To Believe

Harry Houdini

To Believe

When I was a child growing up
I read books about Harry Houdini,
who lived a time in my hometown
and wanted to have faith in his magic

     Today I wonder if we all want
     to believe in the supernatural.

I had a Magic 8-ball, asked it questions
knew it was fake but was still interested
enjoyed pondering presented possibilities
wondered if the answers it gave were true?

     Today I wonder if we all want
     to believe in the supernatural.

There is something about a Ouija board
which fascinated me in a sinister way
but though I handled it I could not use it
feared it was a tool used by the devil.

     Today I wonder if we all fear
     to believe in the supernatural.

I tried to learn magic card tricks
then felt bad they weren't magic after all
as this is something a child wants to believe in
if magic isn't real what can a child believe?

     Today I wonder if we all regret
     there is no supernatural.

This is written for Poetry Jam, where Sumana's prompt this week is "Magic."

Persephone's Departure

Persephone's Departure

I met Persephone on my walk the other day
she was picking wildflowers in the park
and brushing a few tears from her eyes.

     Why are you so sad?  I said.

         I must be prepared to leave
         It was those six pomegranate seeds I ate
         for this I suffer forever
         and the world suffers with me
         through a long and cold winter.

     Don't feel so downhearted, my dear
     if there were no winter there would be no fall
     and fall is the most colorful season of all.

And Persephone turned and with a teary smile
presented me with an autumn bouquet
before the ground opened and a man
with the black horses appeared
and carried the sobbing girl away

Now it was my eyes that had tears.

This is written for dVerse Poetics, where Abhra has us writing mythologically.
Also shared with Poets United Poetry Pantry.

The Greek Myth of Persephone
Illustration - Pluto and Persephone by Edmund DuLac

Autumn

“I cannot endure to waste anything so precious as autumnal sunshine by staying in the house." -- Nathaniel Hawthorne

Autumn

There are times when I think

there is heaven on earth

and I want it to last forever

I want to savor each view

each moment of color

know it will end too soon

I wonder if I would know

what true beauty was like

if I did not also know winter

But now I love each day

experience a glimpse of eternity

today there is no tomorrow.

This is written for dVerse Open Link.  Also shared with Sunday's Poetry Pantry!

Despite Dark Sky

Despite Dark Sky

Despite dark sky she amassed hope

she never was a woman to mope

would not concede to voice of fear

though reddened clouds were looming near

she always found a way to cope.

She pursued passion with her scope

and never pondered a slippery slope

nor did she choose to revel in fear

despite dark sky.

The earth was her kaleidoscope

and clouds her chromatic horoscope

with which she sought a new frontier

a rainbow a brilliant souvenir

which rose above the ominous taupe

despite dark sky.

A rondeau written for dVerse Poetics, where Grace is prompting us to use the photographs of Brooke Shaden.    It is also submitted for Poetry Jam, where Alan is prompting us to write about clouds.

A Woman Alone

A Woman Alone

Who is the woman who sits alone

as glasses of Riesling line the bar

her face a blank - she checks her phone

who is the woman who sits alone

her voice a wearisome monotone

I wonder if she traveled far

who is the woman who sits alone

as glasses of Riesling line the bar.

Who is the woman who sits alone

what sort of story would she tell

and for which deeds does she atone

who is the woman who sits alone

which acts of love might she postpone

what inner demons might she quell

who is the woman who sits alone

what sort of story would she tell?

This was written for Poets United Poetry Pantry.  I took this photo on Thursday.  I did wonder about the subject of the picture and decided to turn my wondering into a poem.

Hildegard von Bingen

Hildegard von Bingen

Maybe I am sacrilegious
but I cannot put any stock
in a child with visions who
considers them God's gift.

I read that at first she was
hesitant to share her visions
as I believe she understood why
people would undoubtedly wonder

as I wonder today though she
may have accomplished much
but people with visions today
often need psychological help.

This is written for Susan's topic at Poets United Midweek Motif.  She prompted us to write about Hildegard von Bingen.

I did read some information about Hildegard this morning & all she accomplished in her lifetime.  I read that her visions started at age 3 & she hesitated to share with others at first.  I know that September 17 is her day & can appreciate her scientific studies & her poetry.  But I just have trouble with the visions and the visionary theology and the sainthood.  That's just me, and I accept that most will not feel as I do.

Harvest

He has sown His seeds
on the soil that is my life
chosen competent gardeners
to tend them until they thrived
took root despite poor ground
resistant and sometimes rocky
often stubbornly hard and dry.

He has sown His seeds
helped me to trust His ways
to nurture my own seedlings
as they slowly strengthened
ripened into the maturity
of plentiful ripened fruits
that can now nourish others.

He has sown His seeds
has never given up
on the possibilities He sees
has made me a gardener too
to tend the seeds of others
so they also take root and thrive
in hope of a bountiful harvest.

He has sown His seeds.

This poem is written for my own prompt  - Harvest - at Poetry Jam.  Really the poem went in an unexpected directly.

To Travel

To Travel

She chose to travel when she was young
so that when she was old she would have
happy memories of journeys to look back on
when she no longer could board a ship or plane.

And see the world she did from Japan to Fiji
Turkey to Malta to Singapore to Belize
Taiwan to Hong Kong to Italy to Greece
Ukraine to Brazil to Bali to Germany and more.

And then before she was anywhere near old
illness struck which stole her ability to travel
and also stole her ability to remember joy
but I was glad she traveled when young.

This is written for Gabriella's prompt Travel for dVerse Poetics.    I believe we all should travel when we can & savor the moments as they happen!  (And hope we never lose our ability to remember our joys.)

The Meeting

The Conversation - Pierre Auguste Renoir- 1895 (public domain)

The Meeting

When the wife and the mistress met
they tried to remain courteous
there is much they did not say
there was much they did not disclose
they were taught to always be polite.

The wife did not share betrayal or hurt
the mistress did not answer just why
neither wondered aloud why he cheated
neither would crack her facade
no one would cross the amiable line.

The wife knew she was vulnerable
if she left just where would she go
and what would her parents think
who would take care of her
when she was old and infirm.

The mistress knew she was vulnerable
she could be cast off at any time
what other man would want used property
her parents would no longer take her home
her choices seemed limited now.

When the wife and the mistress met
they tried to remain courteous
polite women leave so much unsaid.

This is written for Sunday's Poets United Poetry Pantry

Angry

Angry

Angry she was

a snake with strong venom

slithering just out of sight

until the last possible moment

then striking all in her path

taking advantage of the vulnerable

hissing and wagging her tongue

tearing them apart with her words

devouring them slowly

one limb at a time

angry she was.

This is written for dVerse Meeting the Bar, where we are to write an Extended Metaphor.

The Ocean

The Ocean

The ocean, like the mind, is deep and dark
and though we may examine its depths
or explore its caverns we can never fathom
its terrors or all the wonders below.

The ocean, like the mind, is mysterious
we gain only ripples of understanding
though we continue to make discoveries
much remains hidden beyond our limited view.

The ocean, like the mind, is powerful
its fury can awe as well as terrify
grace us with gifts or steal them away
many secrets reside beyond our grasp.

The ocean, like the mind, is cunning
even beacons cannot reach its darkness
there are things never to be revealed
and perhaps this is as it should be.

This is written for Poetry Jam, where the prompt is The Sea.  And also for dVerse Poetics where the prompt is Dark.  There is nothing more dark than the depths of the ocean and of the crevices of the human mind.

Too Late Now

Too Late Now

I know she must have had darkness
inside her that people did not see.

Her father and mother fought over her
but her grandmother loved her most of all.

Her life had been a back and forth struggle
often a thin line between her life and death.

But it was the 'helpful' social service system
that sealed her fate as well as her doom.

If only they would have listened to her
if only they heard what she had to say.

They said she was on the road to recovery
but she cleverly devised another plan.

The facility checked on her at 4 A.M.
when they returned at 6 she was dead.

I know she must have had darkness
inside her that people did not see.

The teen-aged granddaughter of a friend of mine committed suicide yesterday.  I 'knew' her from before she was born.  There was a lot of conflict between mother and father her entire life.  She had tried to commit suicide two times before she succeeded.  It is too long a story, but it was the social service system, in the end,  that failed her.   I am submitting this for Poets United Poetry Pantry.

Some Days

Some Days

Some days the most important thing to decide is
what kind of eggplant to buy at the farm market

a person can't take life too seriously, I believe
unless it is football season and then things change

especially tonight when the Packers play Seahawks
Football Night in America and the season begins

and all eyes and hopes here are with the Packers
as that is life in Wisconsin four months each year

some days the most important thing is to decide
what kind of eggplant to buy at the farm market

but today is not one of those days.

This is written for Claudia's/ Bill's prompt over at dVerse MTB.

Purple Weather

Stormy Weather

Purple Weather

High winds, storm watches

storm warnings, panic

people rush home

listen to radio, television,

attend to weather radio,

check on family, friends

power is lost, purple turns

to grey, black, weather

swirls as sirens peal

through darkness

it is a ferocious night

until purple weather passes.

This is shared with Poets United Midweek Motif - 'stormy weather.'

Jeans

Jeans

My closet explodes

with blue jeans

very old

medium old

new jeans

expensive

cheap

in between jeans

elaborate jeans

worn for special occasions

jeans to be treasured

frayed faded denims

comfortable as old friends 

crotch holes, pocket holes,

seams pulling apart

memory jeans

can’t-throw-out jeans

I always look

at blue jeans

lust after, touch, savor

talk myself out of

buying more

most of the time

I don’t need them

except for just

one more

I can’t walk away

    bell-bottoms

    frayed-waist

    hip huggers

    an American flag

    painted on one leg

Jeans.

This is written for Poetry Jam, where the prompt is Jeans.
I am also sharing it with dVerse Poetics where we are using Claudia's artwork from her Flickr page  to write to.

True Joy

True Joy

Her life was measured in grocery carts

filled with fresh ginger and Cabernet

and mundane things like apple sauce

wheels reverberated  day after day

but in her mind she conjured castles

as well as a prince to lead her astray

whose love would rejuvenate her spirit

and whisk the humdrum far away

yes perhaps all of us have our dreams

though no two castles are  the same

and princes come in many guises

to awaken the dormant heart’s flame

as for our protagonist, she discovered music

and for that she left grocery cart behind

because this is what re-energized her spirit

and beside her played prince so kind.

no true castle could make her happier

no real royalty could woo her away

from the tunes of her music making

at last she found more joy in her day.

This poem is written for dVerse Poetics for my prompt over there.  The prompt is to use one of Claudia Schoenfeld's sketches as inspiration for a poem.   (I used three.)  Each of the sketches came from Claudia Schoenfeld's Flickr page & are used with her permission.