O Holy Night

O Holy Night

*Oh holy night
the stars are brightly shining
     let us take time to reflect
     on the true Christmas meaning

*It is the night of the dear savior's birth
long lay the world in sin and error pining
til he appeared and the soul felt its worth
     let us just for tonight put our cares away
     and contemplate our joys intertwining
     and pray for all people of the earth

*A thrill of hope the weary soul rejoices
for yonder breaks a new and glorious morn
     when joy and hope will live
     with peace on earth and love reborn

*Fall on your knees
oh hear the angel voices
oh night divine
when Christ was born
     and feel the hope the babe brings
     and listen as the angels sing

*Oh night divine
oh night divine
     let Christmas come
     .....yes let it come

*Italicized words from "O Holy Night" (public domain) - one of my two favorite Christmas carols. I added a few of my own unitalicized thoughts that I wanted to share!  

For the last Poets United Poetry Pantry of 2015

This well known carol ("Cantique de Noel") originated in Paris, France in 1847.  The author of the words was Placide Cappeau de Roquemaure.  He was asked by his priest to compose a poem for Christmas Eve.  After writing the poem, Cappeau decided it should be set to music; so he asked a well known composer to write the score; and it was sung at a Christmas Eve mass.  It was eventually translated into English by John Sullivan Dwight.  There is a lot more history to this hymn than I can share here.  Quite amazing really.  If you are interested, read this:  Extraordinary Story of O Holy Night.

Design

Design

Who is the one who has designed the universe,

who has given us the sun and moon and stars?

It is God to whom we should give praise as

no human could have devised this creation

It is the season to give Him thanks and praise

as we would not exist if not for His design.

Written for Susan's Midweek Motif:  Theme is 'design.'

The Star

The Star - Konstantin Bogaevsky

The Star

At this time of the year
when I turn eyes to the sky
I ponder how it appeared
to the Magi 2000 years ago
when a star was the guide
to the child of peace and love

and I cannot help but think
if I squint my eyes just right
I might see the same bright star
which will pilot us through the dark
and renew  the love and peace
the world has long left behind.


This is written for dVerse Poetics (Tuesday) where the prompt is 'stars.'
I wish everyone a season of peace and love.

Poem in the Pocket

Poem in the Pocket

I found a poem in my pocket
I found it way down deep
I wondered where it came from
who gifted me in my sleep.

I found a poem in my pocket
perhaps it came from you
so filled with Christmas cheer
it melted me through and through.

I will keep the poem in my pocket
to remind me of you far away
it will warm my hands and heart
when I glance at it throughout the day.


I was in the mood to write something a bit light
to share with Poets United Poetry Pantry.

Autumn

Autumn

I guess summer is over.  No one visits.  No one sits in the beach chairs any more. Family only visits when the water is warm enough for swimming.  The water is cold now. They really don't come to spend time with me. Friends only visit when the tourist shops are open.  And most of them are closed now.  I sometimes wonder about the definition of 'friend.' So now I sit by myself inside my house with my memories.  It will be a long winter, but I will survive. I always do.

The bay is calm now
autumn is a lonely time
but I will survive.

This Haibun was written for dVerse Open Link 162 & also for my prompt at dVerse Haibun Monday - 4.   Please join us!

The Color of Peace

Roses for Paris

The Color of Peace

The color of peace is not red
its smell is not of gun powder
its sound is not of gun fire

there is no blood in peace
no guns, no bullets, no fear
no booms or cracks or ratatatat

the color of peace is not red
no blood on the pavement
no blood on the walls

there is no blood draining life
no bloodshed, no spatter
no bodies dead too soon

the color of peace is not red
the color of peace is not red
the color of peace........


This poem is written for dVerse Poetics (Tuesday)where we are to write about peace in some non-trite way.   This poem is also written for Poets United Midweek Motif (Wednesday) where we are to write 'color' poems.

Rain and More.........

Exhausted

I wonder how long it will continue to rain.  Should I walk to the nearest bus stop in this downpour, or should I spend hard-earned money to  catch a cab?  Usually I walk the few miles home, as money is tight. With money earned my family needs to be fed. It has been a long day, and I am not fond of getting drenched and risking the ruin of my one good pair of work shoes that I saved so hard for.

I am exhausted from cleaning so many rooms of rude hotel guests who think nothing of scattering their litter everywhere, food wrappers and beer bottles and towels strewn everywhere, never considering just who will clean up after them.  And though they have money to stay in a first-class hotel and eat in the finest restaurants, I never see a dime for all of my efforts after they are gone.   I really don't know if I can make it home tonight, exhausted as I am, unless I take a cab.  If only I knew how long it would rain. If only I knew....   I could wait.

Waiting in the rain
a warm home seems far away
June can be so cruel.

This is written for dVerse Haibun Monday where we are writing to one of the pictures shared there!

Ripples

Ripples

I remember when I was young, and my mother took me to sail my small boat in the pool on the grounds of the Louvre.  It was the thing I liked to do best in my childhood days.  Mother sat on a bench lost in her book or sketch pad as  I sailed the world, captain of my own destiny. For hours I maneuvered my boat around the outline of the pool, my world filled with possibilities as deep as the ocean and dreams as high as clouds.  Oh the adventures I had on those carefree spring and summer days!  A daring and brave sailor was I, but kind and gentle too. And as I sailed I was filled with the joy of my unlimited tomorrows, all as sunny as today, and I felt so very good.

Dreams float as ripples
spring and possibility
in a cloudless sky.


This is written for Haibun Monday at dVerse!  Join us at 3 p.m. (ET) Monday; and write a Haibun to accompany one of the 'water photos' presented there.

Delight

Lilacs in the Sun - Claude Monet

Delight

She sang in amethyst tones
her voice vibrant and free

beauty radiated from her presence
love emanated from her soul

doves perched on her shoulder
squirrels ate seeds from her hand

she walked with sepia steps
amid sweet scent of lilacs

in life's cerulean stream she danced
while water encircled shivery toes

as cinnamon curls tossed in the breeze
she beamed a savory satin smile

with face to wind and arms to sky
she exclaimed I am happy to be alive.

This poem is written for Poets United Midweek Motif for the prompt 'energy - vitality.'
It was also written for Thursday's dVerse Meeting the Bar for the prompt 'synesthesia.'

And So It Is

My cousin (on the right) and his (deceased now) wife

And So It Is

And when I made my way toward her casket
he greeted me there and said
'this isn't the woman you remember,'
and I said 'no it isn't' as I told him
I remembered her with beautiful voice and smile,
always graceful and proud of her children
and not the shell of a person I saw now
before I felt the pull of the trees
that bent inside the church to claim me
and take me away from it all and
he was Tarzan and I was Jane and
as I swung on the tree branches I
remembered that he had babysat for me
when I was a child and he was my favorite
because he got down on the floor and played
but now his wife was a shell of herself
lying there as someone unrecognizable
because Alzheimers stole everything from her
and I tried not to cry when he told me
she is at peace now and with the Lord
and  I knew it was true but I couldn't help
swinging in the tree branches with him
and we smiled and smiled and smiled.


This poem is written for a prompt at dVerse Poetics.   I am also sharing it with Poets United Poetry Pantry. A short time ago I attended the funeral of my cousin's wife....pictured with her husband above.  Alzheimers is such a vicious thing!

Thanksgiving Thoughts

Thanksgiving Thoughts

Time is marked by Thanksgiving dinners
who is at the holiday table changes
new additions are celebrated and enjoyed
but those who are not with us are missed.

Who is at the holiday table changes
but the constant is the holiday meal
turkey and fixings remain the same as

new additions are celebrated and enjoyed
bringing new life to the holiday table
fresh stories and smiles and laughter

but those who are not with us are missed
those deceased, estranged, or far away
but today we give thanks for our blessings.

We just celebrated Thanksgiving here.  Always nice to
celebrate with family, having the traditional foods!
I am having a hard time getting into writing again
after a few days off, so I wrote a Trimeric for Poetry
Pantry, which somehow makes my words flow...even
though not especially poetically.

To Live Is Such a Gift

Turks protest ISIL and Kurdistan Workers Party in Wasshington D.C.

To Live is Such a Gift

Angry or sad, rarely hopeful these days:
there is so much evil in the world
and I wonder who will survive
this battle of good and evil,
the rampant heartlessness evident
in much of today's world.

With bloodied hands, blackened hearts
jihadists wait for their opportunity
to blow themselves up along with
our illusions that life is safe and
people are basically good - no,
evidence does not support this.

But still I rise each morning,
face the day, watch the news
more hostages taken, terrorists
still at large, go through motions
of living today as if tomorrow will
necessarily be the same.


This poem is written for two prompts:  (1)  Claudia's prompt at Poetics over at dVerse!  She wanted us to write our OWN emotions. (2) Susan's prompt (which will go up Wednesday morning) at Poets United Midweek Motif!  She wanted us to write about Surrvival.  Please consider joining us at both of these sites!

Mercy?

Syrian Refugees at Budapest Railroad Station, September, 2015

Mercy?

Families turned away at the border
mothers and children need a home
and thirty state governors stand  firm
arms folded NO across their chest

With sanctimonious voices they say:
keep the refugees out, don't help them
they are not welcome in this state.

Where is the compassion, the mercy
how can they ignore the desperate pleas
has anyone asked these rejecting governors
'What would Jesus do?' or 'What if it was you?'

With sanctimonious voices they say:
keep the refuges out, don't help them;
they are not welcome in this state.

This is written for Susan's Midweek Motif, 
where the theme is 'Mercy.'  I am also posting
it for Poets United Poetry Pantry. This is the article
that caused me to write this poem:

Syrian Family Rejected by Indiana Welcomed by Connecticut.
Thankfully, there are states that do welcome refugees.

Vampire

Vampire - Edvard Munch - 1895

Vampire

She is a woman all despise
her malice shines from her cruel eyes
by light of moon her eyes do glare
so much evil in her  stare, a hateful guise.

What a seductress she can be
deceiver dressed as bourgeoisie
who uses all her artful wiles
with furtive flare and foxy guile, debauchery.


This is my attempt at a florette, which is the form Gayle will introduce at dVerse MTB today!

Old Family Thanksgivings

Old Family Thanksgivings

I still remember when
my aunt always started
passing the turkey to
her family first to the
irritation of my mother
who said by the time
the turkey reached our
family the best pieces
were gone from the plate.

I still remember when
one aunt was upset
about the tastings
that took place in the
kitchens before the
meal and decided to
leave......and how we
had to work so hard
to convince her to return.

I still remember when
my uncle was asked
to say the prayer
and every year he
prayed - father, son,
and holy ghost, who
eats the fastest
gets the most - and
he would laugh and laugh.

I still remember when
we used to play bridge
after dinner and how
we had two tables
and rotated according
to winners and losers
but the best players
are now all dead
but I see their faces!

I still remember
washing and drying
dishes after the meal
as I was always
a dryer and my aunt
was the washer
and my drying towel
was way too wet
to dry anything well.

I still remember
old Thanksgivings
with their characters
and with their stories
and wish there was a way
I could relieve them
one more time again!


This poem is shared with dVerse Poetics where we are writing about what we miss!  I remember these old days, would live to experience one of these Thanksgivings one more time!

I Miss

I Miss

I miss what once was
or maybe never was
but I believed it was.

I was safe then
nothing could hurt
no harm could touch.

I miss my naivety
that all meant well
that I was safe.

I miss happily ever after
and Leave it to Beaver
and faith in fellow man.

I miss predictable
simplicity of cold war
but we could talk

I miss what once was
or maybe never was
but I believed it was.

I wish it still was.

This poem was written for dVerse Poetics where my Tuesday prompt is What I Miss!  Please join us. For those of you who don't know anything about the photo, they are the main characters in the television program Leave it to Beaver (in the 60's) I mentioned above.

Imagine

Imagine

Imagine, yes imagine,
what it would be like
if we could live in peace!

Imagine, yes imagine
what it would be like
if we could have no fear.

Imagine, yes imagine..
imagine, yes imagine..
no I really cannot see

how it will ever be possible
for hateful killing to end
and evil to be controlled.

Imagine, yes imagine
I wish I could imagine
peace not drifting further away.


I am sharing this with Poets United Poetry Pantry!  It is written the day after the horrific terrorist attacks in the city of Paris.  I don't know if everyone heard the story of the anonymous man who carried his piano on his bike & set it up outside of the concert hall where 118 people had just been murdered & played John Lennon's "Imagine."  After he played, he left.  As far as I know they still do not know who he was.  I have shared his moving You Tube video above.  Let us all stand with France.   Let us all stand for peace.

(Afterword:  They have now identified the pianist....
Paris pianist identified as Davide Martello from Konstanz, Germany)

River

Snake River, USA

River

There is no journey like that of the river

beginning in the clouds & formed into rain

Flowing from mountains through valleys

across plains and under bridges mid-town.

Wider ever wider the river flows

carries old tires and lose branches,

discarded cans and bottles, carcasses of dead,

memories one wants to forget,

all hidden within, all part of the stream,

mixed with soil and sand, 

out to the sea which accepts all,

keeps its secrets

and asks no questions

and never will.

This is written for Poets United Midweek Motif, where Sumana prompted us to write about "river."

Current Weather Report

Current Weather Report

The still-green grass is crystalline now when I take the dogs out in the early morning. I leave my footprints on the fragile stiff blades as I walk, and they do not stand straight again after I pass.  Brave soldiers bend in defeat. The air is chilled, and neither I nor the dogs linger as we did in those warm summer days.  My breath, a cloud, floats before me. And, as I gaze at the now naked trees in the distance, I realize this is the best it is going to be for a while.  I must celebrate what IS. Soon the grass will be brown, then snow-covered. I pull my collar around my neck a little tighter to shield myself from the early-morning wind.  And, as I glance at the gray overcast skies, I doubt if the sun will glance through today.


fragile blades of grass
bow down in surrender
winter at the gate



This Haibun is written for dVerse Poetics ......where the theme is to write a poem on one's 'current weather report.

Reflection

Reflection

I don't remember when
I first thought of seasons as metaphor
childhood as spring
adulthood as summer
middle age as autumn
and then winter we don't
want to think about or name

but I do remember when
a hospice chaplain explained
in autumn he would bring
colored leaves to bedsides
of the dying which he used to weave
stories of the cycle of life
all part of God's intention

so when I think about weather
the wind rain and snow
the sun and the warm breeze
I can't help but reflect
that everything has a reason
and weather colors each season
and all is part of the plan.


This poem is shared with dVerse Open Link!

Chill

Chill

Chill moves in
so silently subtly
as silver frost
blankets the ground
turns green grass brittle
before brown

and I weep a bit for what was
and is no more and wonder
will the grass survive winter

and I cry for summer past
for all summers passed
and for everything passing

and

I realize
this is the way life is
the chill arrives
when least expected
autumn arrives
then winter
way too soon.

For Poets United Poetry Pantry.


We had a week of glorious, unseasonably warm weather
here.  During that week it was hard to realize that it was
late autumn heading toward winter. But yesterday the
chill arrived again, and thus - this poem.

(En)jamb-Ment 2

(En)jamb-Ment 2

Some/times when I dream (scream)
        I think of you //too blue, me too

          and wonder//blunder if you dream
          of me too//three//four when you
          walk out the door
         and I (one)der/asunder

when I peer(cheer)  at the stars (mars?)
          and moon - soon//before noon
          whether (weather?) you are look-
                 KING at the sky-high at the same
                                 time//rhyme

and whether we share //do you care //
          these mo-
                   ments in time
despite our dis-tance/reti-
          (cents)

across the horizon of th(y)me
          and whether I will w(ache)/for(sake)
          and find the dream come true /t(oo)
                   anew or be blue
                for wh(oooooo)?
                                 you!!!

This is written for dVerse Meeting the Bar. The prompt is 'enjambment,'
and I had fun writing the first one so I wrote a second....again, just for fun@

(En)jamb-Ment

(En)jamb-Ment

In the blink of an eye
         (witness) the court re-
ported it was the handy-
man who come-mitted
the (mis) deed that made him
      an in-
              mate,

and at the hear-
ring (goldandsilver - all stolen)
he was found to be a (copy) cat
burglar who enjoyed the life-
        style to which he had be-

        come (ac)customed by
his thievery and his custom(airy)
   (weightless) way of escaping
        in a hot air ball-
                 loon(y) way

until his spree was (sus)pended in an up-
wind when the balloon was high-
          jacked by a (wind)storm and he was
                 left help-

                     lessly standing with his hack-
saw and screw (driver) screaming be-
 cause he knew it was all over now.

I wrote this (with tongue in cheek) for the prompt using en-
jambment (and a bit of other wordplay) at dVerse Meeting
the Bar!

Tranquility

Tranquility

There is that moment
just before sunrise
before the world goes bright
when I look out my window
as the stars share their last light
and know that life is good
and I lie for a while immersed
in the feelings of  tranquil peace
before rising to greet a new day.

This poem was written for Poets United Midweek Motif, where the theme is tranquility.

The Traveler

The Traveler

I wander in my mind these days
live with rich memories of adventure
not that I am finished traveling
I'm saving more journeys for tomorrow.

     She told me she wanted to travel young
     and she did see the world in a grand way
     was perhaps the envy of all she knew

     I often think about her when I think travel
     wish she had lived to take more journeys
     she loved life but died too young

     She'd wanted to store memories for future
     but never dreamed future was not to be
     memories departed with her life too soon

I wander in my mind these days
live with rich memories of adventure
not that I'm finished traveling
I hope for time for journeys tomorrow.

This is written for dVerse Poetics where we are writing about travel.

Hope, Give Me Hope

View of the Church of Saint-Paul-de-Mausole- Vincent van Gogh

Hope, Give Me Hope

From my window I see the village church and I think about the faith that I grew up with.  The God of my grandparents, parents, the God of my childhood faith.  I have wondered sometimes about its truth, its relevance in my life, whether I worship now because of belief or tradition.  It is a difficult question, one I struggle with daily.  I have come to realize that I do believe.   God is real to me.  Without faith, what future do I have?  From my window I see the village church, and I thank my grandparents and my parents for my faith, the faith I have passed on to my children as well.  The faith that gives me hope & a broader view.

Across the meadow

I am thankful for the church

forgive me my doubts.

This is written for dVerse Haibun Monday.  Bjorn has prompted us to use this painting by Vincent van Gogh & use it as inspiration for writing a Haibun!  

Farmers' Markets

Farmers' Markets

It is the season of apples
the ones with crunch
the sweet ones, the tart,
the yellow, the red,
tasty treat any time of day.

It is the season of pumpkins
pie with whipped cream
soup hot and steamy
baked pumpkin seeds
and scary jack-o-lanterns.

It is the season of squash
butternut and acorn
spaghetti and delicata
buttercup and sweet dumpling
baked, buttered, and salted.

It is the season to remember
tomatoes, zucchini, beets,
eggplant, peppers, and leeks
but to welcome winter when
fresh means fresh from Mexico.

For Poets United Poetry Pantry.  We are coming to an end of our Farmers' Markets here.  I am in mourning.  Today was the last one for the season.This saddens me greatly.  So much of what we eat over the winter has to be trucked in.  Mexico, California, Florida, Guatemala.  We can buy fresh apples for a while yet at the orchards.  I will so miss the eggplant.....  What will you miss most as we transition seasons? Share that in your comments, if you wish.   If you are in the Southern Hemisphere, what do you look forward to?

Only a Shadow

Only a Shadow

All those moments shared
insignificant now
past has no future
memories fade

insignificant now
sometimes they haunt me
as you drift further away

past has no future
connections severed though
I still know where you are

memories fade
until now you are but a shadow of
all those moments shared.


A trimeric written for dVerse Open Link.
I have begun to think in trimerics, I think!

Animation

Van Gogh:  Trees in the Garden of the Hospital St. Paul

Animation

I walk toward you
you turn your back

I give support
you attack

I embrace
you thwack

I do high five
you do thumbs down

I sit
you stand ground

I smile
you frown

I say Van Gogh
you say Monet

I say basketball
you say croquet

I look you in the eye
your eyes look away

I go
you stay.

Monet:  Camille Monet and a Child in the Artist's Garden in Argentuell

This is written for Poets United Midweek Motif.  The theme is "Animation."

Now That She's Gone

Now That She's Gone

I thought I had all the time in the world.  I didn't want to think about all she did for me. I wanted to remember how I made it on my own.  I told her once I didn't care what happened to her, wouldn't care if she died.  I made my own path.   Left home.  Married.  Had children. One time I told her I was sorry for how I had acted when I was a teenager, that I had regrets, that my childhood memories with her were my best memories of all.  It is true  I modeled a lot on what she taught me.  Family should always eat together.  Prayers before bedtime.  There was a time then when we talked about everything, a time we were very close.  I think we both treasured those times, not knowing they were a bubble that would pop.  One day she flew several hundred miles to visit me, and she irritated me so very much. She didn't act as I wished her to.  She failed badly. She was again the person I could not stand.  I thought she didn't pay as much attention to my children as she should have.  I didn't listen when she tried to tell me she did. I didn't want to discuss. Subject closed. Forever.

Butterflies live short

but their beauty is profound

the few months they survive.

I wanted her out of my house...gone, just gone.  I put her and her suitcase on the porch, called a taxi, three days early. I didn't care how she got home.  She said someday I'd regret.  She said it was my loss.   I forbade the children to talk to her, sent them to their room.  I remember she wanted to explain to them.  I told her she would never see them again.  And she didn't.  And I didn't.  And they didn't.  And now she is gone, and I don't know how I feel.  I still blame her.  She didn't say what I thought she should say.  She failed me.  I punished her.  She deserved that. She didn't try to get in touch after that.  Nor did I.  But I still remember there were good times, but I still know it was she who was wrong. And now she's gone, really gone........

Butterflies fly past

they see all but never speak

and they shed no tears.

This haibun was written for Kelly's prompt for dVerse Poetics:  Write a poem to someone you love, telling them how much you love them, or how much they mean to you, or things you want them to know before it is too late.  In this case, I am writing a poem from the perspective of someone else (the I is NOT me); and it IS too late.

Finding Future

Finding Future

One finds the best path
if one follows the signs
where dreams are fulfilled
just around the bend

if one follows the signs
the path is clearly marked
leads straight forward

where dreams are fulfilled
through ambition and perseverance
as one continues to strive

just around the bend
one finds the best path
where the future awaits!

This trimeric is written for Poets United Poetry Pantry.

Pizza

Pizza

I think that I shall never see
a pizza that does not agree with me

a pizza thick or a pizza thin
its spicy sauce drips down my chin

a pizza with veggies or pepperoni
an Italian pizza by Giovannoni

a Neapolitan or a Chicago style
both will elicit a wide-eyed smile

even a frozen pizza will do
as long as there's tasty dough to chew

I could eat pizza every single day
if I cared not what the scale would say.


With apologies to Joyce Kilmer - who wrote the poem "Trees," which was my inspiration.
This is shared with dVerse Meeting the Bar, where Victoria prompted us to write a humorous poem.

Gravity Depravity

Gravity Depravity

Imagine life without gravity
levity

such a phenomenal rarity
refreshingly

feet forever off the ground
unbound

phenomenon that can astound
confound

enjoy a journey in hot air balloon
swoon

float close to the harvest moon
croon

troubles serenely drift away
at bay

what fun it is to play
this way

because there is no gravity
hypothetically

enjoy a life of levity
destiny.

This 'echo poem' (without using the word 'echo' this time) was written
for Susan's prompt 'gravity' at Poets United Midweek Motif.
Sometimes a poet just has to have fun!

Halloween Opulence

Halloween Opulence

To become someone we are not
we mask our faces
knocking on neighborhood doors
saying 'trick or treat.'

We mask our faces
hiding who we are inside
why the need for a disguise?

Knocking on neighborhood doors
we continue a tradition
but why do we crave candy?

Saying 'trick or treat'
we solicit bountiful treats
to feed our obesity and opulence.

This trimeric was written for Kanzensakura's prompt
for dVerse Poetics:  Halloween

Autumn Day

Autumn Day

Autumn day

and I contemplate

how much time

I have yet

to enjoy resplendent scenes

of early morning.

Sky meets lake

creation reflects

sun dances

lake glitters

perhaps this is heaven's gate

to eternity.

Nature's  peace

Autumnal  reflection

waves ripple

and I yearn

to learn so much more

before the sun sets.

I took this photo yesterday morning.  Each stanza of this poem is a shadorma.

I wrote it for Poets United Poetry Pantry.

Waning Fires

Waning Fires

Now Autumn's fire burns 

slowly along the woods 

and day by day the dead 

leaves fall and melt.

slowly along the woods

the promenade is transformed

almost imperceptibly green to red

and day by day the dead

continues to overtake until

the world drowns in brown 

leaves fall and melt

colors wane and fade

fire of autumn now gone.

This Trimeric is written for Sumana's prompt for Poets United Midweek Motif:  Fire.

The italicized first stanza is a quote by William Allingham, which

I wrote in poetry form just because I thought it worked! 
I am also submitting this to dVerse Open Link Night!

Under Evening Sky

Bronze Age Stone Carving Photographed by Bjorn Rudberg in Sweden
with Permission

Under Evening Sky

I am so small walking on the beach
at night under the widening sky
The wet sand quickens beneath my feet
and the waves thunder against the shore

at night under the widening sky
I scan the seacoast for fish
my spear is my constant companion

The wet sand quickens beneath my feet
and curls between my toes
my search for food will not be deterred

and the waves thunder against the shore
my catch has been ample
as plentiful as my dreams.


I have written a Trimeric for Bjorn's prompt at dVerse Poetics.
The italicized four-line stanza is the first stanza of the
poem "The Widening Sky" by Edward Hirsch.  I launched
my Trimeric from that because I thought the stanza worked well 
with thebronze age photo, in which I see a fisherman & a spear.

Renewal

Renewal

Every morning
the world
is created.
Under the orange

the world
has another chance
each time a day

is created:
a new beginning
for each of us.

Under the orange
we have one more chance
to get it right.

For Poets United Poetry Pantry.  The first four italicized lines are the first four lines of Mary Oliver's "Morning Poem" which can be found here.  They are not MY lines.  My poem went in a different direction than hers did.  I used the Trimeric form, as you can see.  If you are not familiar with the Trimeric form,  read the post I made Thursday for my prompt over at dVerse!   The Trimeric form, I think, is my favorite poetry form.  I hope some of the rest of you will give it a try.

With Deep Regret

Photo by MSF

With Deep Regret

The Department of Defense deeply regrets....
twelve MSF staff and fourteen patients killed
the hospital was mistakenly struck by US forces
sometimes an apology is not enough

twelve MSF staff and fourteen patients killed
among the worst and most visible cases
of civilian deaths caused by US strikes

the hospital was mistakenly struck by US forces
bombed for over an hour, intensive care unit in flames,
six patients were seen burning to death in their beds

sometimes an apology is not enough
hospital destroyed but the neighborhood unharmed
only advanced medical facility in Kunduz now closed.

If you are unfamiliar with the incident above or interested in 
reading more, here are two sources of information:
Reference #1, Reference #2, Reference #3.

MSF = Médecins Sans Frontières, the French name for Doctors Without Borders.

This poem is written for dVerse Meeting the Bar...where I am prompting Thursday to write in Trimeric form.

Future is Always Tentative

Henri Matisse

Future is Always Tentative

She got up early, made coffee, decided which cereal would eat for breakfast, then sat in her recliner in front of the television until it was time to decide what she would put in the microwave for lunch.  It wasn't always this way.  Her house had been vibrant with life. Her husband a prominent physician, many weekends were spent entertaining.  Oh, how she had loved to cook, and she never served the same thing twice at dinner parties.  She smiled when she looked back, remembered those happy busy days. She remembered when her children were young, their softball games, their piano recitals, the prayers and hugs before they slept.  She remembered when the children grew into adulthood and moved away. She remembered when he said it was over. She remembered the past but had no dreams for tomorrow.  She thought of her next meal.


Time drifts with the wind
past can only be relived
life at a standstill.

This haibun was written for Haibun Monday 2 over at dVerse.  We had to use one of two quotes by Kahlil Gibran.  The one I chose was "Yesterday is but today's memory, and tomorrow is today's dream."  The prompt is up all week.   Please join us.

Understanding the Void

Public Domain

Understanding the Void

I will never understand
the void
     of feeling

          the lack of light
          in your soul

       the gray of words
       hardness of heart

you twist, turn
       manipulate,
   claim god as yours

speak for him
      damn others to hell
      you who judge

with righteousness
         you pharisee who stands
    on the street corner
         braying like a donkey

          you pray loudly with
    your throng (and yes
           they gather with you)

      your moment in the sun
      will be dust
             soon
      yet not soon enough.

This is written for Poets United Poetry Pantry!
The title was inspired by the title of X's poem.
The subject matter was inspired by the news.

The Emperor Mingles

The Emperor Mingles

The emperor greets his subjects in the marketplace

shakes hands and kisses women on their cheeks

speaks softly with broad smile on his face

asks about families, inquires about health,

listens to stories with rapt attention and grace

and then goes home, washes his hands, wipes his face

to get the stink off before his banquet is served.

This is written for dVerse Open Link.  It is another in my series of "Emperor" poems.

Healing

Healing is

words of understanding
the touch of a hand
listening without interruption
silent prayer

curtains open wide
to welcome the sun
rising up from a chair
silent prayer

walk on a forest path
a bowl of homemade soup
hand-written card
silent prayer.

This is written for Susan's prompt at Poets United Midweek Motif --  Recovery / Healing.  We are so glad to have Susan back at the helm!

The Watcher

The Watcher


I am the one who watches you
as you leave home each day
because I find you beautiful
oh please won't you be mine

as you leave home each day
I wonder will you notice me
or turn your head away

because I find you beautiful
I wish you to be my wife
and not to be thought pitiful

oh please won't you be mine
my knife held to your neck
first let us share a glass of wine.

For dVerse Poetics Tuesday we have a guest pub tender today.  Kelly, Mrs. Mediocrity, challenges us  to write from the point of view of the opposite gender.
I wrote in the "trimeric" form.

The Emperor Once Again

The Emperor Once Again

The emperor tires of new clothes
yearns to be a common man
his dreams were put aside
in seeking adoring fans.

He yearns to return to roots
roots with people who care
not about superficial accolades
but he wonders if there is time.

There are many who see
only his fine new clothes
but few true and loyal friends
who see the person he is inside.

This is my third poem recently about 'the emperor.'
We probably all know an 'emperor' in our lives.
This is submitted to Poets United Poetry Pantry.

Death Plays No Favorites

Death Plays No Favorites

(1)

The end when it comes
is as it is meant to be
the ledger will close
take its place on the shelf
to be dusted now and then.

(2)

When I lay my head
on my pillow at long last
I do not fear the night
after night a brighter morn
life redeemed by His grace.

(3)

Breathing is shallow
fool is finally going to pass
Alas the wait ends
soon he will reap his reward
make legal with cheating wife.


Three VERY modern-day "Tanka" (5-7-5-7-7) death poems written for dVerse Meeting the Bar.

Choices

Choices

Should I rake leaves or
take my dog for a walk?
Should I organize the kitchen
or write a poem?
Should I grocery shop
or read a book?
The choice between what I
should do and what I want
to do is often difficult.
And whatever choice I make
feels half good and half bad.
I wish there were more
hours in the day, especially
to take my dog for a walk.

For Poets United Midweek Motif
where the prompt is 'choice.'