The Kite

The Kite

She held the string
of the kite tightly

as it rose and dove
lurched and lunged

her expressionless face evidenced
neither excitement or enjoyment

and then without warning
she simply let it fly free.




An eight - line poem written for Kim's prompt at Poets United Verse First.

In Search of a Super Hero

Batman

In Search of a Super Hero

I heard there was a super hero in town
(this was the gossip in Starbucks)
so I assumed the speculation to be true
and went to search for said super hero
in all the logical places having a task or two
I'd like him to take care of.

But I never found him anywhere
though I encountered wannabees and imposters
wearing their  spandax, mask, and tights,
but each was exposed as a fraud
when I discovered he could not fly!

---------

Moral #1:  There's more to being a super hero than wearing the right clothes.
Moral #2:   If it walks like..., talks like..., looks like...., it might not necessarily be.
Moral #3:  Don't look to others to perform your tasks.
Moral #4:  Don't believe all that you hear at Starbucks.

Brian's prompt for Poetry Jam this week is 'super heroes.'
Don't we all search for a superhero....somewhere in our life?

Confession

Wikimedia Commons

Confession

I have a confession to make,
I doubt I am alone.
Don't we all have confessions
if we are willing to share?

Are you holding your breath
to hear my lurid admission?
All right, I will let it all out:
I am addicted to Candy Crush.

Do you judge me harshly,
despise me to the core,
judge me for my weakness,
wag your judgmental tongue in disgust?

I'm guilty, fess up,  a marked person;
but are there worse addictions?
Are we all addicted to something,
do we each indulge in chosen poison?

Do you, reader,  have your weakness
that is  parallel to mine,
or do you hold your addiction sacred
as you point accusatory finger at me?


For those of you who don't know, Candy Crush is a Facebook game.   If you are on Facebook and haven't played Candy Crush, don't.  (Smiles.)  I have written this poem for dVerse Open Link Tuesday..  And I do wonder if any of you who read can identify.

Look to the Clouds

Wikimedia Commons

Look to the Clouds

I painted an ocean in many shades of blue,
then bounded into the waves to  look for you.

I painted a river that flowed toward the sea,
then wandered the shoreline, wondered where you'd be.

I painted a waterfall descending from a mountain peak,
then searched for your reflection in the accepting creek.

I painted a lake surrounded by a stand of trees,
then tried to hear your voice whistling in the breeze.

I painted a puddle just before the water cleared,
thought I discerned your image, then it disappeared.

I painted and painted from morning until night
then beheld you in the clouds, an angel in white.

Written for dVerse Poetics.  Karin wants us to write a 'water-related' poem. 
Also shared with Poets United Poetry Pantry #160!

Departure

United Airlines Plane at O'Hare Field

Departure

He was asleep
she was awake
she rose from bed
dressed in basic black
grabbed her suitcase
and her purse
checked for passport
and her cash.

She entered the car
turned the ignition
prayed he wouldn't hear,
drove out of the driveway
onto  the expressway
headed to the airport.

She parked the car
checked ticket one more time
got out of the car
positioned car keys on the seat
next to her wedding ring.
He would find them later
after she was long gone.

This is written for dVerse Meeting the Bar.  Victoria is having us write list poems.

The Source

Hopetoun Falls, Victoria, Australia

The Source

Whenever I approach the source
I question, wish for answers, implore,
but there is only silence.

I plod on, look for a sign
that will lead me to the right path,
but there is no marker.

I trudge on, weary, disheartened,
disillusioned, one step after another
until I finally realize

the source is within,
my answers my own choosing,
the questions never ending.

Written for Verse First:  Prompt is Close to the Source.

1985

Christa McAuliffe

1985


Lying on my living room floor
in front of my stereo speakers
in the days when vinyl was still king
I sang along with Bruce Springsteen
as he belted Born in the USA and Glory Days
in the year Christa McAuliffe was chosen
to be the first Teacher in Space
and Back to the Future and Windows 1.0 are released
and today, like 1985, all are now distant past
except for Springsteen who still sings on
and we're all still Dancing in the Dark.


This was written for Poetry Jam, where the prompt was 1985.
Bruce is still singing.  Christa McAuliffe died in the Challenger
disaster in early 1986.  As it happened, I was watching with
my class of children.

When They Found Her

Wikimedia Commons

When They Found Her 

When they found her late at night, she was alone on the
wooden park bench, blank expression on her face. She
sat motionless, grasped the handle of her well-worn
suitcase that shared the bench. And when authorities
discovered her, asked her to open her bag, she didn't resist.
She had nothing to hide, little to display.The contents are
as mundane as her life. One pair of jeans, two blouses,
two sweaters, underwear, an extra pair of shoes, colorful
socks, warm jacket, a teapot and different bags of exotic
teas, folder full of poetry written by hand, two pens, an
address book, a book of stamps, a flashlight, and a
beautiful china cup carefully wrapped in a red silk cloth
so it would not break, undoubtedly for her tea.


Submitted for dVerse Open Link.

And Then?

Great Blue Heron

And Then?

She got up
made her coffee
a day to do what?

That was the question
and that was where
the poem stopped.

Beating the Odds

Exhausted Smartphone User

Beating the Odds


If your cancer has an 80% survival rate,
does that mean you should be optimistic
if the 20% includes you? Or do you
still feel you will beat the odds?

18 % of youth between 6 and 18 are obese
and at risk for serious health issues as adults,
so what would be just punishment for parents
who sit on their own spreading behinds
and serve unhealthy life on their children's plates?

If 34% of all marriages  of men and women
are expected to end in divorce by the twentieth
wedding anniversary, will this be the same
with same sex couples?

If 15% of all people will develop Alzheimer's
(one every 68 seconds) do you think you will
be in the 85% to be spared the disease? If it
had to be you or your spouse, which of
you would be the unluckier?

And what is the significance of the fact that
fifty-three percent of all Americans own smartphones
and  79% of these people have their smartphones
with them 22 hours a day?  And how do they
survive the other two hours?

What is the chance you would be the one
to  choose the lottery numbers that would
give you security for a lifetime?
What are the odds that you would end up
with more money by playing than you would
if you kept the dollars in your pocket?



This was written for dVerse Poetics where we are writing NUMBERS Saturday.  Also to be submitted to Sunday's Poets United Poetry Pantry.
The facts I have included in my poems above ARE factual for the United States.

Summer

Photo by Margaret Bednar

Summer


In summer sun hangs happy in the sky
the heavens overflow with gentle rain
our world to help sustain and beautify.

Extinguished dreams return again to reign
and youth as loud as topdown music loud
as hope returns to nourish soul again.

On sultry days light shines through every cloud
as flowers do their dances in the breeze
the worst of thunderclouds are disallowed.

This season love will sometimes play the tease
and even make the staunch rethink their fate
so many opportunities to seize.

In summer even reticent leave gate
when sanguine spirit is so passionate.

This is a Terza Rima Sonnet (still in process--not really finalized satisfactorily) written for Margaret's prompt of "Dog-Days of Summer" at Real Toads.

The Ocean's Dance

Sunset - Kona, Hawaii

The Ocean's Dance

The melody of waves rocks me to sleep;
I drowse beneath the face of shining moon
as swells do sweep my reverie to deep.

And while I sleep the heart of moon does croon
to  lover ocean as it laps to shore
and sing its lovely mellow plaintive tune.

All though all night the waves do rip and roar;
in blissful slumber I have peaceful rest,
dreams launch themselves and drift my hopes ashore.

As moon and waves do waltz between each crest,
my mind unconscious captive of the dance,
at private party I am  unseen guest.

but neither moon nor waves need look askance
my own dreams make me heedless of their romance.


This was written for dVerse Form for All.  It is a Terza Rima Sonnet, as introduced by Tony in his wonderful article on May 9, 2013.  The form is aba, bcb, cdc, ded, ee  It has iambic pentameter.

I am also giving a shout-out to Keith at Musings of an Unapologetic Dreamer, whose post today inspired my poem.

Happiness

Happiness

It was like this:
I was happy and took it for granted,
didn't think about it.
It was just the way life was

until it wasn't anymore.

And then when it wasn't,
I realized what happiness had been
and that I had lost what
it had taken so long to find;

so today I write this poem not for me but for you

in the hopes that if you are happy today
you'll shout it from the rooftops,
savor every single moment of life,
knowing all happiness is as temporal as mine

whether recognized by you or not.



Today 7/17 would have been Diane's birthday.  She passed away 7/6/2011.  But on her birthday (7/17/2010) we celebrated her birthday in a wonderful way, as it should have been.  I cannot help but remember.  

Hope

Hope

Hope springs like a geyser 

on a hot summer day 

as sweat forms on my forehead 

I seek relief in the mirage of my oasis 

and turn on the hose to water my mind

and I smile in the knowledge

no matter what comes,

there will always be hope.

This is written for Poetry Jam where we had to 'feel the heat' in our poem.  Also for Verse First, where we were challenged to write about the 'water table.' Also for Theme Thursday where the theme is "heat" as well. We are having temps of high 90's at the moment, plus high humidity...so I had no trouble feeling the heat.  And what is more reflective of the water table than a geyser?

Freedom

Freedom

On hot summer days

we  pedaled our bikes to the swimming pool

on the other side of town

where we didn't even lock them;

and in the 'good old days''

no parents worried, just knew

we'd bike home after the pool closed.

Though I had been given the talk

about men who might lure me into cars,

real danger always seemed far away

in my childhood home town

where we biked everywhere (no helmets)

wind on our faces, lips blue from

popsicles we ate while riding free.

Somehow life changed when I turned my back.

Now parents accompany children to parks and pools,

freedom for them has a different definition,

and I smile, as they don't know what they missed.

But someday perhaps they'll write their own poems

about hot summer days in the 'good old days'

when they experienced their own version of freedom.

This is written to be shared with dVerse Open Link, where we are celebrating its second anniversary this week.

Birthing a Poem

Kailua Bay, Big Island, Hawaii

Birthing a Poem

We seek words
so longingly seek words
that express what we think.

We search for words
hope to find words
that express what we feel.

To write the words
that we think and feel
is what we strive to do.

And sometimes it happens
it all comes together:
a satisfying poem is born.

This is for Poets United Poetry Pantry.  I have been thinking lately of how we all strive to find a way to express our important truths.  We don't always succeed, but when we do it is beautiful when all comes together.

Bounce

Grandson about to hit the ball

Granddaughter practicing with teacher

Bounce

In the early morning heat
I laze in the shade not scorching
watch non-Wimbledon tennis
grandchildren sweat to learn a game
one step, one swing, one ball at a time
and who knows their dreams?

On the adjoining court I watch
a group of elders playing
also non-Wimbledon tennis
and I remember my old  racket
given to Goodwill years ago
and I wonder.... could I still?

As balls bounce in both courts
I avoid sun screen, sit cool
in the shadow of a tree
lost in memory of teen-days
balls slammed against garage door
private games won again and again.

Bounce, bounce, bounce.

This was written for dVerse Poetics where Claudia is inviting us to write a "scorching" summer poem when the doors open at 3 p.m.

Two Bird Poems

Cardinal

Cardinal Joy


Every night  at dusk
she sits on the deck
binoculars focused on nearby trees

and she remembers
when she and the other used to
sit on the deck and watch birds

and she used to hear the cardinal
and she would imitate the cardinal
and the cardinal would call back

and they would laugh
oh how they would laugh
every night at dusk.

Photo by me...note the heron babies

Look UP

For some time I used to watch
for the one great blue heron
as I walked around the lake.

I used to feel sad for the heron,
always alone, still as a statue
standing almost lifeless in the blue.

But now I know it is not lonely
there is a family with parents
and four babies hesitant to fly

How did I miss the heron's nest?
Because my eyes focused ground level
rather than turning them toward the sky.

These two poems are written for Poetry Jam where we are writing poems about birds this week.

River

River 

Sometimes I fantasize myself a river
free, making my way to my ocean home
twisting, churning, laughing as I go,
my crystalline memories carried by current
that continues to move ever forward.

My essence is an invisible force
that twists and turns
forms new channels
then deepens them.

Rocks, rubble, branches in my path
are no barriers to my journey, and
I flow wild and free, ever widening my path
as my companion wind whistles my words:
     Look out world, I'm passing through.
     I'm on my long journey home.


For dVerse Open Link........This is a poem I wrote about a year ago; but only a very, VERY few who participate in dVerse visited; so I am sharing it again today.  Reasons: My writing well is a bit dry (sigh), and I am also working on another poetry book which preoccupies me somewhat.  Not to mention having grandson and granddaughter here occupying me much of the day.  Plus, I DO like this poem even a year later, which I can't say about every single poem I am rereading in this book-making process I am in the midst of.

And the Dog Growls

Wikimedia Commons

And the Dog Growls

There is a puzzle everyone faces
to which everyone must find an answer,
the growling dog always at the gate.

The mind is crowded, words hiss and spin,
gecko skitters across the path
as locusts engage in metallic swarm.

Too many questions, life is a penance --
not indifferent, but like spears
that are hurled by the quickest hand.

There is no easy solution but
all must walk across the stage where
no one can escape the puzzle's view.

The meaning of the puzzle gnaws,
a rat delves into wood chips like life,
and life eats you up sometime.

The crow cackles victory overhead,
predator conquered its prey, nature's dance,
another caterpillar slinks away. safe one more day.

There is a puzzle everyone faces
to which everyone must find an answer,
the relentless growling dog bares teeth.


 This was written for Brian's prompt Puzzles for dVerse Poetics.       Also submitted to Sunday's Poets United Poetry Pantry Open Link.

Insatiable

Wikimedia Commons

Insatiable

She eats
her appetite insatiable
she cannot fill herself up
remains empty.

What she seeks is love
which she doesn't have
so she fills herself to the brim
over and over again.

Overflowing expanding
she wants something more
than she has but instead
eats herself to death slowly.

Privately sabotaging herself
she detests herself
condemns herself
continues to be insatiable.

This is written for the Poets United Verse First prompt:  Appetite.

To Live a Life

Raccoon

To Live a Life

She showed a raccoon baby
and shared with us they had
thirty raccoon babies
they were nursing to health.

I  asked about their mothers
and she said in most cases
the mothers were caught in traps
so babies were left all alone.

 We felt so sad for babies without mothers
but happy they were being nurtured
by people at our local humane society
until they could be released into the wild again.

Babies are special and all babies
deserve a chance to live.
I cry for all babies who die
without chance to live life they deserve.

 I visited our Humane Society with my grandchildren last week. I planned to just look at cats and dogs available for adoption, but they also have an animal rehabilitation area; so we went to see that too. Truly I am awed by the work these people do. The little raccoons are bottle fed at first.  Eventually they are placed in outdoor cages to acclimate them to the out of doors. Eventually they are released somewhere safe to begin their adult life.  As we were leaving, another community member was bringing in 3 more raccoon babies in a plastic pail to rehab.  It must be raccoon season.

I am sharing this with Poetry Jam where Laurie is prompting us to write about 'babies.'

To Life

To Life

She serves her sadness with sugar

to conceal its bitter taste

a delicate meal on best of china

served on imported linen

accompanied by fine French wine
a forced smile unnoticed

in a crystal glass
she ingests the best of life.
after she makes a toast
Mazal tov.

This is served up for dVerse Open Link Tuesday....where one can always find a banquet of poetry to choose from.