Connection

Wikimedia Commons
 

Connection

 

I breathe deeply

feel the connection

that poetry brings

with other poets,

in other houses,

in other cities,

in other countries.

I breathe deeply

as I choose my words

knowing they will be read

by others who enjoy

the twist and turn of words,

by those who know me

only in words I share.

 

And you know me.

I breathe deeply

as I read  the words

that you chose with care

to express who you are,

words you risked sharing

to allow yourself to be known.

 

And I know you.

 

I breathe deeply,

feel the connection,

and am in awe!

I have written this poem for my own prompt at Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads.   Follow the link, and you will see the prompt. 

 

I would like to give a shout out to all of you with whom I have connected over the past few years in the blogosphere. I treasure you all.  I would like to give a special shout-out to some very special poets who visit every poem I write, who find me every day without fail.  You know who you are! Thank you all for sharing your words.

The Season

Fox - Wikimedia Commons

The Season

The season returns when the
nights grow colder and longer,
and the retreating sun enters.

Birds sail through the air,
from the ice-bound northern bays
to the shores of tropical islands.

The winds of September
wrestle the trees of the forest;
bees hoard their honey.

Thick is the fur of the foxes;
such is the advent of autumn,
the air with a magical light.

Peace seems to reign upon earth 
All sounds are in harmony blended.
Whir of wings in the drowsy air.

The great sun looks with the eye of love
while arrayed in its robes of yellow,
bright with the sheen of the dew
            adorned with jewels.

Over at dVerse Meeting the Bar today, Anna Montgomery is tending the bar and explaining erasure poetry...which is an interesting concept to 'play with.'  I must confess to changing most PAST tense verbs to present, however. But other than that I took the words in order and forms they were in.

My poem above was an 'erasure poem' taken from the words of Henry Wordsworth Longfellow in his poem "Evangeline" which is public domain.  The words in brown were the ones I used.  The words in black were the ones I 'erased'.  The doors to the pub open at 3 p.m. Eastern Time. Looking forward to seeing everyone there.


  " NOW had the season returned, when the nights grow colder and longer,
  And the retreating sun the sign of the Scorpion enters.
  Birds of passage sailed through the leaden air, from the ice-bound,
  Desolate northern bays to the shores of tropical islands.
  Harvests were gathered in; and wild with the winds of September
  Wrestled the trees of the forest, as Jacob of old with the angel.
  All the signs foretold a winter long and inclement.
  Bees, with prophetic instinct of want, had hoarded their honey
  Till the hives overflowed; and the Indian hunters asserted
  Cold would the winter be, for thick was the fur of the foxes.
  Such was the advent of autumn.  Then followed that beautiful season,
  Called by the pious Acadian peasants the Summer of All-Saints!
  Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical light; and the landscape
  Lay as if new-created in all the freshness of childhood.
  Peace seemed to reign upon earth, and the restless heart of the ocean
  Was for a moment consoled.  All sounds were in harmony blended.
  Voices of children at play, the crowing of cocks in the farm-yards,
  Whir of wings in the drowsy air, and the cooing of pigeons,
  All were subdued and low as the murmurs of love, and the great sun
  Looked with the eye of love through the golden vapors around him;
  While arrayed in its robes of russet and scarlet and yellow,
  Bright with the sheen of the dew, each glittering tree of the forest
  Flashed like the plane-tree the Persian adorned with mantles and jewels."

Crossing the Bridge

Memorial Bridge
(Wikimedia Commons)

Days were long when I was young
and we would set out to explore
the worlds beyond the neighborhood,
to walk or bike across Memorial Bridge
in order to get to our park destination.

Each time I would have to prod myself
to cross this bridge, so high above the river,
and tell myself as I clenched my  teeth
that I would not look down down down.
to the swift dark river so far below.

Those days adventures cost nothing but time
and a bridge could transport us anywhere
if we did not faint from fear  in the crossing
to parks transposed to jungles or alien planets.
Days were long when I was young.

This was written for Poets United  Wonder Wednesday: BRIDGE
and for Three Word Wednesday, where the words to include were prod, clench, and faint.
The photo shows the bridge we walked or biked across when I was a kid.
Crossing it WAS always the scariest part of any adventure.

Make Believe

Wikimedia Commons

Make Believe

When I was  a child there was make-believe,
often more make-believe than reality.

When I was a child I lived wonderful fantasies:
cowboy, Robin Hood, princess, nurse, horse.

When I was a child make believe was life
I easily moved from reality to make believe and back.

But today I know make-believe is necessary,
not only for children but for adults too.

Sometimes we have to pretend  all is okay,
hope that what we make believe is true.
.
We make believe love will last forever,
that happily ever after is inevitable.

We pretend we are princesses or kings
who inhabit Camelot, which is not only a dream.

We sometimes make believe we are happy,
even when we cry inside, but that's okay.

Or we make believe we will never die
and that's just fine  if it gives us peace.

I am submitting this for  dVerse Open Link Tuesday.  It will also be submitted for Tuesday's night's Poetry Jam prompt, which will be:  Make Believe!

Prepared

My Mother

Prepared

The Thanksgiving turkey was in the refrigerator.
Potatoes, cranberries, green beans, stuffing
and pumpkin pie fixings  all ready to be prepared.

At home that night she made many phone calls:
A niece, a nephew's wife, both daughters, a friend.
Everyone said she was optimistic, cheerful, funny.

She died the following morning. Her heart failed,
and she was discovered two hours later.

People talked about all the calls she made,
many more than usual, as if she had a premonition
and a need to connect for one last time.

I believe this to be true; she was my mother.

We celebrated Thanksgiving two days later.
Without her we prepared her meal;
she would have wanted it that way.

We left an empty chair at the table,
just in case she still had not totally left. 
I think she was there. No, I know she was.

This poem is submitted to dVerse Poetics:Preparation is Key... where I  'tend bar' Saturday beginning at 3 p.m. Eastern; and as we prepare for the holiday season ahead and also for the new year on the horizon we're writing about preparation...of all kinds.   I am also submitting it for Poets United Poetry Pantry.

My mother died twenty-five years ago today on November 24, 1987.  The Thanksgiving dinner foods were all ready to be prepared for Thanksgiving two days later; but one is never prepared for the loss of a mother.

Another Autumn Poem

Wikimedia Commons

Another Autumn Poem

No scent or sight of flowers
when summer fell away
and autumn held sway.

All is still with leaves in a heap,
now skimmed of all but a fleck
of what they had once been.

The end: a load of nothingness
to fill an empty wheel barrow.

This was written for The Sunday Whirl.  The words this week are:   still, scent, sight, fell, fleck, sway, load, heap, skimmed, held, end, fill.  I used them all.

Priceless Treasures

Amazon.com

Priceless Treasures

 

She carried her burlap sack
everywhere she went;
whenever someone asked
what was in her simple sack
she clutched it to her tightly,

smiled a wry smile, said
all the treasures in my world.

And the day the authorities found her dead
in her cardboard home beneath the bridge
with anticipation they ripped open her burlap sack
and found only ten heavy, very ordinary rocks,
her only treasures  in the world.

 

 

This was written for Imaginary Garden Real Toads:  A Word With Laurie.   The word to be used was 'burlap.'

Reflected in You

Reflected In You

So much is reflected in you;
you are a mirror of life as it should be
you speak clearly
are easy to understand.

Your  life lessons are clear
speak for themselves
the kind I don't need to interpret
you are perfection personified.

I have strived to emulate you,
to be a teacher for all who view my life;
but I realize, to my sadness,
that I have fallen flat.

So much is reflected in you;
though I fear you are an illusion
that the mirror is deceiving
your perfection a dream.

This poem is written for my prompt at Poetry Jam where we had to choose the title of a New York Times Best Seller, use it as the title to our poem, and write......  The best seller I chose was Reflected in You by Sylvia Day, which is #5 in the fiction list this week.  Remember, the prompt goes for a week.....so you have plenty of time.

I Spy

A Grey Day to play "I Spy"

I Spy

I spy with my little eye
              something brown...

I spy with my little eye
              something grey...

My granddaughter and I
pass time in my car
               as we wait in the
               police station parking lot
               for the Cub Scouts
               we'll join on their tour.

Brown....the sign there,
               the tenacious dry leaves still clinging to the tree,
               the grass, the brick building...
 
Grey....the pavement, the light pole,
            the sky, the tree trunk,  the chimney smoke,
             even the car next to us.

Grey or brown, our limited choices
              as we wait
              trying to spy color
              as we play

And I realize
as I ponder the dull world
it's  going to be a long time
until spring

and how boring a game can be
when we can spy only
grey or brown all around.

This was written for dVerse Open Link Tuesday....based on yesterday's experience waiting.....  (The eventual police department tour with grandson and other scouts was very interesting!)

Breaking the Fourth Wall

Chicago Half Marathon --
That is me waving!
The 'other' I have written about is next to me.

Breaking the Fourth Wall

In this poem
I am going to expose her
for who she really is.
 

She would like to forget,
would like me to forget
or ignore, but I will not.
I will tell it like it is.
 

Her story may be different,
but mine is truth.
(You may believe me or not,
it really doesn't matter to me.)
 

I remember when we were friends,
the best friends ever.
(Readers, we can easily be fooled)
I doubt I will trust again in this way,
I was so naive, I realize now.
(But I will never forget.)
 

What I had thought was friendship is past tense now,
never really was, though it hurts to admit that;
but I remember many good conversations

and many good times and especially
half marathons walked together,
how we both enjoyed them,
and I thought we always would
(but now, dear reader, I hate to look at the photos

of the two of us and our medals.)
 

It has been almost two years now,
and I know she must still think about me
and feel guilt about what she did.
(And what she did is more than I will share),
at least I would if I were her.

And there really is nothing to be gained
by writing this, as it is history now,
no going back in time,
but sometimes sharing truth with someone helps

dull the pain and the memory
(and that is why I wrote this, dear reader).

 

This poem was written for Kerry's Wednesday Challenge: Breaking the Fourth Wall..  However,I wrote it too late to post it there. The premise is rather deep.  If you want to know the premise, follow the above link.    More than the actual challenge, it was inspired by the poem Kerry wrote in her blog in response:  This Poem is About Love.  I link this poem to Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads Open Link Monday.  

Silent and Sorry

My handsome dog Basil
whose picture has nothing to do with the Wordle!

Silent and Sorry

Silent and sorry was her usual demeanor.
Always wanting to belong,
but her intrinsic beauty was elusive

and faces seldom turned to admire
unless they scrutinized her ample bust
for all the wrong reasons, then laughed.

She wished to find life worth while
to feel like more than a pawn
in someone else's game.

Pride was what she needed
but it just wouldn't happen
unless she lit her life on fire.

This poem was written for the November 18  The Sunday Whirl.  I used all of the words in the order that Brenda sent them in email except for the last two (unless & fire) which I reversed.  The words were:  silent, sorry, belong, beauty, faces, bust,wrong, find, life, pawn, pride, fire, and unless.

Dark Alleys

Picture  by mobius faith
used with permission
 

Dark Alleys

I don't saunter dark alleys any more,
don't need to reconnoitre  a closed door,
will seek more  lighted corridor to explore.

If environs seem astray, I'll walk away
to avoid becoming prey in deserted doomsday
or mired in a melee in a clandestine cabaret.

I won't hazard the dance of happenstance
will take the stance of most resistance
and look askance at perilous circumstance.

I don't need to prove anything to anyone
or meddle in someone's crystalline oblivion;
venturesome could become plum troublesome.

I wrote this 'tongue-in-cheek' piece in response to Claudia's prompt at dVerse Poetics, in which she presented some of the works of Terry S. Amstutz a.k.a. mobius faith for us to enjoy.

Chasin' the Sun - Honoring Rod McKuen

Rod McKuen - 1972
Wikimedia Commons

Chasin' the Sun - Honoring Rod McKuen


Once I Loved you
in my Summertime of Days
that long ago year I didn't yet realize
how quickly I was Passing Through time
or know life was just Water over Stones.

I implored you, Do Not Tell Me Your Name,
as, laughing together, we sang Turn, Turn, Turn
and didn't worry about The Roll of the Dice.
And we didn't care about tomorrow.

I Think of You  now as a Spring Song,
The Poet who was one of The Beautiful Strangers
who taught me never to walk In Someone's Shadow
nor to worry about a Second Impression
and the importance of Knowing When to Leave.

I hope I still have Miles to Go,
though I no longer seek Something More
nor contemplate Why Love is elusive
or why Empty is Some Traveling Music  I hear
Out Beyond the Window I don't look through anymore.

As The Lonely Things surround me
I Sleep Warm knowing that even though time has passed
and We both Live on Islands  of our own making
we can  share a strong connection if we choose
when we look up at The Marvelous Clouds.

I would like you to know, if you think of me,
I'm Strong But I Like Roses, and I live in hopes
you will remember me when you walk down
Stanyan Street and are Chasin' the Sun.
And perhaps we can meet in our dreams.

This was written for dVerse Poets Meeting the Bar, where  'literary allusion' is discussed; and we are invited by Victoria to pay tribute to another writer.  One of my poetry heroes at a very early time of life was Rod McKuen.  So I chose him. Some of you probably have never heard of him.  Some are saying...'oh, my!'  But I confess this is true.  I found 3 poetry books here (I should have more, but where?), and I also have albums (yes albums) of him singing his songs in his gravelly voice.  I had not read his poetry in a while in ages....nor is he really what many would consider a 'good poet' (what is a good poet?) but he impacted me for a time.  The words in blue above are the exact titles of 28 Rod McKuen poems taken from my three books:  Stanyan Street & Other Sorrows, The Beautiful Strangers, and In Someone's Shadow.          I am also linking this to Poetry Pantry #124.

Four-Ring Circus

Wikimedia Commons

Four Ring Circus

Come one come all,
calls the ringmaster,
let me direct you to
the four-ring-circus of
the evening news
where new performers
will entertain nightly.

In the first ring today
you will see politicians
(and a very  few statesmen)
joined by a few  generals
with flirtatious pretty girls all
dancing around each other
as they try to escape the ring.

In the second ring
you will see beloved Elmo
and his handler smiling once more,
making nice to the children
since we now know all was
consensual so this makes
everything okay.

In the third ring tonight
there is a real treat in store,
as unnamed bipartisan senators
will attempt a jump across the fiscal cliff
a risky but thrilling endeavor,
as no one knows how wide
nor how hard they could fall
if they miss their mark,
and there are no safety nets.

In the fourth ring today
we have arranged greatest surprise of all;
lights will be out until the last moment
and when it's time to begin the act
the spotlights will light up the ring
and, ha ha, the closing act will be you.


This was written for Poetry Jam, where the prompt this week is The Circus.    I just had to have a bit of fun with the news, which strikes me oftentimes as quite a circus.

Shades of Grey

Grey Tree Trunk - photo by poet.

Shades of Grey

So much is grey
not black, not white
not right, not wrong
but just is what it is

we make our choices or
sometimes things just happen
and we have no choice
         but to accept them

sometimes there are shades
we open them or close them
let the light in
or not

in the fog
in the moments we are real
in the moments we are honest
with ourselves, with others
the greys permeate
the clouds

and Fifty Shades of Grey
may be seductive
if  we want to go there
(do we or not?  what are the risks?
are you brave or not?  do you admit
the attraction? or deny?)

but if we don't
we should know why not
as we should be able to answer
to ourselves

if it is our choice to walk a line
a fine line of grey
not always easy
or to cross it
one way or another.

This is submitted to dVerse Poets Open Link and also to Poets United Wonder Wednesday #9 - "Shades of Grey."

I Oft Dream

Wikimedia Commons

I Oft Dream

I oft dream of red flowers,
especially roses.
My heart fills with supreme joy,
blooms toy with my senses,
thought transposes
to wile away long hours.

I oft dream of mountain peaks
and climb many mile
til I stand at the summit:
starlit evening exile,
as crests beguile
with mystique of mountain creeks.

This poem was written for the challenging form presented at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads.  This is the form, and you can visit IGRT for more information.

xxxxxxa  (7 syllables ~ double rhyme, feminine)
xxxxb      (5 syllables ~ single rhyme, masculine)
xxxxxxc  (7 syllables ~ double rhyme, feminine)
xcxxxb    (6 syllables ~ single rhyme, masculine
                     and double rhyme feminine on syllables 1-2, c rhyme)
xxxb        (4 syllables ~ single rhyme, masculine)
xxxxxxa  (7 syllables ~ double rhyme, feminine)

Veterans Day

Public Domain - Wikimedia Commons

Veterans Day

I will buy a poppy this year
in remembrance of the brave
who fought in two Great Wars
and went to an early grave.

Two minutes of silence
is such a small thing to do
to honor those who served
in World Wars I and II.

It is so easy for us to forget
living life as we live it today
that it might have been different
if either war ended another way.

I will buy a poppy this year,
I haven't done so in many a season,
to proclaim anew  that I remember
those heroic men and the reason.

This was written for dVerse Poetics.

I was  just reading some facts about casualties in World War I The total number of military and civilian casualties (Allies and Central Powers) was over 37 million. There were over 16 million deaths and 20 million wounded ranking it among the deadliest conflicts in human history.   The last World War I veteran from the U.S. died February, 2011, at age 110.

Than Bauk Form

Than Bauk Form

 

At night she dreams

when it seems still

moonbeams kiss her

stars confer and

prefer to mould

and enfold  her

behold  her face

in the place where

embrace is key

she will see  peace

be free  from fear

message near yet

sincere  and clear.

 

 

This is my attempt at the Than Bauk form of poetry introduced at dVerse Form For All.  It is a Burmese form.  There are four syllables per line; and the rhyme scheme works like this:

 

O. O. O. a.
O. O. a. O.
O. a. O. b.
O. O. b. O.
O. b. O. c.
O. O. c. O.
O. c. O. etc.

 

It truly is complex to work with .  I would probably have to play with it for a week or so to produce a good one.  This was solely a learning experience for me. I DO think I have the rhymes occuring in the correct positions, which was no small accomplishment. LOL.

Poetry (My Personal Perspective)

Poetry (My Personal Perspective)

I believe strongly that
a poem should communicate clearly
so that it is able to be understood
by the proverbial barmaid
who has no dictionary in hand,

that a poem should be distilled ideas,
words cut and thoughts well chosen,
not distilled so much as to
render a poem meaningless in its brevity
and not rambling on and on

in an effort to impress a reader
who will probably be unimpressed
by excessive repetitive verbiage
which could have been said simply
and clearly and then stopped.


This poem is written for Ella's prompt at Poets United for Wonder Wednesday.  She asked us to use Albert Einstein quotes as inspiration.  The two Einstein quotes I used as inspiration were

 (1)  It should be possible to explain the laws of physics to a barmaid.
 (2)  Everything should be as simple as it is, but not simpler.

Nothing derogatory meant regarding barmaids.  I just used Einstein's words.  My philosophy of poetry, which others may disagree with, is that poetry should be able to be understood by anyone.  Or perhaps this is the kind of poetry I strive to write, and others may have other goals for their poetry.  I do wonder though, if poetry cannot be understood by the reader, what has the poet achieved.  I have wondered that about many well known poets' works.  I personally prefer to write for the 'barmaid.'  Most of the time anyway.  There are exceptions.

Seasons

Photo By Author

Seasons

Some seasons go on way too long
      the season of sickness
      the season of sadness
      the season of disappointment
      the season of mourning

Some seasons go on way too long
and even when they end
a worse season will often follow.


I wrote this to  the   Poetry Jam Prompt - Seasons / Endless Seasons.  Some times in life do indeed drag on.

Whoever Wins

Whoever Wins

Whoever wins
we need to accept
that the people have decided
even if the winner is not your choice.

Whoever wins
we need to rally behind
the one who is President
even if the winner is not your choice.

Whoever wins
we all need to work together
to support whoever wins
even if the winner is not your choice.

Whoever wins
we need to cease negativity
the nastiness and lies
even if the winner is not your choice.

Whoever wins
we need be thankful
we live in a free country and can vote
even if the winner is not your choice.

Whoever wins
we need to embrace one another
to work together toward solutions.
It is the American way.


This is written for dVerse Open Link Tuesday.  The election is on my mind.  I realize that by the time that Open Link closes the election will have been decided.  I do hope that the winner is accepted gracefully by everyone and that  negativity will cease and all will work together.

Four Short Poems Written in Response to Poetic Asides PAD

November 1 - Matches

Matches light the candles for All Saints Day
where we celebrated the lives of saints who went before
where we listened to the names of congregation members  who died this past year
and the minister mentioned in her sermon that one of these years
it would be our names read from the pulpit on All Saints Day.


November 2 - Full Moon

I seldom think about the Full Moon
unless I happen to look up and see one
and then at that moment  I feel connection
with everyone else who is looking up too.


November 3 - Scares You

It is not the thief in the night that scares me
as much as the thief who could be
insidiously at work plotting to steal my mind.
Alzheimers.


November 4 - Just Beneath

Just beneath the surface
lurk the things we don't want to think about
the things we want to ignore
the sadness, doubts, fears, dire possibilities
we all have them
but rather than acknowledge them
we smile.


Every November Robert Lee Brewer at Poetic Asides runs a Chapbook challenge.  Poetic Asides was one of the forums which introduced me to the blogosphere and to which I will be forever grateful.  I am not going to officially take part in this challenge this November, but my plan is to every few days keep up with the prompts for old time's sake.  Thanks, Robert, though you won't be reading my words.  I owe a lot to you.

Tumult

Tumult


Wrath writhes
tumultuous.

We will scramble
as everyone flees
the shore.

What is the key
to the swelling
of destruction?

Why so upbeat
despite depths of despair?

Who has enabled
something so rotten?

Who will live?
Who will die?

This was written for The Sunday Whirl #81.  I used the words in the order that Brenda sent them in email.  Here they are in that order:  wrath, tumultuous, scramble, flees, shore, key
swelling, upbeat, depths, enable, rotten, charm

Two Poems of the Season

Two Short Poems of the Season

By Sue Ann, with Permisson

 Sunset

 

Sunrise and sunset

and all the hours in between

time passes so fast

I must capture  radiance

at the right moment

and snap the photograph

that will remind me of beauty

when I question

if life is good.

By Sue Ann, with permission

Autumn

So much of nature in fall is naked

stripped of  green garments of  life.

My heart takes its cue from nature,

 awaits something beyond sight

as I sing praises of nature's plan

and try to grasp the concept

that one must first die to be reborn.

 

Two poems written for dVerse Poetics , using two of the wonderful photographs of Sue Ann.    Also shared with Poets United Poetry Pantry #122.    And with Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads Open Link Monday.

I Can't Lie

I Can't Lie

I can't lie
sometimes wish I could
it might be easier that way

I often think how gratifying
for those who can lie easily
create fiction of their lives

make something that isn't
inspire others to believe invented truths
tell tales easily

with me it's not that way
and I just can't be
anyone but the real me.

This was written for Fireblossom's Challenge over at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads.
Not exactly what she had in mind, I know....but truth is what it is.