Loss of a Friend

Loss of a Friend

I will always wish you the best, my friend
though you left me at the gate, my friend.

I have no anger now that you are gone
because I am not one to hate, my friend.

I have memories of what used to be
but they don't really compensate, my friend.

I recall all the times we laughed and talked
never knowing end was our fate, my friend.

Loss of you doesn't matter any more
at least that is what I proclaim, my friend.

Please forgive me though for my deep sadness
good wishes this does not negate, my friend.

I live my life with you part of my past
you will never know Mary's fate, my friend.

I wrote this for dVerse Poets: Form for All: Ghazal-Sonnet.  This form was introduced by Sam Peralta.  It has some VERY specific  rules that I tried to follow.  Sam, if you read this, please let me know if I follows them.  I know it may not be the most 'poetic poem,' but I was happy to give the form a try!

For the Love of Ice

Ice Palace - Pierre Bonnard - 1898 - Wiki Paintings

For the Love of Ice

We  love ice,
skate patterns precise,
swoop and sway
in an intricate way
as we subtlety entice
partners charmingly nice
with messages delicate,
intimate with spice,
and elaborate spins
twice then thrice.

Two crystalline kin,
we harmonize, tantalize
communicate, vacillate
pivot around paradise
cast our fate in dice
and the love of ice.

This was written for   Poets United - Verse First: Icy.   Kim's prompt was 'icy' today!  Very appropriate for the weather we have here at the moment.

All For Love

Wikimedia Commons

All For Love

My love--
I spin beauty for you,
my elation, my creation.
Won't you come and see
the wonder of my preparation,
a perfect formation
to indulge in the flirtation
we will enjoy for a time!

Trust my recommendation:
nothing else in this location
approaches such sophistication,
but please do spare yourself trepidation
about one minor complication --
there is NO extrication!

You know, of course,
beauty and love don't last forever--
nor will YOU survive evisceration.

This was written for Poetry Jam: The Beast in You, where Peggy's prompt this week was to write from the point of view of an animal.  I chose a spider!  Smiles.  I am also sharing this with Sunday's Poets United Poetry Pantry.

Not the Way She Planned

The Black Feather Hat - Gustav Klimt - 1910 - Wiki Paintings

Not the Way She Planned

This wasn't the way she planned;
he wasn't supposed to walk away
after he painted her in her finery:
new black feather hat, fur boa,
and her beautiful thick red hair.

Damn him, she was alone again;
her only company the failed dreams,
schemes, and a portrait she realized
revealed more than she'd expected
which meant he knew her secrets too.

Written for dVerse Open Link.

Gustav Klimt, the painter, was quite a womanizer with his models and others.  He never married, but had at least three children.  The names of the models and women in his life have not survived because he had a long term (but open) affair with Emilie Floge, a proprietor of a Viennese fashion salon.  When Klimt died of a stroke in 1918, Emilie Floge burnt Klimt's correspondence, so much has been lost.  However, one woman HAS been identified, and that is the woman in this portrait above.  Her name is Hilde Roth, and she was said to be a beautiful (and voluptuous) Bohemian redhead from Budapest.  She is the subject of two, perhaps three, of Klimt's paintings.  I have written the poem from Hilde Roth's perspective....as SHE pre-dated Emilie Floge.  I do think this painting of her shows her to be quite a conniving woman.  To me, she does not look kind.

Death and Life

Death and Life - Gustav Klimt - 1916 - Wiki Paintings

Death and Life

Death and life
happiness and strife
uncomfortable intimacy
lunacy perhaps
that's how it goes flows
from birth to death
nobody knows
when the reaper will call
no one can forestall
what will be as
the progression is clear dear
fear not for
what you fear today
is nothing
compared to
tomorrow
sorrow.

I am a fan of Gustav Klimt's paintings.  This poem was written in response to Klimt's painting Death and Life.   I am linking it to Imaginary Garden With Real Toads Open Link.

The Swing

The Swing by Jean-Honore Fragonard - 1767 (Wiki Paintings)

The Swing

I wonder how high I can soar
with swing I travel to the sky
beyond the moon I explore
ground-bound gravity  defy.

Earth cannot hold  me now
there are no limits to dreams
no constraints will I allow
I hitch rides on moonbeams.

Higher I soar enroute to stars
heart lighter than my feet
I've bid earth my au revoirs
and heavens prepare to greet.

I have been confined too long
declare myself free forevermore
as I blissfully sing my evensong
I wonder how high I can soar.

This poem was written for Susan's prompt at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads.  She challenged us to choose a last line from one of our recent poems and use it as the first line in a new poem.  The last line of my poem The Wind is "I wonder how high I can soar."  I used that line to both begin and end this new poem. Some of the inspiration also came from Fragonard's wonderful painting above.

The News

The News

Opinions form from  news we read
the slant taken on the story
who is doing the telling.

Absolutely nothing is unbiased
someone's personal perspective
seen through jaded glasses.

Attend to more than one source
open hearts and minds to find truth
hard but worth the price to pay.

For dVerse where the topic is the media today at Poetics.

Children By the Beach

Painting by Renoir - Wikimedia Commons - Public Domain
Title:  Children By the Sea in Guernsey

Children By the Beach

Children by the beach reach, beseech
parents to let them swim on a whim
though they are dressed blessed
to be where they are -- shining stars
in their parents' eyes: butterflies
who exemplify the best, ride the crest
of affluence and pretense; no offense
but they would like to swim with innocence
despite parents' influence which matters
nothing to these children by the beach!

This is written for  dVerse Poets: Meeting the Bar.  Anna prompted us to CREATE.  (After reading others' poetry, perhaps I goofed up on understanding the writing. I have not written about the process, but have simply CREATED.  Sorry, Anna, and thanks to all for understanding.)  I am also submitting this for Poets United Poetry Pantry.

The Fence

By the Fence - Sergey Solomko - Wiki Paintings

The Fence

There is something about a fence that protects

on either side  thoughts and hearts assured safe

can see but cannot feel

 can touch but  cannot embrace

can  anticipate  but cannot mandate.

There is boundary and distance

intimacy guarded

not rewarded

still time to decide

togetherness or  divide

to locate the gate

capitulate

negate

or wait.

This is written for Verse First at Poets United where Kim Nelson prompts us to write a poem about "fence."

Innocence Unbound

Mada Primavisa - Gustav Klimt - 1912 - Wiki Paintings

Innocence Unbound

Innocence merged with defiance, reliance,
she stands her found ground unbound,
breaks rules like dishes whenever she wishes,
and her frilly dress swishes so womanish.

Her mother anguishes as she watches
the kittenish joy of young Helen of Troy
who struts her stuff without compliance,
leaves all around in spellbound silence.


This is written for Poetry Jam (where Dani's prompt is the idea of 'breaking rules') and also for                               dVerse Poets Open Link #80.    Take a look at both sites and see things other fine poets have written!

Drip Drop

Wikimedia Commons

Drip Drop


Drop after drop after drop

stop me from hearing the drip

slip me back to deep sleep

keep my focus from the oblique

leak which echoes in my brain

maintaining its incessant beat

between my head pillow and sheet

meting out torture that won't stop

drop  after drop after drop.


Written for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads: Sunday Mini Challenge.  Joy Ann Jones challenge us to write a poem in chained rhyme.  For more information, click on the link!

Foreign Language

A Sad Girl - Carlos Saenz de Tejada - 1921
Wiki Paintings

Foreign Language

Every language is
foreign to someone

      I love you
      ich liebe dich 
      Je t`aime 
      Aloha wau ia oi
      Mahal kita 

      Hum tumhe pyar karte hae 
      Saya cinta padamu 
      Ti amo 
      Te quiero Saya cintakan mu 
      Ik hou van jou

 But it is sad when
 it's the language of love.

Written for dVerse Poets - Poetics, where Fred is in charge and having us write using a foreign language.

I am also submitting this for Poets United Poetry Pantry.     I still feel the majority do not see that this is a SAD poem, that it is indicating that for some people any kind of loving statement would be 'foreign' to them. Does anyone have any idea on what I can say differently which would clear up the confusion?

The Wind

Wikimedia Commons

The Wind

I wonder where the wind goes
after it blows through my hair
as I swing on a warm summer day.
Perhaps it rises with the crows
or uplifts the wings of butterflies.

There is little that can compare
to the whisper of the breeze
as it rustles through hair and leaves.
But I still would like to know where
it goes after it whistles by.

It lifts me with extraordinary ease
as I pump my legs toward the sky
I know that I can fly as long as
the winds will toss and tease
I wonder how high I can soar.


This poem, written for dVerse Form For All: David James Karousels and Weaves.  is an example of a WEAVE poem, a form invented by David James & introduced by Gay Cannon in 'the pub.'  (Thanks, Gay.)  Its rhyme scheme follows this pattern: abcad  befbg  ehiej (and so on). There are no particular number of words or syllables per line. Go on over to dVerse and read the article.  I do think these are forms I will try on other occasions.

Drifting

Wikimedia Commons

             Drifting


                  As you

                             drift

                                downstream

                             daily

                      keep a middle course

                               beware of log jams
                                         
                                        oil slicks

                                                 brambles

                                                          that would

                                                   like nothing more

                                              than to

                                    trap you

                                            pull you under

                                                     and

                                             down

                                                    down

                                                         drowned.


This was written for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads.  Mama Zen's prompt was to write a poem in 75 words using a technique (or something) that is hard for you. (The above 'technique' is not really difficult, but it is one I don't use.)

Danger Not Well Disguised

Wikimedia Commons

Danger Not Well Disguised

Four young teens walked to the yacht club
on a lazy, warm summer evening
only intention to look at docked boats
just for something different to do

when two cabin cruiser boozers
said Hi girls, want to see our boat?
Three were thrilled to be noticed
by the good-looking men who smiled;
my mind saw red flags, but I said nothing.

It was getting dark and I didn't want
to walk home across the bridge alone,
so I boarded too, despite discerned danger.
No parents knew where we were.

As the flirtations, nameless guys offered beer
(though none of us accepted it)
I pictured the boat crawling away from shore
and four bodies found floating the next day
somewhere down the river and the boat
and the guys and innocence forever gone.

This (based on truth) was written for the Poetry Jam prompt DANGER.  Please check the site any time after 9 p.m. Central Tuesday night to see the entire prompt.  Hope we will also see your link there.

Flight of Fancy

By Henry de Toulouse-Latrec (1888): Public Domain

Flight of Fancy

I was walking through my dream
when I met you walking through your dream;
together we found a dream to follow
until both of us disappeared
into the dream of someone else
who dreamed you a handsome prince
and me a golden-haired maiden.

And together we rode white horses
by the light of the silvery moon
and fell in love under the stars
until the dreamer became jealous
and wanted you for herself.

So in her dream I lost you,
for she dreamed me without you. 
and I never met you in dreams again
though I looked and looked;
but I keep hoping you will find me.

I wrote this for dVerse Poets for Open Link!  Just for fun!

Two Short Poems Based on Kim Nelson's Art

by Kim Nelson

Please

I am not ready to leave the nest;
I am feeling warm and comfortable,
protected from unknown elements.
Please, oh please, let me stay,
if only for yet another day.
I don't want to face the world alone
so please, oh please, hear my say.

Heart

Somewhere beneath her exterior is a heart
that pulsates with warm red blood,
feels the love and hurt she doesn't show,
protects her pain and her vulnerability.
Somewhere beneath her exterior is someone
you will have to work hard to get to know.

These two short poems were written for the Sunday Mini Challenge at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads.  This week the art of Kim Nelson was featured!

Growing Up

Chicago - photo by author

Growing Up

Surrounded by unpacked boxes

in an unfamiliar room,

I look out the window

of my second floor dorm,

watch my parents drive out of sight

in the car that brought me to stay.

Tears well in my eyes as I realize

I don't want to grow up,

want to return home

want to stay there forever.

But they don't turn around,

.............. so I must and do.


This is written for   dVerse Poetics where Stu is having us writing 'growing up' poetry!   My photo of Chicago has nothing to do with the poem!  I am submitting this for Real Toads Open Link Monday as well!

This Poem

This Poem

This poem is not about me,
though usually I inhabit each poem;
but my thoughts seem redundant,
and I find myself boring today

with no ideas worth anyone's time,
no stories or reminiscences,
no reflections on the seasons,
or contemplations on the ordinary.

Not one philosophical thought
as my mind is quite blank today,
so do remember  you as you read
this poem is not about me.

   This poem was written for Fireblossom's prompt at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads.  The prompt was "doubletalk."  The poem had to start and end with the same line, but the lines in between had to change the meaning! I also submit this to Poets United Poetry Pantry. 

(My photo of Mt. Rushmore, South Dakota, USA,  has nothing to do with the poem.)

I must say I am REALLY a strong believer that every poem a poet writes is about the poet....  I do not think it is possible to write a poem in which the author is not present.  So, of course, this poem is a lie.  This poem IS about me.

Without Squinting

Without Squinting

Without squinting, I almost see it:
the green of renewal is still out of sight,
made invisible by the snow that is
falling and the wind that is howling
and the blanket of cold that surrounds all;
but I do know it is there somewhere,
just beyond  the snow-laden trees
and the mounds of drifted snow,
and I must have faith it will appear one day soon.

This is submitted in response to Victoria's prompt at dVerse Poets Meeting the Bar....    where we were invited to " write a descriptive poem in which you will use images to describe a feeling, a truth you hold dear, a person, using primarily surroundings—in other words, an imagist poem that has an embedded message about whatever "            Photo from Wikimedia Commons.

Fresh Start

Fall - Pennsylvania Turnpike

Fresh Start

New year begins
and I am focused
on leaving unproductive thoughts
and vacant stares
in the old year --

along with worn  jeans
and old pairs of shoes,
all of which should have been
swept into the trash bin years ago.

This was written for Poetry Jam - Sweep out the old year
and Three Word Wednesday - focused, pair, vacant

Reflection

Reflection

I see you more clearly now
not the person I thought you were
but the person you are
and told me you were
absorbed in your own mirror reflection
nothing more.

I saw in you what I wanted to see
experienced a deepening connection
during many hours of conversation
not knowing it lacked foundation
as you were playing with your reflection
nothing more.

Thus you faded away when I needed you
to be there for me as I had been for you
and as I waited and waited
my illusion was painfully shattered
into the truth of your mirror reflection
nothing more.

This was written for Kim's Poets United Wonder Wednesday's prompt......Upon Reflection!      The painting is Woman With a Mirror by Frederick Fieseke - 1911.  It is in the public domain (Wikimedia Commons) because its copyright has expired.  It can be found in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, NYC.

Wow

Wow

Wow is the word she said
when he first I love you said.

Wow is the word he said
when he first wished her dead.

Wow is the word she said
when he had gun barrel to her head.

Wow is the word she cried
as he pulled the trigger; she died.

This poem was written for Ella's prompt "Wow" at Imaginary Gardens and Real Toads.  Sorry about the subject matter, but this is what came to me.  It is based on the death of a young woman police officer very near here whose husband stalked her on her police rounds New Year's Eve and killed her by shooting her five times in the head.  Members of the church they had gone to spoke highly of the couple who both were very involved in working with the youth of the congregation.  In retrospect, it was also said that the man had PTST after having served in Afghanistan.  In retrospect, it was also said that the young woman had told other police officers previously that he had held a gun to her head. (If only..........) He shot her with one of her service revolvers.  It was a tremendous loss, shock, sadness to the community.

The photo is from Wikimedia Commons.  It is Non Violence Sculpture which is located outside the United Nations Building in New York City.

What Then?

Another Year's December Snowfall

What Then?

When I listen to what is said
in many words or few
quick response or slow
with emotion or passive voice,
will I understand the message?

When I hear what is not said
when I note the silences
as significant as spoken words
sometimes more powerful,
will the message be the same?

And if the message is different,
which one should I believe?

This is for dVerse Open Link Tuesday.

Peace

Peace

I find peace in small moments
when I am looking for nothing
eating lunch with granddaughter

and we talk about the morning
no expectations and no hurry
just moments that glide by

or  I walk the track at the gym
with iPod playing  familiar music
that  takes me back back back

to other days and other times
and sometimes I see glimpses
that seem so real while in church

I  hear  words peace be with you
and go in peace and I feel
a warm wave wash over me

and wonder if peace is simply
a warm tropical wave and I'm
in Hawaii again immersed

as my hands reach to the sky
and when I sleep I hear them
lull me to sleep, rock me as they

cleanse me, perhaps a dream
or perhaps this is the peace
that passes all understanding

that we each can experience
in the small moments of our lives
when we look for nothing at all.

This poem was written for dVerse Poetics: Peace Within and Without, where I am 'tending the bar' yesterday and today. What an experience THAT is!!  The theme is PEACE (in whatever way you care to use it).    The photo can be found at Wikimedia Commons at this link.    It is also shared with Poets United Poetry Pantry.

The Window

 The Window

Today I left the house where you still are,
where so much of me remains as well.
You both waved and smiled in the window
but I know it is harder now each time  I leave;
I hold back my own tears, struggle to smile,
wave long after your image fades away,
fear it could be the last time, wonder if I will
see you again, pray I'll see you one more time.

This poem was written for my own prompt WINDOWS over at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads.  I would be delighted if you would visit the site and contribute your OWN poem!  The picture is of an 'old Iowa farmhouse window' that I found on Wikimedia Commons.

Working Out

Working Out

The new year
attracts many new people, all
with fitness goals.

Running the track
they travel  five miles to
end at beginning.

Young man walks
track with pants hanging down,
a definite distraction.

Many old men
shoot baskets at noon to
rekindle their dreams.

Always same women
take part in water aerobics,
never lose weight.

The treadmill turns
as  they watch television news
for several miles.

Spinning classes bike
to rhythmic loud music at
an energetic pace.

These are rather light-hearted examples of  Collom lunes, as introduced by Sam at at dVerse Form For All.  They came to me this morning after my workout time at the YMCA. The photo comes from Wikimedia Commons.

The Trickster

The Trickster

She was a murderous alpha-girl,
bitter and dangerous and beautiful,
who kept a deceitful diary
she used to claim her innocence
in the endless razor sharp passages
which were her trademark.

In reality she was a serial killer
who lived dangerously,
doting on duplicity and crime
(double talk her golden twin)
to support her addiction.

As she unspooled her fraying mind
in her diary of silvery blossomings,
she confounded the suspecting wise
who tried to use it to convict  her;
but  they could only blink oddly
before they freed her and walked away.

I wrote this poem for Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads: Get Listed, where we were challenged by Fireblossom to use a list of words (form of the word being okay) to write a poem.  Check the site for the words, but I used all of them.

Ice

Ice

The pace of winter is slow,
sometimes almost idle,
and there is continual nagging
from deep within
that I should do something more,
be someone more,
unfreeze myself from the icicles
within and without
and find that green deep beneath
that nourishes, refreshes, frees
my soul and helps me
to rise, RISE, RISE UP and
BE alive to co-exist with ice.

This poem was written for Three Word Wednesday, where the prompt was to write using these three words:   idle, nagging, pace. Also shared with Imaginary Gardens and Real Toads: Open Link Monday.The photo comes from here at Wikimedia Commons.

Candles

Candles

The candles how they flicker
each one a memory of what is no more
or dream of what may never be

but how do I differentiate the candles
as I gaze into the glowing flames
as they all blend together

in my heart as well as my mind
and why can I not stop staring
and why can I not stop crying?

This poem was written for the prompt Candles at Poetry Jam.  The picture above is in the public domain and found at Wikimedia Commons.