Grandma and Little Red

Illustration of Red Riding Hood from Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood - 1850



Grandma and Little Red

Oh, hello, Red, nice that you phoned;
but I have little time today for a visit
with poems to write, bills to pay,

dogs to walk, my bed to freshen,
followed by a luncheon date and
a stroll through the dense forest

with that handsome Mr. Wolf.
I’ve talked of him before. He’s
the gent with the whitest teeth,

biggest smile, most intense eyes.
And when we’re out he commands
attention wherever we go, with his

beautiful fur coat and fancy gloves..
Then we’ll come back home a while
for some..rest (teehee)..and..refreshment

We’re not youngsters anymore, and
we’ll be a bit tired you know. But
perhaps I could work you in between

four and five if you can wait that long.
But knock first, knock hard, as my
hearing isn’t that sharp any more.

Please try to wear something stylish.
That riding hood has seen better days.
And don’t tire yourself carrying

a picnic basket. I’ll have eaten
a tasty gourmet meal and won’t
need additional food. And anyway

I am trying to maintain my figure.

And  Red, please don't tell your mother

about Mr. Wolf.  She wouldn't approve!

I am hosting at dVerse Poetics.  Today we are writing "Modern Mythology."  It is also posted in Poets United Poetry Pantry.

The Message of the Geese

Geese Flying (Wikimedia Commons)

 The Message of the Geese

Overhead I saw geese flying north today;

Thus I knew that spring had arrived once more.

It's time for earth to begin to restore,

so symbolic when the geese come to stay.

There must have been hundreds in the array,

their collective squawk was loud as a roar;

it was such joy for me too watch them soar;

I am happy to be on their throughway.

It is the simple things that bring such joy;

I must remember to always look up,

not only for geese but to watch clouds.

Life's happiness is something not to destroy,

so many abundant joys one can sup.

The  clouds and geese can lift our heavy shrouds.

I wrote this for dVerse Poets: Form for All where Sam Peralta introduced the Miltonian sonnet.  It is a sonnet in iambic pentameter.  The rhyme scheme in my sonnet is abba, abba, cde, cde.  My last line is a slight 'glitch,' but c'est la vie.  I did the best I could.  (And I really DID see these geese flying over today.  I did not take a photo. I wish I had.........   My picture would have been more impressive than the one I shared from Wikimedia Commons.  Sigh.)

Passion.

The Crucifixion

Passion


Holy week
Passion of Christ
(if one believes and I do);

Quiet celebration of the fact
 that Jesus died so we might live;

the older I get
the more important
is the meaning of  Easter.


This was written for Kim's prompt "Passion" at Poets United.  It is what came to my mind,  considering the week.    Thanks, Kim, for the prompt. 

Usual



Wikimedia Commons

Usual

One could say he had a usual life 

with a usual wife and usual kids. 

He always went to work at the usual time

driving his usual route in his usual truck. 

He fulfilled his usual responsibilities 

came home at the usual time 

ate the usual family dinner

 then watched the usual TV. 

 Weekends he did his usual chores; 

Sunday went to church at the usual time. 

He had the usual hopes, 

and he dreamed the usual dreams.

At the end of one usual day 

he shot himself to death 

with a very usual gun 

in a very usual way.

Written for  Poetry Jam where the prompt is Usual / Unusual!

Time Travel

Time Travel

With no desire to go forward into the future I put my mind into
reverse and traveled back through time to try to figure
out how I happened to be in this place today. As year
after year was stripped away and secrets unraveled one by one,
I kept my mind open and clear, found myself meeting myself

younger after every turn, wrinkles diminished then gone, muscles
tighter then taut again, gray streaked hair renewed to blonde. I observed
signs missed the first time around, clues to the path I'd follow
to the person I'd become. Fifties, forties, thirties, twenties,
all faded away, as I embraced each younger self and walked on,

wiser the second time around. Alas I observed myself a teen
for a moment in time, caught between child and adult with
dreams, fears, all unknowns ahead, so many years to live. Hard
to fathom now. Then I opened the heavy gate into childhood, where
I stood face to face with the blue-eyed girl with wispy blonde hair

blowing in the wind. She put her hand in mine, urged me to continue
along the backward path and showed me the last door to open
on this journey if I dared. The child dropped my hand, looked into
my still blue eyes, then turned away as I opened the door into the
room that held a crib. A sleeping baby embraced a pink rabbit. So

new to life, innocent, unmarked, possibilities unrevealed and ahead.
I stood with tears in my eyes, realized that the baby was me. I wanted
to wake her, hold her, tell her though life would not always be easy
it would be all right. Everything would be all right. I promised her that
before I turned around, ready to walk back to her future again, to carry on.


Shared with dVerse Poets Open Link

Coffee With Cohen

Leonard Cohen - Wikimedia Commons

Coffee With Cohen

I saw Leonard in the coffee shop

with his guitar and his coffee cup

He was sitting at a table alone

I sat down with him if I was known.

He glanced at me, smiled, said:

     I sit here

     At the window

     Waiting for you

and I laughed, replied

I'd waited for him too

I told him I was glad to meet him

and asked him how he was;

he said he was reflective 

he'd lived his lfe his way

composed  his own song

hoped he did more right than wrong.

He told me then in a confidential tone:

    

      I wrote for love.

     Then I wrote for money

     With someone like me

     it's the same thing.

I said I was glad he wrote at all

as I didn't know what else to say;

and then he surprised me with 

these softly spoken words:

     Now that my mission

     Has come to its end:

     Pray I'm forgiven

    The life that I've led.

As he stood up to leave

he touched my hand,

 looked me in eye

and if I didn't know better

I'd have thought he was about to cry.

     Like a bird on a wire

     I have tried in my way to be free.

And I said I could identify with that;

and as he walked out  the door

went on his way down the street

I heard his gravel voice sing

     And even though it all went wrong,

     I'll stand before the Lord of Song

    with nothing on my lips but Hallelujah!

And he was accompanied by a band of angels.

a heavenly chorus above him in the skies.

This was written for dVerse Poetics where Claudia is 'tending bar' and having us meet up with some historical or famous / living or dead person.     It is also being submitted for   Poets United Poetry Pantry. The first three quotes come from the book Book of Longing by Leonard Cohen.  The last two quotes come from Cohen songs "Bird on a Wire" and "Hallelujah."

Cracks

Cracks

 

Those cracks are so important

we didn't realize how much

until we no longer saw light
 

when light could no longer shine through

after the cracks closed

we walked in the dark

 

pretended we saw the light

smiled for the world to see

but it was never the same

 

we didn't let our feelings show

no one was the wiser

no one knew or cared.

 

For Imaginary Garden With Real Toads:  The Crack in Everything.

Reaction

Reaction

 

 

Reaction

is action in regard

to what happens

 

and we all hope

for the best

from our own perspective

 

(as we think we know best)

but sometimes

we have to accept

 

what is

nonjudgmental

is the key

 

acceptance

of reality

is prime!

 

 

This was written for Poets United: Verse First where Kim's prompt was "Reaction."

 

Reflection

Reflection

 

If you feel dejection when you look at your reflection

it may be a projection of your desire for perfection

so perhaps you need correction for lack of affection!

There is no need for rejection through introspection

thus better to practice deflection of disaffection

despite predilection of faulty recollection.

There is an inverse connection between resurrection

of indirection and a feeling of self protection

and often dejection influences your faulty reflection!

 

Written in response to Poetry Jam where the prompt was REFLECTION.

The Color of March

The Color of March

There is some green in March
not much but some, only a
touch of optimism and
potential growth. Mostly
March is a dirty month, gray
and soggy, a month that
can't quite decide, could
go either way, snow or rain,
cool or warm. The yard will
need to be raked and readied,
but not yet. Too early, too tentative,
too sunless, icy grass still dormant.
Respite before real work begins,
a month to walk dogs, to
appreciate nature's indecision.
March is a carefree month,
though bleak, as I know
the work that lies ahead.

Shared with dVerse Poets Open Link.  This is SOME March.  Snowed last night.  16 degrees F & windy today. Green IS around but sparse.  I wonder where those robins that I saw a few days ago are taking shelter.

The Green Grass of Home

The Green Grass of Home

The grass of my home

is the greenest of green

greener in memory than reality,

but that doesn't  minimize the yearning

to contemplate one more time,

to stretch out on one more time

the grass from my childhood,

that memorable grass of home,

the green green grass of my home.

The You Tube video features Tom Jones singing "The Green Grass of Home."   This short poem is written for dVerse Poetics where Karin is having us write about 'green.'

Decision

 
Decision

 

Running shoes and I-Pad

exist side by side,

in my gym bag reside.

To work out or backslide?

Snide thoughts misguide,

excuses and will power collide.

Which one will override?

How will I decide?

Solution found,

my time will divide;

I compromise, with pride.

Work-out resolve solidified,

excuses all defied,

I-Pad put aside.

Around the track I stride,

preoccupied, intensified,

until I'm gratified, satisfied.

I-Pad games finally justified,

with tablet I now sit cross-eyed,

guilt rectified and  nullified!

 Ha, I face this decision daily at the YMCA. Shared with Poets United Poetry Pantry.

Icy Remains

 

 

Icy Remains

 

I kick

ice chunks that still

repose in my driveway

unwelcome guests that will not leave

calmly.

 

 

 

This cinquain is written for dVerse Form for All, where Tony introduces American cinquains.

Thankful

Thankful

 

I am thankful that

my granddaughter has

more options than I had

 

With no stereotypical women's jobs

she can aspire to be more than nurse,

social worker, secretary, teacher.

Though we have in this country
further to go, I am thankful
for how far we have come.

This was written for Kim's prompt  at Poet's United: March is Women's Month.

I would be interested in hearing what possibilities other women (in the U.S. or other countries) felt they had when they were in high school.  What occupational doors do you think were open to you?  I really thought that secretary, teacher, social worker, nurse were my main options as a woman. I became a teacher.  And you?  If you are male reading this, did you sense the difference in what women and men could strive for, and how did/do you feel about that?

Dance Me

 

 

 

Dance Me

 

Dance me please just dance me

lead me where you wish to go

I may not have all the steps right

but dance me to the end of love.

Dance me please to follow your lead

the music calls to me too

with your strong arms around me

we'll dance to the end of love.

 

Dance me please as you want to

hold me close so I won't fall

our steps will match each other's

as we dance to the end of love.

Dance me please just dance me

life will be over before we know

the flames are moving closer now

but we will dance to the end, my love.

 

This poem was written for Poetry Jam, for Laurie's prompt  "Poetry of Dance."  I do hope you will watch / listen to the video (or at least part of it), as it served as inspiration for me.

 

Leonard Cohen's song "Dance Me to the End of Love" is from his 1984 album Various Positions.  It is about a string quartet who was forced to play beside the crematorium in the death camps.  The members of the quartet were going to be killed in the crematorium eventually.  The playing of music was the last piece of joy the members of the quartet will experience before they die.  I had heard this song many, many times; but I had not known its meaning until I used it to write my own poem.  My poem does NOT have that same meaning.

 

 

 

Closing Time

 

Closing Time

 

Closing time

the bar is about to close

they're going to turn the lights off

we're each going to go home.....alone.

 

Nothing more for you to say or do

you've said all you can say

you've done all you can do

the last dance has been danced.....alone.

 

The final drink has been drunk

time to turn off the lights and go home

I loved you for the moment

but that is all I have to give.....alone.

 

There's nothing more I have to offer

no promise beyond today

now that it's closing time

we're still.....alone..

 

I continue to be in love with Leonard  Cohen who inspired this poem with his song.  I am sharing this with dVerse Open Link.

No Habaneros, Please!

Habanero Pepper - Wikimedia Commons

 

No Habaneros, Please

 

I want to eat spicy

not bland but hot

give me jalepeno peppers

and crushed pepper flakes

I want to savor  fire

     but spare me from habaneros!

Give me Indian, Korean,

Thai, Mexican, always

the hot variety with a bite

tastes that let me know I've eaten

I want to savor fire

     but spare me from habaneros!

This was written for Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads: Poets in the Kitchen.  Thank you, Grace! I have had two bad experiences with habanero peppers in my life. I do not desire a third.  I do like habaneros in cheese though!!

The Painter

Wikimedia Commons

The Painter

 

Fearsome outsider

cannot be shooed away,

reserves a window view

and with easel and paint

creates intimate artworks in sprees,

body parts compromised.

For what purpose? For whose use?

I have written my last will,

as he will not let me leave.

 

This was written for The Sunday Whirl: Wordle #99.. 

 

The words to include were:  paint, use, sprees, outsider, away, fearsome,

part,reserves, body, intimate, written, window

Come Healing

Come Healing

Come healing of the spirit

come healing of the limb

give me one more day to live

I will sing my grateful hymn.

All lab results turn out fine

no evidence of disease

the surgery is a success

benign puts the mind at ease.

In accident walk out unscathed

tornado doesn't touch ground

nasty fall nothing broken

lightning strikes, nothing downed.

Often our gift is another day to live

all turns out well again and again

we can plan once more for tomorrow

breathe easily, say a heartfelt amen.

Come healing of the spirit

come healing of the limb

give me one more day to live

I will sing my grateful hymn.

 

This is written for  dVerse Poetics where Gretchen Leary had us write to music.  Also shared with Poetry Pantry #141. I wrote to Leonard Cohen's 2012 song "Come Healing."  The italicized words are taken from his song.  The You-Tube recording was from his 2012 concert in Montreal.  I have been very well aware lately of all of the healings/good news we have heard in our lives.  (I am also well aware that some time, some day the news will not be good....but that is for another day.)

Ain't No Cure

Ain't No Cure

Leonard said there ain't no cure
and I would have to concur
there just ain't no cure for love.

No matter what the alchemist's potion
a treatment cannot be put in motion
there just ain't a cure for love.

Try as you will to findsome respite
no antidote exists to overcome it
there just ain't no cure for love.

There may be cures for drugs or booze
gambling or chocolate if you choose
there just ain't no cure for love.

Love induces a tenacious addiction
and is always a lifetime affliction
there just ain't no cure for love.

Leonard said there ain't no cure
and I would have to concur
there just ain't no cure for love.

For anyone unfamiliar with who "Leonard" is, he is Leonard Cohen....an idol of mine.  The video is of him singing "Ain't No Cure For Love."  Even if you listen just a short segment of it, you will see where my poem came from.  This song is what first came to my mind when I saw Kim's prompt!  Verse First: The Cure.     And there ain't no cure for Leonard Cohen addiction either!      

Prism

Wikimedia Commons

Prism

A prism reflects

what you wish it to;

move it one way or another

to see a different view.
 

Colors and shapes

dance in the light;

if you don't like one view,

put something else in sight.
 

All is possible when

you manipulate the white;

a prism rotates, inverts, flips

when you bend the light.

A prism cannot show
what really is not there;
all colors are within,
both ordinary and rare.

Your life can be a prism
reflecting who you are;
find yourself a rainbow,
it will lead to your own star.

This was written for Alan's prompt "prism" for this week's Poetry Jam.

Cerberus

Cerberus by Phillippe Semeria
Wikimedia Commons

Cerberus

Cerberus, three-headed dog of past, present, and future,
you guard your iron gate with vicious and awful fury.
What an ominous task, a gruesome chore for you to
stand in the place neither dead nor living can cross.
You alone watch the gate. Innocence of birth, youthful
dreams, old age regrets all converge in your domain.
I cower before your serpent tail, hair of snakes, fearsome face.
Your shadow looms along the River Styx. I await my time.
I know that it will come.   I pray for your mercy.


Cerberus, in Greek and Roman mythology, is the three-headed dog who guards the gates of Hades to prevent those who have crossed the River Styx from escaping.  Some interpret the 3 heads as standing for past, present, and future.  Some suggest birth, youth, and old age.  Each of the heads has an appetite only for live meat.

For dVerse Open Link

Dead is Dead

Dead is Dead

A restraining order did nothing
he tormented her anyway
she continued to fear for her life
one week he slashed all her tires
the next week he took a cab
to the salon where she worked
with a gun he had bought online
ammunition bought the day before
and shot her and two others dead
and wounded four more
before he shot himself dead.

How can we stop the violence
when men are determined to kill?

Please read:  Azana Spa Mass Shooting.     This happened less than 10 miles from where I live.  I have gone to this spa for manicures and pedicures.  After the incident, the salon was closed for some months.   It has very recently reopened. Many employees who were there on that horrific day have returned.  Some have not. It has been said they remodeled the inside.  The brother of the deceased woman who was the target is speaking out for gps tracking for those who have restraining orders against them.  He thinks this might have saved his sister.  I wonder.....

This was written for Susie's prompt at Imaginary Garden and Real Toads.   March is  the month to raise awareness through poetry about violence against women, which Susie highlighted.  Susie's prompt inspired this poem.

Too Early

Too Early #1

I awakened at four o'clock today   

thoughts dancing madly in my head  

performing a macabre cabaret     

I awakened at four o'clock today

my restful sleep in disarray

having preferred to sleep instead

I awakened at four o'clock today

thoughts dancing madly in my head.

          Written in triolet form

Too Early #2

I awakened at four o'clock today

thoughts dancing madly in my head

performing a macabre cabaret.

I lay in bed and tried to sleep

it did not work to count sheep

I awakened at four o'clock today.

Yesterdays revisited and replayed

as worries of tomorrow invade

thoughts dancing madly in my head.

So many images twist and swirl

devil dances with bow and whirl

performing a macabre cabaret.

               Written in cascade tercet form

These two short poems were written for dVerse Poetics, where Fred is prompting us to write 'short poems' today!    I was indeed awake (and up!) at 4 a.m. today, so I decided to explore a few forms just for fun with some amount of exaggeration, as I did not mind the early hour.  Smiles.