Wednesday, April 29, 2015

From Whence I Came..

I am a Lassie, one quarter Irish,
from Counties Cork, and Kerry
As in the song, "I'll Take You Home Again,
Kathleen", I would feel at home in Eirie
I used to think it was written for me.
I come from the sea, will return there,
from whence I came, more briny than blimey
salt in my veins and sea spray at my feet

I try to carry on a unique legacy of women,
Four generations of Girl Scouts
and by that I mean home loving, strong,
hard working, resourceful;
Curious, intelligent, standing up for a cause,
tolerant, generous, pioneering
Like Sarah Jane, distant great relative,
who crossed the plains in 1853,
left Illinois, settled in Lane County,
Oregon, carved her name on Chimney Rock
where she encountered Indians for the first time

I learned survivor skills for many things -
things I never imagined in my wildest dreams
I'm from a small logging town,
come from a patriarchal household,
being a judge's daughter taught me about
unfairness, as well as fairness
A product of the 50's, a baby boomer,
front seat observer of mid-century turmoil,
lover of Rock n Roll, bobby soxer.

But much more than this,
I come from the spirit world
I am part of Gaia, our Mother Earth,
a stream of consciousness spilling over
Sprung from forests verdant green, white-capped
mountains in winter; where crystal springs and
waterfalls lead to a mighty river
where once walked Sacajawea
to a wide world of many natural wonders

We are all born of authentic goodness and hope,
I want to shout out to the world,
beseech humankind to listen, to heed the messages
Saving our planet is still within our reach
For what higher purpose could there be?
We all come from innocence to learn;
our mission is to heal and cleanse this beautiful world -
 a testament to
to such a varied land and people - we can
truly change the earth for the better

Tuesday, April 21, 2015

Road to awareness...


Twilight's vines reach deep inside me 
   the sea's mood spectrum leads me home                                      
Smooth wet sand reflects my being
   in past summers' patina glow                                                          
Sea spray bathes giant rocks till clean,
   birthing fresh sand in its foam's flow
Instilled when first learned starfish breathe 
  - echoing a chorus of ohms                    


Bees nurse their new honeycomb 
   as against a tree trunk I lean
I look out from under its dome
   Rain drips languidly from folded leaves
Willow branch fingers reach below
   into a perylene green stream
Into the perfect wave I go,
   for I can imagine heaven
now without being sad, I know


Friday, April 17, 2015



I steep in the afternoon sun,
cup of tea in hand,
and become an island of one
In my mind, one thousand and one
images evoked of you
One thousand harps play 
through dark matter
One thousand mirrors sparkle 
in the light of day

Unlike many a life's journey,
it all began with early trespasses 
against the heart;
an uncertain perforated hull,
forever impaired the ship from sailing
Inevitably, the means to travel 
transformed  - 
rather a steamship lugging along 
an unnamed winsome river
Without gigantic sails to navigate 
more easily the curves,
it's a wonder to have come thus far -
when it was Magellan whom we 
set out to be -
upon the rugged sea

What befell us left us breathless 
and out of sync, agog, 
ardently grasping, 
as opposed to better halcyon days
The question begs an answer;
will the truth yet be known -
of little hurts that negated the essence
of  us?
All we strove for and stood for,
everything we were, 
cut down like tall grass 
by a sharp scythe, minimized
Sadly, the polish that was there
was rubbed away, tarnished
Under appreciated,
 we became an unused silver tea set,
on the shelf, worse - 
melted, sold, given away, 
or pushed aside

Nevertheless, we strive to survive
simply and quietly, 
by the one thousand and one souls 
passing by,
who otherwise might stop to say hello,
join us as we steep in the afternoon sun,
cups of tea in our hands


Today Anna has us writing about diction, our favorite words that give our poems a certain flow.  Somewhere I have a list of them, and few come to mind now that I must think of them, but I like the    spontaneous "freedom of continuous, meandering thought"   

Friday, April 3, 2015

Mad Moon Rising...


Good luck to those writing daily for NaMoWriMo !  

The Villanelle is the subject of today's poetry assignment, should we decide to attempt it. With this, the pattern of the villanelle can be illustrated as as A1bA2 – abA1 – abA2 – abA1 – abA2 – abA1A2 where “a” and “b” are the two rhymes, The two refrains (“A1” and “A2”) and two repeating rhymes (“a” and “b”). The first and third line of the opening tercet are repeated alternately as the refrains, until the last stanza, which includes both refrains.

Dawn wakes as impressionistic art
tribulations fade with night's long shadows
The day amends the mad moon's reckoning

A white cheddar moon bleeds red tears tonight
Pain looks anew out the leaded window
Dawn wakes as impressionistic art

Escape the wrath of the mad moon's red light
What dust was left of the stars lies below
The day amends the mad moon's reckoning

Love's face in glowing embers joins the night'
hope turns to new madness he's come to know
Dawn awakens as impressionistic art

Chasing the mad moon rising out of sight,
his chest breathes out true love of long ago
The day amends the mad moon's reckoning

The heart no longer wants to fight the fight
Wind in the trees mimics her whispers low
Dawn awakes as impressionistic art
The day amends the mad moon's reckoning

Wednesday, April 1, 2015

Bake a cake..


Ladyfingers adorn her cake;
makes headlines for charity's sake,
first prize surely was hers to take
Some say she coerced the judges,
wearing a necklace of pink pearls
that set off her flouncing blond curls;
her tight dress stressed the other girls

Under the stylish wide brimmed hat,
she has only business in mind
Flirting with the powers that be,
her talent for baking unseen
Ladies opine, as she flashes 
a leg and bats her eyelashes -
the end must justify the means

When she, who is most kind, not blind,
confidently presents her cake
they hurl accusations her way -
daggers in their eyes "How unfair!"
Their cakes look superior, yes,
appear to be the most divine
But the judges do not digress

Because, you see, the ladies' wiles 
were but tainted with jealousy
Judging is done with tender care
To tell the truth, they had no chance 
She won the cake contest solely 
for its superb tasty flavor -
judged to be far beyond compare

We are writing about vocation or "calling" at about a cake decorator?