Christmas Eve

Christmas Eve

On this quiet Christmas Eve
I sit in solitude and reflection
think of so many Christmases
from most recent to distant past.

Joys and sorrows swirl before me
so many Christmas memories,
so many people, some have gone,
my mind can hardly contain them.

Extreme happiness one year,
excruciating sadness another.
Life is unpredictable, I replay all
as I wonder where go the years.

Many loved  who once shared Christmas
will not be seated at  tomorrow's table.
Their lives past tense, their books of life
closed, and only their  memories remain.

But it all started with the birth of a Baby
to Mary in Bethlehem many years ago.
Jesus is the reason this date matters at all,
why I reminisce on this quiet Christmas Eve.

For Poets United Poetry Pantry #333


This is a poem I wrote in December 2011.   I struggled unsuccessfully to write a new Christmas/holiday  poem this year, as I am not feeling very cheerful about our country or the world.   I thought the best thing I could do was to turn back time with an older time & then to reflect on its meaning myself as well.  I must once again focus on the reason for the season....and pray for my country and the world.

Christmas Music

Christmas Music

Around me I hear Christmas music
children's innocent voices singing
handbells of the choir ringing
keeping hope alive.

Around me I hear Christmas music
songs I remember from distant past
strong  memories that always last
keeping love alive.

Around me I hear Christmas music
with messages of joy and cheer
as we hold our children near
keeping faith alive.

Around me I hear Christmas music
keeping hope hope and faith alive
bringing us faith we will survive
to thrive another year.

This is written for Sumana's prompt - Music - for Midweek Motif.

Christmas This Year

Christmas This Year

Christmas this year is a little bit different
peace on earth is further out of reach
instead of moving in the direction of light
we are moving in the direction of dark

and the color of insidious red looms above us
yet so many seem so blind to the threat
and trust the words of he who tweets in the night
but I live in fear that we have lost our future

and sold our souls to the one wearing gold
their eyes wide open they do not see
I wonder if it will soon be too late
to change course and how long it will be

before we are all marching marching marching
our heels clicking clicking clicking as we
salute the one who will lead us to our .............


I chose not to end this poem.  Give it your own ending.
I wish I had a cheery poem to share.  I wish I saw the
light at the end of the tunnel.


Written for Poets United Poetry Pantry.

Flying High

source

Flying High

Let's fly in style in his Boeing 757
you've seen it - the one with gold letters
fasten your 24-carat-gold seat belts
watch one of the big screen televisions
enjoy the entertainment system
or better still a real cinema experience
relax in the bath with 24-carat-gold fixtures
enjoy the stylish gold sink and toilet
luxuriate in the on-board shower
and if anyone is tired rest in the guest bedroom
not quite as fancy as the  master bedroom of your host
eat in the on-board dining room
you'll have time time of your life
Air Force One will be such a come-down!

Written for Susan's prompt for Poets United:  Aviation

(Inspired by the 'humble' man who wants to make America great......again.)

Post-Truth

Post-Truth

We live in the post-truth era
never mind reality or facts
they are both passé these days
let's talk about emotion
how to play to the crowds.

All who have anxieties and fantasies
are willing to embrace
anything he says because
we don't care if its right
but only that it feels great!

We live in the post-truth era
never mind reality or facts
we don't care if it's right
but only if it feels great
God help us all...please.

This is for Poets United Poetry Pantry.

The Oxford dictionary has chosen "post-truth" as the word of the year.
It seems truth itself isn't as relevant any more. Please, friends, don't
be fooled.  It is so easy to succumb to 'post-truth' and consider it normal.

Social Stigma

Social Stigma

Got sick of denying who she was
she stood up to those people
who talked behind her back
made rude comments to her face
refused to let her sit at their table
didn't want her to play on their team
spit at her and called her names
and she told them, yes she told them,
yes she screamed GO TO HELL!

This is written for Susan's Poets United Midweek
Motif...her theme this week is "Social Stigma."

Kite

source

Kite


A kite is a dream
you keep in your heart
knowing that some day
you will find a way
to make it fly.

A kite is a penny
you find on the street
then carry it home
put it in a safe place
hope it will grow.

A kite is a prayer
you lift up at night
beyond the clouds
beyond the moon
then go of the string.

A kite is a poem
the last you penned
with care and love
released with trust
it will find its way.

I am sharing this poem with Poets United Poetry Pantry.  I was inspired by the poem that Rosemary Nissen-Wade shared for The Living Dead this week.  The name of the poem was "A Kite is a Victim," and the poet was Leonard Cohen.  Take a look at the poem here.

Hyperbole

Hyperbole

Hyperbole is an art form
in the political arena
but no one can outdo
the one who will
lock her up
build a wall
deport immigrants
register Muslims
dismantle Obamacare
overcome Isis
deny climate change

And if someone
displeases him
he can tweet!


Sorry folks....there is one among us who has used hyperbole
to extreme, but, of course, there are those who believed him
and don't consider it hyperbole at all!

For Sumana's Midweek Motif - Hyperbole!

What to Be Thankful For

What to Be Thankful For

What to be thankful for this year
is harder than it was other years

so I am open to others' thoughts
on what to be thankful for this year.

I think God must be crying in heaven
when he sees how humans have gone astray.

This is surely not what God intended
how did we get to this horrific place?

Civilizations rise and civilizations fall
and so I am beginning to wonder

who will take America's place of power
if we all survive in a post-trump world?

What to be thankful for this year
is harder than it was other years

so I am open to others' thoughts
on what to be thankful for this year.

For Poets United Poetry Pantry

We Will Rise

We Will Rise

Count me with the invisible
all of the disenfranchised
Muslims, Latinos, Jews
Blacks and LGBTQ
women and differently abled
children crying from fear
they are my people
we join hands together
and we will build a wall
that hate cannot tear down
together we will be strong
and support one another
and they will see our power
as we rise, as we rise.



For Susan's Midweek Motif:  "Invisible"

This has been quite an election cycle.
I find myself identifying with people
I never identified with SO totally before.
I feel their pain, I feel our pain.
Many of us feel disenfranchised.
But we will rise.  We have to.
These ARE dangerous times.

It is Over Now

Adina Hall - public domain

It Is Over Now


It is  over now
but the watch begins

we cannot let down our guard
must protect all our brothers

as evil can be camouflaged with smile
though its teeth are rotten

and though his words are changing now
we must remember his heart is not changed

we must judge him by his actions
and by the company he keeps

there is no compromising
when it comes to human rights

It is over now
but the watch begins.

Written for Poetry Pantry

I think we must heed Martin Niemöller's famous quote. Niemöller was an outspoken critic of Adolf Hitler.  He spent seven years in a concentration camp.

"First they came for the Socialists, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a Socialist.

Then they came for the Trade Unionists, and I did not speak out— 

Because I was not a Trade Unionist.

Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out— 

Because I was not a Jew.

Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak for me."

This Was Not the Path

This Was Not the Path


This was not the path I thought we would be on
and I have not  come to terms with it
and don't know if I ever will.

I don't understand his fascism, misogyny,
bigotry and undisguised hatefulness for
so many different kinds of God's people.

But this is the path they have chosen
and I too am forced to walk along this path
on which I can see nothing good

And I wonder how long it will be before
those who voted for him realize
he was a trickster using smoke and mirrors.

And so I cry in my own corner of the world
this is not the path I thought we would be on
and I realize nothing more can be said.

For Sumana's Midweek Motif:   Path

I really do not consider myself a political poet, but lately it seems
I have become one because politics has been on my mind. 
I can think of little else right now.   I am terrified of the future
of my country, and I know that this election will also affect
the rest of the world.  I am frightened for us all really.  First
there was Brexit.  Now the U.S. election.  And France has
their election in April, 2017.  I am afraid for us all.

When you comment, rather than commenting on my poem, I would like
to know what YOU think about 'his' (I have a hard time using his name)
winning the election!

Wishful Thinking

Still Life With Turkey Pie
by Pieter Claesz - 1627

Wishful Thinking

Soon it will be Thanksgiving
and on that day there will be much
to be thankful for and a bountiful table
filled with family and friends
and with difficult time behind us
there will be reason to celebrate
as a hopeful future lies ahead.

For Poets United Poetry Pantry.

Neutrality?

Neutrality?

Anyone who says they are neutral
is either a liar or fooling themselves
there can indeed be objectivity
but there cannot be neutrality
when it comes to elections.
Full stop!

And if someone does not vote
(and I know a few who will not)
they have not earned the right
to utter a word of complaint
for the next four years.
Full stop!

This is written for Susan's Midweek Motif - "Neutrality/Objectivity."
It is also shared with Sunday's Poetry Pantry.

October

October

October hangs heavy on the horizon
even the moon awaits November
the clock ticks slowly in dread
as the wise owl says whooo whoo?

Tension hangs heavy in the land
nightmares are not uncommon
neighbor argues with neighbor
some dare not speak at all.

Even if the winner is decided
will a fresh start be possible
or will the haters be inspired
to wave guns and embrace revolution?

Is diversity to be embraced
or will walls be built with
hatred and lies by one who
destroyed the American Dream?

October hangs heavy on the horizon
even the moon awaits November
the clock ticks slowly in dread
as the wise owl says whooo whoo?

This is written for / shared with Poets United Poetry Pantry.  I fear that I will be writing political poems until this election is over with.  I do think, at this point, that Hillary Clinton will win.  However, I still fear what will happen after the election, as the 'other one' has said he would only recognize the validity of the election results IF he won.  This is unprecedented. 

Conversation

Conversation


Conversation is a rare thing
in the day of social media
when people eye their phones
rather than talk with people
who are in the same room.

Conversation is a rare thing
election on everyone's mind
the elephant in the room
so no one wants to mention it
but everyone knows it's there.

Conversation is a rare thing
easier to just chat than converse
conversation means depthful talk
and so few people share depth
in this day and age.

Conversation is a rare thing
as we shake hands and smile
how are you just fine
and of course you are fine too
nothing more to say.

Conversation is a rare thing
perhaps a dying art
and like so many good things
who will miss it
until it is gone?

This is written for Susan's Midweek Motif:  Conversation.  And, by the way, if you have not read Sherry's conversation with Susan & her involvement with social justice, please read this excellent 'conversation.'

These are Special Times

These Are Special Times

These are special times
I don't say much on Facebook
after a while there is not much to say
no one cares what individuals think
because all have access to the same news
it is what one choose to read and believe

I try to keep silent most of the time
but in my heart I don't feel silent
I want to shout and scream
as I fear the mob he has created
and the rhythmic marching and salutes
and though he cannot win (can he?)

I fear the monster has been unleashed
and what can I do really?
Besides vote my choice and pray
for sanity in this nation in which
so many have embraced the demon
destroying the fabric of our country
in so many different ways.

I do wonder what to do as I
feel powerless against the lies
and I am sleepless so many nights.

"I wonder if we also serve
who only stand and wait."

I am using Susan's words "I wonder if we also serve
who only stand and wait" as inspiration for this poem.
I fear that most poems I write until our election is over
will be political.

Wealth

Wealth

I cannot help but be cynical
when it comes to wealth
in these political times
when money has created the demon
who thinks he is above the law
who screams and shouts his lies
talks about making America great again
after being personally responsible
for ripping away the fabric
of American dignity
as he has exposed the world
to his baser side as his followers
defend him as 'pussy' becomes
a dinner table word, as he insults
blacks and Muslims and the
differently abled, as he threatens
to jail his opponent and build
a wall while courting Putin--but
never mind that the evangelicals
(do you think they really follow Jesus?)
follow not realizing
they are being led over the
cliff of no return as they
raise their right arm in salute.

Written for Poets United
Midweek Motif where the 
prompt is"wealth."

 

A Walk in Autumn

It is early morning. I walk along the forest trail with my dog. All around me I see the signs that fall approaches. Leaves turn orange. Some brown, already on the ground. They crackle beneath my feet. Flowers have dropped or are no longer fresh. Death is on the horizon. Chill is in the air. My dog sniffs the earth.


The strong maple tree
with leaves of orange and yellow
shades me as I walk

I see a deer. No, wait, there are three. Still as statues, they watch me as I pass. One is a fawn, so beautiful and gentle. Innocent in the wild, trusting its mother, the protector. I try not to make a sound. My dog does not bark. Amazing.

The fawn studies me
does not know if I am friend
or a foe to fear

I pass the small lake, the one that birthed pollywogs last spring. Now I don't even see frogs. Where do frogs go in autumn? The ducks must have have flown south, but the blue heron remains, glides on the water, awaiting the call to go. My dog stays with me, gladly.

So much life goes south
only hardy survive here
but all will return


Shared with Poets United Poetry Pantry.

To Teach

To Teach

So what did I teach
when it cannot be discerned
what was learned

where have my words gone
before blowing away in the wind
did anyone hear my wisdom

I shake my head
try to hold back tears
is all really so futile

Perhaps I am cynical
one who has lost faith
and cannot rise up

I close the book
and walk away.....

This is written for Susan's Midweek Motif:  "Teaching"  - in honor of October 5 as World Teaching Day.

Caged or Free

Caged or Free

We are all caged
visible or not
no one totally free
each has restrictions
necessary chains
borders that must not be crossed
rules and laws
for the good of all
all have limits
lest chaos reign.

This is written for Sumana's prompt
at Midweek Motif..."Two Souls:  Caged
and Free."

Also shared with Poetry Pantry,
as I posted late in Midweek Motif.
and several who I commented on 
didn't comment on this....so I decided
to give it another go.

Reflection

Reflection

This is the day today
this is the moment now
give something
learn something
do something
take something
to remember
or it will pass
and you will have
nothing except regret
for the passing of time.


For Poets United Poetry Pantry

Autumn

Autumn 

It is that time of year again when days are shortening and moods are darkening.  Soggy rains dampen spirits, and it seems more work to go out into the world than to stay in and look at life from behind the rain-misted glass.  All has been harvested, the trees are beginning to color, and now we wait for the blanket of white.  This is always a reflective time of year, a time of reflecting on the loss of what was once green, a time of missing the joys of youth, a time of wondering how many more summers lie ahead, a time of appreciating life just as it is with gifts, pleasures, and beautiful hues.  The calendar moves forever forward.  Our summer has now changed to fall.  We must always hold the memories of summer, but not fear the future.  There is more life.  There is tomorrow and beautiful colorful autumn on the horizon. The calendar moves on, and we must too.

As the days shorten
autumn makes its appearance
colors are its gift.

This haibun is written for Susan's Midweek Motif at Poets United.  The theme is "equinox."

I will also share this with Kanzensakura's Haibun Monday - where I will return comments to anyone who comments on mine.

I Regret

I Regret

I didn't notice
didn't thank
didn't praise

didn't pay attention
spoke too soon
spoke at all

didn't hold a hand
didn't befriend
didn't speak

didn't volunteer
didn't befriend.
looked the other way

I regret that
I cannot say
it won't happen again

Shared with Poetry Pantry.

I am sharing a poem from 2009.
Still relevant today.
I wonder what your regrets are.

Appreciation

Appreciation

Let's start with  sunrise
as we have to start somewhere
friends and family
poetry and supportive poets
and we can't forget life itself
yes life where would we be
without life itself and family
friends and  poetry and sunrise
to appreciate.

For Sumana's prompt for Poets United  Midweek Motif:
"Appreciation."

A Few "Small Stones"

A Few "Small Stones"

Cool September day
harbinger of autumn
summer gone too soon

Fifteen years since 9 / 11
I wonder what the world
has learned since that day

No more encyclopedias
only search engines
will all books disappear

Fifteen years since 9 / 11
so many alive now
were not yet born

During contentious elections
is there still reason
for writing poetry

Fifteen years since 9 / 11
First responders still
today bear the pain

Why does it seem
like my dogs really
understand my words

Fifteen years since 9 / 11
we were all unified for a time
red white and blue

Football on television
Americans cheer and jeer
eat pizza and drink beer

Fifteen years since 9 / 11
One World Trade Center
replaces the Twin Towers

Back to school
one more year
I remember their births

Fifteen years since 9 / 11
Let us never forget
Let us never forget.


A few "small stones" written for / shared with Poets United Poetry Pantry.

Bloom

Bloom

As the blooms of summer fade away
I await the bloom of hope
to dispel feelings approaching doom
these early September days

the climate is on the cusp of change
anxiety hovers wearily in the air
future lurks heavy beyond the horizon
I wring hands and wonder

what will November bring.

This is written for Susan's prompt "Blooms" at Poets United Midweek Motif.

Return

Return

I visited this place in another lifetime
not all that many years ago
but it was in another chapter
now closed that I walked here
      until again I found my way.

The beauty is the same
and the ocean sunsets
and the pink umbrellas
at the beach with the
view of Diamond Head
are as I remembered
    but it is a new chapter.

The Thai restaurant has closed
but the udon restaurant opened
the local marketplace replaced
by Saks Fifth Avenue but the
proud banyan still stands strong
fish caught and served fresh each day

the sandy beach still invites

   ocean waves still warm.
 

The flag still flies above the Arizona
the dead remain dead beneath the sea
bright shirts and flip flops and hula
palm trees wave in the wind
papayas still so sweet
   some things never change.

ABC stores still in every block
Aloha instead of hello
surrounded by characteristic tunes
I visited this place in another lifetime
not all that many years ago
but I found my way back again
   and it felt like going home.


This is written for Poets United Poetry Pantry.  I wasn't around home last week.
I was in Hawaii (Waikiki), which is reflected in this poem.  I did visit ALL of 
the poems of those who visited MY last week's poem in the Pantry though (and
I think those of you who DID make that first visit) -- however, quite
late because I believe strongly in return visits.  Smiles.

Blessings

Blessings

Beginning of each new day
Loving spirit inspires deeds
Eager children's voices sing
Sand squishing between toes
Sunshine after rain brings rainbow
Ice cream melting on one's tongue
Nature's treasures all around
Good news brings welcome cheer
So many blessings to behold!

An acrostic for Sumana's prompt - Blessings - for Poets United Midweek Motif.

(And, if you have NOT read Sherry's "Chat on Poetry and Faith" which features Sumana, please do take the time to scroll back and read!)

How Do I.....?

source

How Do I....?


How do I dream
on a starless night
I seek solace in gray

How do I dance
when I hear no tune
I just swing and sway

How do I write
when I have no words
I seek something to say

How do I find truth
amidst a sea lies
I strive with great dismay

How do I keep faith
in the face of death
I fold my hands and pray

How do I love
among many who hate
more difficult every day

How do I find
the path to walk
with world in disarray

How do I dream
on a starless night
I seek solace in gray.

Written for Poets United Poetry Pantry.

(I would have liked to use the photo
of the little boy from Aleppo, but I
fear it is not public domain)

Cookie Jar

source

Cookie Jar

I remember the cookie jar
the one we never had
the one that I imagined
in the shape of a pig.

It sat on our kitchen counter
beseeching me to reach in
no eating between meals
my mother always said

reach in
hand SLAP!


This is written for dVerse Quadrille.
44 words, using the word 'jar.'   And, as
it definitely did not receive many visits
as I was one who posted late I will
share it in Poets United Poetry Pantry as well.

(A bit of a mind bender here!
We never had interesting cookie
jars at my house!  Smiles)

Cats

Cats

I admire cats
as they walk stealthily
patrol their world
confident always
aware and prideful
never questioning
their place.

I admire cats
as they recline comfortably
wherever they choose
not where you choose
they are in charge
decisions their own
independent.

I also fear cats
with their eyes that
stare into one's soul
and the way they swagger
seeming to say
don't mess with me
I have sharp claws.

I have written this for Midweek Motif, where Susan's prompt is CATS.  Though I am a dog-lover, I recognize cats as pets do have merit.  (Smiles.)

Anew

Anew

Can
we ever
revisit a destination
savor it as much
as the very first time
or are we destined to seek
only that which we once found
present entangled in what was long past
with a blank slate can we embrace new beauty
and with our uplifted arms find new horizons to explore

is it possible to experience each day with fresh mind
to refocus reawakened eyes and see with clear lens
thus find in the known a new aspect
to bask in the joy of discovery
and see for the first time
that it is most important
to appreciate the newness
of each new
and unique
day.


For Poets United Poetry Pantry

(Not really an etheree, as an etheree works with syllables rather than words.
Perhaps this is a pseudo-etheree then?  Stanza one goes from one to ten words.
Stanza two from ten to one words.  Poetic license.  Smiles.)

To Soar

To Soar

Eagle soars spectacular
into sunset orange sky,
aims for the horizon.
I wonder if it contemplates
destination or merely enjoys
its journey riding the wind,
traveling higher ever higher,
its wings spread fully, its
eyes sharp in search of prey,
before it plummets earthward
once more, pounces prey.
Graceful eagle fulfills destiny.
Life coexists with death,
joy with sadness. Life's circle.
Eagle soars.

This is shared with Poets United for Sumana's prompt "Predator and Prey."

Return

View of St. Lawrence Seaway from a plane

Return

I drop back into the world
find it just as I left it
life goes on as it has
its rhythm the same
and I wonder if it
is always this way
if one can drop out and in
at will and still be welcome
still be remembered
or if there will be a time
one finds oneself a foreigner
on once familiar soil.

A poem written after having been "away"
for Poets United Poetry Pantry

Not True

Not True

It is not
true that life is fair
rewards good
not evil
often evil will triumph
it is sad to say.

It is not
true that people reap
what they sow
fairy tale
evil people often gain
blessings undeserved.

It is true
that life is a paradox
confusing
troubling
but we cannot let evil
have its own way.

This is a shadorma (3/5/3/3/7/5).....a major revision of a poem I wrote back in 2011 when hardly anyone was reading my stuff.  Sharing with Poets United Poetry Pantry....thinking of evil at work in the world today.

Absence

Absence

One wonders about the absence of reason
the absence of humanity and logic
the absence of just plain common sense

When has lying become acceptable
racist rants become the theme of the day
hate for the other become the game plan
twisted words of hatred given sway

When has it been so publicly condoned
to discriminate against muslims hispanics gays
to build walls  and to refuse service
to take away rights or privileges recently gained

When has it been so blatantly encouraged
that a people find enemies within itself
to make some live in fear of deportation
others not being accepted for who they are

When did the other become the enemy
intolerance become the norm
pointing fingers despising differences
while claiming Christianity as their own

When did one's bathroom become more important
than how people could make a living wage
when did people's rights buy rifles
take precedence over people's right to live

One wonders about the absence of reason
the absence of humanity and logic
the absence of just plain common sense.

Written for Sumana's Midweek Motif - "Absence."

The Use of Poetry

The Use of Poetry

Poetry is a friend who will stick by you
even if you try to abandon him
or don't answer the phone when he calls.

Poetry will drop anything for you
and when you knock on the door
will answer and never tell you
to come back another time.

Poetry brings you unexpected gifts
a shoulder to cry on when needed
a listening ear when no one else is there
an insight you were looking for
a laugh when you need it most.

Poetry is there in the middle of the night
sometimes appears in your dreams
then wakes up early if you do
but is more than happy to sleep in.

Poetry is patient and waits for you to find your words
doesn't mind if you repeat yourself
or even change your mind.

Poetry accepts your thoughts
and no matter what others think
always finds them profound.

Poetry is  a thief and sometimes steals time
occasionally steals your heart
but never would steal your money.

Poetry is neither young nor old
poetry exists in time yet is timeless.
poetry will outlive you
but will never forget you.

This poem is inspired by Rosemary Nissen-Wade's poem "The Advantages of Poetry," which I hope you will read here!  Thanks, Rosemary.  I needed inspiration today.  I am sharing it in Sunday's Poets United Poetry Pantry.

Fourth of July Haibun

Fourth of July Haibun

I remember it most often being cold on Fourth of July when I was a child.  I do remember decorating my bicycle with red, white, and blue crepe paper streamers and having a cookout with many of the relatives.  Burgers, brats, hot dogs in abundance.  Potato salad (which I detested), baked beans, and jello.  Watermelon for dessert.  Or ice cream. Simple fare, but family gathering was good.

At night my family would sit in our back yard on lawn chairs, blankets wrapped around us, and watch the annual Fourth of July fireworks that were shot up from a park on the other side of the river. From our own private viewing area we could see (and hear) the light show very clearly--the fireworks rose above the trees. The neighborhood kids also sometime got together to light sparklers, which paled beside the display in the sky, but gave us the feeling of being involved in celebrating in our own small, but more personal, way.

Life was easy then, and it was a good time to grow up.  But maybe, like all children, I was insulated from all that might happen.  Danger always seemed so far away; and perhaps that is how it should be for those blissful few years of youth.  It is Fourth of July now...some decades later.  Let the celebrations begin.  Life is good.

Fourth of July fare
fireworks explode in the sky
celebrate the day.

Well, I guess this is a haibun.  I was reflecting on the Fourth of July celebrations of my childhood.
For Poets United Poetry Pantry.

Birthdays

Birthdays

Birthdays mean nothing
or mean everything
18 or 21 or 50 or 65
what will you celebrate
as you light candles
that once-a-year day of you?

Is it a celebration of years lived
or a milestone reached
a clock ticking slowly
or at break-neck speed
toward the inevitable...
shh shh shhh not yet.

Blow out the candles
one more year
can you blow them easily
when there are as
many as that and
all eyes are watching
the yearly show?


This is written for Poets United Midweek Motif
where the prompt is "Birthdays."

Summer of 2016 - a Haibun

Summer of 2016 - A Haibun

I wonder what future generations will remember and find meaningful
about the summer of 2016.  Will they remember it as being the summer
of the divisiveness of U.S. Presidential candidates? Will they remember it
as  the summer of  the beginning of the downfall of the European Union?
Will they remember the economic turmoil that occurred worldwide
and how ignorance and fear of 'the other' reigned everywhere?
Or as one more summer of denial of global warning, despite floods,
extreme heat, and rampant wildfires?  Or as the summer Zika virus gained
a foothold worldwide because people foolishly refused to cancel the
Rio de Janeiro Olympics? Will they remember it as the summer that
U.S. gun control reform failed again and again and again? I am not
optimistic right now. But I pray that something unexpected will happen
to make the Summer of 2016 turn out all right.

Sadness rules my heart
summer seems so far away
how will we survive?


A Haibun

Shared with Poets United Poetry Pantry. 

Resilient

Resilient

Resilient yes usually
a matter of pride with me
but sometimes
I fail
sink to my knees
beaten down
illusion shattered
humbled to the core
who was I trying to fool
anyway?

Written for Poets United:  Prompt is Resilence.

Ferry Tails

Rapunzel Revisited

Rapunzel, rapunzel
cut your damned hair
get yourself a stylish do
of your own choosing
and let the helpless dude
at the bottom of the tower
look for his damned key
it is not your job
to  pull the suitor up.

Jack or Jill and the Beanstalk

Find yourself a beanstalk
and climb it whether
you are Jack or Jill
and don't let anyone tell you
beanstalks are not to climb
or you are not strong enough
or you will fall before you reach the top
believe in yourself
follow your heart
you will reach top.


Dear Red Riding Hood

I know you are a smart girl
and would not be fooled
by a wolf lying in that bed
why don't you tell the
author of that foolish tale
to give you credit for
your intelligence instead
of writing you as an idiot
not knowing the difference
between wolf and grandma in bed.

Beauty and Who?

Well, Beauty, seems you
have chosen yourself an
unattractive partner,
though he is so kind.
Is this because you think
you are unworthy and
that you have to settle
for beast rather than dude?
Or did you know ahead
of time how the story would end
so you just coyly played along?

These were inspired by Elizabeth Crawford.  I had a bit of fun writing them.  (Writing should be fun, shouldn't it?)  I will share them with Poetry Pantry.

Winds of Change

Winds of Change

The winds of change

blow one breath at a time

stunning how this happens

subtle and barely noticed

until we are in a new place

bemoaning what once was

and no way to return

and no way to return.

Written for Midweek Motif where the prompt was Wind Power.

Snippet of Life #1

Snippet of Life #1

Bicycle rocket ship
blasted off by home electric meter
10 - 9 - 8 -  7 - 6......blast off
into the not-yet future of
swimming pool afternoons
theater seats sticky with popcorn
robin hood  afternoons in the woods
picnic table school room
grassy afternoons spent reading
Old Yeller and Catcher in the Rye
sheltered before the future

of high school shyness
wool cardigans and tight skirts
dances I didn't attend
basketball games I did
and my first pizza parlor pizza
bowling Sunday afternoons
taking notes in shorthand
to plan a future
I would not have dreamed....

The River

The River

The river carries away
the junk of your life
trash collected for decades
useless stuff accumulated
clutter that took up space
boxes of useless nothings
kept too long to throw away
(feels good to be unshackled)

The river carries away
the treasures of your life
the things  long searched for
the ring or the bowl or the key
the picture you knew you had
along with lost friends
and all who have died
and there are dreams too
those that got away somehow
when you weren't looking
and forevers that weren't
and laughter and tears
and you as a child so young
before your life happened
The river holds all, keeps all,
tells nothing, carries things along
somewhere out of sight
everything is there in the river
flowing to the distant sea.

A poem I liked from 2012 shared with Poetry Pantry

Committed

Committed

Committed to winning at all costs,
are his recent racist tirades
against the Mexican-American judge
the beginning of his end?

Is this the incident which will at last
cause people to see the man he really is
beneath the dyed hair and fake tan?
Will his followers, at last, see the truth?

This is written for Sumana's prompt - Commitment - at Midweek Motif.
Not all commitments are positive.

Not the World

Tulip, Violet, Basil
(This picture taken through a screen,
which explains why it is grainy!)

Not the World

You are not the world
but are the world to me
and without you my life
would be so very empty

You happily walk with me
and listen when I talk
are sad when I leave home,
welcome me on my return.

You keep me warm
when I need warming
snuggle when I need a hug
and never hold a grudge.

You protect me from danger
think of me as number one
Basil, Tulip, and Violet
you are the world to me.

Shared with Poetry Pantry.  This poem was originally written in June, 2012.  As very few people who are posting / reading now had read it, I decided to share it again today....just for the love of it.  

Parenting

Parenting

Parenting does not get easier       with passing of time
though children mature         and leave the nest
parenting is not  over      in fact in many cases    
the hardest part of parenting     is just beginning    
the child no longer wishes         to be parented
no longer wants advice      but there are pitfalls
and rocky roads       to be transversed  
and it is a clever parent     who can manage to  
help negotiate the way      subtly        and
for the most part    silently.

This is written for Midweek Motif where the theme is
"Parents, Guardians, Significant Adults in the Lives 
of Children."  I have written in a the style of Annell
just for the enjoyment of it.  Smiles.

Serenity

Along the Ottawa River

Serenity

The river flows
the path winds
the breeze whispers
the man tarries
as his bicycle rests
in the heat of the day.

For Poets United Poetry Pantry.
(I just returned from four days in Ottawa, Ontario, Canada.  What a beautiful city!)

Afternoon Walk

Afternoon Walk

In
the hot
sun we strolled
the parkway path
and it seemed more like
a walk through the desert
and there was a time that I
wondered if I would be able
to make it to civilization
before fainting in quest of oasis.

I wrote this etheree for Poetry Pantry.  10 lines:  each
line has one more syllable than the one before.
(Based on my experience.  It has finally become warm,
and I really wasn't prepared for it.)

Sing

Sing


Sing
me spring
as we glide
let your voice rise
as we wing to skies
croon me your clearest trills
when we soar above the trees
until we glide out of earth sight
oh sing me spring and soar me so high
that I see the world from your lofty view

I soar on birdswings o'er valley and stream
no hill insurmountable to climb
sing me spring before it's too late
wing me high before you go
and let my heart flutter
for one final time
I swoon you croon
as we glide
abide
sing


This is an Etheree, a form Victoria introduces us to at
dVerse MTB.

True Story

True Story

And when he left school
on the snowy day
they sneaked  behind him
with hands filled with snow
which they pressed to his eyes
right before they pushed him
in a heap into a pile of snow.

For Susan's prompt at Midweek Motif - bully.

(And he never found out who
did this because by the time
he could SEE they were gone.)

Two Golden Shovel Poems Based on Sappho's Verse

A Girl

One day I watched a tender girl
picking some wild flowers.

       ---Sappho

Spring

In early spring one

must not waste the day,

and mindful of that, I 

walked the wooded path and watched,

though out of view, a 

a scene so tender:

Before my eyes a smiling girl

sat in the meadow picking

asters, bluebells, and some

fire-pink and white clover --wild

and free, both child and flowers.

Pleasure

I will lay down
the limbs of my body on soft
cushions.

           -- Sappho

Weary

So tired at the end of the day I 

am not sure what the evening will

bring when all I want is to lay

my head down

and to dream the

dreams of one whose limbs

are so weary of

trudging the path my

spent body

has forced on

me when all I want is a soft

resting place on colorful cushions.

Two "golden shovel" poems --  The last words of each line came from the words of each of the short Sappho poems & were used in order.  (Thanks, De, for introducing this form!) For Poets United Poetry Pantry.

Wonderous Birds

source

Wondrous Birds

Awake before dawn
birds chirp outside my window
a new day begins.

Wee little sparrow
fell from its comforting nest
writhes on sidewalk now.

Hawk flies above me
predator looking for prey
I keep my dogs close.

A cardinal sings
I hear it but cannot see
where you are, friend?

Hummingbird flutters
its little heart beats so fast
a very short life.

This is written for Poets United Midweek Motif where the prompt is "birds."

Beautiful Days

Beautiful Days

These beautiful spring days I

know I just couldn't 

live without hope.

Each morning I awaken to 

a new day, hasten to touch

my feet to ground to feel the

kinship with creation, look to the sky,

give thanks from deep with-

in my being for another day to live my

dream (hopeful of more than a decade or two).

In prayer I skyward raise my arms!

This is a 'golden shovel poem.'  De introduced the form for dVerse Meeting the Bar.  I am submitting it for Sunday's Poets United Poetry Pantry...hope to see you there tomorrow.  Plus as a second submission for MTB.  The idea of the form is to choose a poem and use each of the words as the end word of a line.  My chosen poem is below.  There are ten words in the poem.  Each is the last word of a line in my ten-line poem above!

World

I couldn't hope

to touch the sky

with my two arms.

       --Sappho

Dreams

In my heart I hold

beautiful stories of a life passing fast 

and on many a moonlit night I strive to 

relive them once again through dreams

Life holds so much joy for 

living every rich moment, but if

during one of my dreams

I drifted away I would not be afraid to die

though I will always hold fast to life 

Though life will not last forever there is

peace and joy in my heart looking ahead to  a

far off horizon, my spirit not broken-winged

I hope my final vision will be  a bird

a dove of hope in the distance  that

will relay that though  life in this form cannot

continue there is more angelic way to fly

This poem is written in the 'golden shovel' form introduced by De for

dVerse Meeting the Bar.    (If you read down the last

words of each line, you will be reading the first four

lines of Langston Hughes' poem "Dreams."

Faith

Faith

God said to Adam and Eve, "Be fruitful and multiply,"
but he selects Sarah to be mother of his chosen people
who is barren until her old age when at last  Isaac is born.

God's law forbids murder, but then commands Abraham
to kill his son Isaac which makes Abraham wonder
which Word of God should he obey.

Jesus tells us to love God with all our heart and with
all our heart, soul, and mind; in so doing where is the
capacity to also love our neighbor as ourselves?

Jesus is fully God, yet fully man; and being immortal
this Creator is created in the form of  a baby and later
dies on a cross, then rises from the grave to live forever.

I am not oblivious to  the paradoxes, the questions,
the enigmas found in His holy Word, and I BELIEVE
despite the fact that they sometimes defy logic.

And I come to the conclusion that it is not possible
to fully understand God's mysteries and contradictions,
yet when asked if I believe I would say yes,  indeed yes.

I struggle to find truth and meaning on my journey
there is no easy answer, but I continue to seek
and I have found my personal anchor, belief, faith.


I wonder sometime how people choose their anchors. I have mine, 
despite its  paradoxes and contradictions.  I think everyone must have 
a core belief to live a meaningful life (or maybe I am wrong?).  I find 
myself wondering what anchors others.  Or perhaps this is not a 
question others ask.

I am submitting this to both dVerse Open Link & Sunday's
  Poets United Poetry Pantry on Sunday.  I am in a reflective mood.  
If you want to mention what anchors YOU rather than commenting 
on MY words, I would also enjoy / appreciate that.  Or if the subject 
makes you uncomfortable, feel free not to comment.  We are all seekers
one way or another....I think.

Open

source

Open

Open your heart - yes!
Open your mind - yes!

But then....

Open your hands
...to bake bread
...to give a hug
...to hold a hand
...to wipe a tear
...to plant a tree
...to restrain a bully
...to feed the homeless
...to write a letter
...to play with a child
...to donate to a cause

And...

Open your mouth - wisely!

Written for Poets United Midweek Motif for the prompt "Open."

Dancing With the Sky

Dancing With the Sky

Dream of flowers and sweet fruits
romance and the ocean
inhale silver music of spring

feel the tropical breeze
laugh with the sunset
invite a lingering kiss

drink in sunlight and raindrops
oh to dance with the sky
and scribble the clouds purple!

Written in the style of one who participates at dVerse
for Abhra's promptt for dVerse Poetics.

To A Politician

source

To a Politician

Sound like you know what you're doing
always  pretend to have a plan
you can do what they think you can
there is no need to fear a thing
if someone smirks, act like a king
never let them see that you sweat
accept all the applause you can get
don't let realism interfere
tell them what they desire to hear
when  elected you can forget!

For Poets United Poetry Pantry.

This is written in the decima form (ABBAACCDDC)
with eight syllables for each line.  I have written it,
tongue in cheek, to a politician.  (Pick one, any one.  LOL.)







-

Spring Seeding

Reseeding in Progress

Spring Seeding


I scatter grass seed in my yard
anxious to welcome spring at last
hopeful winter is finally past
yet still I must remain on guard
spring storms often have no regard
for hope and dream and human scheme
weather can strike a blow extreme
best laid seedlings can float away
with downpour on a stormy day
powerless I lament the stream.


This is a décima...10 lines with 8 syllables per line
written in the ABBAACCDDC form.

I have written it both for Susan's prompt "Organic"
at Poets United and Gayle's "Decima" prompt
at dVerse Form for All.


***Afterword (explanation) Last weekend I reseeded a section of lawn
after a long winter of dogs eliminating
on a certain area...causing grass beneath to die...
therefore in need of repair. With a com-
bination of topsoil, peat, and grass seed
we went to work.  I hope in a few weeks
there will be grass.  But now we are in
for a few stormy days.  Grass seeds need
rain, but surely not torrents.  But this poem
has another meaning beyond the grass
for me.  It is a metaphor for life.  Though
we plan and plant our hopes and dreams,
sometimes 'fate' has other plans....and 
then what do we do?  Reseed them again.
As I do with the grass...year after year.