A collage of New Year's Eve nostalgia...

...sharing some of my collection of favorite New Year pictures - mostly

 vintage postcards, which I love;  also you will see what else comes to mind for many usually on this Eve...

or what is memorable or special about the this time of the season.  Maybe you will find one

 photo that particular rings a bell for you or strikes a chord ;)

Happy New Year to all blog visitors this night...

BTW, my newest search found a scarce greeting card by John P. Squire meet packer

 company, possible sent to only store owners, not the public.  It shows a mother pig with the 

old date on her back and the piglets with the new year on their
backs, 1912...can be seen on eBay..

.

Clickety click of change..

Over at   Dversepoets.com lovely Claudia suggests we write about change, turnings taking place...she gave us a wide latitude, with the New Year on the way, for all types of change...

Once, 
she worked 9 to 5
in the secretarial pool..first ladies of the
pantsuit desk set... buttoned down
blue collar blouse....
..shorthand tablet
at the ready
Brassy,
clickety click 
of typewriters
halted abruptly..
whingg!
A long whistle sounded,
emptying rows of desks
Prattling, they punched cards.. 
Down,
crowding into an
elevator..
wrought iron
40's type..
10 floors to the 
main lobby of the department store..out 
the glass swiveling doors.. onto the neon lit puddled sidewalk
Night..
found them at the darkly Rose Cafe..a joint that played the blues, served stiff Martinis...for a time, a speak easy, of an era when art nouveau  flourished..with olives, she preferred two.  Blythe spirits jitterbugging..dancing the flat foot floozy...
Noises echo now....in my minds eye I see them...or is it a movie screen?

Changes, 
 ...the world would soon be at 
war, second one..
Facing the abyss,  ladies united,
worked two jobs - as riveters,  making
parachutes, packing ammunition
The tenderer sex had to
ration, sacrifice...
a patriotism few questioned
Clickety clack,
machines drown out
gay voices and song... 

70 years go by..
new doors open, new paths to travel 
We fly around the world in no time..
Ladies today can be anything..an executrix,
win congressional seats..
Well...
then there are micro chips...
Generations make rapid strides..
for all we know Hillary will be President
one day, and Bill
will be the first First Gentleman
Change..
I have a feeling it's always going to be 
something BIG.. in store for you and me
.
Clickety click...
a toast, so "let's have another cup of coffee,
another piece of pie!"

                                                                      
                 
   

...pondering footprints and moon shadows...

With a few small changes on the face of my blog I am joining in over at  dversepoets.com today for Open Mike link which is each Tuesday.  Besides taking a break, if it had not been for some lengthy configurations issues with my email servers I would have returned sooner to blogging.  With remote tech support, alas it is all taken care of and a relief to be connected again and catching up on reading some poetry.  I hope you all are still enjoying the holiday mood and cheer or even just getting through the times in hopes of new beginnings and of not falling off any 'cliffs' ;-)...slighty ill today, however.

by klr

....before a glint in father's eye

somewhere safe from darkened sky

among ordinary angels ....

my soul floated between levels

...not knowing what the future held

yet dancing to a distant beat,

my sustenance was of
another world;

intravenously given by
divine caregivers.....possibly
guardians who's business was
inventories and assignments..
...or altruistic endeavors..

who can say?

From what vestige point did I emerge,

as in who decided how to be me?

Who knows the girl in the painting, 

The Museum Watcher, and what
lusts lead her in this life 

or the next?

...a glint in another man or

woman's eye?

...eternally not to rest, to

 fill a dream, live a lie?

I'd like to know that place where I 

will reside, or did,  and
how do  I spend so many good
days...most of the ions of time....
What peace truly comes when we
lay down our swords...and walk
this way no more?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
For MBK's  Form for All Dec. 20 - Kyrielle

An Octave of Common measure
by klr

Sunlight bent low in clear crisp air

Noon time light moved the trees

Felled shadows touched down frozen ground
  In stole Solstice with ease

Gold glitter shines in half moon light

Footprints tell of presence

Underneath thin layer of cold

   Icy warm coverlets

                                                ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Be still...

Over at  dversepoets.com  we are writing quaterns today; fun to do, but I plan to take a little time away from writing, a week or so, give my muse a rest and hopefully build up a reserve of work while working on another project or two around the house.  Thanks in advance for all who visit here;  I am learning so much from reading your poetry and look forward to many more meetings at d'Pub.

Distill yourself and be aware

Sense all around you as if blind
 Hear the sounds of your dreams, I dare

wake up to know deafness in kind

Silver linings everywhere
Distill yourself and be aware
Run hard from letdowns in this life
free yourself from such needless strife

Long shadows on the crusty snow
but purplish shade of your chateau
Distill yourself and be aware
the glint of sunlight need not glare

Yes, our minds want so much to know

What cherubs whisper in the air
Abide the mysteries, let go
Distill yourself and be aware

by klr

What I miss...

Already -

I go barefoot in a downpour 
      so don't miss that -
Once I knew how to catch a wave - 
ride it in 
and how I'd like to dive into a warm pile of
cotton sheets again, softened by 100 years 
of washing -
 dried in bright sunshine

I miss playing baseball -  in an empty field, 
with boys
ringing doorbells on May Day with 
my friend, Laura -
I used to love to skip
in a meadow green - picking it's daisies, 
play make believe,
and, without caution, 
leap on my horse - and ride away 


I miss the tickle  of  
my Grandpa's whiskers,
Mom's cool hands on my forehead,
    feeling for a temp
I miss being gloriously serenaded 
by my two vying male 
yellow canaries - Carlos,  Ricky, 
changing diapers, babies laughing

I miss falling in love,
wearing a dusty pink lace veil
with satin trim o'er my brow -
Perhaps someday I will again,
with someone I've yet 
to meet - 
someone who will dance me 'round the
dance floor all night long,
strong arm guiding\my lower back -
     I miss my youth..
             ..I would say

Yet another 25 years is a whole lifetime, isn't it?  We are writing about "missing something" today at dversepoets.com hard for me to decide on just one thing..nothing 'profound' here ;)

Photo art.....a glance back..

This is the last Photo Art Friday of the year and Bonnie has asked us to post our favorite or best digital art project this year.  Having concentrated more on writing this second half of the year, it is not hard for me to find the one I like best of the several I did.  It's such a fun process and I want to do more.  I am taking the liberty of posting earlier favorite photo makeovers for those who are newer followers and may not have seen them.. only one, however is seen on Bonnie's web-site, Pixel Dust Photo Art    which is so full of creative images for you to peruse now..  

                                                                              The top photo received the most views since I began the blog, therefore is the most favored..













                                                   


My take on a movie title  - The Pelican Brief -  is one of my favorites...

















This is the most bizarre as it formed a giant clam shell when I
played with the
scene of friends on a beach...


...three other favorites I did are the following:

Lastly I did these two with Bonnie's texture of last week..I used it on many pics and it is very versatile!  Alas I was late in finishing..

Raymond Carver - Erasured

I had not heard of Erasure poetry but that's what we at dversepoets.com are doing this week: erasing some of a well-known poem or other work by said will known author and creating yet another version of it which can set a different tone.  It almost feels like paraphrasing or stealing to me,  but I learned something about my own writing by doing this exercise.  Raymond Carver (1938 - 1988) was a local Pacific Northwest  writer, a favorite of mine.  Another short poem of his is "Your Dog Dies" if you are curious about him.  He is best known for his Collection of Short Stories and poems in "From Where I'm Calling From" and other books. 

Last Night with Fog and Horses   (my version)

In the living room saying their goodbyes, they put their arms around 

each other.  Full of passion and memory, each recalled each other's youth. 

They had been through a lot together, but could not take another step.

Someone else for him; tears falling.  A red emergency light flashed out 

of the fog, voices carried...at the end of that long night, the horses had 

cropped the grass.  A horse stepped out of the fog..and another..

she went outside and moved among them weeping, touching their flanks.  

They began to graze when he made two calls: one to the sheriff, 

"..the horses are out" and that other call, too. He joined his wife in the 

yard and they murmured to the horses together. (Was this really happening?) 

Something ended, something else rushing in.  "Goodbye, " she 

said, pulling away... loss ringing in their ears. Later, he remembered the 

disastrous phone call that hung on and on..and for the rest of his life,

it boiled down to one thing, a Malediction.

Late Night with Fog and Horses by Raymond Carver

They were in the living room. Saying their
goodbyes. Loss ringing in their ears.
They'd been through a lot together, but now
they couldn't go another step. Besides, for him
there was someone else. Tears were falling
when a horse stepped out of the fog
into the front yard. Then another, and
another. She went outside and said,
"Where did you come from, you sweet horses?"
and moved in amongst them, weeping,
touching their flanks. The horses began
to graze in the front yard.
He made two calls: one call went straight
to the sheriff - "someone's horses are out."
But there was that other call, too.
Then he joined his wife in the front
yard, where they talked and murmured
to the horses together. (Whatever was
happening now was happening in another time.)
Horses cropped the grass in the yard
that night. A red emergency light
flashed as a sedan crept in out of fog.
Voices carried out of the fog.
At the end of that long night,
when they finally put their arms around
each other, their embrace was full of
passion and memory. Each recalled
the other's youth. Now something had ended,
something else rushing in to take its place.
Came the moment of leave-taking itself.
"Goodbye, go on," she said.
And then pulling away.
Much later,
he remembered making a disastrous phone call.
One that had hung on and hung on,
a malediction. It's boiled down
to that. The rest of his life.
Malediction.

Limericks...

For fun I wrote these in response to  Madeleine Begun Kane's  blog suggestion...

by klr                                                                                



A donkey that wasn't too bright
gave a ride to a cockatoo white
They conversed in Espanol
Sang in tenor and alto
and fell in love by evening candlelight

A woman who wasn't too bright
loved a man who could not requite
He still had oats to sow
But what he did not know
Was that she was a perfect delight

A man who wasn't too bright
married Ms. Taylor only to fight
He bought her a diamond
where iguanas run
and left in the middle of the night

A woman who wasn't too bright
stood in the garden moonlight
In shadows a man in a hood
up to absolutely no good
'til her face made his heart take flight

Old Ladder...digital photo art..

This was supposed to be for last week's Photo Art Friday, however I was out of town

 and unable too use Wi-Fi  and my laptop from our location.  Simply a ladder in my atrium where bamboo a few tropical ferns grow; it is cold in there now, so it's not a year round greenhouse.  The texture is a fun one from Bonnie at Pixel Photo Art Studio.  It is called Signed and Sealed...next week I hope to be on time with my offering ;-)  

BTW, I am grateful for my friends and family, that you support, visit, and otherwise find this blog still interesting enough to return.  Soon I will be updating/changing  it's design, as I recently changed the furniture in my living room, and still in the mood for re-arranging certain things.  It will be recognizable as there will not be a dramatic alteration. 

 I do hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving...

                                                                                     ...Kathy

One coach's song...or life is a soccer game..

Light rain fell from
a passing cloud
onto the 10 year old fledgling face

the field has straw colored grassy spots,

but mostly good old dirt...
White goal posts glare..
.no bench sitters..all players play..

The coach pats each
boy's head....then he bellows
affectionately..."OK, OK..keep on it...
stay with the ball....push it
forward..
now..don't kick..that's it...
keep it moving...'Oh,  No!!'  (grimace)
...'.he kicked it'...g*#d%!"

Another ball slipped
by the goalie...."Meathead!!
Now...pass it!"...a blur of legs struggle
for the ball, tangled..."Ouch!"..
A snap is heard and silence ensues.."Get him
some help..now!!  I'm going over there...jeez!
Take it to the side."

"Oh boy, one down, you o.k
son?  Doc says you are out of the game.
Take care now, hear?" Clapping, time outs over,
the other half due to start...."Wake up, Andrew..
.enough sleeping out there!
Devin!..throw it in....how about some support...??
Hey...I need you over here, not back there!?"

"Way to go..lead the way....
Now, cross over...
pass it to him...Defense!!..where's the defense!?"
Could be a scene from Les Miserables..
bruised jaws, gangling growing arms and  torn
garments.  Sweat builds up and drips;
somebody steps on wrists...muddy feet..
this scaled down mini
war battlefield..

"Stay with it!  good boot.."
Like fish out of water..
..our future's men..
the clock runs out...
Ok, guys, next time, next time..
By the way, practice is on Tuesday
ya gotta learn to run with it..

Fresh oranges to quench..

"It's OK, they had more back up..
...it's all right, Buddy, next time!
                            - 4:30 sharp!!
Be there -
..great game guys..
way to play!"


by klr

It's Open Link night over at dversepoets.com  where more than one hundred post their poetry...please fell welcome to join in reading other entries this week.  Any subject is a go on Tuesdays.  A soccer game, played last month, could be an analogy for life - with stops and starts and back and forths but I wrote it simply as an observer in the physical  sense ;)

Fernando Pessoa...a literary allusion to...

Over at Meeting the Bar and  dversepoets.com  we are challenged to write in the form of literary allusion, spotlighting or referencing, answering back or emulating a well known poet's work, artist, or other literary work.  I chose Portuguese poet Fernando Pessoa for his existentialist style of writing which I admire.  His prose and poetry tell of his perennial unrest and search for meaning in life.  The top quotes and short poem are my models for the poem below.

1888 - 1935

“My soul is a hidden orchestra; I know not what instruments, what fiddle strings and harps, drums and tamboura I sound and clash inside myself. All I hear is the symphony.” 
― Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet


“Being tired of all illusions and of everything about illusions – the loss of illusions, the uselessness of having them, the prefatigue of having to have them in order to lose them, the sadness of having had them, the intellectual shame of having had them knowing that they would have to end this way.” 
― Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet

"I'm both in the midst of life and observing it from where I stand.  I am like a playing card that belongs to an ancient and unknown suit, the only remnant of a lost pack.  I have become more image than me; I return to my own self taking myself out of existence, using my soul as ink."

_ F. Pessoa

I see boats moving on the sea.

Their sails, like wings of what I see,

Bring me a vague inner desire to be

Who I was without knowing what it was.

So all recalls my home self, and, because

It recalls that, what I am aches in me

                                                 by Fernando Pessoa ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I lay down my compass by the sea
footprints left, those gone before me

Alone is what I am used to, you see 

This night I'll find stars to catch and shine

put them in my pocket for Amaranthine

wishing the Milky Way reach and take me

                                                   by klr

                                                                    

 klr in response to F. P. statements

My thoughts: His words, "I sought life's meaning in all the wrong places,"....strikes a chord with me.  I like this...and certainly, life's meaning is often wrought in strife and constant pain.  Regardless of what story this man told, the trick was to not call anyone's bluff I guess....was he really so sad?  His fear that "he had not accomplished enough" or he "left a mark of nothingness" sounds all too familiar to my ears, and it would be wrong to denounce him for that.  The "too little too late" syndrome works just fine for me, as well; and "if usefulness is measured by one's decline you will get no answers"...is also a self deprecating feeling he adheres to...it is a thread throughout his works...but a moving experience to read him and a pleasure to feel a kinship toward him.

.

Ode to the S. S. Arizona...

by klr

Berthed in deep rolling blue waves
concave wooden throat                                                    
built by men who armored her
over steel petticoat
where shellfish dote
hundreds sleeping in her nave

Telescope facing westward
night turned to mellow
Hawaiian dawn's dew in morn    
newborn sun to follow
dire whistles blow                                                               
evident world wide war spurred

Best Navy in entire world
foiled communique`
scores of lives immortalized
that sky's December day
harbor soiree
thunderous Heavens unfurled

Written for Sunday's mini challenge over at imaginary garden with real 

toads...this form of poetry in stanzas of 6 lines with rhyme; I used the subject 

of war, peace, armistice in accordance with Veterans Day.

20 words or less...

In 20 words, who we  thought would  win the election while we watched,  biting our nails.....

Instructions from .imaginerygardenwithrealtoads  this week ;)

by klr

Like pebbles on the beach that gather hewn

multicolored, ebbing together letting

new waves spread  against  spent undertow....

new horizons.....

Rainbow sherbet..

We were given several digital art photos done by photographer SueAnn.   Choosing one, 

we are to write a poem using it as inspiration.  See them all over at dversepoets.com where 

Brian Miller is hosting...

...her pear shaped gauzy figure exited the single pane door
spiritless 
air escaping
Yesterday had meaning
...a bountiful sunset poured onto her apt. patio only inches
from
free-fall
Invisible guitar strings strum
..fill the air with brooding Garfunkel refrain
Today...
hopelessness overtook her
...urging her to jump from the precipice edge
..her dome light of fragile confidence...
..fading

....when languishing golden strobes of light appear 
blinding 
lemon lime color skips
Peacock flamed silhouettes of her tortured soul 
pattern the building
Stretch...
...amid fuchsia splashes of the rainbow
on the roof
..ultraviolet sticky threads cling to her body
She grasps falling Rapunzel like

aureole hair...
causing her heart to give way 

.....for grateful second thoughts

.....weeping silently
having prevailed...
when fragile moments turned around silently.. 
enveloped by viscous psychedelic arms of faith
It wasn't the first time
..carried back inside to live
..another day to depart

                                                        
                                                 by klr

Top of the world....

"It's only just begun......"




different women, different era
one body image too thin -
one too heavy

"Rolling in the De..e...eep...."

success built on a broken heart...
aglitter Armani gown....baby bump



set a higher bar.....twitter..
this social phenomenon...

death threats to baby.... obscure unknown people..
why the hate?
..must be already hurting, but mustn't judge..
get off her back..no panic..no backlash..

now out and about...proud...gifted.....24 year old Adele...
only brings beauty to others...

same old prejudices
- people need not be ranked, categorized.

i love you Gloria Steinem
 4 U show us the way

some women have 2 jobs and
...still don't have the courage?
...don't know yet that their previous party of self respect
left them first...

equal pay....now enacted!

so fly robin, fly!!  up into the sky!

let seraphic wings carry you
to your truest love...
may you drink of earth's purest springs
 - and sail far above all creation

              ...ever happily

dignified  - on top of the world

singing the most honeyed melodious strain - into the gentle winds
...awing angels

with your newborn baby blue love..grow
life has just begun

....chirp...chirp....chirp..


For  dversepoets.com    this week I have to say I gambled on this.  Unfamiliar with the culture of this poetry, it was a matter of just throwing it out there.  If you are a fan of the low art/high art New York poetry style you might want to read some other entries.