Three Limericks

dversepoets.com           Happy to try my hand at Limericks today. Some people are quite gifted at writing these little gems.

.

Sometimes

I like that words were given meaning
so much that I wake up from dreaming
Sometimes, thinking causes me grief
thinking of nothing brings me relief
I'm writing this while I am sleeping

Moonlight

Once upon a moonlit April night,
stars slipped behind clouds in and out of sight
What I didn't set out to find
I found - I am loved for my mind
not just a gal out flying a kite

Kate

There once lived a queen, Katherine the Great
Everyone loved her, dubbing her "Kate"
All the king's horses and all the king's men
spied her one night practicing Zen
Thereafter, she was not allowed to date

Moody tides...

Fun to put together this little piece of art for Photo Art Friday
this week.  We are asked to write a 7 word sentence that describes our life experience in 
relation to our art or craft..how we became who we are.  And then we must create photo art to illustrate that sentence.  I knew right away what I wanted to do; of course 
it had to include the ocean.  



Without going into a lot of detail, I feel life has coddled me, 
tested me, changed me, molded my talents to the point where they are reaching their 
peak in my (eek) senior years.  True for all of us...as the sand and waves beat the seashore over time,  rocks, shells, sand dollars are smoothed to reveal their true beauty, diamonds their shine.  When discovered 
by human hands, they are treasures with 
ridges and buffed sides, not perfect, but fresh, original, unique.   

If one has natural abilities, all the better, as they will get 
 ahead in life using those skills.  For a lot of us it's about re-discovering creative outlets where 
before there were too many restrictions or other obstacles.  So, like my mother who tried all kinds of vetures later in life after raising four children, I am an
 amateur.  Some of the soaps she created looked like rocks, the Wise Men she made for Christmas
 out of burlap, plaster of paris, pieces of felt and sequins were hilarious  ;-)

 She painted birch trees almost like Grandma Moses and made 
a needlepoint tapestry of animals in a forest, the bunny much larger than the bear and the
 scale of the scene was, well, interesting.  She was a great Girl Scout leader, so we  made all kinds of crafts that she taught us...unusual ones.  She was an avid reader, with a few artists on her side of the family tree. She tried her hand at writing poetry and probably would have been a great photographer had she the technology of today.

So, here I am, like her, finding pleasure in dabbling in 
small projects that might be appreciated by another, or not.  A talent I once wanted to pursue involved a desire to be a doctor + interpreter and work with Albert Schweitzer, but I won't go on....
Have a great weekend!

Old Cowgirls ....

This composition is in the huitain form introduced to me by deVerse  this last week;  also I used the "summer" theme for the month of August from another writer on the site...I hope it passes muster..I  know it's a far cry from the famous ballads and writings by countless before today ;}   Besides, Cowgirl Poetry,  genre all it's own, is very formidable.

~huitain~ usually 8 syllables, 8 lines in a stanza

Old Cowgirls...

Summers found us bridling our mares

Nuzzling for the bucket of oats
Ready for trails to lose our cares
Pushing back low tree boughs that poked
Riding through small canyons, back roads
Long shirts tucked into riding jeans
protected us from poison oak
Cowgirl hats provided sunscreen  

Water droplets covered with dust                          
clung to our boots and I wonder
whatever happened to my trust??
Narrow paths tall grass at shoulder
Turning necks in saddles under
skies that heard our dreams and wishes
what parents oft put asunder
freedom with a horsetail's swishes

Brushing my horses bangs aside
Buckskin coat with expresso sheen

Her appaloosa with sad eyes                                            
Laughing faces where big tears streamed

We were just under seventeen
Dismounting to drink cool water
Pink snow had fallen on lime green
To draw strength one day for fodder

Hooves dug in dirt climbing up hills
Rocky terrain met meadow lakes
Wilderness ferns and flowers thrilled
Grasshoppers, snakes leaped in our wake
Sharing feelings, goals, fears to sate
We raced, we cantered, walked slowly
Country nowhere else could equate
Twilight led us home woefully

Learning preparedness those day trips
Had quickened our first responses
So when someone loved lost their grip,
terrible things confronted us
We grew extra arms, took losses
Shared losing a sister too soon
Inclined to believe our horses
chariots waiting past the moon

by klr

The photo in the belt buckle is not my friend and I..there are none that we can find...

Molly & the circus...

Theme Thursday

Theme Thursday for August 9, 2012 - RECOLLECTIONS

The scene was exactly out of a story book called "Circus Time". 

 It came to life before my very eyes.  In the 1950's, descending from Glacier National Park on part

 of our vacation to Canada, we drove around a corner and into pastureland.  To our extreme surprise,  we saw men in blue overalls hoisted long poles.  Little people scurried about watering elephants as they, indeed, were helping to pull taut the ropes which fastened a huge tent down with 
spikes driven  into  the ground. 

We had happened upon one of the last "Greatest Shows on Earth"!  Performers had to be 

getting ready behind the scenes  as well.  Until it opened we found lodging in the nearby small town, the name of which I don't recall now.  I'm sure my jaw fell wide open and then my imagination ran wild as I fixated my memory on the little Golden Book read to me as a child over and over by my paternal grandmother.  What I describe now is partly 

what I saw that day, probably in Idaho, and mostly from the story book.

Living the gypsy life, lost boys called "The Big Show" home; sawdust

 stung their bare hands and arms and the scent of barley lingered from pitching bales of hay.

A trapeze artist donned her ballerina type shoes; clowns painted smiles on their dour faces.  Sky the color of cotton candy and buttercups began the day over three big tented arenas.   Onlookers filed into grandstands from oh, so many places, children arrived in swarms.  

Unparalleled in today's

 world, people watched in awe as the tigers and lions obeyed 

the tamer.  Men in leotards stretching and pretty showgirls on white prancing horses shared the spotlight with vividly costumed bears and dogs.  Many a writer has most likely already described all the                                   sights, smells, sounds and more details of a circus, particularly the familiar roasted peanuts, hot dogs, popcorn, and pretzel smells that filled the air.

Clamoring horns, the beating of a big drum, children screaming;,,, frequent hushes of an audience spellbound.  Bells ringing from the arcade and laughs from the crazy mirror house....

I channeled the little golden book that was read to me, of Molly and her father at

 the circus for the day.

Familiar was the side show where she saw the bearded lady and the man covered 

with tattoos.  Muscle bound men lifted weights; a very plump lady wept behind a curtain; another 

swallowed a snake!  
Bridles of silver gemstones shone in the sun as the sky turned a brighter, closer blue;  upbeat melodies 
played from the three rings in three tents gorged with people....all  of them happy to be there, simply to put grins on the faces of others.

The illustrations in the Golden Book by Marion Congor are by Tibor Gergely .... beautifully done,

 it seems with a magical brush, in hued colors in round, supple strokes; children have rosy cheeks and men have kind faces; each scene is easily imprinted on one's mind for lifetime.  Dipping his pen in caramel ink for the late afternoon soil and then adding the grey- blues and textured finer touches, he used 
a Kool Aid cherry red paint to contrast with the lime and orange balloons....

At the end of this day in the illustrations

 in the book, the sky changes to shades of purple.  Everything is exaggerated as they 

 might be in a child's mind...larger than life...and up close.  

Tired from the excitement, Molly rests her sleepy head on her father's shoulder, balloon in hand.

He carries her home in the cooler evening after they have had their fill of entertainment.

The warm wholesome feelings the book imparted to me years ago, still exist, but also have led me to revisit the father daughter dance that I ironically found myself a part of.  I idealized my father...he taught me how to dance by letting me stand on his feet, how to chop down a 
small Christmas tree with an axe,  to study hard and long,  and to not be
 prejudiced. To all of us, he was a champion 
in everything he did.  
We learn parents have faults.

Growing older, I saw I was not the little girl in the black Mary Jane 
shoes dressed in the French blue dress.  The man in his green suit and brown hat was not 
really capable, not emotionally available, as is said now, to understand a girl's ever fragile and changing thoughts and emotions.  I rebelled against my usurper and clashed with his 
patriarchal tone.

I learned to separate the truth from the fiction, the ideal from the actual, and the love and disappointments with cloudy boundaries.  I was oblivious to the mixed messages of unconditional love.  My god, did that take me 50 years to sort out?!  

No longer did I put my father on a pedestal; never performing quite well 
enough, I distanced myself, separating myself from him in many ways at an early age, and
 left home at 18 like a babe in the woods, head upheld, not down.  I was ill prepared for adulthood; I began to thrive when I learned that feeling anything at all in the world was allowed....even expressing those feelings was a healthy thing to do..  Well, I finally realized I deserved to
 be happier than I was at some point ;-_).....'hello Jane Fonda', 
who I later learned had dealt with the same issues with her father that I did,  that took a

 lifetime almost (thank goodness not too late) to parse out and uncover, 
a false premise, if you will.

So come one, come all!!  Join the parade!  .We all have our favorite books from childhood.  What is yours?  point ;-_)  If you mention those like Treasure Island, Nancy Drew or Moby Dick,

 then I believe you to be a well-grounded person.

 .

Random impressions of a river....

The following is in response to the request by Claudia of dVerse.com to write an impressionistic piece, creating the atmosphere or surroundings of a given time, writing quickly, not worrying about too many details, conveying the mood of the setting....fresh in my mind was last evening's get together of friends on a small deck overlooking a tributary that flows into the larger Columbia River:

Afternoon sun played through the branches

 of tall firs bordering the river.  

For lack of deep water to swing into, the old rubber tire hung by a hefty rope and

 the swimming hole across from us - abandoned 

yet looked so inviting.. 

River narrow at this point, shadows cast the

 darkest dark green on the water.

Shimmery sun spattered leaves spun light around, like small mirrors falling on the river surface. 

Rapids heard down stream, beyond a wide bed of rocks,  more exposed

 these summer days.  

More visible meant easier to find agates

 churned, culled over to a polish

 by the currents, recovered by scavengers;  some gold and clear, others cloudy with green and blue layers; some a pearly white or mottled, oddly shaped - 

thunder eggs

Many such found rocks line the wooden deck 

of the one bedroom cabin, 

 Collections found before in baskets, a home-made coffee table indoors.  The retreat is restful and cozy, with scents of pine and clover; flower boxes decorate steps,

 inner tubes at hand.

Making the short hike up and down easier, 

dirt paths angle back and forth,

 protruding bare roots provide steps on trails through trimmed arcs of branches. 

Through the small gorge, dusk sends a breeze;

  dabs of color dash across the other side

 Creativity and character define the surroundings 

 Reading's the main pastime
Conversations and stories take over,  pouring glasses of red wine

Paintings of Indian maidens adorn the walls.
Schnauzers snore quietly

Peering through darkening trees in a navy night sky
a waxing moon greets us
Unable to stop time from advancing,
at least it moved slowly for awhile
- for some friends 

 -

by klr

"Joy."..and The Hungry i ..Haiku Heights....a n d......

    My second time linking with Haiku Heights

Remember with me

'Twas written by Three Dog Night

 with frog prodigy  

Mighty fine music

Jeremiah would agree

brought "joy to the world"

by klr




a n d.....one  joyous  memory from the "hungri i" restaurant...
 ...

My memory of the "hungri I" ~

San Francisco - 1961...
we lunched at Fisherman's Wharf, 
rode the cable cars, saw the Presidio, 

drove down Lombard St., walked Chinatown and drove through Haight Ashbury.  And yes, we 
crossed over the Golden Gate bridge, saw Alcatraz, climbed the Coit Tower and even saw a San Francisco Giants baseball game at Candlestick park.  I was 14 and my brother, Alan, 11.  Our parents took us out of our mundane routine to know some of the world outside our own small town.   I remember that 

I wore a scarf  and it blew across my face along with big raindrops as we ducked for cover into the renowned "hungri i"  restaurant one evening.  We were in for a treat!  It was elegant, I thought, 

and I felt quite grown up when I was allowed to have a glass of red wine with dinner, brought to our round oak table by a handsome waiter.  And I was allowed a sip of my father's martini.  We practiced our table manners without cue, or we would get "that look" from our parents.  We had tickets to see the live show after our meal!

                                                             

                                                                                                                                                                            The Gateway Singers

The Kingston Trio, who hailed from the bay area, launched their career at this nightspot. Headlining the show that night was a new comedian, Bob Newhart.  The show opened that night with the powerful Gateway Singers. Billed with Bob Newhart were The Limeliters with tenor, Glenn Yarbrough 

Little did we know that all would become world famous within a short time.  Never having been at a live event, I was struck with how splendidly loud, full-bodied and soulful the music sounded.  The songs were in the folk music genre of the time, like The Christy Minstrels group and The Smothers Brothers...around the time of The Captain and Tenille and The Brothers Four who sprouted from Washington State. Barbra Streisand was a favorite, as was Mort Saul, comedian.  You may include Peter, Paul and Mary and Carol Burnett.  But it was Glenn Yarbrough's splendid tenor voice singing "Baby the Rain Must Fall" that took me over the moon!! They made a lasting impression on me with their raggedy songs.  Below is a 1963 medley including the Brazilian whistling song.  My father especially loved the Irish tune, "Have Some Madeira, M' Dear?" which he would lip-sinc at home in the kitchen, teasing my mother when in a fun mood.  The audience was full of adults and it was smokey and dimly lit.  People drank and laughed.  We wondered if our parents really thought we would enjoy the show or was it that they wanted to see Bob Newhart but didn't want to leave us alone in the hotel?                                                                                                                    

But there were no off color words uttered that I remember, and by the end of Newhart's monologue my side ached from so much laughter.  After returning home I bragged to my friends at school about seeing them in person,  having felt like I had taken a giant step toward adulthood.  Today the restaurant does not exist;  Another club (casino or strip) there now bears the same name. The bare brick walls where Lenny Bruce and others grew to popularity no longer fill the space; you can read more about the "hungri i" and it's long-time owner HERE .  It was totally one of most joyful and special experiences  to be there during it's heyday.

Haiku Heights

Yes, we have snow bananas?...

Forgive me for I had not planned this nor do I think it is particularly artistic...why and how does one combine the bananas and orange and the icy snow storm for a story?  I am snowbound, have all I need, but not much fruit which is the prompt for Ana's Wonderland photo shot over at her blog and this is my contribution.

Nothing fancy here with the camera either.  To be sure, the storm here in the PNW has caused many to face dangerous circumstances, and I am fortunate to live on a pretty creek, away from the traffic, and not have to leave home.  But as you can see, there are branches that have been cracking and falling due to the heavy weight of icy snow.  I've been hearing the noise all day and see that they are continuing to populate the creek and the yards in the neighborhood.  Plenty of cleanup work for someone in a few days, after the rain.

Silly I suppose, but the thought did occur to me that both the tangerine, yellow and titian colors combined with photos of the white and brown and blue-green of the trees are a fun play with color.  Am I kidding myself?  Then,  I imagine both snow and fruit can be plentiful, ubiquitous - as opposed to barren, empty, or unfulfilled.  Might I be stretching the analogies here?  But there must be a point to this post...or must there?!

It's not about Fire and Ice, a good book by the way.  It could be about frisky animals running about, but there is not a toad or rodent tale here to tingle the imagination.  The 'yield' or result here is simply that it might be close to the height of smugness on my part that I even think there is a story here to tell...or there is,  and someone else would do it better justice.

From my humble office window I see two ducks scouting  for more bread to be tossed their way.  Earlier they were slipping on the foot deep icy crusted snow, racing for food.  




Fortunately I feel safe during this time, but I have a torn Achilles heel tendon which means
I have to wear a boot and keep the foot immobilized for several weeks from a week ago.  So I will feed the birds and squirrels and 

now go back to the jigsaw puzzle on the table. Luckily, I still have power, so there are options of watching a movie, baking banana bread, or perusing the Internet.  My mind is not as prolific as the snow and icy rain have been, however.  Nor is my head producing any fruitful ideas, so I will heed the loud voice inside that tells me to forsake this course of prolonging  anyone's boredom.  Consider it another experiment in blogging, and I trust that,  if there are no responses, it could indicate or prepare me then,  for my future blogging prospects ;-)  I hope all affected by the storm have better weather tomorrow and not a lot of flooding...and safe and bountiful days ahead.  
Kathy

Escargot anyone...?

It began as a small boarding house in 1896 and now brags international awards for its cuisine and unhurried hospitality.  This could be a public relations plug for a place, but it is a short story of the first (and only) time my daughter and I ate escargot.....

The Shelburne Inn and Bed & Breakfast in Seaview WA. boasts one of the best of the Pacific Northwest Regional restaurants, The Shoalwater Inn.  With it's own organic garden and patio views, I had stayed there before, but  this particular night was a departure for us,  and a rainy and foggy one...and, it was New Year's Eve, I believe 1984.  Loving the ocean year round, we had finished a walk in town and on the beach, and then found ourselves sitting at a corner table in the dining room of this period decorated old hotel at about 8:00pm.  After the entrance, one passes the cozy hearth and sofas for visitors and wall plaques depicting the history of the building and town.  There is a staircase leading up to rooms with comfy four posted feather beds and claw foot tubs.


There were holiday lights and decorations but only a few people sitting across the room from us.  Carols were streaming from a speaker in the room.  I remember sharing my glass of white wine with my daughter as the waitress served  the appetizer order -  Escargot !!  It wasn't a dare, but rather that I had always been taught to try new things and was passing the idea on.  With a bit of hesitation we took our first bites - expecting to swallow it whole, and for it to be slimy, or spit it out.  Once I had tried overly cooked calamari and found it to be horribly rubbery and without taste.  I was surprised to experience a mellow, tender, pleasing taste...a flavor all it's own.  Alternately with the wine, needless to say,  they went down smoothly with a few chews.  We both were amazed at how delicious they were and knew then why they are considered a delicacy.  I do not have their recipe, and they serve it only in certain seasons when snails are harvested in the area.  The dish in the picture above is mushrooms stuffed with escargot (ours were seasoned in wine and I'm not sure what else, but alone) and sounds very tasty with bleu cheese and pecan sauce.  Together with their cranberry bogs, kite and music festivals, the town draws quite a crowd all year long.


After our meal of clam chowder, shrimp dishes and salads,  we waited for dessert.  Time passed quickly by as low voices came from two other tables.  At about 10:30pm, when we decided to leave, we were asked if we would like to stay for the New Year's party and, of course, said yes.  Soon we were brought the shiny hats that strap under your chin with a rubber band and two noisemakers each...the horns to blow and the hand held kind you wave in the air that make a loud clanging noise.  When they began the countdown to midnight, everyone, including the owners and staff, joined in to sing Auld Lang Synge...so we rang in the new year and rang out the old... with the 9 or so strangers in this dimly lit room.  Everyone saluted one other.    My daughter was 14 years old.  Along came the cake and ice cream with sparklers,  no less,  and finally we said goodnight.

We awoke to a hearty sausage and egg breakfast with their freshly baked signature scones along with the jam, lemon curd and DevonShire cream, complimentary with a night's stay.  We ate quietly, paid our compliments,  and headed out into the blowing storm, ready to drive the 100 miles back home to Seattle and begin our new year.  To this day, it is one of  my fondest memories...and Mary's as well.

Recipe for Creativity....First assignment for Raining Umbrellas...

 This is a remake of the actual first assignment...I tried to retrieve it from the belly of the internet, or its cache, but had no luck...so this is as I remember it although there might be a minor difference or two..thanks for your patience and for stopping by again...