A Dwelling by The Sea
POETRY AND STORIES by Kathy Reed, writer of 'Down the Eyrie Road' blog.
Monday, April 6, 2020
Long ago
Long ago
We played in the sun
when dreams once danced in my chest,
a long time ago.
The calm sea listened
when my salty tears first fell
in cruel undertows.
I pleaded for help
as I turned to storm watching,
changing horizons.
Waves voices told me,
“The stranger who was your self,
you will love again.”
Enchanted April
April’s enchantment
brings soothing warm rains...
courageous blades of grass
reach for sun stolen.
Long roots explore rhythms
of gullies and hills
Garden scents breeze through
swaying willow chains.
Kaleidoscopic raindrops
reflect colors broken,
hammering rains break
for distant whipper-wills
Time dissolves in watery
windowpanes...
grief and joy are balanced,
delicately woven.
Turbulent streams flowing
through me distill.
reflect colors broken,
hammering rains break
for distant whipper-wills
Time dissolves in watery
windowpanes...
grief and joy are balanced,
delicately woven.
Turbulent streams flowing
through me distill.
Seasonal mist heals over...
Earth’s damaged veins.
In adoring champagne light,
flowers open.
Spring quivers in it’s desire
to right human ills.
Hearts together break free...
from shackles that remain,
lazy woodlands dress in
words unspoken.
Finally, I find my wayward
windmills.
Tuesday, June 18, 2019
The Abundance of June
Art by Jaqueline Hurlbert
Summer is emerging,
June is abundant in all possibilities
for global peace and caring.
It’s the best time to dream
in colors of Tuscany,
throw away any neuroses.
become all we can be.
June brings warmer rain,
for running barefoot again.
Flowers exploding in full bloom.
Believe in Unicorns and rainbows.
Hearts not broken croon,
yellow monarchs swoon.
Say only what you mean to say,
Express yourself in every way.
The sun will block out all neuroses.
Be a little bit crazy,
give a name to the moon.
Unchain your melody
Ride a bike smiling,
discover your Huckleberry Finn.
Love being all you can be,
live audaciously.
Find your bliss,
live life more fully,
climb the Mountain again.
Monday, April 29, 2019
Haibun Monday - That Picnic
dversepoets
As clear as can be
is the memory -
the scenic setting of our summer mountain picnics.
Rows of small white clouds fended off the heat. We followed a dirt path to the sky blue lake's edge where Indians often caught and smoked their fish.
Picking and eating berries,
it was not unheard of to spot a bear and her cubs nearby.
Huckleberry pie
scoop of vanilla ice cream,
calling geese fly by.
scoop of vanilla ice cream,
calling geese fly by.
Saturday, April 13, 2019
I wrote this a couple of years ago but I never showed it to anyone but a small handful of friends. It speaks for itself...a familiar sight to those who live in the White Salmon, Trout Lake area near Mt. Adams in Washington State. Now I am ready to share it here ;-)
Hills of smoldering spruce form her breasts,
Indian legend says she died of an aching heart
The story tells how the volcanoes rumbled,
Autumn turns her garb to silky rusts and golds,
In winter she imparts warmth to those who eye her
Springtime birds fly gladly all around
The sun and stars take turns
Veils of mist breathe a faint sound
We
by klr Klickitat County WA
Her reclining silhouette looks up to heaven
draped in a gown of multi-hued greens,
she sleeps eternally above the golden valley
Hills of smoldering spruce form her breasts,
new growth where her flowing lava hair
once was quarried.
Indian legend says she died of an aching heart
Gods fought for her pure love
yet she lived for no other than her young brave
The story tells how the volcanoes rumbled,
echoes of Romeo and Juliette,
immortal mountains make a true love's grave
Autumn turns her garb to silky rusts and golds,
while hints of lime and magenta foliage
grow next to ebony bones
In winter she imparts warmth to those who eye her
A snowy princess in sweet repose
shy clouds cling to her feet
Springtime birds fly gladly all around
finding shelter in her terrain,
Rainbows often circle her throat
The sun and stars take turns
shining down upon her,
Her majesty can be seen for miles
Veils of mist breathe a faint sound
One senses a slight stirring motion
as she slumbers and smiles
Friday, February 1, 2019
Dancing with the Stars
This photo was taken the other night by a local photographer. Many captured similar results of the sunset all around the Puget Sound area. It fits nicely the rubiat form of poetry we were prompted to write today at dversepoets.com
Dancing with the Stars
You came to me in a dream indigo,
a timeless honor from long, long ago.
I, wearing a primrose evening gown,
you, your magenta and sapphire trousseau.
Through furrows of aquamarine and bordeaux,
we waltzed to the outer archipelago,
skipping the teal streets of tinseltown
to crimson tunes in stereo calypso.
We royally stole the starlight's show,
painted the skies like Michelangelo.
Before early black, we boogied til sundown,
when we reveried in the cobalt-violet afterglow.
Wednesday, January 30, 2019
Harbingers of Spring
Harbingers of Spring
dversepoets
Emerging harbingers of spring
have begun -
returning birdsong,
the stretching of days,
slow smile of the sun.
Racing thoughts scatter
to the scent of a China moon.
Rain abides for fools...
the glance of
a dream lover -
Narcissus croon.
Born of the side of a stem,
buds of silky fur pussy willow,
the bleating of
prancing new lambs
in green pillowed meadows,
and me -
in green pillowed meadows,
and me -
stepping lightly.
Saturday, January 26, 2019
Au Revoir
This month at dversepoets Bjorn has offered us a Sonnet challenge. Many poets struggle with writing Sonnet form, myself included. Part of the difficulty comes in working with the meter and rhyme scheme. I chose the Petrarchan Sonnet form...abab abab cde cde..with a pretext statement or problem and the resulting change or solution.
Au Revoir
Hopeful hearts rise and fall, undulate, sway,
revolving doors of full blown joy and pain.
Tangled in life's elegant human chain,
bloodied, tested by snags along the way.
Harder lessons living with shame and blame,
heady dreams impossible to sustain.
On bitter wings we lift to fly away,need for healing by soft, delicate rain.
Lost in the amethyst eye of the storm,
archangels wrap their wings around our fears,
we follow our one reappearing star.
Finding repose amidst our Milky Way home,
the love inside through billions of light years,
we take with us in sweetest au revoir.
Tuesday, January 8, 2019
Art on My Wall
What is on your wall?
https://dversepoets.com
Wall Hanging
This basket creation recalls a primitive time,
embedded in my heart of hearts,
It signifies a previous era,
and even though I was not there,
only a twinkle in my parents' eyes,
it yet imparts
I exist in a future sense.
Another tense,
a timelessness.
Why does it impress me so,
when in time, I too,
will be long gone?
Perhaps, to know that I am,
is all, and there is evidence
from whence I came
which is strong,
I am immortalized.
A Patch of Blue
It is Haibun Monday and "January" is the prompt.
https://dversepoets.com
A Patch of Blue
Gulls still nest in the thicket on the lane by the old beach house, the walls wherein I spent my childhood days. The cherry orchard muffles the sound of waves. Each year I return to the small beach town and revisit the past and restore my soul. On this particular day, morning fog parts to a patch of blue. I am exhilarated as I walk the four blocks to buy coffee.
It rarely snows at the ocean, but in January the ubiquitous wetness and cold combine with gale winds to create a blistering sleet. Most days are marked by dark clouds meeting the horizon, the sea and sky and pavement, all darker shades of cheerless grey. Of all the hours in a day, only a few are actual daylight, so it might as well be night.
Sitting by a fire ablaze, open book on my lap, I see the hallway where we used to slide across the floor in stocking feet, the bench seat in which we used to hide. I see loved ones rapping on the door, arriving to welcoming arms. My senses are aroused by familiar, easy surroundings, the fresh smell of linens on the beds, the reckless feel of gritty sand on the floor, and the sound of hungry birds calling overhead. Over time, one becomes set in his ways. January is full of the past, much in the present, and offers hints of the future.
All I've ever been,
The sea's where I want to be.
All I am is here
Tuesday, December 25, 2018
Unshiver This Night
Unshiver This Night
Long winter shadows
slow dance in the candlelight.
Reverie is much sweeter
when whispered assurances unshiver the night,
“it will be alright”.
Fire kindled by innocent timber many years ago,
honed within heart’s chamber,
nurtured to grow,
lingers still in its glowing embers.
Love, worn and tested over time,
becomes its own reward.
From nothing’s morn
to this Christmas Day,
fears, like icicles melt;
all possibilities and hope reborn.
Monday, December 3, 2018
November Moon
November Moon
I watch the ins and outs of sandy bays
and rock coves,
wade the shallow water of the Salish Sea,
Illuminated by the November moon.
Every breath I take, step I take,
prepares me for life without sun and water
untiI finally, I can let it be.
The Earth is the apple of our eye,
deserves so much more than we
seem able to give.
I wish my pet flavors, colors,
favorites of everything
the will to survive, to live.
This isn’t how it was meant to be,
the pulsing globe is a mortal being.
In the garden of my all days,
bees never sting,
Every breath I take, step I take,
prepares me for life without sun and water
untiI finally, I can let it be.
The Earth is the apple of our eye,
deserves so much more than we
seem able to give.
I wish my pet flavors, colors,
favorites of everything
the will to survive, to live.
This isn’t how it was meant to be,
the pulsing globe is a mortal being.
In the garden of my all days,
bees never sting,
The sound of surf, the eagle’s wings,
the changing driftwood winds,
the November moon, all
take the pain from my swollen heart,
tend to the swelling
in my feet.
tend to the swelling
in my feet.
As I re-read letters he wrote from the war
I wish I were a doctor of pure magic.
I'd string a necklace of sweet words
and tiny seashells,
scented with Plumeria.
scented with Plumeria.
to place around his neck,
as a blessing,
for all I learned from him.
We would ride Pegasus on
Intergalactic winds
Thursday, October 18, 2018
Not an Ugly Face
Open Link Night at the poets' bar @ dversepoets
Not an Ugly Face
She welcomes the shadowing rain,
a wide brimmed hat, no less
the sun on her face to remain.
Since birth it's been her bane,
causing undue duress.
Though harmless and causing no pain,
it laughs unhappiness.
For his facial port wine stain,
Gorbachev drew no disdain,
nor lack of confidence.
Were it a beauty mark of fame,
or the color of cafe au lait,
she would not be so plainly vain,
uncomfortably undressed.
inclined to hide her face.
Saturday, October 13, 2018
Sonnet for Midterm Elections
dversepoets Iambic Pentameter
Sonnet for Midterm Elections
How I would like to see a normal face
instead of this political Frankenstein.
A false patriot disseminating hate,
he's loyal to only himself, his goldmine.
His conduct not based on love of country,
he mocks allies, castigates dissidents,
disturbs the peace unnecessarily.
Patriotism is oft misunderstood,
exploited to suspend people's happiness.
His charges of fake news beg for real truth.
So while he is basking in his power,
we are waiting for his ship to come in.
We will rescue ourselves come November,
and he'll slip into darkness in the end.
Thursday, October 11, 2018
What's in a name?
The Poetics prompt at dversepoets this week is to write about our name. From the Greek "Aikaterinë", to the French "Catherine", to the Gaelic "Caitlin", one can see how it was Anglicized again to Kathleen by the IrishEngish. Yeats penned a legend - a young Countess Cathleen offered her soul during a famine, in exchange for food for the starving, proving her courage.
KATHLEEN
Borne of the Middle Ages -
Kathleen is an Irish lass,
idealistic, intuitive,
unpretentious,
and a bit feisty,
stubborn, alas,
quick-tempered...
Melancholy brown hair
bears tints of auburn
in the sun..
...common freckles sprout
within fair rosey cheeks
where tears frequently run.
Sometimes clairvoyant,
she converses with
leprechauns.
Her name translates to
unsullied purity and
innocence...and yet,
she can be pushed only so far.
She walks stone paths -
across green hills and valleys
by day...
through soft rainbows and
disappearing pots of gold
She waits for arms to hold her
by the fire at night.
Her world is an Irish stew -
complicated...for
she can be happy...
and sad at the same time...if
only she could recognize
... either she is successful
or, quite miserable.
A pioneer of sorts, she
learned early a smooth sea
never makes a skillful sailer...
Her heart is as slippery
as a bar of soap,
her armour made of
sacrificial linen and lace.
With an inner desire to inspire
others in a higher cause,
she likes to share views on
spiritual matters.
Opera music
is carried out her frosted,
snowflaked window...and
from her garden magic light
from daffodils shines
back onto her welcoming
hearth...where she dreams of
white cliffs and castles
by the sea.
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