Bridges lead the way..

First frost on the covered bridge keeps us from traveling far - our trousers stiff already, noses reddened by sharp cold air. A blanket of snow on its roof waits for warmer temperatures to melt it and long icicles hanging from eaves.  I snap a photo as I cross, for what could be a long time, making a pretty postcard scene to paint and send. Decorated with sleigh bells and lights for the holidays, I reset my memories.  Not a bridge to nowhere, but to the unknown, to a future life, travels beyond adolescence.

I recall the river rising, flowers blooming, and being with friends all day at the bridge. I imagine horse-driven wagons, cattle, people parading across the bridge since before the turn of the century. Hazy summers we floated down the river, gliding under it, emerging from its shadowy earthen underside to a sunnier other side.  When fifty mph winds blew through the tunneled building, it was hard to stand up straight inside, especially  when  young lovers would meet there in the middle of the day, sneak a kiss or leave initials carved on a board.

The young do not see the passage of time in the bridge's fading beauty, only decay. Anytime a welcome sight, the old covered bridge yawns as we go along the road on our way.

Life never will be
the same; many dreams born there -
fish jumping all day


dversepoets.com



We are writing about bridges today in the haibun form, a short tale ending with a haiku.

Little Big Horn, Revisited..

dversepoets.com

The challenge today is to write using futurism and onomatopoeia in expressing our anger about what we want changed in the world. The main idea is to use tyopography and expletives for interest and emphasis...a bit difficult for me.

                                                                                                         

                                                                                                             painting by Charles M. Russell

At dawn, a warble

or cock-a-doodle-doo

The screech of a night owl,

a whoo-whooo...

Nightly thumpety-thumps

of coyote or deer stealing nearby,

splish-splashes of men fishing,

soft whispers between women working

For hundreds of years the indigenous 

knew nature's sounds

Smoke signals reigned as mass media  

Life was hard but peaceful -

before the bitter, bloody battles 

when the white man came to town,

before the murder of Sitting Bull,

before progress and

the Dakota Access Pipeline

Escalating winds

 carried echoes of angry men 

 Standing Rock Sioux filed law suits

"Freedom means safe water,

keeping our sacred land!" 

"Halt this building of the pipeline!!

..they proclaimed,

Promises broken, 

sacred land desecrated, 

not to mention more land and gold 

taken from "them thar Black Hills!!"

and building a daunting dam where 

once were only sharp chicken scratches 

and ancient petriglifs

"This stinks!!" locals yelled

Everyday life now,

interrupted by out-of-towners -

the clip-clop of horse's hooves,

the crunching of boots in dirt and rocks

silenced by traffic tie-ups, "HONK, HONK!!"

Police came from out of state;

helicopters whirred in

"They keep upping the ante!"

exclaim the supporting tribes

Tensions mount on both sides

It's not just the fish sizzling in the pan!

Fake photos and lies posted on social media;

"It's a dog and pony show!!"

Phffffst - pepper spray and ZING -

painful tazers 

"There's going to be a battle!!"

Jesse says:  

"It's environmental racism

 at it's worst!"

"Little time to react if there is a leak,"

say the Sioux

Preserving their history 

has been scissored and ground between 

millstones of greed and corruption,

The Sioux are not on the warpath 

(stereotypical bullshit)  yet, 

but it could come to that - 

only by standing up for their right 

to clean, safe water

Squirrel up a tree...

Today at dversepoets.com    we are writing about 
what's out our window ...my contribution:                                   

He scouted the area to see how safe                                           
to climb the tree to the birdfeeder;
literally flying through branches
he leaped from cedar to cedar
He hung from a bough, stretching himself
grabbed the suet cage by his feet
He twitched and turned, trying to steal                                                     
the food put out for birds to eat                                          

And Aha! I had secured the little 
door's latch with wire,
so he could not open it 
or knock it on the ground.
Nuthatches and chickadees arrive,
go to the other bird feeders,
mixed nuts and seeds,
 spilling to the ground -
a woodpecker muscles his way in.

To be sure in the spring there will be

more birds outside my kitchen window;

..hummingbirds, swallows, robins, jays

When a girl scout in 3rd grade,

we drew birds, learned their calls 

and names - and sketched them

I think of birds in movies,

of Alfred Hitchcock fame,

The Thornbird that sings beautifully 
and then dies

Doves coo in a kings court

and our state's bird is 
the Goldfinch

  I see that his tail gets caught 

on a protruding branch's joint

Try as he may to loosen himself,

he's fearful as I approach and can't

He tries to run harder, faster,

but to no avail - he's stuck

spinning his wheels, his tail

wrapped around it,

adhering like velcro does.

So I pick up a walking stick

from beside the door,

climb a bit to reach -

and by extending the rod,

doing my best to keep my balance

I fail to unstick his tail with the first attempt.

Panicking was he as I maneuvered myself

to the edge of the porch

Finally I manage to get the angle right, 

knock his tail free,

 hopefully not hurting him;

he runs into the forest squeaking

leaving a large tuft of fur attached 

to the bough;   Ah, something soft 

for  bird nest building in the spring.

                             

Trail of orange rinds...

Open link at dversepoets.com tonight where everyone contributes their "slant" on life through their poetry and any topic goes...

Orange rinds strewn 

leave a trail to the edge
of the island 

below the boardwalk
She sits on her knees bending 

in the sand, forms 
herself

into an upright  "W"

Reason for his no show, 

unknown - 
tightly she grips 
handfuls of sand, 
letting it sift through 

her fingers over and again

Little consolation

the evening stars, 
shooting and landing in the sea
.. it seems,

small distant splashes 

gold, grey, salient green

She walks between the large rocks,
anemones reach lazily,

floating seaweed trips toes, 
she stops,  listens for his voice,

steps on broken crab leg debris

- plunging into the salty sea 

headfirst, submerges herself, 
holds her breath 

til she can no more,

stokes into the night waves,

now the same color as the wet sand,

she goes to the beach blanket,

table setting for two,
basket of food 

and wraps a large shawl around 
her shoulders

to keep goosebumps, tears 
from welling

Canaries sing their nightfall lullaby,

glass souvenirs ride frothy waves 
of whiskey spiked butter cream light 

The namer of winds had none 

for the taut, maple sugary breeze 
that now plucked the silvery threads 

of a spider's swaying web -

sea and floral scents filter through 

palm leaves, 
balm for a newly broken heart, 

as she falls asleep counting 
velvet ribbons 
of night sky

Then morning cries - out loud
the old sun new again, warm 
promising, bright

she knows it's better
to be alone

than with someone who 
does not tally, hold his own,
want your company
- the tide ebbs, as she does -
island girl - bred by the sea

Snowdrop cinquain...

 

My first attempt at a cinquain, trying it out over at  imaginerygardenwithtoads where there are frequent interesting challenges...the form is catchy, not sure I've got it , but fun trying...

Strict syllable count: 2-4-6-8-2
Strong title (important with such a tight poem)
Strong imagery (perhaps, even, an image per line)
Nature imagery, as in haiku or tanka (though I certainly vary from this!)
Juxtaposition or a clever “turn” at the end

SPRINGTIME

Snow drops

peer from under

sleepy lids with blankets,
tucked in by rich warm soil,   

webbed feet skitter across the stage

first act

Gladly

 awakening,

 cast arrives in order

of appearance in dressing room

Hostas 

Garden

colors rotate, 

performing now through fall,

playing rolls with no rehearsal

rain shine

 Front row

theater seats

 from snow drops' wide peephole;

best place to watch the finale

Applause

Quantum physics?

Ever since I learned of the Mandelbrodt Set, or fractals,  in the 90's..I have felt differently about the universe we live in.  My reflections turned to this over the weekend, to Deepak Chopra  Buddhism,  and the hyperbolic connectivity that gives new meaning to the ancient meanings of life...

Asking cosmic questions...

contemplating navel..
Free will does exist..

but do we not use it as an excuse?

Theologians and scientific minds say

few answers can be verified..no truce

Society distracted 

by ego related activities...

 like aiming for only the moon

 or conquering foreign territories 

Religious dogma
 either drives us or holds us back
with little regard to healing or a mission 

beyond oneself...wouldn't we want it
to always be June?

Some gurus say said culprit for
our limited scope,
 knowledge and vision...

is our not exploring enough the
universal stream of consciousness

...not lack of hope

Sifting through blinders of time

we need to find those things 

of more value to us than our pain of today

Growth means knowing

empirically...

that we create our own reality

yet anything can happen..

  A man can break a record, a child can fall, 

By connecting the unconnected

we take quantitative leaps over a wall

So is there a mystical
 mathematical equation?   

hmm...no hard evidence of Wonder Woman,
Captain Marvel -
 or alien intelligent life..but

 Quantum physics of life reveals
  infinite possibilities

 and change takes hold ...benefiting all
Start with yourself...the divine thine

Always remember others..you are also me...

..love your enemy...

Consciously send

 a universal message of community

Show good intentions...shared responsibility

...continuity of all our experiences

is accelerated...integrated and in that there
is a certain synchronicity

Leaning into new experiences
empowers us

with new emotional muscle

 Embrace truth, beauty, justice...        

and dualism disappears

 When approaching life with love

consciousnesses converts to actual events

and all of God appears

 in this domain

by klr

OK, after reading and editing it it still sounds more like a sermon..Buddhism though  makes sense to me......happy day !! ;-)

Teen texting test..

       Brian's prompt at  dversepoets.com is exploring today's media through poetry..check it out.                                                                  



'Become new friends with..'
'Have you updated your status?'
Phrases from Facebook..
new world phenomena
Gone are long phone calls
between teens..
--..-.- Morse code?.. forgotten...
we've smart phones now
we depend on

Teens text messages..
give High 5's with hearts,
stars and other
icons from their cell phones..
... or iPods..
what..no handwritten
paper love notes?
Fingers move like lightning..
frequent giggles..

"Wha's up....can U hang?"
"Super awesome BFF"
     "..idk U ,,
"Pretty coolio !"
The jargon is new to me..
times have changed..
but being a teen is
hard..the process the same
raising kids never easy

Hippies a thing of the past,
maybe, but I hear .
."chillin' w/my  ppl"
...even "far out"..is heard..
Instagram for great pics..
but NO obsessive
texting while driving
___or else 'rly'..
you will lose your timeline!

Pale owls...

   We are invited to write a new form of poem, either a Karousel or a Weave, 

invented by David James as presented by Gay Cannon at dversepoets.com  

not too restrictive and with some musical tones.  

 
    Beneath an audience of blinking stars

    I read letters from Plato up through Frost

    to find truths in treading life's brier patch

    to help me stay on the right path...

    not recognizing this world today...it could be Mars

    For I want to arrive well at my heart's landing

    but like Peter Rabbit my pants a fence did catch...

    stumbling, I fear what will be its aftermath?             

    Detours taken where forks crisscrossed 

    there's still a gap in my full understanding                                            

    I may find answers in these eloquent pages

    maybe I'll read more Oliver and Plath

    No reason to put lipstick on as I'm feeling lost

    like a rusty old shipwreck.. buried to the hatch

    in wet sand.. readying for the ages

    Gold highlights in my hazel eyes slowly dim

    pale owls signal with hoots the impending frost

    But I keep my secret inner room unlatched

    enough to not surrender and meet my own wrath..

    so now I'll sit reading fine poetry... out here on a limb

   

               by klr

River resident...

...boiling a potato...no steelhead biting
 today...
on the wintry river... near the trellis...
3 miles past the town's midway 
... feet and hands numb..
a man alone stands..
olive green branches reach 
over the leaky shack's roof 
in the frozen rainy gloam...                                                                          
stoking the fire sends embers swirling.. 
but only so far..the blackened coffee pot lukewarm,
it's contents bitter...
an unreeling film of smoke, 
like a sinuous ballet dancer..
twirls upward....bugs skitter ..
from the bonfire toward the slippery
rocky shore..unlucky... rising water engulfs them..
propping his fishing rod between
dirt packed  boulders,
he puts the lid cover on his bait jar..
removes the drenched slicker..
and....hunching his shoulders..
steps inside..
he sheds layers of weighty wet clothes ..
hangs his belt with his caps .
by the old guitar
he rests his legs on the dumped  worn out 
ottoman...sitting in the found brown 
upholstered chair..
a planked muddy floor catches his boots..
a whiff of urine from somewhere
the last train of the night squeaks 
and rumbles by...
causing his head on the torn pillow
to shake from side to side..
...so the scale had tipped too far at last....
unheard of in hobo lore..
of a man with a doctorate 
living here in this hell station...
he can quote Shakespeare, 
knows his jazz..plays the pipes...
..once had a decent golf handicap
he knows the wetland nearby by heart...
..animal friends hide there.
an aged man, inclined to intoxication..
..his closest neighbors, 
native Americans, live on the 
other side of the expanding river..
miles around the bend
trousers heavily laden upon his body, 
he feels the big melancholy wave rising...
water slaps loudly against itself..
outside, it begins to snow
...he laments he lost sight ..made mistakes..
"..but don't we all?"  .....but the darkest days
are behind him.... he had, just in time, 
 saved his soul..
he had seen the world, had a good and varied life
but it took years of pain to shed true light
on his plight and again take control

..then he smiles
and lights a cigarette in the dark..
...'cave men had it better,'  he mused
'Noah had an ark'
One thing,  though, he surely knows, 
as a single heated tear wells...
that pressed in his favorite book 
...is a single dusty red rose..
for him it holds all his memories
..to draw on...
......until life comes to a close                                                                                       

by klr                                                                                                                                                             

I'ts open link night over at  dversepoets.com and there is a LOT going on if you would like to read more ;)

From birth to age 5...

From birth until age five, I was in a fog 

lullabies, toys from the cradle were mine 

food, warmth,  love, innocent play
a world so small , a brain so benign                                                                                         

my  grandson  age 4 (2004)

behaving in my unique way                                                                              

Wonder, freedom, magic were givens
laughter and tears - part of living

learning to crawl come easily.. 

I had the luxury then of being                                                                 

cuddled and cared for like royalty                                                                      

I was not aware of my limitations
All was fairly calm                                                                                
and nothing outside my world worried me...                                                      
but with time,
cognitive development and
social skills expanded my world
As my body grew ( as in cell division)

my world grew                             

By age five, new cells had replaced  most                                                                                                                              
of the original set (except most neurons)
making room for more

There's no going back

Exposure to more people upset my rhythm

I was uninhibited before...

there is a mysterious form of protection
built into our core.

Life happens and we react
new rules are born,
Good parenting is required..
for the system changes and reality
depends more on
one's point of view

Cells replenish every few years
each growth spurt has its own benefits..

But it's to that time..
between birth to five

I'd like to retreat to again

Impossible, yes,
but we do try in many ways

Nevertheless,
.. it's good to know..that there was a time
when we were the teachers,,

and with perfect goodwill...and
by God's good grace.. ...
........we put on quite a show

Arms outstretched gratefully...

Arms outstretched..reaching for stars                        
or readying to take deep bows
Kindness from strangers lets me
basque in sunlight
under their admiring brows
The contented feeling comes when
breezes blow... life
borne of a mystery..
One with the universe..
residing here forevermore;
part of stories, lore
and history
I am the Windmill

But my wish is to dance
through the hills to the sea
drinking old sherry
meeting others like me
Turning gracefully with
winds calm and serene...
.. I can also be wild,
felicitas and merry
I love museums, a bullfight;  I'd defend
my country..
I love a good wind storm to
unleash the emotions I feel... for I want to
be a part of the reverie...
...I wonder..
can anyone see that in me?
We landmarks are never wary..
but Cervantes gave me immortality
,,for his rendering of
a chivalrous man,
his horse, his friend and heroine..
built with stone, mortar and wood
I'm a model for others worldwide
Painted bright white,,
gleaming in the distance
as though in a Van Gogh delight
I mean many things to different minds
I serve as a reminder of dreams gone by
I stand for hope for the future  - ideas,
vision and forsight....for,
all windmills have souls on site

Victoria at dversepoets.com    invited us to write with imagism, using descriptive visuals to describe a feeling..

There is a peace...

Saturday's dversepoets.com Poetics' bartender, Mary, invites us to write about Peace Within and Without....

                                                                     flika photo art


There is a peace..
.where there is no fear
of life's fire and ice storms... 

where swallows sail the unseeable
airy matrix,
 gaining momentum..

... when wind and rain 

rock tree branches to a timeless
Ravel

...there is a peace.. 

..where no hatred or bitter scorn 
dare stalk..
 where we walk sun blotched paths..
 birds tenderly covered  in 
shawls of first light,

 singing from high white pine 
branches..

of profound love 

.
...there is a peace..

where no one suffers pain or loss

..somewhere a place..
where not yet drawn latitudes appear
...reaching far beyond
 the tumbling sea..

 a wide stretched canvas to paint on

...new waves to swim in 

..eternally

  by klr

...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 ;)