Forest Walk (Recipe for Renewal)

Forest Walk (Recipe for Renewal)

Alone I walk the path that leads into the forest
to surround myself with oaks, maples, and pines
to refresh myself, breathe deeply, find reason to be alive.

Every wonder of Mother Nature that surrounds me is alive;
and while enveloped by the vapory musty moodiness of the forest
I'm serenaded by cardinals and squirrels that live in the pines.

I savor my solitude as I drift lost in thought among the pines;
and as I search for answers to the question why I'm alive
my thinking becomes deep and dark as the densest forest.

The forest pines for me as I search for a new meaning of alive.

This was written for dVerse Form for All, where Samuel Paralta introduced us to the not-so-easy-to-accomplish Tritina form. Follow the link to find out more!  Also submitted for Poets United Thursday Think Tank, where Ella presented the prompt:  Recipe!  Go over and take a look.

Eyes

Eyes

Eyes don't lie, can't lie
send messages, chill the soul
cut to the quick
reject with no mercy

Eyes kill with a glance
make someone retreat
then crawl like a worm
hold them there on the ground
then laugh as they squirm.

Eyes build a person up
warm a heart, give confidence,
tell someone they are loved
cared about, treasured.

Eyes smile and laugh
(see the lines)
The eyes cry
(see the red and the tears).

Eyes speak true blue
(at least my eyes do)
but they are silent.

This poem was written for Theme Thursday, where the prompt was "Eyes."

Untitled

Basil, Violet, and Tulip living the 'good life'

Untitled

I love to play
        with words
        with dogs
        with grandchildren
        with ideas
and as I walk
         relive what was
         live what is
         dream what can be
 and pray.

Mama Zen at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads challenged is to write about our power image(s) in 25 words or less.  Not sure I have perfectly fulfilled this as the challenge was intended; but for me it seems I have. (29 words though...LOL.)

Dear Friend

 

 



Me on the left, my German friend Ursula on the right!

We have been friends for more than 30 years.

I visited her in July, and I guess I could say

she is my best friend in the whole world.

She started out as a pen pal.

 



Dear Friend

I've always written letters

since age 10 when I took French

and we could acquire a French pen pal

Dear Friend

My name is Mary

I live in Wisconsin,

and I am taking French

and I wrote to this pen pal for a while

not long

as she didn't learn much English

nor did I learn much French

but this opened me to the world to me

and I  wanted more and lived for more

and I acquired relationships with

friends from England, Switzerland,

Scotland, Germany, Wales, France

and some of them took

and friendships formed

doors opened, trips taken,

and it all started with

Dear Friend,

My name is Mary.

 

 

I wrote this poem today for my"Letters"  prompt at Poetry Jam. 

The prompt will be up for much of the week.  I hope many

of you will participate in this prompt that means so much to me.



Justice

Justice

Justice is only as good
as the judge.

Justice depends on
facts revealed.

Justice can be too harsh
for a penitent person.

Justice can be too soft
for a mass murderer.

Justice does not chastise
those who are above the law.

Justice should be
impartial but isn’t.

Even terrorists
believe in justice.

In wars both sides
believe in justice.

Without laws would
justice exist?

Justice for all
means what?

Submitted for Open Link Night at dVerse.

Success

Photo by Mary Kling

Success

Many people lack hope
are filled with despair
embrace failure as a lifelong friend.

How much better it would be if
they would open the door a crack
let success have a chance

if they would welcome a new outlook
and not object to changes
they could make if they tried.

This was written for Poets United Vice/Versa. We had to choose two of the three sets of antonyms and use them in a poem. If we were gluttons for punishment, we could use all three. I used all three sets. The sets of antonyms were: Object/Welcome, Despair/Hope, and Embrace/Neglect.

Desperate

Desperate

As he pleaded with the operator
hoping she could help him
he traced her  name with one of  the pencils
found inside the recipe book
she had left behind.

Empty inside, wishing to be forgiven,
he noticed the rose still bloomed at dusk
along the chain link fence and realized
that despite the emptiness of his life
essentials remained intact.

The above poem was written for The Sunday Whirl: #71, and incorporated the following words:

Bottles

Bottles by Borg de Nobel
(used with permission)

Bottles

So much bottled up
(e)motion, energy, anger,
            grief, passion

corks in these bottles
ready to pull
     ready to (x) plode

               and pop

if you get too close
      shake them loose
say the wrong thing
force an issue (or not)
     
and once they (x)plode
  they can (n)ever again be (con)tained
                  so run as your
   surv(I)val depends on it
     shake up your l(I)fe
stir it
let it loose
or you'll be eaten alive
  from the inside
     from the (x)plosions
        of the bottles lined up
                      waiting for
                            your move.

Today at dVerse Poetics, Claudia presents us with four paintings by Borg de Nobel.  Follow the dVerse link to find out more and see what others have written.  It is also being linked to Sunday's Poets United Poetry Pantry.

(For anyone who read the poem previous to this one:  I had said I was going to try to write an 'obscure' poem.  Well, this is my attempt at a bit of obscurity, just for fun!)

Obscurity

Obscurity

As a poor man yearns to be rich,
I yearn oftentimes to be obscure
to write words that flow beautifully
as melodic as those of John Keats
in Ode on a Grecian Urn
but are impossible to understand,
or express in five hundred words
what could be said in seventy-five
or beat around the bush so long
that readers abandon the bush
but declare it a superior work of art.

Alas though, listen to John Keats,
to words he had written with gilded pen:
"O Attic shape! Fair Attitude! with brede
Of marble men and maidens overwrought"
Obscurity par excellence, my heart leaps,
lovely mystery, I can't get enough. Swoon.
With sinking heart, I know I can't  come close.
so instead I join with the throngs of admirers,
the same ones who raved about the Emperor's new clothes,
and agree with all that this is truly lovely art.

However, admittedly I truly do yearn to be obscure
fear it's as futile as a sparrow yearning to be a hawk.
My words come out clear, don't dance in circles,
name the bush, don't beat around,
and I fear I couldn't be obscure if I tried.

I was reading some John Keats poetry recently.  "Ode to a Grecian Urn" was one.  "Ode to Autumn" was another. (What's with odes and Keats anyway?)  I also skimmed through some Shelley and Wordsworth poems.  I know these are classic poets, but to me the writing is very obscure and circuitous and danced around the points to be made.  I know there are poets of today who write 'obscure' poems too.  I am not one of them. LOL.  I have decided, however, that I am going to try to write more obscure poetry..  Ha, I guess I will start tomorrow ...or the day after.  Or next week! 

This is submitted for dVerse Poets Open Link and also for Poetry Jam where Dani's prompt this week is "Genre" and poetry is a genre of literature; and this poem is somewhat a comment ON the genre.

Harmony

Harmony

Harmony is a beautiful thing;

nature's harp rings true.

Do you hear the crickets chirp

and birds that sing so clear?

Harmony creates good feelings,

brings smiles to people's faces,

creates happiness to be shared

beautiful feelings through and through.

We all triumph  when discord is held at bay.

There is nothing to be gained

by inflicting pain, hurting someone,

or making someone squirm.

There really should be no joy

in ruining a day.

This was written for Poets United Vice/Versa.  The words that had to be used in the poem were the antonyms harmony & discord; triumph & fail.

Sleepless

Sleepless

He was tired, so tired
needed a fix of sleep
the insidious sleeplessness
was taking its toll
on his body, his soul.

Anger in vivid red
was on the tip of his tongue
and rather than gentle preludes
when he lay down to sleep
waves of tinny sounds
pounded like dissonant hammers.

Though his limbs were beyond tired
and curtains tinted to keep out light
his racing mind was split between sleep and wake
and drifts into and out of consciousness
made him feel like he was going crazy
..........and perhaps he was.

This poem was written for The Sunday Whirl#70 and  had to include the following words: tip, fix, tinted, preludes, vivid, tinny, drifts, nick, waves, gentle, limbs, insidious, split.

I hadn't written for the Whirl in a few weeks. It is good to be back.

Summer

Photo by Mary Kling

Summer

Heaven is the time of year
I savor the outdoors
read newspaper on the deck
early morning coffee in hand

recline and sway in the hammock
in the shade of a summer afternoon
tangy lemonade on table beside
surrounded by music with a beat

kneel among hostas and clematis
dig hands and fingers in the earth
keep the crab grass and clovers at bay
bike or walk dogs in the neighborhood

eat lunch and dinner outdoors
serenaded by a chorus of cardinals
observed by a doe and her fawn
inhale warm air deep and deeper still

with knowledge that summer is short
and the summers ahead
are fewer than those I have lived.

This was written for dVerse where the theme of the day is Summer.   It also is being shared with Sunday's Poets United Poetry Pantry.

Photo by Mary Kling

Neighborhood

Neighborhood

Blue moon popsicles
black and white television
with Howdy Doody and Clarabell
and Davy Crockett wearing coonskin cap
sitting on the front porch in summer
watching the neighborhood walk by
often stopping to chat
and to share the porch for a while.

I knew the names of people
in every house on the block
(still could tell you their names)
so it didn't matter if we were outside
playing Starlight Moonlight late
in someone's front yard all was safe
when we told ghost stories, giving dares
and tried to count the fireflies.

In the daytime laundry on the line
smelled as fresh as the gossip
mothers exchanged and I overheard:

Did you hear that Mr. Smith is having an affair
and did you see Mrs. Smith's black eye?
Did you hear wild Jackie who necked in the car with boys
is no longer living at home because a baby's on the way?
Did you hear that the priest visited the Browns
and asked why they didn't have children? More kids
for the Catholic church, ya know. Mrs. Brown told him off.

Red Light, Green Light
Statue Maker
Red Rover, Red Rover send....
Where did the time go
those days when we sang
Davy Crockett, King of the Wild Frontier
and ate Hershey bars six for a quarter
played Robin Hood in the woods
and there was no way to get in trouble
as all the neighbors knew us
and would tell our parents
if we did anything we shouldn't.

Kick the Can, Stoop Tag,
baseball in the street (no traffic)
let's pretend our bicycles are spaceships
ring doorbells and run.
l remember the old neighborhood
as if it were yesterday, in my mind.

This poem was written for my prompt (Mary's Mixed Bag) over at  Imaginary Garden With Real Toads.  The prompt was to write about one of the neighborhoods you have lived in.  Hope you will give the prompt a try.

Dreamcatcher

Mazatlan
Photo by Mary Kling

Dreamcatcher


I am Dreamcatcher catching dreams
I focus eyes on distant moonbeams
so when I fall asleep at night
I rendezvous beneath moonlight
I sing and dance under the stars
listen to melodic guitars
I weave my magic until dawn
then rise from sleep with tired yawn.

I wrote this for two prompts:  (1) Ella's prompt at Poets United Think Tank.  The prompt was Dream Catcher, referring to the Native American dream catcher, but I took the words in my own direction.  (2) The dVerse Form For All prompt, which was to write a Huitan, which is a poem with 8 lines, 8 syllables per line. I see I used an incorrect line rhyme scheme, but (as Frank Sinatra sang) I did it 'my way.'  And in light-hearted fashion!

The Search

Photo by Mary Kling

The Search

I am marching
slightly off beat
in the heat
with tired feet
in search of substance
   under a  bridge
   beyond the ridge
   beneath a rock
   behind the clock
   in the tool shed behind
no pressure to find
but I wouldn't mind
it not being so elusive!

This was written for Three Word Wednesday & had to include the three words beat, pressure, and substance.   I have been writing so much on serious subjects lately that I decided to have  some light-hearted fun with this prompt.

The Will To Live

Photo by Mary Kling

The Will to Live

The will to live is strong;
life is persistent,
does not give up,
claws through concrete,
in order to survive.
We must learn from this.

Saturday Morning Games

Saturday Morning Games

Sheephead or bridge Saturday mornings
with mom, two aunts, sister, and me
and donuts from the bakery
before we played: a family tradition
in the years life was simple.

I savored chocolate-filled donuts,
didn't worry how healthy they were,
how many calories each had,
and we played until lunch time
and didn't care who won or who lost.

The years passed and people died,
games stopped and bakery closed,
and I don't know how to play any more,
haven't had a chocolate donut in years
and life hasn't been simple in decades.

Submitted for  Poetry Jam where Mary M's prompt for the week beginning 8/14 is "Games" and for  dVerse Open Link #57 on 8/14.  Take a look at both sites; and consider joining in.

Today

My sweet little dog Basil

Today

Today I wonder if anything will be unique again
or if life is destined now for me only to be ordinary
mundane, average, dull, get up, what to do,
go to sleep, and the next day more of the same
until sometime...who knows when......I die.

Will there be no more highs, no more new things,
nothing that will make my heart again sing with joy?
I'm sad today, would like to condemn my sadness,
to hide it so no one would  see, to drive it away,
to kick it in the face and deny it exists.

I know my feelings are my own doing, and I hate
that I am feeling sorry for myself and powerless
to turn my sadness into joy and to praise life
and celebrate my existence, to stop my tears
from flowing and making it hard for me to write.

This poem was written (a bit in advance) for my own prompt at Poets United Vice / Versa where the antonyms to be used were unique & ordinary......and condemn and praise.  They were the words I had chosen.  The poem pretty much wrote itself.  I will look forward to seeing what YOU write. The prompt will appear at 12:01 Central.   Thank you for any comments AND for participating with Vice / Versa.

Morning Walk

Photo by blog owner

Morning Walk

Solitary heron, almost out of sight,
in shadows of branches, not in the light.
Isolated without companionship
on the edge of the pond, waiting,
watching for what?

An elderly couple walks slowly,
her arm links into his for support,
the man smiles and greets me with
     What kind of dog is that?
     A rat terrier?
No, a toy fox terrier, I say.
     Terriers are smart, he says.
I say, Yes, and fast.
and I wonder if I'll meet them
again on my way back.

Trim, fit bikers roll by,
most say Good morning,
and I stay out of their way
as they are on a mission:
miles, more miles, make time.
We saunter along, he sniffs the earth,
savors not distance but smell,
and its fine if we detour.

A  gray-bearded man wearing overalls ambles along,
says nothing, nor do I. An unusual walker on this trail,
he grips an ancient canteen, and an image flashes:
He could have been riding the rails
in the days more trains passed by
in the days when men hitched trains.
I wish I was brave enough to take a picture.

A woman drives near, slows, stops,  rolls down her window,
and I think she's  going to ask directions.
Excuse me, how much does that dog weigh?
and I answer Four and a half to five pounds, no more,
and the two women smile, say How cute, and drive on.
So much conversation because of a dog.

I am a cousin to the solitary heron,
the heron I seldom glimpse along this trail,
almost did not see today in its spot,
though it returns every year,
and I always look for it along the way.
It couldn't hide today, though it surely tried.
Without my dog  I'd have been invisible.
I smile because I was not.

This poem was written for dVerse Poetics, where Stu challenged us to write a poem about 'beautiful sadness.'   And here's yet one more picture of the heron from a bit more distance.  It does return every year. There is just this one, no mate, no others.  I have seen it periodically (when I've been lucky) for a number of years now.  It will be sad when I see it no more.  This is also being submitted to Poets United Poetry Pantry #109.  Please join the good folds at both dVerse & Poets United!

Photo by Blog Owner

At the Pool

At the Pool

At the swimming pool
he smiled, dived in deep
owned the moment
crystal clear and blue
crisp chill of water
somersaulted
stood on his hands,
cannon ball splashed
smiling and proud.

When he saw boys from school
at the opposite end of the pool
I said Go play with them
(as I knew he'd be fine
out of my immediate view)
and he went smiling still
proud boy good swimmer
trusted to go off on his own

But then he came back
sad face, smaller now
chilled but not from water
told me the boys went away
when they saw him
like they did at school
and I cried inside as we talked
about meanness and hurtfulness
how these boys were not nice people
and I asked myself over and over
how some children learn to be so mean!

This poem was written for dVerse Poets Meeting the Bar, where Claudia challenged us to write impressionisticly. I hope I have achieved it..... This happened when I was at the pool with my grandchildren.

Doomsday

I don't think much about Doomsday,
but I do believe the world will end sometime;
but neither I nor any other know just when.

There is no reason for me to think about it
as it is in God's control, not mine, but
I realize it could come at any time.

My philosophy is to live my life in a way
that if Doomsday came today I would be ready
with no regrets, with no words left unsaid.

I would hope I would be judged good
or at least given credit for trying my best.
I don't think much about Doomsday.

I wrote the above in response to Izy's challenge at  Real Toads.  She challenged us to 'embrace our doomsday.'   I truly am not a doomsday person....though I do believe the world, as we know it,  will end. 

One Life

One Life

What is the value of one human life?
Is one life more valuable than another?
The value of a king more valuable
than that of a commoner?

Is the value of a politician greater than
that of one who voted him into office?
Is the Olympic athlete more valuable than
one who practices a sport just for fun?

What determines a person's value to you?
Is it net worth or position or good looks?
Who of us is expendable or unimportant?
Could it be one who is old or very ill?

Does my question make you uncomfortable?
If so, it has served its purpose well,
as I think we all have our own judgments
and not as selfless as we'd have others believe.

What is the value of a human life?
If you had to decide who'd live or die
what would be your criteria for decision?
Or would you rather we not know?

This poem was written for my own prompt at Poetry Jam.  My prompt basically was to write about 'value' or 'values.  But do take a look at the entire prompt rather than this summation.  In this poem I asked some tough questions.  I don't know that I am sure of my own answers.  It is a struggle, isn't it, to put a value on a human life.

We Must Try

Photo by Emily Eggleston - Milwaukee Journal Sentinel

We Must Try

We must try again
as we gather together in harmony
light candles for peace and love
remember we are more alike than different
scatter discord and hatred to the winds
pray for the families, the community,
our world so often wounded by violence.

We must try again
as we heal from the act of a lone shooter,
the act perpetrated by ignorant hatred
that senselessly killed peaceful people
in their house of worship and  touches us all,
as we reach out to try to comfort, embrace as we can.

We must try again
as we gather together in harmony
light candles for peace and love and pray.
We simply must.

This poem was written for Poets United Vice Versa, where we had to use the four words (gather/scatter & harmony/discord) in a new poem.  It is also shared with dVerse Poets Open Link. I wrote this poem in response to the killing in my community Sunday.  A lone shooter killed 6 Sikhs in their house of worship. 3 people (including a police officer) are still in critical condition.  The shooter was killed on the scene.  The photograph was taken at a vigil that was held on Sunday night.  More vigils are being held.

December 7, 1941



Arizona Memorial:  Oahu, Hawaii



Some of those who died on the Arizona

December 7, 1941

What was it like that day on the Arizona?
What was it like to explode and to burn,
to cry out in pain and to know
that no act of heroism could save you,
that your fate was sealed forever in the ship you served
as it sank into the Pacific?  What words did you speak?

What was it like to know you were doomed
that you would never see your family again?
Did you pray or curse or blame or cry
when  you knew there was no escape?
What was it like that day on the Arizona
when you realized you would die?

I wrote this poem for    dVerse Poetics  where Brian inspired us to write a poem about history!  I struggled with the idea for a while.  But then one came.   I have also decided to link it to Poets United Poetry Pantry #109, as it is my recent poem & it has 'grown' on me. The Arizona Memorial was one of the most moving places I have visited in my lifetime.  I toured it three times and would visit again if I ever returned to Oahu.  It is just one of those places one SHOULD see.  Truly it is so quiet there.  Tourists are there from all over the world.  Japanese too.  All are quiet.  1177 people died on the Arizona, almost half of the lives lost in the attack on Pearl Harbor.  I think it must have been a most horrible death.  This poem does not do justice, but I wanted to write something.  All the photos in this post were taken by me, except the very last one which IS me!  When will the world ever learn?

The American flag still flies on the memorial.

The Dedication on the Arizona Memorial

Me at the Arizona Memorial

Hope

Hope

If you know someone whose smile makes you smile,
treasure that person with all your heart.

If you know someone whose laugh makes you laugh,
enjoy that person with all your mind.

If you know someone whose hope gives you hope,
keep that person close to you always
as this person is a priceless gem;
but if this is not possible, take a picture,
frame it, and hang it so it will be the first thing
you see when you wake in the morning
and the last thing you see before you sleep at night
so that you will never ever ever EVER lose hope.

The above poem was inspired by the Sinead O'Connor song "The Wolf is Getting Married" which was the song Marian used as a prompt at  Imaginary Garden With Real Toads. The words that inspired my poem are:

"Your smile makes me smile,
your laugh makes me laugh,
your joy gives me joy,
and your hope gives me hope.
Even when something terrible is happening,
you laugh and that's the thing I love
about you most of all."

Compass

Compass

I still remember the time
my father tried to show me
how to use the compass
my parents bought for me
at the tourist shop when
we were on vacation.

No explanation made sense;
I just couldn't get how it worked
and ended up hating the compass,
wishing I'd bought a yo-yo instead.
and my dad was as frustrated
as I was angry, and I cried..and cried.

Excitement and joy became pain
and instead of enjoyment, I felt stupid,
hated my stupidity almost as much
as I hated the compass. It was years
later that a compass made sense,
but today I thank god for the GPS.

This was written for Ella's prompt at Poets United Thursday Think Tank.  The prompt was "Compass."  My poem above is totally true.  I always hated compasses because I had such a hard time (amazingly) figuring out how they worked.  I understand now (I think); but I am so glad I don't have to rely on one but can simply use GPS!  I wonder if any of the rest of you had such an experience with something that should have been simple but was not!

Impossible Dreams

Impossible Dreams

She had only her dreams,  impossible dreams
She dreamed by night and dreamed by day
Her mind was lost in the distant clouds
And she lost track of the passing of time.

She dreamed by night and dreamed by day
Her fantasies became so very real.
And she lost track of the passing of time
As she lived and breathed her dreams.

Her fantasies became so very real
Dreams soon replaced her life
As she lived and breathed  her dreams
Her life stood very still.

Dreams soon replaced her life
Her mind was lost in the distant clouds
Her life stood very still.
She had only her dreams, impossible dreams.

This poem, written in Pantoum for dVerse Form for All, where Sam Peralta will be challenging us to write a Pantoum poem!  This one came to me this morning...and it is NOT autobiographical.  I only dream POSSIBLE dreams.

Reveling

Revelling #1

Two men brought bicycles onto the train
stood with them close to the door
and drank their beer
as their voices became angry shouts
and people nearby quietly changed seats
so as not to get involved.

As the men argued louder we moved too
even though we were half a car away
and when they left the train
they continued to shout at each other
and one rode his bicycle out of sight
down the station stairway
(I wonder if he made it - yikes)
and as the train moved past them
their voices echoed in the quiet car.


Revelling #2

The group filled the train car behind ours,
beer-drinking supporters of a soccer team
who cheered louder and louder
as we passed station after station
en route to Munich Hauptbahnhof;

and then they all got off the train
boisterous, beers in hand, cheering
one stop before Munich,
and they faded from view
as the train continued on its way.

and when the train pulled into Munich
there were fifty armed policemen
on the platform meeting our train
looking for anticipated troublemakers
but they looked in vain
as they had disembarked one stop before
and all was peaceful at the Munich station
and the police mulled around for nothing
wasting time.

This was written for Poetry Jam where I am responding to Peggy's prompt:  Give a Verb Its Day.  I have written about two experiences with 'revelling' on that took place on trains in southern Germany last week.

Early Morning Coffee

Early Morning Coffee


I awakened before the sun today
to drink coffee in pre-dawn tranquility
and to ponder where the day will lead
and the path I would follow through the day.
It is usual for me to awaken early
but rare so early as to welcome the sun.

Life is so peaceful, moves slowly
little to do, little to be done
except to sit and drink coffee
in the peaceful hour before dawn
when life is filled only with promise
and a cup of hot coffee.

This was written for Poets United Vice/Versa #9.  The following words had to be used in the poem:  follow, lead, usual, and rare.  I just returned last night from vacationing in Germany, so I am adjusted to the time change.  I was up today at 4 a.m., which would have been 11 a.m. on the other side of the Atlantic!  I am trying to get back into the groove of writing again!