Before summer's pale...

At  dversepoets.com  Bjorn asks us to write flashback poetry:

Bluegrass chords lightly 
strummed,
erase present thoughts
I float suspended in time, 

clouds turn pink apricot

I recall a young true love 
of mine who 
still owns the key
to my full heart

"My dear, it is much like 
saving a dime -
always in my sock,
on my foot in a shoe,

like having a full apple cart,
or a glass of red wine
I'm reminded of a peace
I once knew 
when I was much 
younger than you."

Eagles' shadows 
with wings wafting wide usher 
in memories 
"Do you see the two buoyant 
silhouettes?" descending from
an teen age ice cream sky?"
Romance laced breezes glide 
by and revisit me

They carry summer scents 
of climbing roses 
and huckleberry pie
You hold marshmallows
to the fire and
giggle with delight
Evening folds into night

I fall into a white sleep 

and recall a boy with 
a special smile,
Doe cross the meadow 
without a sound;
his easy stride says 'I'll stay awhile'

Dreamy purple fills the sky

and I recall tangled, 
thorny bushes that creep, 
grab my knees
A chorus of frogs from a pond,

faded lilies nod and weep
Summer's sober robin eats bugs 
from cedar 
I long to stay amid moss green
 cattails and June's heavenly fog
forever

I see cats, mosquitoes,
 old friends swimming at the pool
we held hands in a theater
Going to church,
sitting behind him at school -
simple moments shared
Tugs like taffy pulling 
within my chest
How can it be possible?
Not since have many compared;
my friends (boys) then were 
better than the rest
He was the best -
but winds of change 
seem to already know 

their destinations, and

make me shiver to be gone

I inhale whispers 
from wood smoke encircling me,
as the world revolves 
our days away
Welcome changes, 
as well as those I did not invite,
reach me in Einstien's 
elegant time
I am lost and found again 
when your youthful laughter 
awakens me, 
brings me back
to what's at hand - 
eagles flying, calling me
to this present life 
with its mysteries grand

The Tufted Titmouse..and other meanderings..

Small kingdoms rise and fall
in blithe forests -
My spirit floats among branches,
alighting on each one,
dancing, as it always does.
at the center of everything
Fleetingly, paper bluebirds 
design and dress my soul 
to express itself fully
The woodsy tufted titmouse song 
rides on invisible sauntering winds,
in the land where giant woolly 
mammoths once roamed
 Titmouse song

Our bodies are boats for identity's sake,
hulls sailing away with undertakings -                                         
the writings of symphonies, 
sculpting a man kissing a woman,
writing a great read
While orioles flash in the morning light
and thin lips of poppies grin,
we experience life in new ways,
not otherwise manifested
Secrets in empty seashells, 
the hammer, stirrup, anvil 
of the ear - bones 
born from salty brine,
touched by light unknown                                 
Only the faintest star
remembers                                                        
it's recent beginning
We are reinvented as falling rain 
or crystals of ice
upon a bed of dying leaves
We are the waltz, the show, 
the audience -
in an intelligent universe, 
Knowledge and vision, 
our salvation and reward,
we are part of forever's plan,
transcending all dimensions
in the form of man -
driving red fire engines 
in vast snowy skies
To rest in the knowing, 
there is no nothingness -
only new evolving tasks 
of the spirit,
eclipsing time, 
devoted to spinning pure love,
weaving on larger looms
in larger kingdoms, 
beyond everyday matters
Sweet ivy climbs,
gathering its own momentum,
winding through spokes of silver,
frame of prose and rhyme 
A universal trellis 
made gritty by our humanness 
yet sensitive,
earthy,
yet heavenly divine



At dversepoets.com today we were presented with artwork by  Brooke Shaden to tease our imaginations in writing a poem or prose poem..

Happy Thanksgiving...Over the River and...same tune, different words...

 by  klr

Across the harbor and through the trees

in soft pink glints of the sun,

 angels are your guide, chariots your ride
last red ochre leaves of autumn

Sweet scented smoke of apple wood fire

snow dusted boughs of blue spruce

the wink of any eye, some pumpkin pie

Fill your heart with warm gratitude 

I took these pictures from a small park in Steilacoom, WA while the small ferry was heading for Vashon Island in the late afternoon.  The apple and maple trees stand starkly bare and there are benches engraved with local people's names. Early settlers' names are on the older renovated homes and on benches for sitting. In the distance one can see the Tacoma Narrows Bridge and a small strip of a beach and picnic area....plus there is an old fashioned wooden swing for two.  A nice place to watch the sun go down.

The Toast...

 The Toast


by klr

                                                                  painting by Richard Jack

                                              

Whilst they gather by the fire

beneath the glass chandelier

  smoke slips around them

 a gramophone tune rings dear

Wallpaper defines the room

  champagne toasts given 
recalling past holidays

 when stardust fell from heaven

Where once a Parisian
blue scarf waved against her cheek
rests a violet net shawl
and an irised parakeet

On the shelf sits a padlocked gold box

where old tales are kept
   Where once hung a man's corduroy hat
 the black cloak in which she wept

No more anguish from within
she smiles blissfully
and with a slight flair of bravura
  waltzes away audaciously

by John Sargent