Prayer for 2025

source

Prayer For 2025

Introduction:

I pray for this and pray for that
but most often I wonder if my prayer will be answered
they say God answers prayers in God's own way
that God is even concerned about the tiny sparrow
but God may not answer the way we would like
and that certainly has been true these past years.

Prayer:

Dear God:

please help stop the rise of fascism in our country and this world
maintain  NATO and have these countries make the right decisions
help the people of Ukraine defend their country
assist the famiies in Gaza, Syria and so many other places
help the refugees and the countries that shelter them
protect the world from another pandemic
bring more awareness of global warming and climate change.

please turn this country away from autocracy and corruption
protect women's rights to make decisions regarding their bodies.
protect all people's rights to vote and the voting process
stand with members of the LGBTQ+ community
keep immigrants both legal and illegal safe.

please protect the freedom to buy alll books and read all books
protect teachers as they try to teach real history
protect doctors and the important decisions they make
continue to stand with people of any religion or none
please work a miracle to change the minds of cult members
and let a few unnamed evil persons be punished
(and, God,  please forgive me for that last prayer).

Conclusion

I pray for this and pray for that
but most often I wonder if my prayer is answered
they say God answers prayers in God's own way
that God is even concerned about the tiny sparrow
but God may not answer the way we would like
and that certainly has been true these past years.

This is written for Sherry's New Year's Day  "What's Going On" prompt.
In comments, feel free to add any additional 'prayers,' if you wish.

An Evening Reverie

 

source

An Evening Reverie

I will say my goodbye by moonlight
search for seedy motels to rest my weary heart

I tell you my life has been no masterpiece
sometimes it has been darn near unbearable

I yearn to be dancing on a flowerless field
and make my fortune by reading crystals

Instead I gaze at starfields in the evening sky
wondering if there is another empire out there

In my tremendous aloneness I begin to panic
as silence is my only visitor, so as snow falls

I disguise myself as a moonbeam
and dance away into my dreams.

Written for Shay's Word List

I Never Said Good-bye

source

 I Never Said Good-Bye

I didn't know when I saw him last time 

in Milwaukee it would be the last time.

We dated when I was in my twenties, 

before he moved and then married.

But he usually telephoned me once a year, 

tracked me down just to talk.

His wife never knew about the contact, 

and I am sure she didn't know that

when he had business in my city he took 

a past someone out to eat for old time's sake.

It was nice, this connection, no strings, 

just looking back and catching up.

I must admit these visits made me nostalgic, 

took me back to a special time. 

I wondered how many other women he 

had this kind of connection with.  I didn't ask,

didn't want to know.  And when the calls stopped,

I didn't wonder why.  I had moved again.

Last year I thought about him again, 

looked for him and found his obituary

from a few years ago. A well respected good man.  

A man I connected with long ago, 

someone I hadn't thought of in a long time.

I am sad I had no chance to say good-bye.

For Sherry's Open Link at What's Going On?

To Survive

 

source

To Survive

I am a bad example of Christmas jubilation this year
but am sentimental about so many Christmas pasts
which I can now only experience in memory.

But I am not in a hurry for this holiday to pass 
as I fear the next year will be a pitiful, frightening time
with a multitude of desperados and villains in charge.

To survive, I will try to rehab myself into soulful reflection
fill my lungs with bursts of the freshest air
and, if all else fails, escape into blissful sleep.

Written using some words from this week's Shay's Word Garden.

It Can Happen Like This

 

Watkins Museum and Store in Winona, Minnesota

It Can Happen Like This

The man with the black lab in the back seat of his car waving.
The very thin woman dressed in baggy cold weather clothing
on a hot day.  I know she must be ill, but she always says good morning.
The woman bartender in the historic restaurant who shows me
that places have history but that life on those barstools still thrives.
The woman with tattoos and purple streaked hair in the Watkins Store
who asked me when I came back a second time, "What did you forget?"
and then told me that she had had such a busy day and the town was
busy this weekend because of a festival and the funeral of a girl
who had been murdered by her boyfriend. I said, "And the farm
market too," and she said she never gets to go because she works
but she likes her job and her terrific boss.  A moment of connection.
On looking back, I realize we have to seek them out.  These moments
often forgotten in the blink of an eye.  We should write them down
to remember them, so that we know it can happen like this.

For Sumana's prompt "Forgetfulness" at What's Going On?

Nightmare

Nightmare

Jazz is cooking hot and heavy
blues are surging through my guts
jewels float before blurry eyes. 

My body cold and mind combustible
I pray for a peaceful musical interlude
as a rope tightens around my neck

I sense the claws of a bully
their weapon is not a puny toy
I need some sugar to survive!

For Shay's Word Garden

Distraction

source

Distraction

I don't know how many times I have been distracted
by considering just who will be sent to the gallows

still blindly hoping his words are only part of his drama,
but knowing that whatever happens next year though

we are all in this together, lamps lit, voices raised,
knowing that miracles can (they say) happen 

and hoping that the dismal saga will end happily
and light will prevail in the kingdom once again!

Written for Shay's Word List

Today's Sermon

 

source

Today's Sermon

Today's sermon is I want to take a walk and try to walk away my worries.
I want to take a break from the pain of this world in any way that I can.  

I want to sit in silence, read my book, pretend nothing else exists in the world. 
Today's sermon is I walk with futility and despair. The rule of law has gone to hell.

Today's sermon does not mention god because god has gone missing. 
Today's sermon cries in silence, screams inwardly at evil more blatant each day.  

Hate is rampant, and I am guilty myself.  Today's sermon is a question: 
Is it wrong to hate?

--------

This is my poem for my  "Today's Sermon" prompt at What's Going On?

Domesticity

source

Domesticity

I remember the hellish sewing class and
the dress I made which I hated more.
It was a brown cotton print, a shirtwaist
that I wore only thrice because I felt guilt
looking at it hang in my closet when
my mother paid for sewing lessons.
I don't know why I agreed to them.

I wish I would have a domestic talent,
but I'm not into sewing, embroidery,
knitting, crocheting. I tried weaving
and wood burning too. Nothing took.
I hated them all.  But I can wash dishes!
And truthfully I get satisfaction from
making them all sparkly clean.

But give me a keyboard, a poem to write,
a dog to train,  a drawer to organize, 
I'll have enough to cram into my day.
I'll never be famous for anything,
won't be a legend in my own time.
But give me a good book to read
and my day will be just fine!

For Shay's Word List.

Homecoming

source

Homecoming

I'm from Dairy Queen cones,
sky blue popsicles, and watching
werewolf movies on Friday nights.

I'm from rhubarb tortes, chocolate
chip cookies, always something baking
when I got home from school.

I'm from hanging clothes on the
clothesline and how fresh they
smelled after drying all day.

I'm from biking around the
neighborhood and not coming
home until it was dark.

I'm from snowballs and ice skates
and snow forts and sleds and
no one ever was cold.

I'm from starlight moonlight
and kick the can and ring the
neighbor's doorbell and run.

I'm from saddle shoes, white
bucks, and tennis shoes
but never penny loafers.

I'm from dress up like a beatnik
on Halloween and go trick-or-
treating parentless for blocks.

I'm from bike across town
to city pool and then bike home
after swimming not tired at all.

I'm from snatches of memories
more happy than sad wondering
if I have mostly forgotten the bad.

This is shared for Sherry's prompt "Homecoming" at What's Going On?

Daydream

 

source

Daydream

Some days I am more nervous than others
the perpetual chatter makes me crazy
as I realize we live in a vulnerable world.
Each day I search for a gift, any gift, to
help me survive yet another day.

So I daydream of the waves in the ocean
which roll into shore over and over again
as I put on my maroon bandana, walk
out as far as I can and cry like a baby,
wiping my dripping face with my hand.

Written for Shay's Word Garden List!

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.

For Susan's prompt "Feast" at "What's Going On?

We will celebrate Thanksgiving on Thursday
and have both traditional and untraditional foods.
It will indeed be a FEAST with accomodations
for everyone's tastes and plenty of choices.
This is a poem I wrote some years ago, using
the Trimeric form.  I share it with you again today.

In the Meantime

 

In the Meantime

Meanwhile flowers still bloom
grass continues to green
babies are still being born
people are falling in love.

Meanwhile there is still laughter
people make plans and achieve them
ducks and geese swim in the lake
squirrels scamper about for food.

Meanwhile life goes on
a short time between birth and death
we have to appreciate each day
enjoy each flower that blooms.

For Sumana's prompt "Say it With Flowers" at What's Going On?

Memories of Dad

My dad as a boy (third from left - plaid hat)

 Memories of Dad

I remember my dad, fingers imbedded with grease,
coming home after a day of work,  smelling of oil.
At the dinner table, he didn't talk much as we ate,
unless he thought he had something important to say.
I remember how he washed dishes after we ate,
telling us that was how he'd get his hands clean,
but I know he would have done it anyway.

And, oh how he could tease, sometimes.
I can still picture him standing behind me
when I sat down to watch television, how he 
dangled a string from behind, to touch my forehead.
I would think there was a bug crawling and swat it
away, and he would laugh and laugh. I hated it then,
but now am thankful for the memory, and I can still
almost  hear him laugh.

I remember the bonfires we would build in fall
to burn all of the leaves we raked.  The smell
of burning leaves, my dad standing with a rake,
the acrid scent of smoke imbedded in our clothes,
the black clouds of particles that rose into the air 
before they disappeared high in evening sky.

And now he too is gone like the smoke in the air.
It is autumn, and my yard is filled with leaves,
but no one builds bonfires any more. Today
as I look outside my window at the colorful ground
I want to conjure up a bonfire just to see him again!

Written for my prompt "Memory" at What's Going On?

Just Like That

source

Just Like That

Just like that,  hope evaporated
even though the cookbook
told me that there was a fix
for the dismal state we were in.

It started when the newspaper
wouldn't support a candicate,
a gut punch to what then became
the first spray of the great unfolding.

But in a few years we will all
live in luxury, as the price of eggs
will have gone down enough
to thrill our narrow cultified brains.

Just give me a museum to hide in,
a vase to hold my wilting flowers
a book to read, and let me live alone
as the whole world passes me by.

This is written for  Shay's Word Garden List - Joy School.

(It seems a lot of people were willing to vote based on their hopes that the price of eggs and other things will go down.  For that, they were willing to throw democracy under the bridge. In a few years, I wonder if they will think it is worth it....and if, indeed, the price of 'eggs' will have gone down.)

I Miss

The stars of the old show "Leave it to Beaver" which

I used to love as a child.  Picture from Wikipedia

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  in November, 2015. When I looked through my old poetry for a poem from the past to share for Sherry's Open Link, I came upon this one. It is not one of my 'best' poems or not even one of my all-time favorite poems, but I like its simplicity for a day like today. No one needs to be a rocket scientist to figure out its meaning, and this feels good!  So much has changed in the world in the nine years since I originally wrote this poem, but the sentiments I expressed remain true for me.

Shared today with Sherry's What's Going On? ptompt "An Open Link."

Only Six More Days

 Only Six More Days

My heart is heavy
I have pain in my belly
my bones are much afraid.

but I see horses on the horizon
perhaps they foretell magic
I implore the yellow moon.

The crow caws in the distance
I hope for a silver lining
Only six more days.

Written for Shay's Word Garden word list

The Holy Ghost

 

source

The Holy Ghost 

People walk into church looking for something to believe in,
a God they can trust, a God who is there when there is nothing else.  

Sometimes the church is filled and sometimes not so much.  A pastor
appears and goes through the usual liturgy, gives a sermon filled with hope.  

After all, isn't that why people are there? People seek comfort in familiar
routines and  music.  Somewhere in the church is the Holy Ghost who makes 

belief possible, who usually comes when beckoned but occasionally is silent,
out of sight.  Like this year,  election year. Church goes through their

familiar routines, the organ plays louder than ever, people stand, sit,
and people parrot the familiar prayers.   But there is something missing.  

Church has lost something, doesn't feel the same.  Perhaps the Holy Ghost
has taken leave.  Perhaps God has given up on humanity, or

perhaps humanity has given up on God. Perhaps they wonder if God exists
and if God is all powerful why God doesn't save this world.

Written for Susan's prompt at What's Going On? ----  "Ghosts"

The Long Wait

The Long Wait

I waited for the ambulance.
In a groggy state I lay on the ground.
It was raining and I lay wet and hurting,
unable to rise, knowing I was broken.

I wanted someone to cradle me,
to take away my pain or
to become  a butterfly
able to fly away above it all--

higher ever higher like a kite soaring
on a warm bright summer day,
a phantom in flight, escaping
to a much kinder world.

Written with words from Shay's Word List!

Desert

source

Desert 

Life is a barren desert.
Where is the sane life?
Surely it is somewhere.
I feel the wind blowing,
trudge slowly, feel oppressed.
I wonder what is ahead,
cannot see the future.
Sand fills my mouth,
blinds my eyes. Somehow
I must find a way to survive.
I walk on blinded, with hope.

Written for Sumana's prompt "Desert" at What's Going On?

Back in the Day

Back in the Day

 I took Latin in high school!
"Veni, vidi, vici"
"agricola, agricolae, agricolorum."
They said taking Latin would
enhance one's English,
but in retrospect Iwish I had
been lucid enough to take a
language I could speak.

I can't remember the teacher's name,
and I get his face mixed up with
the face of the  physics teacher
who was cross-eyed, and I never
knew which eye was looking at me.
This drove me stir-crazy.

I spent a lot of time in the library
in the days they had card catalogues.
In fact,  as a timid kid I worked in
the school library typing out cards
for new books. It gave me a sense
of being helpful, useful, even
important.

The job was a good fit, and
the librarians were always pleased
with my work. I appreciated
their kindness in those days,
as I wasn't getting many invitations
to parties,  and no one gave me
their class ring to wear on a chain
around my neck. I wasn't very high
up on the social ladder.

My favorite bells were the dismissal
bells that  rang at the end of the day.
I was always pleased to leave that place.

This was inspired by the word list Shay offered for her prompt this week.  (Shay's Word Garden)  I think I used twelve of the twenty, which isn't bad since I had no idea where I was going with this when I began. LOL.

Dear Friend

Dear Friend

 

 

This photo was taken 20+ years ago

when I last visited my German friend.
I am the one on the left.

Dear Friend

1

I've always written letters

since age 10 when I took French

and we could acquire a French pen pal

2

Dear Friend

My name is Mary

I live in Wisconsin,

and I am taking French

3

and I wrote to this pen pal for a while

not long

as she didn't learn much English

nor did I learn much French

4

but this opened the world of letters to me

and I wanted more letter-writing connections

so I acquired penfriends from

England, Switzerland, Scotland, Germany, 

Wales, France, and some of them took.

5

Friendships formed, doors opened, 

trips taken to many countries, 

and many friends visited me,

and it all started with

6

Dear Friend,

My name is Mary.

7

Dear German Friend

We have written to each other
more than fifty years now,
first by letters and aerogrammes
now by email and instant messages.
We have visited each other's countries,
have met each other's families,

sent presents, talked on the phone.
You are my second oldest friend now
and one of my very best.
You know my history well,
as I know yours.  
We knew each other's parents, now deceased.
We knew each other before children,
now our children have children.
I want to thank you for being
part of my life.  My life is richer
because of you.
Love, Mary

This poem was written for my prompt "Letters" at What's Going On?

 

 

Roadhouse Revelry

 Roadhouse Revelry

When I asked what's on the menu
the waiter laughed and said,

"This is a noodle joint, bonehead, 
so probably you can guess"

I asked if they had Pad Thai,
and he said, "Do you think this is a
rich-ass place?"

"No," I said. "I wouldn't put it
in that category."

I overheard some other customers
laughing.  "Well, what do you
have then?"  

"Spaghetti or Mac and cheese
made from bags of noodles I have,"
he said looking at me strangely.

Creeped out, my instinctual thoughts
were either to leave the joint or to
punch him. But instead I
politely used my superpower
of kindness and ordered:
"Give me a Mac and Cheese
pleeze," and added, "Do you mind
if I take photos of this place?

Shay's Word Garden.  I think I used eleven of the words in the prompt.  It was a stretch!

Magic

source

Magic

I am not a believer
Tell me I am too cynical
I will say undoubtedly true.

I liked fairy tales as a child
but I outgrew them
I never like magical realism
too far fetched for me.

I would rather read reality
deal with life as it is or
could possibly be rather
than fantasize what could
be possible in a dream world.

There are days days I wish
I could see magic somewhere
but that is not my way, and
I doubt I will change.

This is written for Sherry's prompt "Magic" at What's Going On?

It Doesn't Have to Be Beautiful

(This photo is only for "cuteness."  This is my new puppy Olive, who hs 4 1/2 months old and a Havanese.    In fact, she DOES have hair rather than fur.  It is the consistency of human hair, and I brush and/or comb it daily. I spend more time on her hair than I do on mine.  Smiles)

 It Doesn't Have to Be Beautiful

It doesn't have to be beautiful
my hair on an ordinary morning
I was never good with hair anyway
but I was better when my hair was short.
I am growing it longer now intentionally
since the pandemic stopped my haircuts
When I did finally get it cut, I thought
why not let it grow even longer than this?
why not try really long hair? Why not?

It doesn't have to be beautiful, this
hair that so often blows in the wind,
this hair that ends up in my eyes,
this hair that ends up in my mouth,
this hair that I am always brushing aside.
A hair band helps but not that well.

It doesn't have to be beautiful, this
hair that I try to style with hair dryer
and a special brush, this hair that I
even use a curling iron on, but I don't
use any products even though the
beautician always tries to sell them.

It doesn't have to be beautiful, this
hair that I will even grow longer,
perhaps turning it into a pony tail,
something I have never had.  Perhaps
I will tire of long hair in the summer
but I will try a new version of me first.
It doesn't have to be beautiful, does it?

For Susan's prompt " Hair" at What's Going On?

(I wrote the above poem after I got my first haircut after I had not had it cut in more than a year during Covid Time.   I never DID grow it long enough for a pony tale!  And it IS shorter now, though not as short as pre-Covid!)

Beckoning Me Back

 

Beckoning Me Back

If only there were a camera
that could take me back to
the vacant lots of my childhod
and show me once more all
that I forgot over the passing of years
the bliss as well as the anguish
like confetti in the darkness
dazzling like broken glass
bells chiming in the courtyard
transistor radio blaring the same songs
over and over, siren sounding,
beckoning me back to forgotten days.

Written for Shay's Word Garden Word List!

Autumn

Autumn

Autumn is an enchanting season
a quiet time when fluttering leaves
are the backdrop of each day.

As the quiet yellow leaves scatter
forgotten is the hustle of summer
there is a smoky scent in the air.

Autumn is a blissful phantom time
a pallet of colors mixed with bliss
warm jackets for the evening chill.

As the ferry begins its last journey
and pheasants scatter on the horizon
minds once again turn to poetry and love.

Written for Shay's Word Garden list - Autumn

Reflection on the Passing of Time

source

Reflection on the Passing of Time

A photo can sometimes feel more real than its subject 
as you look back at the people and places and try to remember
details  about that particular moment in long ago time.

Sometimes you can't even find the photo itself but you know
it exists somewhere, remember taking it, can still view the scene
from decades back in your mind, smiles fixed and frozen in time.

A part of you knows you can take nothing with you, time has passed,
the scene long gone, the memory blurred but still real.  You don't
remember  before or the after but still can visualize the one scene.

We live our lives in moments, some captured with a lens,
with hope they will not fade, but even as we preserve the image
the present begins  the past, smiles fade, and scenery changes.

We try to capture memories because we know they will escape,
we take photo after photo as if to press the pause button in a
futile attempt to preserve a time, to halt inevitable change.

This is for Sumana's prompt "March of Time" at What's Going On?

A Bad Choice

source

A Bad Choice

When I was a child I was very shy,
didn't want to answer questions in class,

hated outdoor recess because I dreaded
no one would play with me.

When it was time for junior high, 
I was afraid to go to the big school,

so my parents put me into a private school
where seventh graders were in only one room

and I didn't have to fend for myself
in the 'big bad junior high school' world.

That private school ended after eighth grade.
I didn't want to go to the big public high school,

so I went instead to the private high school
where I encountered a lot of hypocrisy.

In this 'saintly' environment a single teacher
became pregnant with a clergy member

who was part of staff; and another clergy member
who lived near my home would not speak to my dad.

Children of clergy used the worst foul language.
Hyprocrisy was rampant, so after two years

I couldn't stand the toxic environment, transitioned
to the large public high school for my last two years.

As I look back at life, one of my worst choices
was going to the two private schools which I 

falsely believed would protect me, but instead
they handicapped me because they took me

out of the real world for a while. What others
were learning socially I did not learn in the

protected 'saintly' environment which
proved to be more of a barrier than a help.

I liked the public high school, and looking
back, I wish I had stayed public all along,

but as with all my choices, I live with this one,
and in the end, all turned out just fine.

This was written for my prompt "Choices" at What's Going On?

Reciprocal Rhythm

source

Reciprocal Rhythm

There is a reciprocal rhythm to life
balance with undefined moves
You do something and I follow
I do something and you follow

sometimes a waltz
sometimes a rumba
often a catchy rhythm
back and forth on life's stage

roses bloom and then wither
monarchs hatch then fly away
the tide ebbs and flows
sunset brightens then fades to gray

You say something then I do
I ask and you answer
there is a flow between things
a peaceful reciprocal rhythm.

For Sherry's prompt - "Balance" at What's Going On?

School Memories

source

School Memories

If you asked me to share some memories of school,

I would tell you I was afraid to go to four-year-old  kindergarten. I stood at the top of a long flight of stairs holding my mother's hand tightly, the smiling teacher beckoning below. It was such a long walk to the bottom of the stairs.

I would tell you I played Jean Nicolet in a play in fourth grade, wearing a silk bathrobe to be the French explorer.  I would tell you I really did not like to be in plays, but I liked my teacher. This was the year I learned to love writing stories at home after school and wanted to be an author.

I would tell you I hated fifth grade because of the mean teacher I had. She made me square dance with her because I wasn't doing it right. She jerked my arm, pulled me, glaring.  I would tell you how she made me run laps around the playground several times, even though I had asthma and told her I couldn't run.

I would tell you I changed to a private school in 7th grade because I didn't want to go to the public junior high school with so many kids I didn't know.  It seemed a good decision at the time, but in retrospect I wish I had been forced to fend for myself in a public school. It handicapped me for a long time.

I would tell you how I never learned to dance because in the private school we didn't have dances. There I was taught that dancing was sinful becuse it caused lust.  So I was handicapped socially for a long time. Thus I didn't learn to dance when others did, and throughout my life I never thought I could dance.

I would tell you how I wanted to be a secretary when I was in high school (public high school finally), but after I worked in a savings and loan a few summers I decided I didn't want to do that for a living but decided to be a teacher instead, which was odd as I hated speaking in front of a class.

I would tell you I never went to dances or parties or proms or homecomings in public high school, how I had a few friends who didn't either.  I remember not really wanting to go to these things, but maybe if I had stayed in public school all of years, could dance,  I would have taken part in more social things.

I would tell you I decided to change my personality when I went to college, to become someone new, to be more outgoing.  I went to dances and beer bars, made life-long friends, and even 'kind of' learned to dance.  I would tell you college was much more fun for me than high school, that I have good memories

If you asked me to share some memories, these are the memories I would share.

For Susan's prompt at "What's Going On?" ----- Education.

One Clear Hour

source

One Clear Hour

I wish that one clear hour could last a year
when something good happens it would last forever
that people would embrace humanity and love
rather than power and greed
that hope would triumph and democracy flourish.

I must take each clear hour when I find it
wrap my arms around it and believe, yes believe
that we can go forward stronger than ever as,
alas, we reclaim hope in that one clear hour.

This is written for Sumana's prompt "Overcoming" at What's Going On?

Toward the End of August

source

Toward the End of August

Toward the end of August I am on the cusp of both summer and fall
looking back with sadness at the passing of my favorite season
and ahead knowing that the green will be leaving, that the rich color
of autumn will appear, but then will arrive the darkest season of all.

Toward the end of August I always wonder how many more summers
I will know, I celebrate my birthday, but try to forget the number
of years I have lived, and tell myself I am only as old as I feel,
and celebrate the beauty that still is, the yellows, pinks, greens.

Toward the end of August I savor the fresh produce, tomatoes,
sweet corn, peppers, zucchini, melons, eggplant, and now
the new apples begin to appear, and I know that this bounty
will not last forever, but I revel in the harvests of today.

Toward the end of August I know that my tan will soon fade,
I will have to put away my shorts, T-shirts, and sandals,
and out will come jeans, sweatshirts, and boots, and I will
have to bring out warm jackets I had so gladly put away.

Toward the end of August I am on the cusp of both summer and fall
looking back with sadness at the passing of my favorite season
and ahead knowing that the green will be leaving, that the rich color
of autumn will appear, but then will arrive the darkest season of all.

Written for my prompt "August" at What's Going On?

Gentle

 

Gentle

Gentle

little fawn looks at

me in silence as I ponder

its beauty

encountered on a morning walk 

on my familiar forest 

path - bliss.

Written for Sumana's prompt at What's Going On:  A Cameo Appearance.
This poem is written in the "cameo" poetry form.  See "What's Going On" 
for an explanation of the form.

Changing Times

"The Times They are a Changin"-  Brandi Carlile version

Changing Times

Come gather 'round people
and open your eyes
there are changes happening
under our blue skies
though hdden by the moon
it isn't too late yet
but I fear it may be  soon
for the times they are a changin'

Come poets and writers
who speak with your pen
keep up your truth telling
again and yet again
you cannot give up now
the finish line is near
and the prize is so dear
for the times they are a changin'

Come senators, congressmen
please fight the good fight
if you give up the now
we will be thrust into night
the relentless battle is raging
our lives will be rearranging
if you don't heed our call
for the times they are a changin'

The lines have been drawn
The lots have been cast
The battle wages on
the winner is not clear
we have to keep the faith
that truth will overcome
and we will not succumb
for the times they are a changin'

Writte for my prompt at What's Going On? -- "Changing Times"
(With apologies to Bob Dylan who wrote "The Times They Are a Changin'"

To Dance

 

source

To Dance

At last I hear music -
the music of hope,
the music of possibility.

My sadness has lifted,
and at least for today
I am no longer 

hostage to negativity,
an unhinged person 
living in Cuckooville.

Today I feel alive,
alive and so very well
and I just want to dance!

Written for Shay's Word Garden list
and inspired by some good news
in this country finally!  (Only five
words, but......)

There is Music to This Sadness

 

source

There is Music to This Sadness

There is music to this sadness
not the kind of music I want to hear
sometimes I wish the song would end
but the song continues unaware
that it is not welcome and because
it is the only song I listen.

I make a wish in a vanishing landscape
wonder what the hell does it matter
when wishes make their way to oblivion
and are replaced  with rock walls instead
so  I think I will just stop wishing as
it only brings the same sad song again.

There is music to this sadness
whatever the song whatever the key
it surrounds me when I am awake
it intrudes on me when I sleep
I make a wish in a vanishing landscape
sometimes the wish is just enough.

For Sherry's prompt ELEGY at "What's Going On?"

Life as It Is

 

source

Life As It Is

I'm pissed about things right now.
There is no way out of the rabbit hole!

An orange dude with his own scowling mug shot
has destroyed the world as we know it.

Is it wrong to yearn for the good old days,
eat sweet candy in secret while clasping

a replica of a pink rabbit and screaming,
"This is not the way humanity should be remembered!"

For Shay's Word Garden

Old Friend

source

Old Friend

I saw on my caller ID that it was she who was calling.
I hadn't talked to her in a few years, ever since she told
me that she listened to Rush Limbaugh and voted Trump.

So when she called I hesitated to pick up the phone,
but I did; and we talked a while, mostly about family,
health, etc. and then she mentioned that her son had

started a restaurant before Covid times, but since the
prices of things went up during President Biden he
had to close the restaurant.  I didn't say anything

because I didn't want to get into it with her, as I had
not talked with her for a long time.  But now, I wish
I had. Really, she used to be a good friend, but now

I don't consider her a friend at all any more.
And, sadly, I hope she doesn't phone me again.
I feel guilty, but that is the way it is.

For Susan's prompt On Friendship at "What's Going On?"

(This is a true story.  For years and years the two of us were friends.
We taught together, golfed together, had each other over to our
homes, etc.  She was my 'bestie' for a while before she married.
Sad how politics changes things.)

Nightmare

source

Nightmare

In the hidden recesses of my mind
lies a dreadful fear, a heavy weight to find.
The miles of thoughts that race and roam
are filled with dread, a constant gnawing tone.

The rain pours down, a relentless beat,
a rhythm that echos my anxious feet.
I search for sleep, a refuge from pain,
but visions haunt me like driving rain.

In the hidden places I seek to hide
from dreadful miles that stretch and divide
but the weight of my fear knows no bounds,
and I'm left to face dreadful echoing sounds.

Written For Shay's Word Garden

No One Said It Wouldn't Rain

 

source

No One Said It Wouldn't Rain

No one said it wouldn't rain
that all of life would be easy
that things would always be fair
or decent or moral or just.

No one said that good would win
or that people could discern the difference
between what is true and what is fake.
Is there more to this story?

Do people now believe black is white
and now believe wrong is right?
Has it all  changed suddenly
or has it always been that way

but hidden behind closed doors
rather than out in the open?
Is evil now something to celebrate
as it seems to be now?

Has the dark side just surfaced
or was it always there?
What more is there to this story
that I don't know?

No one said it wouldn't rain
but why - now - the deluge?

Written for Sumana's What's Going On? prompt -- Rain

Balance or Not

source

Balance or Not?

Where is the balance in life?
I am awake and listening for messages
hoping for answers from somewhere.
My inability to hear them frustrates me.
So in anguish I write my exact questions
on a roll of white paper, with a plan to
put them into boxes, take them to the border,
secretly hoping someone will find them.
With a splitting headache I look out the window,
realize the futility of my plan, so instead
I put on my apron and begin my ordinary day!

Written for Shay's Word Garden

Doors

 

source

Doors

There are openings in our lives of which we know nothing
like mysterious dreams in the night that are stuck in a groove
as they repeat over and over again, the inability to sleep
because of them. Where did this dream come from?
Why does it keep repeating the same scene like a needle
trapped in a scratch of an LP on the turntable. What am I
supposed to learn?  What unknown door is being opened?

There are openings in our lives of which we know nothing
until we walk through them, like the exercising at the gym,
hoping it is not too late to once again strengthen my body.
It had been a while since I worked out like this, but once
the door was open I charged through and now hope for
motivation to continue, as why work so hard only to lose
strength again, knowing the door may not open another time.

There are openings in our lives of which we know nothing,
like doors that come before one's eyes in a dream
as if you walked through them in another time or life
and you find yourself wondering which you should choose
and where they will lead and if you will have regrets
or if they are all just part of the mystery of being alive and
choices you are given in this beautiful and marvelous life.

Written for my prompt "Doors" at What's Going On?

If My Life Were a Novel

 

source

If My Life Were a Novel

If my life were a novel
it would be filled with magic
a story of a special kiss
the questioning of faith
an unexpected  boisterous laugh
a bus to an unknown destination --
but would have lots of blank pages

Memory is a fragile thing and
I know that my life may not be
what I imagined, but I hope you
will enjoy my novel as I feel
fragile right now and I am just
breathing in and breathing out
on this very messy chilly night.

For Shay's Word Garden

Rediscovered Treasure

Rediscovered Treasure

This week I came upon an Australian Wallabye rugby shirt
bought in Australia almost twenty years ago.
As far as I know I had never worn this shirt,
but it stayed in my closet on a rack with other shirts.
I had never been able to either give it away or wear it,

but somehow this week it interested me, and I tried it on
and was surprised how nice it looked and how well it fit.
A treasure resurrected from the past, something I had
every intention of wearing when I bought it, but
had never worn at all before now!  It makes me smile.

Written for Susan's prompt "Keepsakes and Treasure Chests" at What's Going On?