I Can't Remember

I Can't Remember

“I can’t remember” I say

when she asks me what happened

the night everything went black

the night that everything changed.

I don't remember the fire

and how it started

and I can't bear to think

about how they died.

I saw them for the last time

when we were all together

laughing and talking in the barn

we were friends forever.

When she asks me what happened

the night everything went black

the night everything changed

I can't say, "I don't want to remember."

This poem, for dVerse Meeting the Bar,  was written using a line from Claudia's poem. The line was  “i can’t remember” i say. I also shared it with Poets United Poetry Pantry.

(The poem was based VERY loosely on a book I recently read:   We Were Liars by E. Lockhart.  It is a good book, if anyone is interested...)

Money, Money, Money

Money, Money, Money


We've lost our capacity to count
as we watch the national debt mount
we think only about pleasures of today
don't worry what our children will pay.

Hire more bureaucrats with large staff
they'll surely work on the world's behalf
build more weapons get ready for war
they're not obsolete but still we need more.

Pay the farmers for crops they do not grow
3 billion to General Motors a gift to bestow
Royal Dutch Shell 2 billion on their plate
Boeing 13 billion to roll new planes out the gate.

380 million to subsidize 'poor' Walt Disney
150 million for Walmart as grantee
an outhouse in Alaska for 100,000 dollars
5 million dollar crystal for Congressional bar tenders.

We think only about pleasures of today
don't worry what our children will pay
as we watch our national debt mount
we've lost our capacity to count.

This poem (all facts are true) was written for dVerse Meeting the Bar using this line from Brian's poem - "We've lost our capacity to count."

Mother Tongue

Mom and Me

Mother Tongue


When I was a child I listened hard
to messages Mother relayed to me
the golden rule was number one
I wish I remembered two and three.

My mother's tongue spoke wisdom
I didn't always recognize back then
I was too busy thinking grownups
said the same things again and again.

Today I search my cluttered mind
for all Mother's tongue had to say
but there is much I don't remember
or remember in faded shades of grey.

Sometimes though I catch myself
speaking words using Mother's tongue
later I wish I'd written them down
wisdom spoken when I was young.

I suppose it is quite natural
each generation is much the same
not appreciating when they had it
thus losing what they cannot reclaim.

When I was a child I listened hard
to messages Mother relayed to me
the golden rule was number one
I wish I remembered two and three.

This is written for Susan's prompt at Poets United Midweek Motif:  Mother Tongue.

It is also shared with dVerse Open Link!

If Glass Could Speak

If Glass Could Speak

What would the window choose
if she had to choose between looking out and in?

Most likely no one will question the glass
realizing that her motives are transparent

and that without any trouble at all
we can all see through her!

Written for the prompt at Poetry Jam:    Inside/Outside Looking Out/In.

The Perennial Tourney

The Perennial Tourney

I'd like to say let the tourney begin

but in truth it has no beginning or end

the tourney just varies from day to day

promises altered but no change in trend.

It's bread and circuses and more of the same

freshly pressed suits appear in the ring

abortion and taxes and immigration to scheme

will drones be allowed to do their own thing?

Voices get louder and crowds start to shout

Obamacare stays or Obamacare  goes

what about privacy or boots on the ground

should we stop fracking, disallow GMO's?

Opinions flow freely, big money is spent

talking heads nod and shining teeth smile

they all wear suits as they pat a few heads

then visit factories and drink beer a while.

The stakes are high, the competition great

movie stars fund raise and industrialists pay

instead of the winner being decided in a ring

the winner will be declared come Election Day.

The prompt at dVerse Poetics Tuesday is Tourney!  Ha - let the competition begin.

It's All True

It's All True

Raised in the mountains of Kentucky

by a father who abused and raped her

and a mother who turned a blind eye,

her father gave her to a traveling salesman.

She eventually escaped her environment

married someone who could take her away

and with him she had a daughter

when they divorced he took the child away.

Then at last she met a good man

and the two of them had a happy life

a daughter and a son and foster children too

her life could not have been better.

When her father was dying of cancer

she took the man into her home

forgave him for what he did to her

lovingly nursed him until he died.

When her son committed suicide

her mother said it was all her fault

because she was an evil person

but she cared for this mother 'til she died.

She still is married to the good man

and she once again has a happy life

connected again with her first daughter

the one who'd been taken away.

She has met great grandchildren

she didn't even know she had

and has taken them to Disney World

now knows the Magic Kingdom firsthand.

This is written for Poets United Poetry Pantry, and yes....it IS all true.

Life As It Is

Life As It Is

She was always accompanied by a handsome man

who always selected the finest of wines

and alternated his Mercedes and Maserati.

He always gifted her with expensive jewels

wished her always to wear designer clothes

indulged her quietly in Botox and implants.

They took a cruise once or twice a year

enjoyed orchestra seats at the opera

kept two pampered poodles at their side.

Then one night at the finest of five-star inns

their dinner was halted by masked men in hoodies

the man shot dead for a drug deal gone sour.

And when she had her fine jewelry appraised

it was found to be well crafted imitations

and sadly her face fell for lack of Botox.

This is written for dVerse Meeting the Bar - where Bjorn is inspiring us to write a poem with a 'volta.'

Solitude

The New Novel - Winslow Homer

Solitude

Solitude is a rare and wonderful gift to yourself,
it refreshes more than cool water on a warm day,
enriches like a new novel read in one afternoon.

Solitude is a friend that returns what was depleted
fills an empty glass with warm and healthy sustenance
and its luxury is creativity's best friend.

Solitude is a peaceful moment at the end of a day
a tranquil refuge in the midst of tumultuous seas
a rocking chair in a quiet room on a stormy day.

Solitude is alone without being lonely
painting reflections of a mountain lake
an unhurried early morning walk in the rain.

This poem is written for Sumana's prompt (Loneliness/Solitude) at Poetry Jam!
It is also shared with Susan's Midweek Motif - where the prompt is glass/glasses.

Letter from 2075

Letter from 2075

Planetary travel seemed exotic and impossible

in the early years of the twenty-first century

before the invention of the Stanzoid rocket,
the greatly increased human lifespan,

the pill that allows people to sleep
for decades as they travel through space.

You never would have guessed it possible
and  that is the way of life, isn't it?
You never know what will happen tomorrow,
what will become possible after you go.
Twenty years ago you would not have guessed
there would be a poetry blogosphere, would you?

We all just spend our lives

Trying to overcome our births

Trying to get along with Death

And then untie ourselves from Earth

Now we vacation on the moon

And yes, we’ve flown beyond the stars

And can you guess where I just sent this from?

I’ll give you a hint- It’s Mars.

The first two stanzas above are mine.  The second two italicized stanzas come from Ben Burke's Poem for the Future.  You can read Ben Burke's entire poem by clicking on the link.  This is written for Grace's prompt at dVerse Poetics.  We are writing from the future to the present.

Our Hope for a Saint of Love

Our Hope for a Saint of Love

Words matter
you have to write the words
it is the only way

what you write will change you
what you see you must show
it is the only way

journal what you know
the things you cannot unknow
words will save you.

write the story
you have never shared
five pages at a time

write the story with wisdom
the owl knows what why
whoooo whooo

What you see you cannot unsee
feel the spray of the surf
journal the words

seek the Saint of Love
that resides in your words
it is the only way.

This poem is written for Poets United Poetry Pantry.  It was inspired by two things.   First of all, the book Belzhar by Meg Wolitzer (which I just finished).  Secondly, Brian Miller's poem "Our Hope for a Saint of Love."  I launched off his title & a few of his ideas just for fun.  Smiles.

Love is Not a Greeting Card

Drawing by Danny Gregory
(used with permission)

Love is Not a Greeting Card

There is nothing better than
waking  in the morning
next to the one loved
who has slept the night
under the same sheets.

there is nothing better than
walking into the house
to be greeted by the eyes
of little dogs who await
me however long gone

there is nothing better than
the smiles and hugs
given by grandchildren
as they tell what they've
done at school today

there is nothing better than
feeling the love of God
every day of one's life
knowing that He is there
and He will never leave

there is nothing better than
loving yourself as you are
accepting self completely
knowing you are not perfect
but that you are loved.

This is written for Susan's Poetry United Midweek Motif - Love is Not a Greeting card; and it is also contributed to dVerse Poetics where we are writing to the sketches of Danny Gregory.

Bagel

Onion Bagel

Bagel

There is something about a bagel

round and dense and flavorful

whole wheat or blueberry

banana walnut or even plain

cranberry orange or onion

each has its own personality

not shy with its message

brave bold and forthcoming

the way we would all hope to be

if we were a bagel.

This is inspired by the dVerse Poetics prompt

where we are asked to write to Danny Gregory's

drawings.

Silent

Life Drawing - by Danny Gregory

Silent

Silent she sits

stares at nothing

sadness unspoken

she chooses not to share

the secret suffering inside

     her son, her only son...

     her son, her only son...

who will understand

the pain that stabs her heart

the pain that will not leave

still she sits silent in hopes

that something anything

    someone anyone will

    somehow take the sting away.

This is written for dVerse Poetics where we are writing to the drawings of Danny Gregory.

It is also written for Poetry Jam, where the prompt is 'Silence.'

Foreign Film

Foreign Film

It is interesting to observe
who goes to a French  film
to listen to those in the audience
to determine whether
they speak French at all

most spoke unaccented English
and were over forty
and I couldn't tell if
they knew French language
or if like me read subtitles

the woman introducing the film
had a strong French accent
obviously native French speaker
and the family ahead of us
also spoke French but I sense

they were in the minority
though I have no way of knowing
but the film was a comedy
I laughed with the subtitles
but know there was so much more

I learned about French politics
and how my country is viewed
what goes on with diplomacy
how government games are played
I am glad I saw the French film.

This is written for Poets United Poetry Pantry. We went to see the movie The French Minister ("Quay d'Orsay") today at the French film festival that takes place all week.

Theologian

Theologian

His mind is the garden to write his thoughts
as he researches nightly on the path of dawn
by the radiance of his lamp he listens for His voice.

With no shoes he lectures to seek enlightenment
to interpret the beams that flood from on high
and in the forest he prays for inspiration.

He compares theories while savoring herbal tea
reads the divine Word as fire dances 'til daybreak
and when he dreams he preaches Truth to the moon.


For Meeting the Bar at dVerse Claudia is having
us indulge in a bit of wordplay. 

1. Fold a sheet of paper in half
     2. On the left half of the page, list 10 nouns.  (underlined above)
     3. Think of a career or occupation choice.   (theologian)
     4. On the right half of the page, write 10 verbs that correspond to that position. (underlined)
     5. Open the paper and connect each of the nouns with a verb.
     6. Using any of those combinations, write a 3 stanza poem, 3 lines per stanza – or more.

I used 9 of the 10 combinations.  My occupation was, of course, 'theologian.' My interpretation of the challenge was that one noun and verb should be used in each line.  I also had interpreted that one should choose the nous FIRST before choosing the profession, which I did.   If I chose the PROFESSION first, I would have thought of nouns that had to do with a theologian.  But oh well, it was an exercise.

Journey

Journey

It is a long journey
through ice and snow

from sleet and snow
there is no solace

it pelts my face
as wind gives chase

I cannot walk
nor see the path

face turned down
as white turns black

In vain I seek relief
from incessant snow

the journey long
the travel slow

the distant destination
a stinging icy blur.

Submitted to dVerse Poetics where we are writing about snow &  Poetry Jam  where the prompt is 'journeys.'