A Rabbit's Fate

A Rabbit's Fate

Rabbit

born into verdant eden

joyous to be alive

wants nothing more

than to breathe and eat

lavish green banquet

nature provides.

Rabbit

intrusive enemy

destroyer of beauty

man conspires revenge

traps poisons pistols

heartless and cruel.

Rabbit

beating heart 

warm red blood

bleeds feels pain

desires life like Man

who doesn’t see

worthy creation.

55 Rabbit Words Written for the G-Man.   Also shared with Poets' United Poetry Pantry.

All You Want to Do is Live

    

         All You Want to Do is Live

He saunters out of his house and into the backyard

wearing the ragged plaid wool jacket he always wore

this season of the year, with its comforting warmth

his mind filled with details he wanted to forget

but his body going through its familiar routines

inspecting the rose bushes, not yet in bloom,

evergreens a haven for birds and squirrels,

and his Japanese lace leaf maple, his pride.

He smiles thinking of all the time he will devote to

his lawn, his garden with its multitude of plants

of varying color, planned out lovingly over the years.

A rabbit scampers across the lawn, a rabbit

which is undoubtedly an enemy of so much

that grows in spring, summer, and fall but

now full-bodied and heavy showing the signs

it will not be long before she gives birth.

He notices the soft coat, the quick gait,

the alert eyes that meet his for only an instant

but are filled with fear of the  man who is her enemy in

this garden which she considers her home.

His eyes fill with tears as he turns his gaze

elsewhere, thinking of birth, life, its struggles

for all living things, the black-eyed susans

destroyed by the rabbits in their desire to

stay alive, the small rabbits who will bound

happily innocent soon enough though the

war will be waged again against them.

The man wipes away the tears from his

eyes with the sleeve of his wool jacket

trying to be strong, not to feel sad knowing

that what is not yet born will not live long;

and how hard it must be to be born into a

world where you are the enemy though

all you want to do is just live.

To live, yes, all you want is to live!

This is a prose poem for dVerse Meeting the Bar.

Some People

Some People

Some people give lip service to hunger
nod their heads like bobble head dolls
speak empty platitudes that mean little
shake deceitful fingers as they speak.

Some people whisper in their back rooms
when they are not trying to make an impression
they blame the hungry for their lack of food
point fingers (it's all their fault) eyes cold.

Some people work to do something about hunger
donate money or canned goods to pantries
cook food for the homeless at food sites
don't merely talk or whisper but DO.

This poem is written for Poets United Mid-Week Motif, where the prompt is Hunger.

Life in the Polar Vortex

Life in the Polar Vortex

I live in the polar vortex
bundle up sweater under jacket
pull cap over my head
as I brave the cold

     though I remember warm

my feet heavy with boots
clomp through drifts of white
cheeks reddened to painless
as I endure the cold

     but I cherish warm

My mind dulled by windchill
hands numb with frostbite
heart struggles to maintain beat
as I resist the cold

    still I dream warm.

This was written for the prompt at Poetry Jam:  "Where You're At."  Well, this is DEFINITELY where I am at.  Sigh.

A Fearless Poet

A Fearless Poet

I want to be a fearless poet
and really speak my mind
and share what I think
with ideas clearly defined.

I want to be a truthful writer
who shares both soul and heart
with a hint of deeper meaning
personal wisdom to impart.

I want to be a brave author
one who writes with conviction
who speaks with integrity
without fear of contradiction.

I want to be a clear writer
pen words easy to understand
rather than one who is cryptic
or an author words only bland.

I want to be a fearless poet
yes that will be my goal
my salvation is in my words
which make this writer whole.

This poem was inspired by Loredana Donovan's words quoted in her interview at Poets United this week.   A quote from her interview was "I want to be a fearless poet."  That inspired ME to write this poem.  Do others wish to be fearless poets as well?  I am sharing it with dVerse Open Link.

Motherhood

Motherhood

Two women waited in the doctor's office
neither spoke to one another but it was clear
both were lost in their own thoughts.

When the first came out she smiled
their baby would be born in eight months.
They had tried for a child for 4 years now
and it just had not happened for them
until now and she smiled broadly
then phoned her husband with the news.

When the second came out she sobbed
the baby would be born in eight months.
She hadn't wanted another child as she
already had four she could hardly feed
but none of the men took no for an answer
so she didn't know with whom to share the news.

Two women left the doctor's office
neither spoke to one another but it was clear
each of their lives was forever changed.

This is submitted to Poetry Pantry & also will be posted on Sunday as a second submission to my prompt over at dVerse ----- "On the Other Hand."

Mother's Day

Mother's Day

She loved being a mother of children
motherhood was her greatest joy
each day she awoke with delight
to spend time with girl and boy.

She encouraged all their interests
read books to enrich their minds
played games the children chose
taught them to be fair and kind.

She guided them on excursions
where they explored city, field, and wood
she relished providing tasty meals
verified nutrition was always good

As children tiredly went to bed
when it was time for them to sleep
she folded hands as they said prayers
filled with joy and love so deep.

As her head lay on her pillow
she reflected on all her dreams
wondered if she'd have time again
to regain her forsaken self esteem.

She reflected on the career
she thought she would pursue
she thought about world travel
that she would probably never do.

But before eyes closed at last
after thinking of yin and yang
she wished to change nothing at all
embraced the present without a pang.

This is written for my prompt for dVerse Poetics on Saturday.  The prompt is 'on the other hand.'  Write a poem that expresses two different perspectives. 

What are the Chances?

What are the Chances?

Two girls from California
Tulane University freshmen
met on Facebook seeking roommates
noticed they had similar appearances,
interests in common.

They did not become roommates
but stayed friends, found even
more similarities before asking
their mothers the ID numbers
of anonymous sperm donor fathers

AND........

they discovered they were half sisters.
What are the chances?


This is written for G-Man's 55 (I think) & also for dVerse MTB where Brian is having us write stories....and sometimes truth is stranger than fiction.

The above is based on a true VERY current news story.  There are many articles available on the internet about these two girls.  This is one of them: Freshmen Who Met at College Find Out They're Sisters After Discovering They Share Same Sperm Donor

Mirrors

Mirrors

I don't like mirrors much anymore
they reflect the me I don't see myself
I see wrinkles I can't believe exist
In my mirror I see my mother, not me.

I don't like mirrors much anymore
I don't see me as I think you see me
Truth is  I really prefer your view
In my mirror I see my mother, not me.

I don't like mirrors much anymore
they are my enemy rather than friend
so I will lie to myself that in the mirror
it really is my mother I see, not me.

This is written for Poets United Mid-Week Motif where Susan's prompt is Mirror.

Clouds

Clouds

I wonder if you see the same clouds I do
if you draw the same meaning from them.

I see the clouds of a bright future
unexpected clouds guiding me to you.

I see my future in the clouds, my dreams
I study them and they speak of you.

I wonder if you see the same clouds I do
if you draw the same meaning from them.

The clouds say I should continue to dream
and for today I will listen to the clouds.

This poem was written for Poetry Jam, where the prompt this week is "Clouds."

January Wind

January Wind

Tonight the wind screams with shrill voice
and no human can survive out of doors.

I wonder where the deer and squirrels go
to warm themselves in ferocious weather.

I wonder where small birds go for cover
if there is nowhere for them to hide or fly.

Tonight windows and doors whistle, clatter
spurred on by the howl no one can ignore.

Even moon and stars hide this night
when discord reigns as winds shriek cruel.

But yet I realize blue skies will prevail again,
my reflection mirrored in tranquil eyes.

And the wind will be a refreshing breeze
as birds once again flutter between trees.


This is written for dVerse Open Link.

Last night we had another another appearance of the 'polar vortex' which whipped us back into the deep freeze again and will hold us there for a few days.

Childhood Trees

Childhood Trees

When I was a child
one year my parents gave
me a young Cortland apple tree
for  my birthday and before
I left home this tree grew tall
and produced many fine apples
as well as some with worms.
I wonder if this tree still lives.

When I was a child
we used to make whips from
the weeping willow tree
in the field behind my home
and we used to play
ride 'em cowboy into sunset
giddy yup we can do it
I wonder if this tree still lives.

When I was a child
we used to climb the large tree
in the field behind my home
never worried about falling
as we conquered its branches
fearless climbers we were
boys and girls co-conspirators
I wonder if this tree still lives.


This was written for dVerse Poetics, where we are writing about trees.  Also submitted to Sundays Poets United Poetry Pantry.

Treadmill Ramblings

Treadmill Ramblings

I pound the treadmill path to nowhere

view daytime television to accelerate time

watch  Bethanny address

surgical enhancements for women,

which seized my attention.

One woman flaunted fake everything

another rued everything performed

and another contemplated gifting

breast enhancement to her daughter 

for college graduation. Lucky!

If I were she

I would favor a car.

This was written for dVerse MTB, where Victoria is having us banish boredom and use strong verbs.  Also for G-Man's 55.  For anyone unfamiliar with Bethanny, she has a daytime television show that often discusses 'women's issues.'

Equality

Equality

Children know equality
race doesn't matter
they sit side by side
work side by side
play side by side
do not pay attention
to anything besides
whether or not a person
can kick or throw a ball.

This is linked with Poets United Midweek-Motif where the prompt is Equality.

Frozen Dreams

Frozen Dreams

Dreams frozen in ice cube tray

waiting for spring’s green world

each cube an unfulfilled dream.

Take one out to put in a glass

and see what'll come to pass

you'll  be surprised and smile.

As the cube melts drink it in

savor each moment’s pleasure 

the beginning of forever.

This is written for Poetry Jam, where the prompt this week is 'refrigerator' and the poem should be 50 words or less.

Winter Sunrise

Winter sunrise

There is nothing like a sunrise

on the morn before a storm

so peaceful is the atmosphere

as day is once more reborn.

All will change within hours

and snow will begin to descend

gusty winds will dash the snowflakes

repeat the perpetual wintry trend.

There is nothing like a sunrise

before a blizzard takes place

savor it while it is visible

its beauty completely embrace.

Sunrises of life can bring us joy

bring delight to work and play

We find them if feast our eyes

before they are taken away.

This is written for dVerse Open Link.

Look back at Snowy Day, my poem from a few days ago, to see what this same scene (outside of my window early this morning) looks like during a period of snow.  By the time I had prepared this poem, snow had started falling, and we are under yet another 'weather advisory.'

A Winter Rondel

A Winter Rondel

Each winter day is way too long

the gray and cold give me a chill

and to endure takes strongest will

in warmer seasons I belong.

The seasons are divided wrong

for after fall its long downhill

Each winter day is way too long

the gray and cold give me a chill

Endurance depends on being strong

and finding purpose to fulfill.

winter has surely lost its thrill

I tire of its discordant song

each winter day is way too long.

A rondel written to share with Poets United Poetry Pantry.

A Snowy Day

A Snowy Day

Fresh fallen snow,  a lovely sight

it covers hill and trees below

its sparkle fills me with delight

the world is full of beauty white

as crystals shine in full moonlight

the lights of  church give off a glow

for so much beauty soft and bright

I thank you, Lord, for fallen snow.

Fresh fallen snow a tiresome sight

when I don't even own a sleigh

a little is fine, too much a blight

my eyes are blinded from its light

my shovel handy day or night

did we deserve such hell to pay
I yearn for peace and crave respite

Oh Lord please take this snow away.

This was written for dVerse Poetics, where we had to write based on what we saw outside our window!  This was a view I had some days ago.

Come Spring

Come Spring

Dreams float 

fragments of icebergs

search for sanctuary

hopes carried

on waves  of time

frozen images

frozen words

frozen future

awaiting spring.

Dreams float

beyond the horizon

in search of shelter

battered about

expectant and untried

though encased in ice

all possibilities

pursue their destiny

awaiting spring.

Dreams float

out of sight

drift toward spring.

This was written for  G-Man's  55! 

Solitary

Solitary

Man

walks

through forest

with silent steps

on his solitary winter journey

as soundless deer gaze through dense pine trees.

Deer

stand

wide eyed

fearful but alert

distrusting stealthy trespasser in orange

wisely staying out of sight of the gun.

This is a Fibonacci poem 
(1,1,2,3,5,8)   for dVerse.

Writing Poetry

Writing Poetry

Writing poetry holds me spellbound

I breathe it in, then breathe it out

it is my lifeblood, without which I wither

I wake up, yearn to write, and begin

inspiration, perspiration, I am addicted.

Poetry is a drug in its pull, grip

what it demands of me. It will not

let me rest as words swirl, twirl

tumble in my mind. A new approach

new point of view.  I must find it.

Think metaphors, alliteration, sound

how to arrange, stanzas, spacing

my fingers and mind captive

I do not rest until my poem is finished

then cannot rest until I begin again.

This is written for Poets United Mid-Week Motif.

The prompt is "new." Poets ARE always looking for
a new subject, a new approach, a new point of view.

New Year's Eve

New Year’s Eve

Old man smiled

put one more log

on the flickering fire

sat in his worn wooden chair

as on all other nights

gazed glassy-eyed

at the faded wedding photo

taken fifty years ago.

Young woman smiled

carefully dressed in holiday best

smugly stole a glance

into the satisfied  mirror 

waited for the time

the party would begin

with its resounding cheer    

and promising new year.

Old woman smiled

sat in darkness

watched the shadows

waltz on the wall

remembered times past

when the ballroom floor

echoed with her steps

but that was long before

shadows learned to dance.

Young man smiled   

chose the perfect rose

to give to his young wife

the last evening of the year

as he embraced his flower

held it close to his heart

the rose knew his love

the rose knew his dream

exquisite new year’s rose.

This is written for the first prompt of the new year for  Poetry Jam,
where the prompt is FIRE.

Potential

Potential

African, Asian, American, or Australian born
white, black, tan, brown or a mix
born into riches, poverty, or in between
with two who love or one, or more,
birth is a miracle, the greatest miracle,
so much potential within to be nurtured,
encouraged,  developed inside each tiny being

so helpless, so fresh, and new in the world.

Who is to know which young child now

lying in diapers somewhere still unable to turn over 

someday will find a cure, create a masterpiece, 

invent a tool, find the key, write a book, hold a hand, 

or lead us all in prayer? Birth is a miracle, 

the greatest miracle. Life is a precious gift, 

an extension of the miracle, a blessing for all.

This is submitted for dVerse Open Link.
The serigraph of "Tomorrow's Future" by Margaret Keane
hangs in my living room.

Occasion

Occasion

Sometimes it takes coffee
to forge a bond between
what one thought might be
and what one didn't know
and as we all shared conversation
two and one half hours passed
without me looking at my watch
and when I at last looked
I knew the world had changed
though I didn't know quite how.

This is written for G-Man's 55!   Also shared with Poets United Poetry Pantry.