing with Tulip who is 5 years old. Another special being.  The two of them really get along pretty well, but they were both trying to get control of ONE toy  Basil is the one with the most black, the new puppy. 

Three Tankas

Three Tankas
Sunny afternoon
peaceful stroll around calm pond
oblivious ducks
glide past man's winter debris
man makes such a grievous mess

Maples will soon bud
spring will be early this year
hope again renewed
nature fulfills her promise
displays green another year.

Snow has left early
everyone anticipates
believes it likely
spring will arrive tomorrow
hope is a wonderful thing.
I wrote these Tanka for Grace's challenge at Imaginary Garden with Real Toads.  Tanka are written in 5 lines, and each line has a specific number of syllables.  5-7 5-7-7.  We really are having unseasonable weather.  The Tanka above were written after having been out and about this beautiful March day, where temperatures reached the unheard of 70's!

The Bell

The Bell

I had a choice
alarm clock or bell
I chose a bell
that marked my time,
still display it
as a reminder
of all those years.

It rings loud, and
we retired teachers joke
this is what our
years are worth.
No gold watch,
just a bell engraved
with a name
for all of our years.

But it's okay really
as our legacy is
children we taught
some of whom
have forgotten us
but we know
we tried the best
we could.

This was posted for Imaginary Gardens and Real Toads where Ella talked about the "Instagram" application for the I-Phone; and I had to download it and see what it was all about.  This is a photo I took, using Instagram, so I am using it for this post.  Thanks, Ella.  I will be using this more and more in the future when I figure it out totally, as I am a photo nut too.

Retribution

Retribution

He poured a libation, sacrificed to the deity
the only way he knew. He drank to the gods,
whoever they were, prayed for their help
in the only way he could.  Just one more shot
straight up, his way of praying for years.

There was plenty to handle, to pray for,
so much trouble after the accident
they said he caused. He was confused,
scared, wanted to settle, to end it all.
He was charged with a misdemeanor, a DUI,
when his car struck the toll booth.

No one died, did they? So why a big deal?
He didn't tell them  he had no recollection,
was confused, was smarter than that.
He wanted to settle now. Something.
He prayed they would. One more time.

He wanted no more questions,
and a bit more libation for the deity
though he didn't know their name.
Couldn't hurt was what he thought
Who could fault him for that!


This is my poem for  The Sunday Whirl #47  These were the words we had to use for it: charged, trouble, accident, mars, libation,  sacrificed, toll, confused, plenty, handle, ask, settle.  I used all except 'mars.'  That one eluded me, and I will be interested in seeing how everyone else uses it.
'

An Innocent Year

An Innocent Year

1999 - Windows of the World,
Floor 107 of World Trade Center.
Five of us toast each other,
all dressed elegant and fine,
overlook a magificent skyline.
Best table in the house,
CBS television connections,
delicious meal, good company,
laughter and conversation
a distant memory now,
one that has joined other memories,
but a photo still remains.
I was there, I was REALLY there.

Click

Two of these guests now deceased,
another's son a New York firefighter
who worked tirelessly two years later
when the Twin Towers came down. Today
I own a piece of glass from the Towers
sent by heroic firefighter's mother, wonder
if it came from Windows on the World.
I pretend it did. Who'd know?

Click

1999-Same group boards ferry
on the Hudson River, to see the skyline
from the water this time.  Twin Towers,
Statue of Liberty, so many tall buildings.
I'm carefree with wind blowing my hair,
and it's such a sunny day as we laugh
and smile and take photos of the view
as it is and the people as they are,
never dreaming of what the next few years
would bring for all of us, for New York City,
for the World. 1999 was an innocent year!

Click

This was written for dVerse Poets - Poetics, where the prompt is 1999.  It was a memorable year in many ways.  The above poem describes a major memory!

Yes

Yes

If to answer once
and only once
in life once
say yes

not maybe
not but
not why
not no

from your heart
and your soul
in life once
say yes

and someone
a special someone
will say yes
yes, thank you.

(Yes may be a small word, but I believe it to be one of the most powerful words in our language.  It feels so good to have someone say yes.  This is linked to Imaginary Garden With Real Toads Open Link.)

The Lost City

The Lost City
(A Triolet)

The lost city was not lost to itself
it was lost to those who destroyed it
but its specters continued to breathe.

The lost city was not lost to itself
but was buried alive with its demons
who shriek admonitions in the night.

The lost city was not lost to itself
it was lost to those who destroyed it.

This poem was written for DversePoets: Form For All where we, this week, are prompted to write a triolet.  The triolet form is  ABaAabAB.  Thanks, Gay and Sam.   I enjoyed this, and I will probably try a few more triolets soon.

Crescendo

Crescendo

There is always in each of us
the one who stays, the one who leaves
the one who hopes, the one who fears
the one who loves, the one who scorns
the one who goes forward, the one who holds back
the one who doubts, the one who s-t-r-e-t-c-h-e-s
     his mind like a rubber band having no fear
     of conventional limits and expands and expands
     in every direction pondering all possibilities
     in order to experience CRESCENDO!

This poem was inspired by Peggy's prompt at Poetry Jam.  The prompt was: Inner and Outer Limits.  Why not take a look at some of the other poetry lined there, and give the prompt a try yourself.

Life, Liberty, and Pursuit of Happiness

Life, Liberty, and Pursuit of Happiness


LIFE

I live, therefore I am.
I exist, I breathe,
I think, I feel. Life is
often taken for granted
until death stares one in the face.
There is no gift as precious.
Life.

LIBERTY

I am free to be me.
You are free to be you;
I can express myself,
so can you; we can agree
or we can disagree.
The second best gift is
Liberty.

PURSUIT OF HAPPINESS

I can choose my own path,
plan my own journey
decide where it will lead.
It is all up to me,
the responsibility heavy.
The most challenging gift is
Pursuit of Happiness.

Kerry, at Imaginary Garden with Real Toads challenged us to write a "Tryptych Poem,' which is a poem in three parts.  The above poem is my contribution!

Boomerang

Boomerang

Life is a boomerang
often brings back to you
what you dispense,
if you can seize it.
That is the trick!

Positive returns positive,
negative yields the same.
life circles back...or not.
Fair is ordained either by fate
or the  ability to catch.

Linked to Dversepoets Open Link Night....where Joe was hosting at the pub today!

My Song For Today

My Song for Today


When I had no happiness,
the sunrise was my joy.
When I had no time,
I threw away my watch

When I had no friends,
I walked with my dogs.
When I had no sleep,
solitude was my rest.

When I had no youth
I conjured myself sage.
When I had no voice,
poetry gave me words.

When I had no love, my
granddaughter gave a hug.
When I had no dreams
I learned to enjoy the dark.

When I have no faith
I act as if I do.
When I have no peace
I rest in my God.

Linked to Open Link Monday - Imaginary Gardens and Real Toads

A Little Bit Crazy

A Little Bit Crazy

My life might be called a life with dogs;
perhaps this is my calling: dogs,
but that is okay and feels good to me.

Dogs are my best friends, which is
a little bit crazy, but in today's world
we all have our little bit of crazy;

but a lot of people don't admit craziness
and to me that is crazy. They walk
around as if they are totally normal.

What is normal anyway, and who is?
Yes, I am talking to YOU there,
as you try to hide in your closet. I see YOU.

How many people are always glad to see you?
Don't answer that, but I know my dogs are
always glad to see me, never carry a grudge.

Dogs are totally upfront with wants and needs,
and are always willing to give a needed cuddle.
No hidden agenda. Not many people like that.

Well, you have the picture now;
we all have our priorities
I have some others, of course,

but today I'm addressing crazy
I am not totally crazy in my eyes anyway
nor are you (yes I said YOU,

are you still hiding?) if you admit
things about yourself that someone
might think are over the top.

Not me, of course, as I find people
with a little bit of crazy the most
fascinating people I know. Even you!

I wrote this poem for dVerse where there was an interesting prompt today.  It was to write a 'spoken word poem' in first person.  This is my attempt.  I CAN hear myself reading this poem!

Rebirth

Rebirth

Rebirth happens
it just does
even when we think it unlikely
rebirth happens.

Land scorched by fire greens anew
homes demolished by tornado are rebuilt
a disheartened person opens his curtains
one who grieves begins to laugh
cloud of depression is burnt away by the sun
bare winter trees brim with buds
tulips arise from soil once concealed by snow.

Rebirth happens
it just does
even when we think it unnlikely
rebirth happens.

This was written for, and linked to, Poets United Thank Tank Thursday where the prompt is Rebirth!