Sunday, October 28, 2012

Saturdays used to mean...

Saturdays used to mean
 - naps
on the phone all day
yearning for the '65 Mustang
pictured on  my wall
Beatles on the radio
- a free day after a chore or two
homework done
writing in my diary with a key
 - rain or shine
Make the world go away
 - please
Something was not right
they laughed at my pain
no one understood
crawled under covers
- cried body heaving
they could not identify
teen identity crisis
 - rain and shine

Present day damp toweled hair
 - mostly grey
Saturday still my favorite day
listening to PBS
my canvas's on the wall
offspring doing fine, going places
 - poetry archived
transported to womanhood
advocate at heart
 - rain or shine

Reflection of serenity
 - fewer freckles
extra lines, less mobility
joints that ache yet
there's attractiveness
on a par modest, living more fully
- evolving
reassures the little girl
it will be all right
-rain or shine

Vulnerabilities never far
- but slipping away
material things matter less
new soft full drops of rain
spill upon the window pain
content knowing the doubt
- back then
was not in vain
the voyage so worth taking
- nevertheless
breathing in, out
  is a miracle
          - rain or shine

Self portrait      dVerse

Friday, October 26, 2012

Nancy's "sweet", sweet pea...

It's been awhile since I posted to Bonnie's Photo Art Friday
She generously gave us this free cobblestone textured background that I used here...isn't it pretty? 
The photo was taken by my friend Nancy of her favorite 
flower, the sweet pea, just recently due to our Indian Summer weather, and it is a beauty!  
It is straight out of her camera...then I experimented 
with it a bit for fun.  I hope you enjoy them ;)

The vagabond's song...

The vagabond's song cries out 'come home - come home'
a place that eludes him for his spiritual need
but the winding labyrinth leads him to roam

Following the vision of an attendant mirage's path
he traverses nebulous miles as his heart bleeds
but the vagabond's song cries out  'come home - come home'

If there's a madness about nary an unsettled wrath
he travels audatiously where side roads lead
but the winding labyrinth leads him to roam

Sages speak of wisdom a road less traveled hath
of wanderlust, a fountain of youth, wilderness creed
but the vagabond's song cries out 'come home - come home'

Sagas tell of men fighting a Spanish War or Goliath
of a hallucinating knight's noble dream and his steed
but the winding labyrinth leads him to roam

He longs for drifting the unknown using strange math
the taste of passionate addiction on which he feeds
The vagabond's song cries out  'come home - come home'
but the winding labyrinth leads him to roam

At    dVerse Poets Pub  today Samuel Peralta brings us the villanelle, a poetry form used by Dylan Thomas   ("Do not go gentle into that good night")  Oscar Wilde and others....we are to try our hand at it ...
...the pattern of the villanelle is illustrated as A1bA2 - abA1 - abA2 - abA1 - abA2  - abA1A2 where"a" and "b" are the two ryhmes, and the uper case lines ("A1" and "A2") indicate the refrains...

Sunday, October 21, 2012

Original sin in what a web she weaves.. I am visiting the imaginary garden with real toads imaginay gardenwithrealtoads

My first time here on this leisurely Sunday, trying my hand at another form of poetry, the quatrain in couplets and rhyme, made up of 4 lines with 5 or 7 word stanzas.  My, I feel like I'm back in school again..relearning things.  I start with this photo taken yesterday in my back yard by the side of my house...

Wet with dew in the morning time
bearing radiant afterglow stirred from deep within
 nature's crocheted doily quivers in borrowed sun
when touched in act of deadly sin

Engineer of eight legged kind
designs with hunger in mind
victims captured without a fight
satiated sleep at evening's twilight 

by klr

Birch tree...

by klr

Eighteen inches tall
... when you were planted
I watched you grow

Your underground pulse
made the soil tremble
under wet leaves
Tender whispers 
from me to you

Roots delved deeper
...rings multiplied   
You shot higher
than I could jump

Your distressed 
white and gray
textured skin of nature,
Your sequined leaves, 
your forever ball gown

I look up at you now
as your peer, the oak
yet stylish and true
worthy of this verse
and so much more
congresses of swallows
assemble on your limbs
and sing, "Liberte'!"

Trumpeting to the sun
you were born to
live handing out daydreams
... and
swim in blue lakes of the sky
Indeed, you will live
much longer than I through the seas
in my eyes
...the pallet changes

dVerse Poets Pub

 Remember Shakespeare's 7 Ages of Man poem?  This topic is the prompt today at ; you may liken this ode to the birch tree to the aging of a human or not..the main thing is the subject of TIME...

Thursday, October 18, 2012

From a a dream...

  by klr

On the rooftop in the city:

Flowers - watering trillium and mums in her robe and slippers
A stabbing frozen wind snap 
cuts her body's warmth like a knife
she's but a tiny dot from a pilot's view

At the equator from her balcony:

On the lemon tree and bougainvillea,
her watering can empties
She waltzes softly with a man
of great integrity 
Gown of lavender lace,
sips Chardonnay

 Downstairs in the old apartment:

Water for primroses and hot tea
She retrieves winter's wool blankets
unearths decor for the coming season
knobby fingers ache as she writes on 
personalized linen stationery 
"Dear Jeanne, I hope you are well - 
 Oh, but the smell 

Of the sea, the present:

Daisies sway in the breeze,
tonic for me
"so do come to visit soon."
muffled noises from the market, 
smells of fried oysters and fresh baked bread 
waft through her open window,
lemon slices in her tea

On the phone in the old apartment:

"I fear the trillium will take a beating 
foul weather they predict, severe 
low temperatures" she said
Long months to read books and crochet, surviving 
downpours, road accidents,
seems like infinity 

Strolling on the beach ankle deep in waves:
Seagulls to feed instead of plants
She pedals the boardwalk under morning sun to the gallery, 
buys taffy and sweet buns,
collects huge sand dollars to bleach titanium white, 
and on the porch                
dines alfresco -
and so she falls in and out of her deepest sleep's 
continuing dream 

Sharing withdVerse Poets   where Victoria instructs how 'enjambment' is used as a tool in poetry and some history...

Sunday, October 14, 2012

Known Issues for Blogger: Missing stats for pageviews

Known Issues for Blogger: Missing stats for pageviews: We've received many reports about missing pageview counts on Blogger stats, and we're working to resolve this problem as quickly as possible...

Saturday, October 13, 2012

Fear & trepidation...

Before I could defend myself he
broke through the door
grabbed my throat with both hands-
incredulous I fell to the floor
he was distracted for some reason 
and let go...

while I got up on my knees to
pull myself all the way up
my heart did not feel
instead  my brain raced me to 
the door

He headed for the phone on the wall
and proceeded to rip it off 
then went to the bedroom to destroy
the other phone as well
I slipped out the door and ran across the street 
to the neighbors house automatically
knocked and it took forever for them 
to answer the door

I called the police
they were there 
and he got in their car
turning himself in I was told
admitting he had caused the
damage in the house
TV thrown into glass cabinet
broken dishes antiques on the floor

I called my friend and she let me
spend the night
In jail next day I went to see him
Mentally ill and out of place
malicious mischief the charge, yet still full of love 
for me 
and when he was not on his
medication I had no fear before

As much as I know he  loves me
I still cannot trust
his big bear hugs 
(I love my son more than one can ever know)
can be nice to receive
but what 
if he lunges at me again
dVersewhere will my heart be?

by klr

For      the theme is fear or phobia...

Friday, October 12, 2012

Englyn poems..

Just above her eyes a black hat resides
  black cat at her side cries
 her straw broom begins to rise
Through the black night suddenly flies

Dark violet ribbons flow from her hair
moonlight on her face not fair
Jack O Lantern doesn't care
Scarecrow with nothing to wear

Ghouls and ghosts haunt the dark street
apples and candy to eat
goblins howl as bat wings beat

Excited children still believe it's true
each Halloween gives the cue
 Great Pumpkin rises anew

by klr
At dVerse Poets  yesterday we learned 3 forms of the Welsh Englyn poems,
one using 3 rhyming lines of syllables of 7, a set of 4 lines - 10, 6, 7, 8 syllables and one that is made up of 3 lines, 10, 7, 7.  I deviated a bit on the second one...

Thursday, October 11, 2012

Washington State Rhody winner..

Today I am over at Wonderland  with a guest post on Ana's blog, upon her gracious invitation.  Ana lives in Porto, Portugal and her blog is popular among beginning to advanced photographers.  Please stop by for a visit.

This is the 2012 Washington State Rhododendron winner...isn't she beautiful?  Is is our state flower.  A hardy and fragrant deciduous, plant it is actually a hybrid azalea with yellow to orange and white petals with pink ruffles. I'll be back this weekend.
   Photos is courtesy of the American Rhododendron Society

Monday, October 8, 2012

Distinctive crab cakes...

....again, I am a little late to post (and I keep tweaking) to   dVerse Poets Pub busy taking care of grand kids over the, I'm slow...but the practice is helpful.  Everyone wrote about food in one form or another and the poems are delicious if you want to read them...although mine won't be among them.   We will be off on another topic and more brilliant offerings by the team there, so why not stop over for a visit?:  ;)

In shadowing depths of the sea
where no man has been before                                                                                         
live the Native Alaskan King crab 
their habitat 'til ..
..nets lift them ashore

Oft' claimed by many a restaurateur
to make the world's best crab cakes 
from the banks of South Carolina 
to the Costa del Sol...
..allow me to tell you what this cook makes:

Crab cakes should be mostly ribbons 
and chunks of fresh crab leg meat
mixed with bread crumbs and 2 eggs to begin 
Adding cilantro, big pinches of thyme, rosemary..
Saffron, a generous pinch a treat

Cayenne and turmeric for added flavor
Add 1 1/2 cup of silky mayonnaise
Include finely chopped white onion 
multi-colored peppers the same...
to awaken sleepy taste buds from their daze

Crispy on the outside and hmmm - buttery on the inside
suffused with a generous helping of smooth sherry
Shape like nests, then dip in hot virgin olive oil
full bodied texture yet with the lightness
of angel hair to marry

The distinctive aroma
 transforms sometimes 
hectic time into a blissful warm atmosphere 
enticing appetites to new life
Slicing lemons to the side...a languishing 
mood in the kitchen..enjoy a stout beer..

Serve with coleslaw, Chardonnay, and a smile
Present with fresh baked bread and butter
a stylish corn on the cob and I'll take all bets
the finished intertwined crab rosettes
deserve a hand of applause  

The meal a perfectly satisfying whole
Abiding an edge of a delicate quintessence
Wild sensations exude while eating
..some claim, a new climactic lease on life
Classy and sensual, above all the rest

Believed to appease the pickiest of tasters
considered loveliest of feasts
these melt in your mouth sublime crab cakes
will fill your soul with song...scents of
orchids and myrrh...
..which leads one to fall directly to sleep..

by klr

Friday, October 5, 2012

I always wanted to learn to play the violin....

Sharing with dVerse Poets Pub today:

Just having seen the movie "Hope Springs", and for other reasons, lately I have been thinking about longevity in marriages and what it requires for them to endure. My parents and both sets of grandparents were together 50+ years; so I know it takes work, but they made it look so easy.  At one point, I was married for six years and there were other relationships, but the quantity and quality I sought has always alluded me.  And it's imperative, I think,  to find peace with whichever situation one finds himself or herself in - single, divorced, widowed, or alone. The many interesting dynamics of said couplings are addressed in the movie by Steve Corell, who is able to keep a straight face in his role as marriage guru/counselor at a marriage retreat.  If you see the movie, keep in mind that you are watching two of our most formidable and professional performers of our time, Meryl Streep and Tommy Lee Jones.

          She bought things but
did not sell them... sewed seeds of love  
and knitted in the bleak months               
lingered in the meadow to the sound of 
cowbells, the smell of lilacs and cloves
        ..wistful dreamer
She found opposites, accidentally
picking the wrong mushrooms
          Ravaged wildly by chocolate
and champagne kisses..she was tutored 
by the ships in the night
given to Gothic love stories, romance 
veils of rose petals and sprigs of mint
       wearily...she fell prey to promises
only to drown in teeming pillows
...never authentically betrothed
         She took a peak at the 
essence of pearls.. found them
unattainable..turned to baking soft brownies 
for the kids instead....knowing only
how to dedicate years to her
      .. best mate and create
be a merry lass always forgive
 ...offering vanilla smiles

         Shame of love's tattered remains
arrived, stayed awhile, then vanished
true love cannot be downloaded
What was there faded
to the value of pale green pressed glass 
      .. infinitely dispirited
not to spin gold or uncover cut crystal 
 ...her love still yet not quite wholesale
        But her heart has accrued interest           
grown tempered, seasoned, serene
unlike the young, unfolding soft buttercup
Shadows with weights lifted, doors unlatched
       ..she politely declines the abstruse
her marrow renewed with new substance      
spirited by ardor for art, creativity
....sick and tired of..
 the wood in her head

by klr

Monday, October 1, 2012

October Morn...

Another gorgeous day in the Pacific Northwest...and I have not participated 
in awhile in Ashley Sisk's   Scavenger Hunt Sunday   from her blog      
 so thought I would contribute something and pay a visit.  The prompts for photos are 
yellow, getting ready, bright, teeny tiny and connections:
Scavenger Hunt Sunday

Yellow   (goldenrod)

                         Another 'teeny tiny' is this macro look at a fading crocasmia in a polarized shot 

a textured combination of miscellaneous photos
put together to connote a friendly,
warm place for connections..the porch...


One man's habit....Greece, circa 1925..

"...not sayin' what's right for one man 
works for 'nother..
.just that church is not my thing..
..never has been".. he exclaimed, 
always smiling and jubilant..   
92 years old, grasping the iron bed frame
 to steady himself crooked white-haired
 leg into the pants...after the other   

... a good face scrub,  careful razor shave..
cologne..he tucks in the silky shirttail.
sits to polish tired old shoes,  
knobby hands pull mended socks up
He combs his white mustache with the
 small brush on the bedside table..
...dons his best attire, 
 worn black suit jacket and tie..

Gallantly, he escorts her out the door
..down the dirt pathway; 
 they part ways..same ritual 
every week for 50 years.
..she heads to church, for gossip mostly..
..he treads the dirt road.....opposite direction...
... a mile or so...his podium, 
a rangy olive tree..

...cane supporting him, he 
falls slightly, ending in a stooped hunch 
...finding his knees..
Sunday morning brings a soft rainbow
o'er the plaid olive fields.. 
..double fists clenched together
.. he surveys the land
his grandfather quit-claimed long ago...

....head raised, eyes up,
.. he utters words of forgiveness for daily sins
then makes his appeal.. 
"now I've been meanin' to talk with you 
Lord, 'bout the current state of affairs...
what ye have planned for me? 
 Won't be long before
..we'll meet face to face, as you well know"

Confirming his abiding faith
appropriately soft spoken, he then
bellows loudly..standing tenuously..
 "Seems to me, things have gotten a bit......
ah.. out of hand down here!?"
Tears well up under his eyelids
posture straightens as he thinks 
of his country in turmoil

Warmed by the sun where he stood,
he said, "I know to find you here,
 not in any darn church, no siree"
"....come ev'ry Sunday
 this is where I be!" 
 Believed since a young man
that God deserved all his respect
even sharing his sweet desserts 

"Wouldn't a' made it this senor..
...without your ear....obeyin'
 the Golden Rule.. and countin' my blessin's..
 I'm telling you like it is
.. as that old mockingbird and
 these hills are my witness...
...  for as long as the harmonica plays
... and the sun does shine!!"

by klr