Be Aware

Photo by Mama Zen

Be Aware

Be aware

there is nothing you can hide

from the ever-watchful moon.

Written for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads Sunday challenge, featuring photographs by Mama Zen from which to choose.  Will also be submitted for NaPoWriMo 30 over at We Write Poems.

Beating Wings

Beating Wings

 

Oh that the sky can accommodate

the beauty of beating wings

of flocks of mallards

with distinctive sea-green heads

as they meander overhead

as I walk tree-lined lanes

and desolate alleys

squander time to follow

blue eyes turned heavenward

these intractable birds, their images

now etched in my pewter cup

and I am unashamedly mesmerized

by those beating mallard wings.

 

This poem was  written for  The Sunday Whirl.  The words that Brenda had us  use in this poem were  lane, alley, sea, eyes squander, accommodate, flocks, green,
follow, pewter, beating, intractable.      I am also submitting it for NaPoWriMo 29 over at We Write Poems.  The folks at We Write Poems have been kind enough to host NaPoWriMo Poems all month.   Thank you, Guys!

Wonder

Wonder

I see it in
granddaughter's eyes
when I tell her a story
about a princess with her name
her eyes open wide
she is a believer
she is a princess
all is possible
wonder.

This was written for Poets United where the prompt was "wonder" and is also being submitted at the We Write Poems site for NaPoWriMo 28.

Puppy Love

Puppy Love

A tight ball of life

curls on my lap

face touches tail

he knows he is safe

I am warmed by

one small puppy

I run fingers through  fur

nothing softer

it relaxes me

I calm this ball

of black and white

he calms me

both give what we can

nothing more demanded

or needed and it is enough

for both of us which is

the best of puppy love.

This poem was written for the Poetic Asides prompt (write an animal poem).  I am using it for NaPoWriMo 27 and am also submitting it to Open Link Monday - Imaginary Garden With Real Toads.

Inside Out

Inside Out

I walk the treadmill, two miles,
a day of rain, plod on contemplative,
watch Court TV, someone lies but
the judge decides guilt, innocence,
so easily, right, wrong, case dismissed.

And then the news, John Edwards,
a shining star gone south, how quickly
it happens that fortunes change.
I'm sad, lonely, but dogs welcome me
with their barks, vie for a place on my lap.

Granddaughter hugs me, I watch her
color pictures, connect dots, wonder
if my dots connect, as I notice grass
is way too long and wonder why
someone hasn't mowed before now.

She tells me she loves me, I tell her
I love her too, her smile brings joy.
I tell myself not too think too deeply,
it won't change anything, instead I plot
how to coerce dogs outside in the rain.

I wrote this in response to Ella's "Inside Out" challenge at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads and will be my submission for NaPoWriMo 26 over at We Write Poems.

History

History

If there is war
there are at least two sides
battles are fought, concluded;
one side celebrates
(waves flags of victory),
the other side laments
(but plots revenge).

Winner and  loser --
two sides of the coin;
I used to believe
history meant accuracy,
but now know
history is only perspective
and in war there are only losers.

This poem is written for Peggy's challenge at   Poetry Jam:  All About History.  It was also submitted for  Dverse Poets Open Link Night and NaPoWriMo 25 at the We Write Poems site.

Destiny

Destiny
you sense it
you know it
but are you brave enough
to follow it?

Destiny
are you willing
to follow your heart
change your life
say yes?

Destiny
will you cast fate to wind
heed the call
from deep inside
grab the brass ring?

Destiny
it's there if you choose it
overcome fear
go with your heart
just this once.


Today I saw the movie Lucky One. Words said by the male lead at the end of the movie were: "Everyone has their own destiny, but not everyone makes their own choice to follow it."   I believe in those words 100%. They inspired this poem. Submitted to We Write Poems for NaPoWriMo 24. Also a  submission for  Open Link Monday at Imaginary Gardens with Real Toads.

Humankind

Humankind

Humankind
what does it mean
in the general sense

Are humans kind
really?

Your call with that answer
I'll remain neutral
(is that fair?)
speak for myself only

I try to be,
am not always
but most of the time
at least that is what
I tell myself
perhaps what we all
tell ourselves
as no one likes to think
themselves (yes I used them
rather than him or her,
don't wish to be sexist)
unkind in any way
at least I am not hurtful

but not being hurtful kind
is that all there is
to being human
humankind

I will sleep on it
you should sleep on it
collectively we can
contemplate just what
humankind is
is not

and decide
won't we?

Hmmm
can we?
 
I have written this poem for the prompt over at We Write Poems  The prompt was:  How do we define Humankind?    Responses can be posted there Wednesday.  I have written my poem early and am submitting it also for NaPoWriMo 23. I have written a poem every day so far in April, am glad to be on the downward slope.

Pain

Pain

Did anyone tell you aches can be exquisite
(in the abstract sense of the word)?

Pain can be shelved (try it, it's true)
Complaints will ferment
(wine makes pain bearable)

as you deal with the dragon, its coda
building to a crescendo (you've heard it),

and the way it tries not to shimmy
(don't want to enjoy it too much).

Origami overtones trump sentimentality,
spangling ethereal cacophony trumps all.
Trust me, aches can be exquisite.

This poem was written with the words Brenda provided for The Sunday Whirl on its one-year-anniversary. I have written to most of them. I would guess I haven't missed more than three "Whirls" in this past year. The words this week were aches, exquisite, abstract, shelved, ferment, dragon, coda, shimmy, origami, spangling, dragon, ethereal, and cacophony.

I am also going to submit this poem for NaPoWriMo 22 over at We Write Poems.  These fine folks have been kindlly hosting NaPoWriMo poems this month.

Retiree

Retiree

Retired now
duties are over
no more obligations
nothing he has to do
anymore

he has all day to be happy
to make his own plans
to tend his garden
to fulfill his dreams

he anticipated this time
could hardly wait for the day
only trouble is he doesn't
seem to matter to anyone
anymore

his garden is filled with weeds
his plans fell by the wayside
he stares out his front window
and counts birds on his lawn

Retired now
duties are over
no more obligations
nothing he has to do
anymore


This was written for Dverse Poetics where Karen's prompt today was "duty / obligation."

A Poem of Opposite

A Poem of Opposite

Your No against all those
Whispered yeses

How cautious you were
What cowardice you showed
As if one self surrendered
The whole cosmos

So what if none of it took place
Noisily outside you?

A couple days ago at the NaPoWriMo site, it suggested, " Today I challenge you to take a poem that already exists (it could be one of your own), and rewrite it so that each line is the opposite of the original. "  So that is what I did, and what resulted above.

I chose a short poem by Gregory Orr to work with:

Your Yes against all those
Shouted noes.

How brave you were.
What courage it took.
As if one self defied
The Whole cosmos

So what if it all took place
Silently inside you?

The poem that I wrote is nothing 'special,' but I am tired tonight, thus it will have to do.  I will link it to We Write Poems Napowrimo 21!

Bully

Bully

John told me...
they play a game with him:
"John touch" they call it,
say he is always "it,"
so I ask him what he does
and he says told the teacher once,
named the main perpetrator
but it didn't stop, so
he now tries to ignore it.

John told me....
it continues anyway and then
whenever someone passes gas
the perp says "John did it" and laughs,
and John says he doesn't
but it doesn't matter what he says.
The finger is pointed at him,
and I think he's probably shared
less than half of it, the demeaning of
the boy who is only in second grade.

Last week I saw the movie Bully. It affected me greatly. I think it should be seen by all children middle school and up, their teachers, their parents, and all adults really. Unfortunately bullying starts early and continues. It must be dealt with and stopped.  The above poem is based on fact.

This poem was first written for MY prompt over at  Imaginary Garden with Real Toads.  The prompt is "Let's Go to the Movies."  I am also sharing it with the kind folks at We Write Poems who are kindly hosting NaPoWriMo poems this month for NaPoWriMo 20.

Spirit

Tulip and Violet

Spirit

Dogs may have the essence of spirit,
as they seem pretty content no matter what,
wag their tales as they chomp down kibble,

always hope for a few extra treats (don't we all?),
play run and chase like there's no tomorrow,
lie on the carpet or couch to bask in the sun,

continually seek out all opportunities for play,
then sprawl on the chair behind me as I type,
warm bodies touching one another, that's spirit.

We Write Poems challenged us to write a 'spiritual poem.'  I have written religious poems in the past, so tonight decided to do a lighter take.  This is posted at We Write Poems and also will be posted at the We Write Poems NaPoWriMo 19 link on Thursday.

Hillary

Hillary

Hillary, how did it happen
that you became an old woman?
Wrinkles, colorless lips, thinning hair,
blonde overshadowed by grey.

Hillary, you wanted to be President,
but it was not to be, and now
your strong face has aged a decade,
furrowed in less than four years.

Hillary, your grey eyes are tired
and your neck deeply lined,
though it had not been before.
I wonder, do you have regrets?

Hillary, you were a notable Senator
and could have maintained influence there.
I'm sorry you accepted this thankless job;
history seldom honors a Secretary of State.

Hillary, you seldom appear happy
with your thin mouth, tightened lips.
The camera catches you sad.
You stare at the horizon alone.

Hillary, I know you had dreams,
ambitions, goals now unfulfilled.
You still have more time left,
your legacy will not be in politics.

This was written for my "Face the Facts" challenge at Poetry Jam.   It is also submitted to Imaginary Garden With Real Toads  where Kenia's challenge was to "celebrate feminine." It is also being submitted for NaPoWriMo 18, April 18, over at  We Write Poems.

As an aside, I have wondered for a while if Hillary regretted accepting the position of Secretary of State rather than continuing as a U.S. Senator in New York for who knows how many years.  Somehow I think she would have wielded more influence there and have left a stronger mark on history.   I think of  Secretary of State as a kind of dead end position.  And very back stage, for the most part out of view.  I hope  within a few years she will write a book and, in it, reflect on her decisions.  And I DO believe, like her husband Bill, she WILL have a life beyond politics.

Enigma

Enigma

Look at those fine bright clothes in your closet.
Why do you pass them by and wear the
faded, frayed old jeans rather than the new,
and why those stretched out sweatshirts?

And all of those beautiful dresses,
what are you saving them for anyway?
For what rainy day, what special occasion,
for who to give to Goodwill after you're gone?

I am going to use this for NaPoWriMo 17.

Open Window

Open Window

Hope enters through my open window;
there is a lot to be said for that.
Dreams enter through my open windows;
who would want to prevent that?

And angels? They go in and out
arrive with the moon, leave at dawn,
tell me their secrets which I never
remember in the morning.

This poem was written for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, using one of Susie Clevenger's pictures as a prompt.  I will also submit it for NaPoWriMo 16 at We Write Poems on Monday.

Energy

Energy

Energy

more forceful than flames

life plays dramatic tricks sometime

but when we exchange sweet breath for sweet time

we come up richer than we dreamed

flexible beyond our imagination

and are able to push our lives forward

with nary a glance back

Energy

This was written for The Sunday Whirl.  The words that we had to use were  sweet, richer, dramatic, forceful, tricks, flames, energy, push, glance, exchange, breath, flexible, blend.  I am also submitting it to We Write Poems for NaPoWriMo Day 15.

Broken Promise

Broken Promise

I promised myself I would write
a cheerful poem for today.
I have a lot to be thankful for.
I know that, see that.
I am thankful for my dogs.
I am thankful for you.
I promised I would write
a cheerful poem for today.
Maybe tomorrow.

Lost Key

Lost Key

I cannot find the key

I must have misplaced it

or perhaps what I thought was the key

was really an illusion

or maybe I was dreaming

or someone stole it or hid it

but I could have sworn

I had it once

a while ago.

I have looked everywhere,

tried to retrace my steps,

looked in drawers, closets, pockets,

and even my heart, but

I just cannot find the key

again.

This poem was written for Poets United Thank Tank Thursday 92 where the prompt was "key."  It also will be used for NaPoWriMo 13 and posted at We Write Poems on Friday, as WWP is hosting NaPoWriMo poems.

Grief

Grief

Grief will come and go when it does.
The wave will wash in, wash out;
sometimes tears, sometimes none;
sometimes smiles even, laughter.

Yes, happiness can coexist with grief;
but below the surface grief is,
just resides there, hard to explain.
It does not need to be acknowledged.

Its words do not demand to be spoken;
grief sits like an albatross, heavy,
with a chain around my heart,
and it will not fly away or release me.

And sometimes I will it to leave
and some days I bid it to please stay
but am powerless to sway either way.
I feel it always, tears as close

as the memories that brought them
but if grief leaves, what then?

This is my submission for NaPoWriMo 12.  It will be posted Thursday at We Write Poems which is kindly hosting these submissions.

Blank Spaces

Blank Spaces

We believe nothing is written

in the blank spaces of books

but I can read these spaces

as well as I can read black words.

The blank spaces hold old secrets

unrevealed for personal reasons

but I can keep confidences,

so I will never tell or betray.

The blank spaces hold tears

shed behind life's closed doors

so I embrace the book to my heart

as it is a dear, dear friend.

The blank spaces hold hopes

that never were brought to fruition

so I raise the book up high

honor not what isn't but what it is.

And then I discover the blank spaces

that hold unspeakable fearsome things

I slam the book shut, feel a bone chill,

and as my heart skips a beat, I hide it forever away.

I wrote this for Poetry Jam, where the prompt is to write about a mystery in life.  Well, what greater mystery than what do the blank spaces in books hold.  I am also submitting this for NaPoWriMo 11.  It is posted at We Write Poems which is hosting these poems.

Pollyanna Revisited

Pollyanna Revisited

I hear the voice of my mother reading to me;
I was seven years old, lying in bed, bronchitis,
feverish with sore throat  after a penicillin shot.
She read me Pollyanna, I remember that,
about a girl who always looked on the bright side.

My mother sat with me for hours, reading,
waiting for the medicine to work, for the steam
to clear my lungs. No television in my room,
none even in the house, so other times I played
with plastic cowboys and horses in the sheets.

I ate Jello and toast, drank ginger ale, and
when one day I asked for a juicy hamburger
my mother knew I was finally getting well.
I still have my old Pollyanna books, the
books I can still hear my mother read.

The prompt over at the NaPoWriMo site today suggested taking a a first line of another poem and writing a different poem. The very first line of the third stanza of this poem comes from Billy Collins' poem Books.   I am submitting this poem to  dVerse Poets Open Link. 

If people are not familiar with Pollyanna, there was also a movie made of the books. her philsophy of life centers on what she calls the 'glad game,' an optimistic attitude she learned from her father.  The game consists of finding a silver lining in the darkest clouds, something in everything to be glad about.  Not a bad game, as I see it!   

Letting Go

Letting Go

Letting go when you want to hold on
turning to leave when you want to stay

sometimes you just have to do
what you don't want to do

when you're not welcome any more
when every silent someone looks at you

sometimes you just have to go
and wave as you walk away

and pretend it doesn't hurt
as you tip your hat to the wind

sometimes you just have to do
what you don't want to do.

This poem was written very loosely in response to the PAD prompt a few days ago on 'rejection' and another PAD prompt on 'hidden.'  It is submitted  for NaPoWriMo Day 10 over at We Write Poems.

Every Day the Same

Every Day the Same

She sat in her chair
watched Dr. Oz
said nothing
nothing to say.

He sat in his chair
read his newspaper
said nothing
nothing to say.

She went to the kitchen
prepared pork chops
peeled potatoes
made coffee.

He sat in his chair
watched the news
had a glass of wine
nodded off.

She set the table
he came to the table
she served the food
they ate dinner.

He cleared the table
she put away leftovers
he loaded the dishwasher
she wiped the counter.

They sat in their chairs
they watched TV
He asked Time for bed?
She answered Yes.

This was written for NaPoWriMo Day 9.  It is posted on We Write Poems, which is kindly hosting NapoWriMo poems as well as Real Toads Open Link Monday.  I used the prompt from Poetic Asides:  Write a scene where two or more people interact without speaking.

Easter Kyrielle

Easter Kyrielle

Jesus, you died and rose for me;
I raise my eyes, your glory see;
I fold my hands and try to pray,
I thank you for this Easter Day.

Jesus, you raised yourself from dead,
showed us we have nothing to dread;
your body gone, rock pushed away,
I thank you for this Easter Day.

Jesus, you fulfilled promise well,
have conquered even gates of hell.
In my heart you will always stay;
I thank you for this Easter Day.

This poem was written for Kerry's Sunday challenge at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads.  She challenged us to write a poem in Kyrielle form.  As it is a form often used in Christian liturgy, I wrote one in celebration of today:  Easter.  Here is a brief description, but if you want to read more, head over to Real Toads:

" The name kyrielle derives from the Kýrie, which is part of many Christian liturgies. It is a French rhyming form that originated in troubadour poetry and is written in quatrains, in which each quatrain contains a repeating line as a refrain (usually appearing as the last line of each stanza). Originally, the phrase "Lord, have mercy", or a variant on it, was used as a refrain. Each line within the poem consists of only eight syllables. There is no limit to the number of stanzas a Kyrielle may have, but three is considered the accepted minimum. "

The Balladeer

The Balladeer

Now he fantasizes himself a balladeer,
thinks it is his destiny to sing his story,
to croon songs of how he cured his addiction,

thus conveying even more staggering sorrows
to a world sickened by his justifications
and bloody broken tales that deserved to be buried

next to his mate he stabbed in the marrow at dusk
before he cured himself, before he was sent to jail,
before he framed his destiny as heroic balladeer.

I would have preferred to write something a bit more upbeat to post on Easter, but this poem was written using the words Brenda provided for  The Sunday Whirl #51.  The words we were given to include were:  marrow, staggering, destiny, story, blood, mate, broken, addiction, buried, songs, dusk, sorrows.  I am also going to submit this over at the We Write Poems site for NaPoWriMo #8.  Truly sorry about the downer on such a day as Easter.

Soar

Photo by Tracey Grumbach

Soar

Above it all
birds in flight
soar free

follow their example
view the big picture

ignore small slights
and petty irritations

let angers fly away
learn to rise above
learn to soar.

Posted for dVerse Poetics.  Inspired by a photograph taken by Tracey Grumbach & shared on dVerse.

Grandma

My grandma as I remember her

Grandma

Grandma, you died too soon
Grandma, I hardly knew you
I was only six years old
you were so blind and frail
I led you by hand to the table, Grandma
but I wish I would really have known you.

Grandma, you died too soon
Grandma, I hardly knew you
you wore a black dress, black shoes.
your skin was pale and so thin
your thin hair was done in a bun, Grandma
but I wish I would really have known you.

Grandma, you died too soon
Grandma, I hardly knew you
The morning I was told you died
I asked why you couldn't have waited
Mother had me kiss you in the coffin, Grandma
but I wish I would really have known you.

This poem was written for Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads where Marian provided a musical prompt, a song called "Granny" performed by Vic Chesnutt.  One of my grandmothers died before I was born; and I don't have a lot of memories of my other grandma who died when I was six and, unfortunately, was never a big factor in my life as when I knew her she was pretty old and also blind.  I am thankful to be able to be another kind of grandmother in my grandchildren's life.  I will also be using this for NaPoWriMo 7 when I post it at We Write Poems tomorrow morning when the site, which is hosting NaPoWriMo writing,  is up.

Opening Day

Opening Day

Today I celebrate my opening day
my new beginning, fresh start.
My uniform sparkles, my bat is new,
and I'm breaking in new shoes.

Failures are all behind me now
I'm practiced and ready to go,
Throw whatever ball you wish.
Curve balls don't intimidate me

Look me in the eye, I have no fear
I am ready for that first pitch
and I'm going to hit a home run!
This season I'm going to win!

The prompt 'Opening Day' was  shared at the NaPoWrimo site today, April 5.  I wrote this poem for NaPoWriMo Day 6 in honor of Opening Day of the professional baseball season here in the USA.  It struck me that it would be nice if we all had opening days each year where we could have a fresh start. Thus I decided I am going to declare April 6 my own 'opening day.'  I'm ready! Bring it on. Bring anything on.

100% Exhausted

100% Exhausted

Today I am 100% exhausted
at the end of a very long day
but some days are like that
and I am thankful for days
however they are, would not wish
for the alternative where I'd have
no days to be exhausted at all.

Today I'm not feeling 100%
so much going on in my head
many tears I cannot shed
but it's okay, day will pass
and night's quilt will embrace me
and cuddle the long day away
and remind me there's tomorrow.

This is based very loosely on Robert Brewer's Poetic Asides prompt "100%." It is written for NaPoWriMo 5. Though it is a few hours early here, I am going to 'release' it anyway.....as I AM exhausted.

Necessary Tools

Necessary Tools

I need...

a shovel to pitch junk out of my  life
a knife to cut away failure

a level to keep me on an even keel
a paintbrush to color my world with beauty

a hammer to pound nails to make a perfect box
    in which to store my memories

and a keyboard to write them down!

Written for Poetry Jam where the prompt this week is Tools.  Also submitted for NaPoWriMo Day 4!

Chicago Visits

An old Maxwell Street Chicago postcard

Chicago Visits

We visited Chicago once a year
burglar chains on every window
homes so close I could hear
conversation in homes next door.

Cousin had a comic book collection
Superman, Batman, Green Lantern
as well as many Hardy Boys books
I used to read them before bed

I was mesmerized by their television
black and white and very small
programming began late afternoon
crime and cowboy shows and news.

Uncle toured us by car
and we kept the doors locked
we drove past sprawling homeless
on the sidewalks of Skid Row.

Uncle took us to Maxwell Street
and I clung to my parents' hand
as we passed hawkers selling watches
stolen items for a good price.

Chicago was where for the first time
I saw other races, watched television,
ate pizza, saw buildings that reached the sky,
experienced fear of what could happen to me.

Written for NaPoWriMo Day 3 using the PA prompt "visitor."  Linked to dVerse Open Link 38  My mother's sister and family lived in Chicago, in not the safest of areas. I still remember driving there in the summer with my parents.  I remember the hot bedroom without air-conditioning, and we could only open the window a bit because of the burglar chains.  They had a television before TV was available in our area.  Must have been a 12-inch screen.  At home pizza was yet to arrive, but (of course) Chicago is famous for pizza.  Chicago was the first place I saw people of races other than my own. Maxwell Street was an experience.  I was told many things, such as watches, were stolen goods. I would like to see it again today from an adult's eyes. Never had I seen a skid row.  I can still picture that view through my childhood eyes....people sitting / lying on the streets.  Bottles by their side.  I have been to Chicago many times as an adult.  Downtown Chicago.  Different than the Chicago I saw as a child.

Communication

Communication

It happens sometimes
communication just stops
not intentional
(or perhaps it is)
two people have nothing
to say to one another
(or choose to say nothing)
are too busy with other things
(or that's what they tell themselves)

For a while neither may notice
the distance and the silence
but then they do
and often it's too much work
to communicate again
so they drift further away

And after a while
it is natural not to communicate
neither expects it
though periodically (in quiet moments)
there is a tinge
of missing what once was
but by then it is too late
and all that remains is
memories of what is lost
and sadness of what will remain unsaid.

I am sharing this for NaPoWriMo Day 2..slightly early (but it is already April 2 somewhere), but I don't want to get behind.  It is based on a Robert Brewer prompt over at Poetic Asides. The prompt was Communication.

Questions

Questions

What is.....
     the shape of a whisper?
     the taste of a trick?
     the smell of a wish?
     the depth of a point?

How do you make a life
      shine in the dark?

Who packed powerful magic
     in the paw of one small pet?

And where is the invisible string
     that weaves all questions together?