Ah, the Dreams

Ah, the Dreams

Ah, do you remember youth
and the dreams you had:
fantasies of what  life would be?

Here you are on New Year's Day
some years or decades later
with a job, maybe not your dream;
with a wife or husband
who may or may not be......
and children perhaps.....

Ah, do you remember youth
and the dreams you had:
fantasies of what life would be?

And what about you (yes you)
sitting here on New Year's Day
wearing your New Year's hat
and ringing your bell
with the smile on your face --
is it real? Are you happy?

Ah, do you remember youth
and the dreams you had:
fantasies of what life would be?

Is there still time,
or have you resigned to settle now
for the mundane you've become,
as the television blares
and checking the blogosphere
is the highlight of your day?

Ah, do you remember youth
and the dreams you had:
fantasies of what life would be?

Life is not always what is expected;
I challenge anyone to look back
as you now look ahead....
and determine  if you find
yourself pleased (or not) to be
where you are this New Year's Day.

I will be sharing this with dVerse Poets Open Link on New Year's Day.  And , no, the question really is not rhetorical.....though you may take it that way if you wish to.  Though I am not into New Year's resolutions, New Years always causes me to be reflective.

The photo above is of fireworks on New Year's Eve in Sydney Harbour above the Opera House and was found in Wikimedia Commons.  I would love to be in Sydney on New Years!

The Slate

Wikimedia Commons

 

The Slate

 

I have wiped the slate clean
closed the book on 2012
have begun a new book.

Everyone has a fresh slate
mistakes erased, forgiven, forgotten --
even my own, hardest of all.

 

 

This was written for  Carry On Tuesday, where the prompt was George Bernard Shaw's words, "I have wiped the slate clean"  It is also submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads: Open Link.

"

New Year's Moon

New Year's Moon


The old year is about to end

sun to set for  last time

then candle flickers through the night

til new year's bell begins to chime.

              Today

             nothing more to convey

             moonlight

             is my celestial guide

as silvery moonbeans portend

new hopes and dreams this eventide.



This poem was written for Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads Sunday Mini Challenge.  Kerry's challenge for us was to write a poem inRobert  Herrick's stanza form, which is:

x x x x x x x a
x x x x x b
x x x x x x x c
x x x x x b
x d
x x x x x d
x c
x x x x x e
x x x x x x x a
x x x x x e

Change

Wikimedia Commons

 

Change

 

Change is inevitable

whether I like it or not

I age one day at a time

then look into the mirror one day

see my mother staring at me

as I wonder how I got here.

Change is inevitable

whether I like it or not

my daughters are grown up

with families of their own

my god I am a grandmother

and I wonder how I got here.

 

Change is inevitable

whether I like it or not

the grandson held when first born

turned nine years old this year

and has a mind of his own

and I wonder how I got here.

 

Change is inevitable

whether I like it or not

many people I loved have died

life keeps moving on

and death moves behind

and I wonder how I got here.

Change is inevitable

whether we like it or not

we have to go with the flow

life slows down for no one

we have to enjoy each day

not wonder how we got here.

This was written for dVerse Poets Poetics, where today's prompt, given by Claudia, is CHANGE.  Also linked with Sunday's Poets United Poetry Pantry.

A Poem in Questions

A Poem in Questions

What is the purpose of life?
What is the life of purpose?
What is life?

What is the purpose of death?
What is the death of purpose?
What is death?

Who do you dream about?
What do you dream about?
Why dream?

What do you love?
Who do you love?
Why love?

What is your hope?
Who is your hope?
Why hope?

What do you write?
How do you write?
Why write?

Who are you?
Where are you?
Why do you exist?

This poem was written for dVerse Poets: Meeting the Bar.  Anna had us write a poem using our choice in a list of Bernadette Mayer's Writing Experiments.    One of the choices was : Write a poem made up totally of questions.  So THAT is the one I chose. The photo of the question mark was found at Wikimedia Commons

Happiness

 

Happiness

I am happy today
tending holiday memories
a garden of roses --

thorns and all
each has its place
in my life

and as I tend each bloom
I pray it will not wither
on its stem

and I promise myself
I will treat each flower with care
keep it close

and hope it will live
flourish in beauty and love
for the rest of its time.

This was written for Poetry Jam, where this week's theme is HAPPINESS!  Thanks, Dani.  The painting is by Pierre-Auguste Renoir and is found in Wikimedia Commons.

Christmas

Christmas

Once when I was young

we decided to have a Christmas,

so we found the prettiest spruce

decorated it with tinsel

blue and silver ornaments

red and green lights

and an angel on the top.

Under the tree appeared

a small electric train

more wrapped presents than
anyone had seen before
and some were for me.

We baked Christmas cookies –

snowflakes, wedding cakes

sugar cookies, fruit cookies

toffee bars, shortbread

and hid them out of sight in the attic

so some would be left

on Christmas Eve.

We sang familiar Christmas carols

beneath the lighted Christmas tree

in the darkened living room

as we watched car headlights dance

on the walls of the shadowy room.

Then we sang Silent Night

in a church so dark and still

and heard again the story

everyone knew so well.

Stockings hung on the back

of the  little blue chair

were miraculously filled

by Santa on Christmas Eve

while we could not sleep

restless in our beds.

Christmas morning came

with presents wrapped in smiles

more turkey than we could eat

and  so much more that year long ago

when I was young and we decided

to have a Christmas.

 

I am submitting this to dVerse Open Link.  It is an old one of mine written before the era of the blogosphere &  reflecting on my childhood Christmases. Nice memories.   But then we make memories every year, don't we?  But there is something about childhood...............

 

Hope you are having a good day!

 

 

 

Life

Life

Life is an enigma,

passes at a rapid pace

so insistent in its rustle

that I clench my fists sometime

wanting time to slow down

so that I can enjoy the spacious view

through my inner telescope

and savor the burst of starlight

and a rare comet

that hurls across the horizon

of my mind -- a spasm of hope

amidst hopelessness

or so it seems.

This was written for  The Sunday Whirl: 88 using the words:    rapid, spacious, enigma, clench, spasm, burst, insistent, hurl, seemed, rustle, rare, through.        I changed 'seemed' to 'seems.'

Presents of the Season

Presents of the Season

Granddaughter & 2 of my 3 dogs

The presence of love

makes itself known at Christmas

in everyday ways.

Grandchildren in church Christmas concert

Children's voices ring

age old hymns are new to them

peace is possible

Some of granddaughter's homemade jewelry gifts

She made gifts this year

jewelry for her mother

delight in giving

This usually hangs on my refrigerator! (smiles)

Best gifts are simple

stocking made with joy and pride

and made just for me

One of the poets who will read this
sent this wonderful Christmas activity book.

To create is fun

in whatever form it takes

my cherished artist

Two dogs again...third is more elusive, prefers her OWN space!
Basil is wearing his warm sweater.

Three very small dogs

give so much through their presence

BEing is enough

This was written for dVerse Poets Poetics: Presents/ce, where  Karin Gustafson  is doing a great job of  'tending bar.'     Also to be shared with Poets United Poetry Pantry #129, which is an open link.  Feel free to share YOUR poem there as well on Sunday

I wish all of you who celebrate a Merry Christmas and those of you who celebrate Hanukkah a Happy Hanukkah.  Thank you all for sharing your 'gifts' of poetry  this year.

First Day of Winter

Wikimedia Commons

First Day of Winter

The sky above is sunless grey;
winter has arrived to our dismay.
We all must try to persevere;
it's the shortest day of the year.

Air has an ever present chill,
frost melts onto the  window sill.
All is gloomy, piercing, and drear;
it's the shortest day of the year.

Inside we bask in fire's glow,
escape the grasp of ice and snow,
wishing each other  best of cheer;
it's the shortest day of the year.


This is a kyrielle written for dVerse Poets Form For All - Kyrielle.  Check the site.  Gay Reiser Cannon posted a most interesting article.       (And tomorrow IS the first day of winter...and today we had our first major snowstorm of the season.)

Faith

Wikimedia Commons

Faith

My faith is a personal thing
a hard subject to address
because there are many beliefs
that people consider truths,
and I am not one to judge others,
only one to live my own beliefs
to the best of my ability .
.
I am happy to have found a way
that works well for me,
a way that brings me peace,
and because I have done that
I have accomplished my goal
and now stand humbly before God
and say, "Lord, I believe."

This was written for Theme Thursday: December 20: Faith.     I do think each of us has to find his/her own path....something that 'works' for them.  I cannot imagine life without some kind of faith....whatever beliefs are embraced.

If I Could Catch a Rainbow

Wikimedia Commons

If I Could Catch a Rainbow

If I could catch a rainbow I would look for you.
I would want to hear your voice whisper softly
even if it was only an echo of what it used to be;
my life is often a hardship since you have gone.

This was written for 3-Word-Wednesday, where the words were echo, hardship, and softly and also for Carry on Tuesday #184, where Keith challenged us to write using the words "If I could catch a rainbow."

Vinyl Boots

Photo taken by author on 12/18/12

I am going to share a 'pastiche' for  Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads: Kerry's Wednesday Challenge - Pastiche.  If you are curious what a pastiche is (it is confusing), take a look.  It is not supposed to be a parody.  I didn't intend mine to be a parody, but perhaps it is that more than a pastiche because I find myself laughing each time I read it.  In any case, it is what it is.  Before my pastiche, I will share Elinor Wylie's poem Velvet Shoes....upon which my poem is based and which is in the public domain. ( Forgive me, Elinor.)


Velvet Shoes

       Elinor Wylie

Let us walk in the white snow
In a soundless space;
With footsteps quiet and slow,
At a tranquil pace,
Under veils of white lace.

I shall go shod in silk,
And you in wool,
White as white cow's milk,
More beautiful
Than the breast of a gull.

We shall walk through the still town
In a windless peace;
We shall step upon white down,
Upon silver fleece,
Upon softer than these.

We shall walk in velvet shoes:
Wherever we go
Silence will fall like dews
On white silence below.
We shall walk in the snow.

Now here is MY poem:


Vinyl Boots

     Mary Kling

Let us walk in the snow while it is still white
somewhere we find an untrafficked space
with footsteps quiet and as slow as possible
before the dogs decide it is time to chase.

I shall go dressed in warm jacket and a scarf
as bright as the gawdy ornament atop the tree
and you will go in long coat and knit cap
and admittedly look more beautiful than me.

We shall walk through the deserted park
along the path so seldom used in  snow
keep our eyes gazing down to avoid  #$@+
dropped by coyote, wolf, raccoon, or doe.

We shall walk in high vinyl boots
wherever along the (still) white path we go
communing with nature as we find it
We shall walk in the (for the most part) snow.

Winter Walk

12/18/2012 photo by author

Winter Walk
 

It has been a long time since we have seen snow
so today when I beheld trees ashimmer with crystalline beauty
as delicate and exquisite as bone china goblets

that rest unused on the top shelf of Grandma's cabinet,

 

I stood with awe in the midst of shimmering winter wonder

and contemplated the imperceptible life beneath the fragility:
cold and dark, sap silent and stilled, but still alive and strong,
waiting majestically, as we all wait, for the next season.

 

This is written for Poetry Jam: A Walk to Inspire, where Brian is prompting this week. We have broken the record here for snowless days in a row.  Yesterday it snowed.  This is a picture I took on my walk close to home.  Beautiful indeed! 

Christmas Cards

Wikimedia Commons

Christmas Cards

I receive fewer Christmas cards every year
send fewer Christmas cards each year
one more holiday tradition fading away.

I got a Christmas letter in email this year,
which I admit just skimming and moving on.
I fear this may be the future at my door.

     I find myself wondering whether in ten years
     people will send Christmas cards at all.

If I send a Christmas card, I write a personal note,
don't merely  put it in an envelope and sign my name;
but I don't include Christmas letters any more.

I wonder sometime if caring has a price tag
and if the price of a stamp has exceeded it
Perhaps we no longer can afford to care.

     I find myself wondering whether in ten years
     people will send Christmas cards at all

And those beautiful cards chosen with love,
who looks at them after the initial opening
except perhaps the moment before they're thrown away?

I must admit to being sad about the demise of the card;
Christmas mail used to be the highlight of a day,
but now it's sale flyers with coupons for 30% off.

     I find myself wondering whether in ten years
     people will send Christmas cards at all.


Written for dVerse Open Link!

Today I was thinking about the decline in the tradition of sending Christmas cards.  I remember when I was a child there was a time when mail was delivered twice a day because of the abundance of mail. This amazes me now, knowing the financial state of the post office.  I know I have cut back on sending these past years; and it seems that everyone else I know has done the same.  I do save the cards from one year to the next though, especially those with pictures.  I just could not embrace the email Christmas letter I received though, for some reason. It just did not give me any personal warmth.  I will be surprised if sending cards still happens in ten years.  Admittedly, the price of stamps makes it more and more prohibitive.

Ho - Ho - Ho

She saw the man as they both waited

for service at the supermarket deli,

for their numbers to be communicated.

He was a scruffy man beyond his prime

not clean-shaven, hair in need of a cut,

humming mindlessly to pass time.

60..........61.........

Everyone stood, shifted, paced feet

as they weighed the worth of the wait

for a special salad or sliced meat.

Shopping carts created a traffic delay

little children squirmed in impatience

time passed, some walked away

62.......63........

When all of a sudden for all to hear

the humming  man shouted  Ho-Ho-Ho,

then Ho-Ho-Ho again; he spread holiday cheer.

As she looked around she did notate

that everyone waiting had a smile

This man brightened everyone's wait.

64......65......

And when she finally was on her way

after her number was finally called

she Ho Ho Ho'd the rest of the day.

I wrote this for dVerse Poetics: Sweat the Small Stuff, where Brian asked us to create a scene or a character using details.  I am not particularly satisfied with this piece of writing, but it is based on something that happened to a friend two weeks ago.  The story always makes me smile, and I have myself  Ho-Ho-Ho'd a few times since then.  It always evokes smiles.  Sometimes it takes very little to brighten someone's day.  Try it yourself and see what happens!  I am also submitting it for Poets United Poetry Pantry.    Please join us there Sunday as well!

The Importance of Time

Chicago Skyline

The Importance of Time

If you do not take  time to do
what you want today, there may be
no opportunity tomorrow.

If you live in the past,
you won't appreciate the present
or see opportunities available today.
.
If you live in the future,
you will grow old before you know
and will accomplish little.

If you lack time, consider
your priorities and readjust them.
Know you cannot escape the ravages
of time, so use it in a way that's valuable
so someday when the end of  life nears
you can look back with satisfaction
and know your life was well lived.

Time is the most valuable gift
you can give yourself or someone else.
Time is limited. There is no fountain of youth,.
Thus, heed these words and live each day.
Really LIVE each day.

This is submitted to dVerse Poets Meeting the Bar: 2nd Person..  Thanks, Victoria, for the article and interesting challenge!

Family Christmas

Christmas Peanut Blossoms
Wikimedia Commons

Family Christmas

Those old family Christmas dinners
were as challenging as they could be
beginning with Aunt Susan in the kitchen
letting her family have early tastes of  turkey.

One year when Aunt Wilma saw this
she got in her car and roared away
thus we hurriedly organized a search
so the meal could be served without delay.

Then Uncle John was asked to pray
before we raised our glasses to toast
always Father, Son, and Holy Ghost
who eats the fastest gets the most.

Aunt Susan then passed the turkey platter
in the direction her family was seated
so by the time it got to my family and Wilma
the biggest and best slices had receded.

And  when it was time to refill the platter
none of Aunt Susan's family wanted more
as they had already eaten their seconds
in the kitchen feast that took place before.

For dessert there was pumpkin pie with cream
and each piece was of a different size
and Aunt Susan's family got the largest
which by now should be no surprise.

When Aunt Susan asked who wanted more
my mother would declare she did indeed
just as a matter of principal I believe
In getting perceived due she did succeed.

Those old family Christmas dinners
were as wonderful as they could be
despite their irritations and annoyances
relatives made for interesting company

Submitted to my prompt at Poetry Jam: Foods of the Season..  This is very, VERY loosely based on memories of Christmas dinners at "Aunt Susan's" house when I was a child.  Names were changed to protect the innocent. But these WERE the good old days.  I hope if you are reading this poem and are not yet participating in Poetry Jam you will give it a whirl...or, should I say, a TASTE.
------------------------------------------------------
A favorite Christmas cookie recipe that my mother used to make.  This is her recipe:

Peanut Blossoms

Sift together:
     1 3/4 cup. flour
      1 teaspoon baking soda
      1/2 teaspoon salt

Cream together:
      1/2 cup shortening (Crisco) and 1/2 cup peanut butter.
      Gradually add 1/2 cup sugar and 1/2 cup brown sugar.

Add:
     1 unbeaten egg
      2 Tablespoons milk                 Beat these well.
      1 teaspoon vanilla.

Shape by rounded teaspoonfuls into balls, roll in sugar.  Place on ungreased cookie sheets.  Bake at 375 degrees for 8 minutes.  Remove from oven and place a solid milk chocolate candy kiss (the picture above shows a different kind of chocolate) on top of each cookie, pressing down so that cookie cracks around edge.  Return to oven.  Bake 2 - 5 minutes longer.

She Lives

Kona, Hawaii, sunset

She Lives

She lives in my heart and memory
because of her words.
I did not want her to leave;
her mortality is my mortality.

Life is hard. Death harder.
We seldom expect or plan
for the day when someone
we care about will leave.
They do, we will.

There is never enough time
before a voice is stilled for all time,
to join others who rest eternally
in endless and voiceless slumber.

She lives, as I will too,
forever,  through  the words
I will write and write and write
before the great silence.


This is written for both  Imaginary Garden With Real Toads: An Ink-Stained Word List  (using the words "silence," "endless," "slumber," and "voice") and  also written for dVerse Open Link Night 74.. 

The Gift

Wikimedia Commons

The Gift

I was cold and hungry and in need of rest,
no coins in my pocket, no shirt under my vest,
when on my journey I came upon a decorated home,
decided to risk knocking,  to let my needs known.

The man who answered my knock on the door
was unlike anyone I had ever seen before;
he had long brown hair and a robe that flowed white,
and he walked with a staff that glowed angelic bright.

When I said I was hungry, he beckoned me inside
and said no one should be hungry on Christmas tide;
he prepared me a banquet like none I ever knew
and served it to me beside a warm fireplace too.

Then he told me his stories, and I told him mine,
and he blessed me with wisdom along with bread and wine;
and when I thanked him as it was time to take my leave,
he thanked me, said more blessed to give than receive.

And as I walked out the door back once more to the cold
he handed me some gifts as I crossed his threshold.
There was a long coat, fleece mittens, and warm socks,
as well as a ribboned and wrapped Christmas box.

It has been many years since that cold Christmas Eve;
you're the first to whom I tell this tale so easy to disbelieve.
I still cannot bring myself to share what the box contained,
suffice it to say it caused my joy and hope to be regained.

If you'd like to claim for yourself the gift the host did impart,
think of the most special feeling you'd like within your heart;
and THAT gift that will be with you for the rest of your time,
one which will live forever, the identical gift to mine.

This was written for dVerse Poetics: First Person Narrative where Fred is tending bar and running the show.  This is first person, obviously not autobiographical, not really narrative....but it is storytelling through the voice of the character.  I enjoyed writing it!

I am also submitting this to Poetry Pantry #127, which will be available for linking at 1 a.m. Central on Sunday morning!

Dear Santa

Wikimedia Commons
Japanese Santa
 

Dear Santa -

I have no need of things,
but perhaps if you have time
you could inspire phone calls
from those who have moved on.

But if you are only into gifts,
I will pass on my share
so others can receive extra.
I can even give you names.

This was written for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads.  Words Count with Mama Zen.  The prompt was write a letter to Santa in less than 50 words.

Bah Humbug

Scrooge and Bob Cratchit
Wikimedia Commons

Bah Humbug

Today is a bah humbug day;
I really don't want to leave home.
My mood is blah, the sky is grey;
I desire to be left alone.

I want to pull my shades and hide;
today is a bah humbug day.
I wish to ignore this Yuletide
and escape somewhere faraway.

Scrooge, what words do you have to say?
Have you any advice for me?
Today is a bah humbug day;
I ponder my Gethsemane.

The world has never looked so bleak;
I have run out of words to pray,
and there is nothing I care to seek.
Today is a bah humbug day.


The subject matter was chosen for the Poets United: Wonder Wednesday - Scrooge prompt.  It is written in 'quatern' form fordVerse Form For All: quatern.  (Be sure to check dVerse at 3 pm for Gays complete explanation of the form.) If you notice, "Today is a bah humbug day" appears in different positions in each of the four stanzas.  It is NOT autobiographical, though perhaps we all have occasionally experienced 'bah humbug days. '

Sainthood

Saint Paul
Wikimedia Commons

Sainthood

The saints among us are often elusive
prefer background to  foreground,
cannot be found puffing themselves up
or making themselves seem grand.

They cannot be recognized by clothes,
fine cars, large homes, lofty professions,
but can be known by words or deeds
and by their true humility.

Real saints give the limelight to others
as they downplay themselves.
unsung behind many noble deeds,
they are just fine with that.

This was written for the Poetry Jam Prompt: Saints Galore.

I truly believe many real saints are those among us that we would never recognize, as they are not into tooting their own horns, but they go about their good quietly and make a difference in many people's lives. I do have a person in mind here, but I think this description refers to more than one.

It Takes Time

Wikimedia Commons

It Takes Time

It takes time for the fruit to ripen,
soften, brighten into delicious fullness,
pleasurably tasty and oh so rich.

It takes time for one's life to deepen,
to follow the path that twists, turns,
leads higher until it turns in on itself,
then delves deeper, wisdom gained.

It takes time to know oneself,
find not only knowledge but meaning,
accept what is alongside what is not,
learn to find  each experience  life offers,
pleasurably tasty and oh so rich.

Written for dVerse Open Link.

Hope

Adoration by Shepherds: Wikimedia Commons

 

Hope

 

Hope is what we need to find
despite everything else we have  in life,
and if we lose it we wither and die
or slowly and sadly fade away.

 

Hope can be found in the Advent season
with the Babe in the manger
as the focus, in  He who is hope
and the main reason for the season.

 

Hope can be found in nature
and the rebirth of life each spring,
in the birth of a baby
who has a whole life ahead.

 

Hope is what we need
when we are given a difficult diagnosis

for ourselves or a loved one
and must find a way to live with it.

 

Hope is a necessity when
someone we love passes away
and we want to believe
we will see him or her again.

 

Hope is integral to life;
without it we wither and die
hope is a gift we must always 

find a way to give ourselves.

Today in church, the first Advent candle was lit.  It was the candle of Hope.  I know some who read are not into Advent (and that is just fine), but we all need hope and find it in different ways.   If you read this poem, I am wondering:  Would you share with me (in comments) what personally gives YOU hope, or what is the source of your hope?  I am VERY interested in that.  I am sharing this with Imaginary Garden With Real Toads Open Link Monday.

I Miss Santa

 

Santa in Poland
Wikimedia Commons

 

I Miss Santa

 

 

I

miss

Santa Claus
He must have

 moved on, I think,

but am not really sure.
He hasn't appeared in a

while. I try to stay in touch with

him as a good girl should and still
 write him a letter to his address
at the North Pole every year,
but it always comes back
'return to sender.'  I'm as good as

I can be, and I try to be kind
and eat all my vegetables and
I don't think I ask him for too much.
On Christmas Eve I put my porch light on
so he can find my house, and I leave cookies for

 him on a plate along with sugar for the reindeer.
I leave my door open, as I know he couldn't use my

fireplace. But despite all my efforts, on Christmas morning when I wake up

I find  no presents under my tree and the cookies are uneaten.  I do miss Santa

Claus and  every year I wonder where he went.  If you see  him,  could  you please

tell him so.

With love,

M a r y

 

 

 

 

This poem is written for dVerse Poetics where Stu is in charge today and is having us write about what we miss!  I am also sharing it with Poetry Pantry #126 on Sunday.