Recuperation

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Recuperation

With the bandages off my eyes
I more vivdly and brightly see!
My brain has become bitter,
see you looking like a zombie 
who is greatly in need of soap.

You try to appear nonchalant,
but I find you loathsome.
Those rings in your nose
give you a pirate vibe.
I don't wish to know you!

The music you play on the stereo
brings me no solace. I object to
your presence and urge you to leave
and take your candy with you.
I will not accept your gift. Be off!

This was written for Shay's Word Garden List - Save Yourself.

(I used 17 out of the 20 words, I think.)

A Time of Waiting

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APRIL strikes me as a month of waiting.  It is spring, but sometimes does not feel like spring.  It is a month of anticipation, and sometimes we have no choice but to wait for what is ahead.

--------------------------------------------

A Time of Waiting

April is always a time of waiting
for spring, for summer, for a package to
arrive in the mail, for the clouds to go away,
for a phone call that never comes,
for weather to get better, for a goal, some
kind of a goal that will keep you motivated
and away from all the bad news.

It seems to be very human to hate waiting
for news that could be good or bad
for truthfulness to becomes the norm again
for climate change to be taken seriously
for wars to end or the hungry fed
when so few seem to care.

You need to be human to hate waiting
to get your mind off waiting, trying to do
something, maybe read or clean or play
a word game online. You need to accept
yourself for hating to wait for peace,
for answers to the big questions, for 
democracy to flourish again, for trust in
others, and to be at peace with waiting.

This poem was written for Sumana's prompt April at "What's Going On?

Gossips Will Gossip

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Gossips Will Gossip

See the busybodies talk -
they sit in their stuffed armchairs
peer through Perspex
lick their chops for scandal
gossip about every neighbor's cherished child
speculate on each Amazon delivery.

Euphoric in their nasty sludge
they point accusatory batons past flowerboxes
beyond sheep running amok in the meadow.
No one or nothing escapes their eyes -
only a miracle can  reverse their
freezing venomous hearts.

Written For Shay's Word Garden

(I used all but two words.)

Wildness

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Wildness

There is still wildness to be found
though at times it appears to be dormant
embrace it as one would forbidden love
knowing it will evaporate in a puff of smoke
before the inevitable heartbreak
but while it lasts it is oh SO good!

Written for Shay's Word Garden

Only five words this time...it was a HARD list!

Miracles in My Midst

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Miracles in My Midst

                I.

When I am feeling downhearted or blue,
when the world arround feels black
I stop for a moment to reflect on
all the miracles in my midst.

the whistle of the tea kettle in early morn
the first sip of warm ginger tea
deer in the meadow outside my window
either scamper or stare as if frozen in time

early robins scurry expectantly in grass
trees leaf out anew as geese soar above
returning to their northern home for summer
rhubarb stalks punch their way above ground.

everywhere is birdsong, gifts for my ear
clouds dance across the azure sky as
a multi-colored dawn lights the horizon
gives birth to an extraordinary day.

-----------------------------

                                    II.

The work of the poet is to find the miracles in the ordinary
the delightful wong of the red-winged blackbird on the still-bare branch
the recognizable peck-peck of the solitary woodpecker just out of sight
small blue flowers that peek out from new spring grass
gentle waves of cattails in the lilting breeze around the still park pond
noisy geese making waves as they skim the surface
there is so much beauty in nature if only one looks
the work of the poet is to find the ordinary holy.

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

The Queen and the Wolf

The Queen and the Wolf

One morning when the queen woke up in her chamber
opposite her was a charming, well-dressed wolf.

 The wolf said to the queen in his most alluring voice,
" Excuse me, your dear majesty, I visited when you were asleep
 hoping that when you woke up you would kindly use your powers
to transform me into your king.  We could live happily ever after."

"Dear wolf, "said the queen (clutching her pearls), the transformation
ceremony would make me uneasy, and actually I can only do it twice. 
The first time I transformed a frog into a calf, which we ate for dinner. 
If I transformed you to anything, it would be to a cat. 
There are mice in the palace kitchen that need to be killed."

Written just for fun for Shay's Word Garden - Classic Fairy Tales Word List
(13 words used)

The Arrival of Spring

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The Arrival of Spring

How I love arrival of spring
everyday a bit more light
as I celebrate each sunrise
after bleak long winter days

When the warming sun shines
I look to the glowing sky
walk with a bounce to my stride
and feel much more alive

To observe rebirth one more time
is a wonderful glorious thing.
with inner and outer light aglow
how I love the arrival of spring.

Written for Sherry's prompt at What's GoingOn? -"The Coming of the Light"

The Spice of Life

The Spice of Life 

Some days I rage about how life is
the more I think the madder I get

I speak in my fake British accent
mixing my metaphors with spice

which is not nice, with glowing eyes
I pant angrily, my body a furnace

and wish to stalk the whole world
in my aromatic (ewww) mania

but before utter chaos encircles me
I flee into my portfolio of poems.

Written for Shay's Word Garden (March 18)
(I used 12 of the words)

The Blessing

 

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The Blessing

As a child he shot his young brother in a hunting accident
his last view of his brother was with his face down in the snow
a small body with blood seeping slowly through his coat

and all his life asked himself why he was spared.

And he wanted his mother to hold him, but he couldn't say that,
and he wanted his mother to forgive him, and he couldn't ask
and the state trooper made him relay aloud the painful story

and all his life he asked himself why he was spared.

And he thought of Cain who killed his brother Abel, and  he
bore the mark of Cain.  Just as God would not let Cain die,
God did not let him die, his self hatred being a more terrible fate

and all his life he asked himself why he was spared.

And he tried to understand 'accident' and wondered if it was God's plan
in a benevolent way humans couldn't understand, or if God was Accident
and all was random and Accident ripped lives apart for no reason

and all his life he asked himself why he was spared.

And it is in the human stories where human meanings begin,  and
the boy grows into manhood and pain  becomes blessing, blessing
becomes poetry, and beauty arises again despite the pain, but

still all his life he asked himself why he was spared.

For Susan's prompt at What's Going On? -- Character(s) in Action

(Based on Gregory Orr's Memoir "The Blessing")

A Visionary's Wish

 A Visionary's Wish

Oh how I wish I were a visionary,
a genius who could see a way out of madness,
who could find a way to achieve what is unfinished

I would first make a memorial to the good times,
then without any pomp or pretense try to turn
earth's wayward engines to protect its creatures again

Written for Shay's Wordlist,   (I used 8 words)

Turning Ten

 

Unsplash

Turning Ten

I don't want to turn ten
because two digit ages sound SO old
I want to be young forever
and never become a teen because
teen years really scare me
I am too shy to face them 
know I will fade into the wall
and will feel so very very alone.

I don't want to turn ten
don't want to be too old for dolls
don't want my body to change.
What I want is a pogo stick
and cowboy boots and jeans
a western shirt and cowboy hat
a bow and arrow to shoot
and a pair of new roller skates.

I don't want to turn ten
don't want to think about junior high
know that the school is too big
and that I won't make any friends
know that I will hate gym class
because there is much I cannot do
and I will always be last one chosen
and will hate taking group showers

I don't want to turn ten
I want to always be young
and sit on the couch Friday night
watching werewolf movies
eating M & M's and peanuts
with a blanket to cover my face
during all of the scary parts.
I want to hold that blanket forever.

This is from Sumana's prompt at "What's Going On?"  She asked us to write a poem from a child's perspective.

Fifteen Reasons to Remain Silent

 

Unsplash

Fifteen Reasons to Remain Silent

1.  Because I have nothing to say.
2.  Because what I would say would not interest you.
3.  Because what I would say would offend you.
4.  Because what I would say would bore me.
5.  Because I am afraid of what I would say if I would speak.

6.  Because I can learn by listening.
7.  Because I don't want to share my thoughts.
8.  Because I prefer silence.
9.  Because words are useless.
10. Because no one listens.

11. Because I am afraid to speak.
12, Because I can't find the words.
13. Because I have already said it all.
14. Because I am listening to the thunder.
15. Because talking interrupts my solitude.

Written for "What's Going On?"       

Not Just a Cup of Tea

Picture from Unsplash

 Not Just a Cup of Tea

It's not just a cup of tea but a cup from my granddaughter filled with the tea another gifted me.
Itt's not just another moment but a moment that is trying to tell me something, and I wonder what.

It's not just a poem but a prayer to whoever to save us all from everything, which is way too much.
It's not just a moment but a door held open to the future and whatever it brings.

It's not just a cloudy day but the day I have and one which I will never live through again.
It's not simple to live in the world, but I have to look for reason and find joys in each day.

It's not just a cup of tea but a gift to myself on this most overcast of late winter days.
It's not easy to love the world, but I will l will love it one sip of tea at a time.

This is shared for Sherry's prompt at "What's Going On? "--- Not Just a Cup of Tea

The Work of the Poet

Photo by Me

The Work of the Poet

The work of the poet is to find the holy in the ordinary
red-winged backbirds perched on gray branches chirp delightful songs
white and black downy woodpeckers peck peck on maple trunks
small blue flowers peek out from early greening grass
busy gray or brown squirrels scamper in search for food

Russet cattails wave gently in the murky green pond
noisy gray geese make joyful waves as they skim the pond surface
fluffy white clouds drift overhead in the cerulean sky
there is so much beauty in nature if one only looks out not in
the work of the poet is to find the ordinary holy.

Written for Susan's prompt at "What's Going on" ----  'Colors Passing Through'

One Morning

 

Photo taken by me

One Morning #1

One morning at dawn you wake up
look out the window and see the sun
and hope that today will be different
that things will be the way they were
they never are just more bad news
any morning you wake up you know
there will be dire headlines it's a given
how many days now has it been that
every day is worse than the day before
one morning any morning you wake up
you know you just know you just know.

One Morning #2

One morning at dawn you wake up
look out the window and see the sun
and you are happy to be alive this day
that  love is so visbly alive and well 
for your lover your family your friends
your pets the whole world all its people
you hear hope singing through the clouds
winds of change whistle in the air
one morning any morning you wake up
you know you just know you just know.

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

Everything Hurts

 

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Everything Hurts

Everything hurts
every day  a new pain
mass shootings kill people
no one is safe.

Students in school
worshippers at worship
Shoppers in stores
no one is spared.

Old men plot
bombs fall children cry
hospitals destroyed
innocents die.

Immigrants terrorized
caught in barbed wire
left to drown
no one is safe.

Everything hurts
my heart hurts
my soul hurts
there is no escape.

Everything hurts
but life goes on
people pretend
these are normal times.

We can't find a cure
everyday a new pain
everything hurts.
No one is safe.

This poem is for my prompt at What's Going on?

What I Know

A beautiful sunrise taken from my home recently

What I Know

What I know about living is it isn't easy. No one can say it is. 
If we look at someone else's life from the outside, we will not see
all the pain they live with inside.  Below someone's smile may be
pain hidden from view. Sometimes well covered.  Sometimes not.

What I know about living is there will always be good times and bad.
Times of laughter and times of tears.  Positive memories and regrets. 
It is better to concentrate on the positive times and let the regrets fade. 
Past is past, cannot be changed. Learn from regrets, then let them go.

What I know about living is sometimes our pain will become a window
which will lead to a way out, give a burst of sunshine, a ray of hope,
a glimmer of peace, respite.  We are all here together trying to make
the most of our time on this earth. That is what I know about living.

Written for Sherry's prompt at What's Going On:  "This is Wednesday, and this is what I know."

Shoes and More Shoes

My Collection of Blundstones

Shoes and More Shoes

I was from high top toddler shoes,

T-bar colored sandals, cowboy boots,

but never mary jane's.

I was from saddle shoes, white

bucks, tennis shoes, go go boots,

but never penny loafers.

Iam from Birkenstocks, Tevas,

western boots, Converse, Ecco,

but no more Crocs.

I'm from Blundstones, Blundstones, 

Blundstones, Blundstones,

I must resist more Blundstones.

******

What shoes do you remember wearing when you were a young child?  As a teen or young adult?  What is your favorite footwear right now?

Written for Susan's prompt "Magic Shoes" at What's Going On?

Crossing the Bridge

Memorial Bridge
(Wikimedia Commons)

Crossing the Bridge

Days were long when I was young
and we would set out to explore
the worlds beyond the neighborhood,
to walk or bike across Memorial Bridge
in order to get to our park destination.

Each time I would have to prod myself
to cross this bridge, so high above the river,
and tell myself as I clenched my  teeth
that I would not look down down down.
to the swift dark river so far below.

Those days adventures cost nothing but time
and a bridge could transport us anywhere
if we did not faint from fear in the crossing
to parks transposed to jungles or alien planets.
Days were long when I was young.

The photo shows the bridge we walked or biked across when I was a kid. 

The scariest thing was biking across it, on the sidewalk.  Unfortunately, 

some of the things we did as kids required that we do it.  I always pictured

myself flipping over the guard rails and falling into the river below.
Crossing it WAS always the scariest part of any adventure.

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

Conversation With Dad

Conversation with Dad

Dad, it has been decades since you were alive.
Sometimes I picture you with a mischievous twinkle in your eye.
You liked to tease, though sometimes others found it annoying.
You were quiet, and I think that is one way you made conversation.

I didn't find it easy to talk to people, strangers made me uncomfortable.
I never knew what to say, so I just sat there and let your mother chat.
I was always shy, would rather help with dishes or fix people's cars
or listen to baseball rather than make small talk with people.

Dad, I remember once you and I had an important talk.  It was one
of the few times, I think.  I wanted to drop out of college to become
secretary.  You told me not to drop out,  as I would regret it  for the
rest of my life, and I know now that I would have.  Thank you.

I did have ideas sometime, and I am glad now that I spoke up then.
I know your mother supported your dropping out of college and
moving back home and taking the secretarial job you were offered.
For once I spoke up in opposition to your mother, and I am glad.

Dad, it has been decades since you were alive,
and I wish I could have you pitch me a softball just one more time,
that I could ride again in the back of your pick up truck, hair blowing
in the wind, that I could smell the hamburgers you cooked on the grill.

I am glad you have some nice memories of me, and I have some
nice memories of you too.  I remember going fishing with you
in the rowboat with the engine on the back, but you never would put on
the worms.  And I remember winter sledding down the country club hill.

So many memories come floating back, but one thing I will always regret,
knowing nothing about your  life when you were a boy, except that your
mother died young and you had scarlet fever. I wish I had persisted.
It has been decades since you were alive, and I still miss you.

This was written for my January 10 prompt "Parent/Child Relationships" at What's Going On?

 

I Remember

 I Remember

I remember how it was then,
you used to come over to my house
and we used to just listen to music,
Judy Collins, Nana Mouskouri,
Kris Kristofferson, Janis Ian.
We could listen for a long time.

On the carpet in front of turntable we
spun albums, drank wine, talked life
never tired of the same music repeating,
most of life was ahead, future was ours.
Leonard Cohen, Donovan, Joni Mitchell,
Cat Stevens, Paul Simon, Jackson Browne.

I remember how life was, there was more
you taught me how to camp,
it was with you I bought hiking boots,
tent, camp stove, and backpack.
It was with you that I camped in
Yellowstone and Glacier National Parks.

In my mind I can still see you, curly
black hair, in a plaid wool shirt.
The mountains are behind you.
You wear hiking boots, smile. Snap.
You are captured in timeless time.
I have only a photo now, at least that.

I walk trails close to my house now.
Blundstones rather than hiking boots.
I have been listening to old music
and when I do sometimes I think of you
hiking, camping, climbing mountains.
I was much younger then, so were you.

I still own my old hiking boots, but
they are no longer comfortable.
I have the backpack, but seldom use it.
I have given away the tent and camp stove
but I still enjoy the music, the memories
of those times now so long ago.

Shared with Sherry's prompt - Music of our Youth - at What's Going On?

Peace

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Peace

Why conrinue to pray for peace when
the world's people have prayed  for peace 
for decades, for centuries?  Nothing changes.
Wars of hatred persist, blood  continues
to flow, and so many innocent lives are lost.

Who hears our prayers? If someone
with the power to respond listens, why
do they heartlessly do nothing?  Is prayer
a futile exercise, a crying into the wind?
How can one respect an unresponsive god?

Why continue to pray for peace in wars
or send thoughts and prayers when lives are
lost to gun violence? Are all prayers merely
empty words, feeble and pointless recitation,
ignored by an impotent  or uncaring god?  

This is written for Susan's prompt "For Peace" at What's Going On?

May This Be the Year

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May This Be the Year

May this be the year we come together
as a new day presents a wide-open door.
We have struggled to keep heads above water,
now is the time to work toward a positive goal.

We must use this year to find a path forward
as our journey presents  to us each new day and
opportunities for love and compassion abound.
May this be the year our hearts beat in unison again.

This is shared for Sumana's prompt at What's Going On?:  Happy New Year!

Happy New Year, Everyone!

Reflection

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 Reflection

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 poem is posted for What's Going On?-- REFLECTION/LOOKING BACK/AGE

Let Your Heart Be Open

Let Your Heart Be Open

Let your heart be open, carefree as you can.
It is good to be alive, to walk free on the path
of life, through the woods, surrounded by trees
whose leaves have fallen, through the trails
your heart makes, as it beats, thankful for the
beating much like a drum.  Do you hear it?

Be still!

Listen to the heartbeats of trees around you.
As you walk in silence you will hear them,
tune your mind and heart to what they say.
Their tongues speak wisdom of the ages.
Appreciate this day alive among trees.
Walk with eyes open, arms stretched to sky.
Let your heart be open, let your spirit rise.

Be still!

This is for Sherry's prompt at What's Going On? -- "The Tongues of Falling Trees"

The Night Sounds Like a Murder

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The Night Sounds Like a Murder

The night sounds like a murder
or maybe it is just my fear
that what I thought was the worst
is only the beginning of 
the time of terrors

I wonder about the stillness of night
who is out there planning revolution
how many guns are being purchased
by people who stole the flag
and constitution

The night smells like a murder
do you smell the fires burning
see flame tongues dance in the dark
know they inch closer to my door
I hear the crackle

Yes America breaks my heart
I should say it has broken my soul
evil laughs arise from old white men
as they set fire to all that is sacred
behind closed doors

The night sounds like a murder
or maybe it is just my fear
perhaps it is a bad dream
and I will awaken soon to find
that all is fine -- I pray.

This poem is shared with What's Going On? for Susan's prompt - "Revolution."

Praise Our World

 Praise Our World

Praise our crazy fallen world.
It is all we have, and we have to live.
Praise the memories of Thanksgivings past,
times when family got together.
Memories of mother's turkey, dressing,
cranberries, sweet potatoes, pumpkin pie.
Praise the way the way we laughed together,
unaware these times were not infinite.

Praise our crazy fallen world.
It is all we have, and we have to live.
Praise the memories of winters long past,
shoveling snow before there were snow blowers.
Memories of building snowmen and snow forts,
skating New Years Eve at the city skating rink.
Praise sledding down hills in the nearby golf course,
unaware these times were not infinite.

Praise our crazy fallen world.
It is all we have, and we have to live.
Praise the memories we make today,
the windy November walks along the forest path.
Memories of delectable meals, conversations enjoyed,
plans made, poetry written, books read.
Praise sitting covered by a warm flannel blanket,
unaware these times are not infinite.

Praise our crazy fallen world.
It is all we have, and we have to live.
Praise all the wonderful memories
we cherish today.

*****

This is written for Sumana's prompt at What's Going On? ---Memory/Remembering.

And wishing anyone in the United States a "Happy Thanksgiving."

I Love

I Love

I love singing in a car,
listening to guitar,
the patter of rain, champagne.

I love the chime of a bell,
a graceful gazelle,
eagle soaring overhead, red.

And I love you too.

I love the sky just after dawn,
deer scampering on the lawn,
the dance of falling leaves, cheese.

I love the gentle waterfall,
a stroll through the mall,
a pleasant dream, ice cream.

And I love you too.

I love hikes through the park,
candles in the dark,
wooly warm clothes, a rose.

I love a puppy's soft fur,
a kitten's gentle purr,
Rainbow in the sky, and pie.

And I love you too

I love friends who make me laugh,
counting spots on a giraffe,
Books of poetry, a tree.

I love a festive family meal,
a conversation that feels real,
pizza served hot, an instant pot.

And I love you too.

Written for my prompt at What's Going On? --- I Love.

Autumn Day in Grant Park

 Autumn Day in Grant Park

One last time we walk the tree-lined path
in Grant Park on the shores of Lake Michigan
where many are already bare, but some are still
robed in brilliant colors of yellow and orange.

How many days before the stragglers fall?
How many days before winter,
before all are shades of brown and gray?
How many years before I die?

Along the path someone always writes
a Bible passage in blue chalk making
sure to note that it comes from the KJV.
I suppose everyone needs their  mission.

I remember our summer visits to Grant Park,
warm-day picnics overlooking the lake.
Two months ago all was green and warm,
each season has its beauty when we look.

Every path leads somewhere,
the squirrels scamper in every season,
as do we, every path leads somewhere.
We just have to find out where.

One squirrel scampers on an electric wire
from one side of the road to another
I marvel at its fearless balance and ingenuity
as it traverses such a danger-fraught route.

One last time we walk the tree-lined path
in Grant Park on the shores of Lake Michigan.
Every path leads somewhere, and like the squirrel
we somehow manage to find our way.

This was written for Sherry's prompt at What's Going On? --- "Walking in Earth Shoes."

Moving Day

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Moving Day

Moving house and home is nice if it is a choice, but not
for those who escape with only what they can carry
after their homes are destroyed by fire or war or because
the enemy is nearing the doorstep, and they have to flee with
only the clothes on their backs, or their country or state has

become unsafe  because they are the "wrong" color, religion,
are LBGTQ+, or.......  Then moving is not "nice" but a burden,
a necessity, the only way they can hope to survive.  But where
will THEY go when their enemies surround? I wonder where
I will go when MY enemies surround. Where? WHERE?

This was written for Susan's  Prompt 'Moving House and Home' at What's Going On?

Just An Ordinary Day

 

Source

Just an Ordinary Day

In the morning I pretend this is just an ordinary day,
children all over the world head to school,
no one has to flee, no homes are bombed,

no one shelters fearfully in subway stations,
no one says good-bye to family as they cross
the border, not knowing if they will meet again,

no children's hospitals, museums, libraries,
homes, businesses, monuments destroyed,
no soldiers invade with trucks, tanks, missiles,

no one is leaving everything behind,
no separations, no injuries, no deaths, not one.
in the morning I pretend this is just an ordinary day.

For Sumana's prompt "Ode to the Mundane" at What's Going On?

Thinking of Leonard Cohen

 

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Thinking of Leonard Cohen

I listen to Leonard Cohen and I am
thirty-five years younger
lying in front of my record player
records spread out across the floor
music playing loudly, unaware
of the passage of time, caught in
feelings of loneliness, love found,
love lost, hotel rooms in big cities,
dreams, yearnings, places and people,
years lived and years passing by.

I think about my life and wonder what
my future will be and about the past
and how it is Leonard Cohen with his voice
of gravel can still capture so much with his
words and his music to transport me
thirty-five years later as I listen
to the same music on my air-pods to that
place deep within my mind where
music still has the ability to transform
inspire poetry and give birth to dreams.

I listen to Leonard Cohen and I am
with him in that Chelsea Hotel, Room 224,
and he is singing to me alone, with
gravely voice and Spanish Conde guitar.
I am young, short-haired, in bell bottom jeans,

awe-struck and in love with life,

with the many possibilities ahead,
caught in a fantasy that seems so real
which still is alive in me today when
I allow myself to dream.

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

In Case I Forget to Say it Enough

 

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In Case I Forget To Say it Enough

Thank you for this autumn day, despite the cloud cover and wind and thunderstorms on the horizon.  Thank you for the gifts of green grass, red and orange leafed trees, and flowers that still bloom,  just the fact that I exist in this hour of this day.  So many blessings.  So much to be grateful for in this big and wonderful world.  

Thank you for early morning tea which warms me, walks that invigorate me, books that enlighten.  Thank you for the spring in my step, the rejuvenation of spirit, healthy food, new life, the ability to feel even when feelings are uncomfortable.  So many blessings. So much to be grateful for in this big and wonderful world.

Thank you for journeys made, conversations enjoyed, possibilities, doors open, oceans to dip one's toes into.  Thank you for good dreams as they happen, sleep as a refreshment and an escape, people who listen and care, freshly baked bread.  So many blessings. So much to be grateful for in this big and wonderful world.

Thank you for scientists and poets, visionaries and optimists, doctors who heal, and people who speak and work on behalf of the oppressed and persecuted.  Thank you for truth tellers, freedom fighters, climate warriors, all those who work for a better world.  So much to be grateful for in this big and wonderful world.

This was written for Sherry's prompt "Gratitude" for Wednesday,  October 11, at What's Going On.

I Hope When It Happens

 

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I Hope When It Happens

I hope when it happens I have time to say
oh this is how it is happening.

I am not sure that I will though, as it
may happen at an unexpected time.

I hope when it happens I have time
to say I love you just once more.

I am not sure that I will though, as I
don't know if there will be time.

I hope when it happens I will think I
made something pretty with my life.

I am not sure that I have, but there is
nothing wrong with hoping even that.

I hope when it happens I will still hope
that there will soon be a beautiful more.

This poem was written for Susan's prompt "Hill of Hope" at Hill of Hope - What's Going On

A Little Girl is Singing

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A Little Girl is Singing

A little girl is singing somewhere, happy and naive.
She holds her mother's hand as they sing together.
The mother knows what the world is like now.
The mother has her fears, but still they sing.

The little girl thinks only of this moment of joy,
holds her mother's hand, swings it as they sing
together as they walk down the path of life.
They each have their dreams. And each other.

The girl is a teenager now, still sings but holds
her mother's hand no more.  She dreams her
own dreams -- leaving home, her own place
in the world, a world she imagines.

The mother too goes on with her life, still sings
the familiar songs, walks her familiar path.
She wants to walk beside her daughter again,
but their paths have split, she feels alone.

There is so much we don't understand about life.
Mothers, daughters, paths, songs, hopes, dreams.
And there are the angels giving them hope as they
go trustingly, along individual paths.  Singing.

This was written for Sumana's prompt "mothers" on the What's Going On? Blog!

Take This Poem

 

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Take This Poem

Take the sunshine of morning,
the dog that wants to walk,
then go then.

Take the salad for lunch,
the text to my grandson,
then phone him.  

Take the warm shower, 
the stillness of the day,
then relax then.

Take pizza or quesadilla,
vegetable korma or red curry,
then savor them.

Take climate change or banning books
taking away women's rights
then fight them.

Take what do you want
combined with what do you do,
then what happens?

Take word play and thoughts,
seriousness and fun,
call it a poem then.

Written for the "Take This Poem" prompt at What's Going On? Blog.

Make Your Own Weather

Photo by Craig Whitehead 

Make Your Own Weather

Make your own weather,
start with distress and flow with it.

For whatever reason that is what you feel.
Everything is annoying, no one understands

it is about you, and you feel as you feel,
and no one can tell you how to perceive.

There is the end of summer feeling
that not everyone can understand,

the sadness of not knowing if you will see
summer again next year or what the politics

will be, so this makes you depressed
as you feel you must take care of it all, 

while you bear the weight of the world
going mad and more hateful by the day.

So you try to make your own weather,
do what you can to save your sanity

from the storms that weigh you down,
from tornadoes that threaten your brain.

For Sherry's prompt "How's the Weather" at What's Going On? blog

What's Going On?

Hi Everyone,  So glad to be writing with you again.  This is my response to our FIRST prompt in our new blog - "What's Going On?"  Just so you know, our prompts will always go up on Wednesday at 11:00 a.m. Eastern Time & close the following Sunday at 8 p.m. Our initial prompt is an exception!  I have shared another version of our theme song below as well.  Enjoy!

Lady Gaga - "What's Up" 4 Non Blondes Live Cover at #artRaveVienna

What's Going On?

What's going on I sometimes wonder
This is not the country that I knew
So many things have worsened now
I sometimes wonder where I am

What's going on I sometimes wonder
I am not as young as I feel
Sometimes I don't realize that
until another birthday rolls around.

What's going on I sometimes wonder
my grandchildren are so grown up
I remember when they were babies
now each is taller than me.

What's going on I sometimes wonder
I am back prompting poetry once again
I've reopened up my old familiar blog 
to again share poetry with my friends.

Written for What's Going On?

The Blank Page

The Blank Page

Sometimes it's not easy to face the blank page,
whether it is a blank piece of paper or the
beginning of a new year.  A blank page is so
stark, so prohibitive.  It is so hard to put a
mark on it for the first time.  There is fear
of the first word, fear of the first move.

Tomorrow there is a new page, a new year.
I have a feeling of relief that the book
that was 2020 will be slammed shut forever.
It was the worst year ever, filled with
so many deaths, so many nightmares.
This book will be hidden out of sight.

Tomorrow I begin a new page in a new
book.  There is a small feeling of hope.
Hope's flame has not been extinguished.
Tomorrow I will write HOPE.  I will write
HOPE on the page one hundred times.
I will fill the page with so much hope.

I will face the new year with stubborn
resolve to survive, at LEAST survive,
and hopefully thrive.  I will hope to
regain my faith again, find that we
are on the right track, heading along
a less anxiety-producing positive track.

Sometimes it is not easy to face the blank page
but as 2021 begins I will begin the new year,
the first page of the new book with hope.
Hope.  Hope.  This is my resolve right now.
May it be so.  I pray it will be so.

 Inspired by "Proxy" by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer

Wishing anyone who discovers this post in my pretty inactive blog a very Happy New Year.  I haven't forgotten poetry.....or you!

Faith in 2020

Faith in 2020

Faith is hard
in the age of Covid
where is god?

Faith is hard
in the age of Trump
where is humanity?

In 2020
faith is just hard!

Written for the writing group

Three Short Poems

Blue 

Blue is the color of my jeans
my sweater, my sweatshirt.
I have blue sneakers too.

Blue is the color of the sky on a sunny day
Blue are the ocean waves that dance
Blue is the sadness of a heart.

Inspired by Robert Brewer's prompt for November 11 - Write a color poem

68 Days

68 days until inauguration 
each day a new kind of hell
each day more purges
each day more horrific judges
each day more insane tweets
each day more fake news
each day more corona virus cases
each day more corona virus deaths
each day the republicans are silent
each day more division
when will the terror end
each day a new kind of hell
68 days until inauguration.

Inspired by Robert Brewer's prompt for November 12 - Write a poem with a number in the title.

Luck

I am waiting for him to run out of luck
to be removed from the white house physically
as I fear will be the case.

I am waiting for a new beginning
for a new team to be in charge
to be able to have a future again.

I am waiting for him to run out of luck
for the followers to finally see the light
I impatiently wait for a new day.

Inspired by Robert Brewer's prompt for November 13 - Write a poem about luck.

Easy or Hard

Easy or Hard

I thought loving this country was easy

did not know that discerning truth could be so hard.

I thought it easy to believe tomorrow would bring good

but now it is hard to watch what happens each day.

I thought it was easy to find the good in most people

now there is half the population for which it is hard.

I am not pleased with myself for thinking this way

but it is really hard not to.

Why is writing uplifting poetry so hard?

Written for Robert Brewer's November 10 prompt - "Write an Easy or Difficult Poem."

Our Days

Our Days

Our days are all the same
I talked on the phone this morning
with an insurance representative
and she asked me if I had a good weekend
and I said no I did not

with Covid numbers rising
an election mess dragging on
I did not have a good weekend
every day has the same routine
and not much relief in sight

Our days are all the same.

Written for Robert Brewer's prompt for November 9 - "Our....."

I Am

I Am

I am an evangelical
pretending to be christian
i will support trump
and encourage civil war
I will fight for fascism
in the name of god
my god is power
my god is hate
my god is trump.

This is written for Robert Brewer's Poetry challenge for November 8 - a Persona Poem.

This Time

This Time

This time we can be joyful
we have reason to sing and dance
we have turned in the right direction
may democracy again advance.

The dictator has been dethroned
many people finally saw who he is
Biden and Harris are such inspiration
no more rule by one with psychosis.

 This is written for Robert Brewer's November 7 poetry prompt - This Time

It Was Time

It Was Time

She packed her bags as it was time
she had stood by him  crime after crime
then left the house and did not look back
with money and jewels in Gucchi sack
I guess we could say it was a marital coup
but really I don't care, do you?

 Inspired by Robert Lee Brewer's poem for November 6 - an In Media Res poem

In Ruin

In Ruin

It is sad to think of an entire year in ruin
the pandemic began in March here and it will be
well into March of 2021 before there is hope
and even then it will be scant hope unless
people social distance, don't gather, do mask.

It is sadder still that four years were ruined
our country lost its reputation in the world
the president an object of ridicule and shame
the rights of people have been chipped away
fake news and fake science rule the day.

It is sad to think about the ruin.

 Inspired by Robert Lee Brewer's prompt for November 5 - Ruin

Focusing Myself

 Focusing Myself

It is hard to focus these days
eyes glued to the television
and twitter following the news
afraid to watch and afraid not to
tension rising nerves on edge
watching won't make a difference
I ahould go on with everyday life
not wasting precious moments
but it is hard to focus these days.

In Response to Robert Brewer's Prompt for November 4 - Myself

Nightmare

Nightmare

I have lived  a nightmare for four years
I pray that it will be over soon
I don't know that praying will do any good
but if it doesn't what else can I do?
I can't see continuing to live like this
in this horrible trumpian world.
At some point I will want to sleep
but I fear what I will wake up to
I pray something will turn out good.

In Response to Robert Lee Brewer's Prompt for November 3 - Dream or Nightmare

Unexpected

 Unexpected

So many unexpected things have happened
that the unexpected is now the expected
and nothing is predictable any more
we don't know what we will wake up to
or what each new day will bring.

I never expected to live in fear like this
continuously freaked out by the unexpected
afraid that evil lurks on every horizon
I never dreamed life would come to this
that there would be so many unexpected things.

Inspired by Robert Lee Brewer's prompt for November 2 - Unexpected

Enter

 Enter

I enter a new month 
my stomach churns with fear
I try to find ways to
calm my shaken nerves.

I have food stored up
in case of rioting and unrest
I don't see a peaceful end
to this  election day.

I enter a new month
my stomach churns with fear
our Covid numbers keep rising
and still people party on.

More Covid cases than April
hospitalizations and deaths rise
the Republicans continue to fight
for unmasked freedom to kill.

I enter a new month
my stomach churns with fear
as I begin to wonder
how many dead by next year.

As I pray for a peaceful election
and triumph of the good man
that the trumpian presence will be removed
and democracy will be restored again.

Inspired by Robert Lee Brewer's prompt for November 1 - Enter

Time

Time

Time flows as it does in waves
one day at a time but somehow
all days flow together as it
is hard to find a separation

when every day is much the same
as the one that came before
and is much the same as
the one that comes after

and the days pass into weeks
into months as spring
becomes summer then fall
and soon will be winter

as we watch the Covid numbers
rise with each passing day
as our world becomes ever smaller
and home becomes a fortress

and I wonder if days will ever be
distinguishable from one another again
and when this hell will be over
and when will this nightmare end.

Three Twelve-Line Poems

I remember trick-or-treat
didn't want to pretend to be
someone that I wasn't
hated masks and costumes
don't really know why
so mostly I went as myself
or dressed as a hippy
or put on a cowboy hat
but never wanted a mask
perhaps that explains why
I never liked make-up
I am who I am that's all
but the candy was fun!

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Last April I had no idea
that in October we would
still be sheltering in place
I wonder if I had known then
if I could have stood it
I wonder sometime
How I can stand it now
that it looks like it will be
a long winter and I am
prepared to be depressed
through much of it
though I will survive.

-----------------------

I pretended it was over
that all was back to normal
that I could sleep easily
knowing that all was well
and not fear  the crazy man
would do something else
which would throw me
into anxiety and fear
I pretended it was over
that all was back to normal
that conflict was resolved
in reality --I pray.