Spring at Last

Granddaughter and two of my three dogs

Spring at Last


There is something about a spring day in the park
with my five-year-old granddaughter that is special
and reminds me to appreciate the simple moments
when the most important thing is to play.

There is something about a spring day in the park
that helps me keep my priorities in order
there is time enough for life's complexities
when the order of the day is not to play.

There is something about a spring day in the park
that makes me remember other springs of the past,
other times when I resolved to renew life again
when and only when play concluded for the day.

This is shared with dVerse Open Link.(Thanks for hosting, Grace.)  I am a later participant today, as I really WAS in two parks today with granddaughter and dogs.  At last I think spring has arrived. The photo was taken today after we returned home.  My 'baby' Basil is the one staring straight ahead.  Tulip is Behind.  My granddaughter is obvious. LOL.  I really do believe in the importance of play, don't you?

House

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House

 

The house I enter is a nightmare of this house.

It is dark, quiet, and the lights do not work.

I trip over objects that are not here,

meander through a maze of oblivion where

nothing that should be here can be found.

I smell incense which no one burns.

The doors creak but never open,

frozen in place amidst screams of  spirits released

when the cable does not work and the circuit breakers

continue to trip as the serpentine extension cord

snakes through the hallway, rears its orange head,

hisses at me.  I run down the stairs that

are not here and drown in the lake which

is where the basement no longer is.

Why do I tell you these things?

I'm not even here, nor are you.

 

This is shared with dVerse Poetics, where Karin is tending the bar; and we are writing "trip" poems!

Voice

Voice

Gradually it happened -
                     she lost the ability to speak

she who had spoken with great confidence

she who had spoken with great knowledge

she who had spoken and brought others joy
she who could also listen to others as no others did

until it became harder and harder to form words
                     until it became impossible

                     until she was left with total silence -
                     totally voiceless.

This is written / submitted for Poets United Verse First, where the prompt is "Voices."
Also shared with Poets United Poetry Pantry.

Robin

 

 

Robin

 

Early spring robin dreams of rain and ground teeming with worms;

robin does not analyze but enjoys the ordinary.

We can learn from the robin to savor life as it happens.

 

This poem is a Sijo, a Korean form written for dVerse Form For All.  Click the link for more information presented by Sam Peralta.  Anyone who has read my poems recently knows that robins have been on my mind.

No Good-Byes Necessary

Source

 

 

 

     

No Good-Byes Necessary

 

The way to begin is always the same. Hello,
Hello. Your hand, your name. So glad, Just fine.

 

Greetings, handshakes, smiles and intentions,

plans intended but never carried out, calls never made,

hopes that budded but never blossomed, suspended

in limbo of  timeless space after hello.

We take our children to the park every day and

talk to other people with children of the same age. 

We tell a few stories. The kids go to the same school.

Let's get together, take our children to a movie, to swim

We'll call you.  Or you call us.  In a week or two. Sure.

We go to a party and meet some new people

share our experiences, laugh, want to see them again.

Do you like plays?   So do we.  How about biking?

We'll call you.  Or you call us.  In a week or two.  Sure.

We work thirty years for a company, walk the hall

with the same people every day, then retire. 

Let's not lose contact.  We've worked together a long time.

We'll call you.  Or you call us.  In a week or two. Sure.

No good-byes necessary.

 

 

Shared with Real Toads - Prompt:  Hello / Goodbye

Carry On

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Carry On

When you stumble
or when you fall
don't be discouraged or disheartened
pick yourself up and walk on
as everyone falls sometime.

We just have to carry on.
We just have to carry on.

If everyone gave up when they fell
there'd be no progress at all.
as people oftentimes learn
from the blunders they make
what to do differently next time.

We just have to carry on.
We just have to carry on.

If evil abounds all around you
seems to have an upper hand
keep your eyes on the horizon
with your hopes intact as you
keep moving undeterred toward your goal.

We just have to carry on.
We just have to carry on.

This is written for Poetry Jam this week, where the prompt is "Carry On."

Hope

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Hope

Even in a bad year apple trees bud and bloom
apples grow firm, round, red, heavy
fall to the ground to scatter more seeds.

Even in a bad year grass rebounds from dormancy
takes in water, greens, thickens
blankets the ground with promise

Even in a bad year baby robins hatch, peep
are fed by their mothers until they grow
and can spread their own wings and fly.

Even in a bad year children are born
cherished, nourished as they smile or cry
bearing aspirations of the future

Even in a bad year the cycle continues
dreams are born and lived
Even in a bad year there is hope.

For dVerse Poets Open Link.

Joy

American Robin

Joy

Sun shines bright today

so at last

robins sing - gleeful.

 

Robins prance and strut

as rain falls;

they prepare to feast.

Green appears at last

robins dance

they dig deep for worms.

 

This is a series of Kelly Lunes (5-3-5 syllables) written for  Sunday Mini-Challenge at Real Toads.

 

Spring



Peach Trees in Blossom - Van Gogh (public domain)

Spring

Spring comes eventually everywhere

           and in its own way
here it arrives with wind and hail
cheerless skies and unrequited dreams
          of sun that resides somewhere (where?)

without the warmth with winter coats and mittens

fireplace still blazing chill from the air

it doesn't seem possible as I shiver

that it is mid-April with weather like this

but nonetheless spring comes as it will
on its own chosen day and cold or not
we know the world will green and warm
sometimes one just has to trust.

This is written for dVerse Poetics, where Claudia is tending the pub today and we will be celebrating spring (which is elusive here).      Also linked to Poets United Poetry Pantry.

Surreal

Surreal

 

Manhunt is over

suspect in custody

the terror is over

after one long day

normalcy can resume

for Boston and environs

(but can it ever?)

and people can melt

softly into sleep tonight.

 

Submitted to Real Toads, where the prompt was 'the melting.'

The Answer

The Answer

 

 

Hard to face another day

when sin and evil abound

and we wonder where it will end

whether heart and mind will mend.

 

But love is the only answer

and rising up is the only choice

and even when we think we can't

we must, we simply must.

 

 

This is written for Kim's prompt at Poets United Verse First.  The prompt is Wake Up and Love.

On Friendship

On Friendship

I would be honored if you would be my friend
trust me and let me walk with you for a while;
I will not hurt you with my words or a weapon,
and in fact I have no weapon.

You are larger than me and have sharper teeth;
if I am willing to trust you will not harm me,
I hope you will accept my friendship
and we will be friends for as long as I have.

I must be honest, I will not be here that long;
but while I am here I will be the best friend ever
and even though you will be sad when I am gone
it is better to have had a good friend one time.

Someday you will remember something beautiful,
someday you will remember me..

For Poetry Jam, where we were to write from the point of view of a fictional character. This is written from the point of view of the Antoine St. Exuperery's The Little Prince, one of my all-time favorite books.. The Little Prince wanted to become a friend of the fox; but the fox was hesitant. The Little Prince persisted. A quote from the book: "It is a good thing to have had a friend, even if one is about to die. I, for one, am glad to have had a fox for a friend........"

Monster

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Monster

 

A scary monster lurks

in a lightless corner of your basement

behind the boxes in your attic

in the shadows outside your window

in the blackness of a deserted street

but there is no monster more fearsome

than the monster who lurks within.

 

This is written for dVerse Poetics where Brian has us writing about monsters.  (If I am slow coming around in response, I am dealing with a 'nasty bug,' and I will eventually make it but may not be as prompt as usual.)

Gray

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Gray

 

 

Today's world is gray

as was yesterday's

as will be the world tomorrow.

Gray sky, gray clouds,

gray cold rain dampens my mood,

saps my energy,

holds me hostage

within its unrelenting grasping

and laughs when I beg

for release and promises

more of the same.

 

This is written for Poets United Verse First, where the prompt is "colored."  The color most visible in my world at the moment is gray!

Dementia

 

Wikimedia Commons

 

 

Dementia

 

She could take it no more:

cruel remarks, put downs

criticisms, the fear.

 

She was tired of smiling,

apologizing when it was not her fault

trying to understand

painting on a happy face

when he constantly

demanded, demeaned.

 

Yes, she understood

it was hard for him;

but he understood nothing

of how hard it was for her

as the pendulum kept swinging

toward the point of no return.

It was harder and harder

to stifle her screams.

 

So one day she emptied her pockets

of memories of what had been,

realized that for better or worse

love was a past tense verb;

 

and with her own stash

she did what she thought she'd never do --

fled to the station,

boarded the first fast train

heading in the opposite direction

and didn't look back.

 

Written for Poetry Jam where the prompt is "What's in Your Pockets?"

Just Once

 

 

 

Just Once

 

Sometimes I think I know

too much about myself

spend too much time

studying every thought

and every movement

the scent of my skin

pitch of my voice

blink of my eye

biting of my lip

rhythm of my step

and after a while

I tire of the word "I"

and want to scream

a swear word LOUDLY

into the heavens

just to prove

I am not ME.

 

This is written for dVerse Open Link.

Nothing

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Nothing

 

I woke up early

with nothing to do,

wondered what to do

on a day I had nothing to do.

I couldn't think of anything

so I did pretty much nothing,

Time passed fast doing nothing,

as I stretched it out as long as I could;

it is amazing how much time nothing takes

when I really have time to consider it.

How exciting nothing is

as I concentrate on nothingness,

savor the smell, the taste,

the feel, the total experience

of nothingness, leaving nothing

to my imagination at all.

 

I have been doing NaPoWriMo quietly.  This is my poem for Monday, April 8.  I am up to date so far. It is not written for any prompt.  Probably few will discover it, as I will not link it anywhere.....but if you, I thank you for the read.  It has been a nothing sort of day.  Some days are like that.

To Begin, Begin

 

William Wordsworth

To Begin, Begin

 

 

To begin, begin,

do not hesitate.

You can change course later

without taking a tailspin

as you travel along the way,

but if you sit and do nothing

opportunities will stray

and you won't have an opening
to life's grand cabaret.

It is better to start

with something

than to be satisfied

with nothing

and bemoan your fate

and ruminate on

what you regret

but cannot appreciate.

 

This was written for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads.  The prompt was to choose a quotation from William Wordsworth.  I chose his quotation, "To begin, begin."  I do think Wordsworth had the right idea.

Albert Schweitzer and the Dog

Albert Schweitzer's Official Nobel Peace Prize Photograph - 1953

Albert Schweitzer and the Dog

I've brought my oldest friend to see you

because I feared my friend would die,

a barefoot old man with a tear-stained face

stood in front of Dr. Albert Schweitzer.

Schweitzer asked where his friend was,

and the old man turned to a straw mat

which held a large blood-encrusted dog.
covered with a bloody blanket.

Schweitzer briefly examined the dog who had

been accidentally shot by hunters,

then transported by small boat by the old man

for two days against the rushing current.

The dog was then taken to the operating theater

where the dog soon breathed its last breath, and

Schweitzer was left with the task of telling
the man his friend was alive no more.

We will bury him for you, Schweitzer said,

as the man sobbed like a boy in pain, and

he was sent back to his village with provisions.

When Schweitzer returned to the operating theater

the dog and soiled sheets and bloody sponges

all had been thrown by another doctor in the trash

Schweitzer exploded, Have you learned nothing? 

Do you have no feeling even for the spirit of friendship

between this animal and the old man? Bury him on the hill.

Schweitzer believed there was dignity in life

and dignity in death, even the death of this poor dog.

He went to sit next to the river, exhausted and alone.

 

This is for dVerse Poetics, where Kelvin is having us write anecdotes.  Also linked to Poets United Poetry Pantry.

 

This is a true story.  Information and other stories about Albert Schweitzer can be found here.  Schweitzer was a man of many talents.  He was a theologian, an organist, a university professor with a degree in philosophy, and a medical doctor.  At age 37 he and his wife went to Gabon, Africa, where he opened up a hospital.  He stayed there for the rest of his life caring for people who had not had access to medical care before he arrived.   He is one of the people I most admire.

Crucify

Crucify

 

Crucify your mind

it happens

after a while

you pay no attention

life goes on.

That is the way it is

just as it was

with His crucifixion

which mattered to

only a few.

 

This  was written for the Real Toads prompt Crucify Your Mind.  It probably will receive as little notice as Jesus' crucifixion centuries again, but I think you who do speak to it in some way. The poem may not make a lot of sense unless one reads the original prompt.

The Irony of it All

The Irony of it All

 

I love to shop;

it's my favorite thing to do.

To wander a department store

is heaven to me.

Nothing more fun

than looking at clothes.

Lusting for latest styles

brings me close to ecstasy,

but it's heaven when I determine

what to actually try on.

I visualize myself a movie star,

sexy and desirable and fit,

as I look in the full-length mirror

try to decide what to buy.

Yes, I love shopping so much,

 almost as much as I enjoy
an invasion of a swarm of mosquitos.

Victoria Slotto presented an interesting article on   irony at dVerse Form For All.  I had a hard time deciding what to write about. I finally came up with a subject.  If you comment, feel free to comment on my poem  itself, or share how YOU feel  about shopping.  Is it pleasure or pain?

Body of Evidence

 

Body of Evidence

 

 

The body of evidence showed

Jennifer was shot to death by her husband

while on duty Christmas Eve.

At first Jennifer's name

was not going to be inscribed

on the memorial wall

in Washington D. C.

for police officers killed

in the line of duty

because it was said

her death was domestic violence.

But support within our state swelled

and the decision was reversed today

and Jennifer's name will be inscribed

on the Memorial Wall because

she was working at the time she was shot.

Protests can change things.

It is a small thing really for Jennifer,
but I am glad her name will be listed.


The decision was announced today.  Here is the article:  Slain Officer Jennifer Sebena Will Get Her Name on the Memorial Wall.  This happening, on Christmas Eve, saddened our entire community.  Her husband is jailed.      This is submitted for Poets United Verse First (where the prompt is 'body').

Home Run!

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Home Run!

 

Summer meant baseball when I was a kid,

afternoons or evenings listening to the games

with Dad in his car in the hot driveway,

windows open to let heat flow through.

My dad explained the game, and

as the announcer called balls, strikes,

hits, stolen bases, home runs, outs

I visualized the exciting unseen.

And when there was no game

I studied the  baseball statistics

followed batting averages,

standings, traded baseball cards......

....or played softball with others in the street,

imagining the roar of the crowd when

I ran the bases after I hit a home run,

throwing my cap victoriously into the air!

 

 

This is submitted for dVerse Open Link.  I was reminded of these childhood times after watching the Opening Day game yesterday.  I don't really follow baseball much any more (am more into football now), but there really is a bit of nostalgia about baseball for me.....and I can still name the players and their positions on the team my dad and I listened to when I was a kid.

The Scream

 

The Scream by Edvard Munch

 

The Scream

 

 

A crack can shatter

a castle of glass

into a million pieces

life is like that

a small crack

can deepen

a n d      w i d e n

until

eventually

there is nothing left but

a loud scream

followed by a

whimper.

 

This poem is written for Poetry Jam, where Alan's prompt is to write a poem using Linkin Park's song "Castle of Glass" as inspiration.