Today..

Thankfulness and gratitude are the subject for today's prompt at dversepoets.com

On this morning's ferry ride to meet family..
...sun shone on the passage                                                                                      

 as a seagull gliding I did see









Slow cooked apples with caramel,
cranberries, walnuts, turkey roast -
pass before my eyes,
under my nose

Pine cones sitting by a fire,
winds take my breath away -
Our cups runneth over
especially today

And I stop the car
to take in this beautiful sight -
a rainbow now by the river
on my way

Three signs for me that shout out -
it's Thanksgiving Day,
so take notice of all earthly delights

Christmas lists..

Today we write a poem using a list of nouns, a list of adjectives without using abstract words - love, jealousy, passion, hate

http://dversepoets.com









Deep silence,
twinkling stars are out,
respectful trees look upward,
then down at me
A wintry cold night,
skies crystal clear
easier to see dainty Pleides
I'm wearing long wool socks,
put my gray hair up with a red clip
Pot of strong coffee brewed,
I take a tasty sip
Aroma of orange biscuits
emanates from the oven,
purring cat on my lap

Sometimes when I want
time to slow, it flies
like leftover scents
of extinguished candles
On the carpet floor lie
pieces of a jigsaw puzzle
The straw broom propped
in the corner waits to finish
its work, gas furnace
humming
... what more do I hear?
Pages in a book turning,
volutions of a rolling pen
Louder purring as I comb
her white fur again

On my mind,
holiday meetups
It will be very simple here;
white lights in the front windows
Christmas carols, sleigh bells
greens and thoughtful deeds
Making a gift list -
French soaps, gum drop bread;
something woven,
something up-cycled,
something tweed,
books I hope people will read
I check the calendar,
hope we get 5 feet of snow
before New Year's Eve

Christmastime, years ago,
I worked long tiring hours;
but at the Post Office
it was all convivial fun
Now, the season is slower,
more about watching growing
smiles, long awaited embraces,
eggnog with rum
I think of families -
all different kinds, shapes
and sizes, more defined now
by human kindness
I check the supply of ribbon,
homemade tags, wrapping
paper, birdseed

I contemplate past merriment,
think of all who are not here
Things are tense in Ferguson,
the President will act on
immigration, climate change
As I watch the new day
break, I see the skin of trees
Quiet and still, no need to rake
more crinkled dry leaves
I think of the female deer
found trapped in barbed wire
yesterday - frightened she was,
her eyes were afire,
yet when set free,
she calmly blinked at me

Sunday Swirl puzzle # 187

http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com



Today's wordle:

\

When wind blows the leaves of toasty palate

and wood-smoke fingerlings float slowly by,

those not so subtle hints of winter's kiss

drive away the short sleeves of summer's sky

Trees cease to yield fresh flavors lingering

Gentle breezes give way to frosty air

tended by a moisture mix from the north

Warm winter fires stir sexual desires,

feeling closer means there is more to share,
intimacy is healing for the soul -
next year expect another child in tow

Life is never boring...for there is art..

Today Victoria's turn to suggest a prompt - we are writing about what form of art we are especially drawn to, engage or dapple in besides writing poetry.  Check out what others say over at:
http://dversepoets.com 





If drawing is the more formal approach to sketching,
then I am somewhere in between -
and when I add paint, watercolors speak to me

I whirl the color wheel around, become embedded in its sea,

riding a transparent wave,
collapsing into a pool where I swim
in every color, shades that gently push and pull nudging against each other, blending,
never really coming to a stop - except when dry
Clear water cascading mixes with earth's origins,                                                                                     minerals and clay

I am in awe of watercolor's ancient tapestry,
humbled by its beginnings -
mpressionistic, picturesque landscape paintings
by Turner, Fielding, and Collier
to paintings by Sargent, Hassam and Homer -
all fine hands, with a passion to explore,
desire to share their perceptions of their world
I've learned to focus in on my world,
gained a higher degree of fulfillment 

Like writing, sculpting or designing,
the action soothes the soul,
more important than excelling

Brushes of sable I have not tried;
I do like the natural squirrel

How you hold or tilt the brush determines what emerges,
like putting one's hand on the Ouija board
Guided by the breadth and depth of one's own heart;
it finds it's way through my veins, hands, to paper
Pleasing to the senses, like transferring an image with
the touch of a butterfly's lightness of being or
a hummingbird's touching down for an instant,
on my hand, to leave tiny footprints

I've learned to not dominate it, let it happen,

for the welcome surprise of what develops
For poetic's sake there are new labels for colors -
not as true as indigo or raw umber, yellow ochre
There is quinacridone rose, sap green,
opalescent white - for stirring the imagination;
or perhaps a certain turn of phrase sends
a more precise intuitive connection
Texture of watercolor paints is lighter than butter,
smoother than honey, can be glazed or granulated;
pigments are suspended, cool and warm hues,
like a rainbow upon a white cloud

There are secrets in the layers,
a tale in signature tones, or between the lines

Whether it's pain I've forgotten, fondness of things
remembered, the ultimate anguish or joy,
it's all broken down
Instead of finger painting like a child,
one finally puts things in their right place
No underlying science to drawing
or painting a fantasy, reality, or telling a story;
it's like walking on a divinely empowered
landscape of color

Whatever gift we have, natural or otherwise,
it is up to each of us to find it
Forget trivial things, align your whole being;
only treasures of truth can set you free;
you will see where God resides
in the phenomena of this beautiful life
Thank goodness now, no one decides
what label to put on art you create..

respond to the force in you that compels
expression, reveals your compassion, inner beauty
Anything can be a work of art -  song, music,
any creative release

Let your own true colors shine

your unique version of the world, for life itself
is a work of art, a masterpiece

Hunger games..

Nothing to eat or drink,
rations depleted -
perhaps a kind farmer's 
wife nearby
would offer goat's milk,  
porridge or potatoes with rye
 ..to soak in water from a pump -
life savers for fatigued men 
miles from home, 
bombs burst in air 
Veterans' Day, D-day
old movies play,

Soldiers gone to battlefields 
on the other side of the globe, 
where every day 
futures end in hunger, 
of aids, or war 
thirst for a free land - 
Somalia...not even 
stone soup to survive..
days before they perish, 
less if dysentery, 
takes longer sometimes, 
to run a touchdown play 

Meager portions, 
not enough to go around;
nevertheless, 
a stranger can become a friend found
But for no good reason
they can't get away
..for lack of sustenance..

They used to say - all the rice in China,

was nourishment enough,
might even decide 
the outcome of a war

Sometimes life has little 
chance at all..doctors say 
when there's no appetite,

it takes time to die,

months, weeks, 
could be days, 
Pot eases the cancer,
hugs the pain,
but for no reason, it's kept away
A body tortured for days on end,
bleeds, swells.. it's too much
How do you measure life, 
a candle snuffed...
how many will die of old age..

A spider weaves for food,
a scorpion stings
In America, however, 
SOME sit daintily on pillows, 
dressed in lace, 
wearing fine hats...
unlimited food and drink
Do they know fasting..
of  Ramadan..
Do they think ...?  of scant
clothing or food of hungry babes?
The grapes of love wait..
to be picked and fed to all...
not politically withheld 
....for no good reason.




dversepoets.com

County fair..

dversepoets.com  Gay Cannon asks us to write using the word "fair" in any of its forms..

She won a big teddy bear, a monkey,
ate cinnamon elephant ears, first time
I carried her home, her curls in my face,
tucked her in, kissed her goodnight, and I knew
she'd sleep and dream the same dreams as did I

Of lights and mirrors and painted horses,
going 'round, first time on the Ferris wheel;
blurred faces, wide eyed wonder flashing by,
a balloon pops, some ice cream, then a squeal

Aromas of caramel corn, peanuts,
fried onions rings, freshly baked scones with jam;
buttery corn, sticky cotton candy,
it was a thrill to pet a goat or a lamb

A lively barker gathers a crowd while
teens hold hands, buy tickets for wilder rides
play games with darts, hammers, baseballs, and coins
Went in the fun house, come out the other side

Taking off her boots, memories come back
the kind of fun found only once each year
when we go to the county fair all day
I remember grandpa carry me home
when the sky turned soft pink, violet and grey

Can you hear me?

My dear, don't cry -

combine my ashes with
cinders of incense
I'll be forever on your mind,

 in blue jeans

It hurts that you will be
moving on
You are free to love,
by all means
Time has no meaning                                                                                

for me now,
so I'll wait for you

Upon your demise,

come looking for me

Remember to  take
the road less traveled

You will find me
leaning on                                                                                            
 a red-spotted toadstool,

wearing my old school
Letterman sweater....and hey,
my tennis shoes

You will always be my sweetheart
 I long for your caresses,
 the smell again
of your sweet perfume

Claudia asks us to write  today from the perspective of  a dead man.......