Vales La Pena...

  Over at dversepoets.com today we are writing in a foreign language; my second language is Spanish and this is something written quite awhile ago.  At one time I was immersed in the Ecuadorian culture for awhile..I hope you enjoy it...poems always sound better to me in Espanol and as you can see use fewer words..

Vales La Pena
En tu lado del
continente hay lagunas inquietas,
bostezando,
esperando de ser
cruzadas
y puentes que solo
existen de donde saltar
me hablas en canto ..
como melodia del colobri
en tu voz de
setiembre
me hizo sentir de
duelo
y me prometiste que
bailemos bajo la lluvia
el olor del viento y
la neblina
entran cada oido
traje de luces y
piernas largas de avestruz
cruzadas y de goma
se levantaban al
ventricular,
senti un naufragio
me despierto
alzando mi brazo para
sellarte dentro de mi
pecho
agarro almuadas
vacias
donde estas? que has
hecho ?
te necesito, no
tierra ajena
el amo te alcanza y
vales la pena

Sometimes it's better to write in English first then Spanish...it did not translate as well as I thought..this is a better version..how it would sound in Spanish but many words are left out or "lost in translation"....

You Are Worthy

On your side of the continent there are lagoons, restless,
yawning,
waiting to be crossed ...
and bridges that exist only to jump from ...
I speak in song .. the humming bird's melody ...
in your voice of September ...
I felt grief
and you promised me a dance in the rain.

the smell of the wind and fog
enter each ear ...
(dress) suit of lights and long ostrich-like legs ...
cross and weather a hangover ...
rising all the way to the heart,
shipwrecked,
I awake ... raising my arm
to seal you inside my chest…(breast)
only to clutch empty pillows.

where are you? what have you done?
I need you, not a distant land …
my love reaches out for you …
because you are worth it.

Today..200th post...

   Later today I am posting my 200th creative page
 on this blog that I began the
 summer of 2011.  It has grown and evolved, much to my surprise; and from 

what I gather from other bloggers it takes time to build and hone this little world in cyberspace,
 to know just how you want it to look and feel, what it is you want to accomplish and where you want
to take it.  

I can't say I am disappointed.  Where it will lead I cannot say....
it's a little one in the huge world of blogging and there is so much more one can do.  I wanted only to
 share with readers what interests and moves me as a beginning poet, writer, photographer and if
 I have reached anyone and made them smile, or even cry (in a good way) then it has
 been worthwhile.

Until now I do not advertise or adopt other gadgets much...in time I will see...what I feel 

comfortable with in adding to this space.  It's been a great pleasure of mine to meet all the talented
people along the way.  You don't know how happy it has made me to be able to express myself
in this way.   So, so far, so good.....and again, thanks for visiting me here

on the Eyrie Road.

.I am closing with the painting with which I started the, the first
post in July 2011..it's always been a dream of mine to live in such a cottage and it's
 in the same spirit I create here still...

                          Kathy -

                                                                    

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..

Sleeping Beauty..revisiting..

 
 dversepoets.com's Open Link night

Rarely does one see a photo of a snow covered Sleeping Beauty unless 

copy-written or perhaps one personally snapped shot from near her in the Trout Lake 

valley below Mt. Adams in Washington State. I'm re-posting the poem I wrote in 2011 posted on my blog in it's beginning year.  I've added two photos with Sleeping Beauty in her winter glory as well as a sunset photo and a small general map to give you a more complete picture.  

People I grew up with and who still live near her are fortunate 

to know her and that part of our state that borders Oregon, known for it's lumber industry, fishing, hiking, huckleberries and green, almost storybook, scenic countryside above the Columbia River.

by klr  

  Her reclining silhouette looks up to heaven

draped in a gown of multi-hued greens,

she sleeps eternally above the golden valley

                                                                                                               
Hills of smoldering spruce form her breasts,

 new growth where her flowing lava hair

once was quarried.

Indian legend says she died of an aching heart

Gods fought for her pure love

yet she lived for no other than her young brave

The story tells how the volcanoes rumbled,

echoes of Romeo and Juliette,

immortal mountains made their true loves grave

Autumn turns her garb to silky rusts and golds,

 while hints of lime and magenta foliage

grow next to ebony bones

In winter she imparts warmth to those who eye her

A snowy princess in sweet repose

shy clouds cling to her feet

Springtime birds fly gladly all around

finding shelter in her terrain,

Rainbows often circle her throat

The sun and stars take turns

shining down upon her,

Her majesty can be seen for miles

Veils of mist breathe a faint sound

One senses a slight stirring motion

as she slumbers and smiles

 This is probably one of the earliest photos of her.  The Sleeping Beauty Trails and hikes take you up to an elevation of 4907 ft., are just part of the Cascade chain that runs from Alaska to Central America and beyond. Of the highest peaks on the map, we can brag about 4 ancient volcanoes, Mt. St. Helens being the most recently active.                                                  

                         

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

Illumination.. word for 2013..PAF...

..from a photo of a vintage lit wreath in my window, I've used texture and 

more texture to illustrate the subject of today's share with Photo Art Friday.  Bonnie asked

 us to choose a word for the New Year that encompasses what our blog or idea 

might be for guidance in the year ahead.  

.....for various reasons I am focusing on light and illumination and truth..
the ink well and quill and the addition of birds tell you I believe writing and reading 
as well as nature's music are lights on our paths.....you will find other inspired
 digital photoart today at pixeldustphotoartand..

lune portals..

Over at

dversepoets.com today Sam Peralta leads us in embracing the American haiku form, lunes, either the 5-3-5 syllabic variation or the 3-5-3 word lune;  mine is still another variation, a 5-3-5 word form..

January's moon tips gibbous,
draws longer shadows,
brightens cream colored stepping stones.

February's lunar storms heat up
with timeless love
melting hearts and warming bodies

March's moonlight lends passionate edge
April's moon pines
exposing cascading flowers in May

Butterflies swarm in June's lunar
light, spreading 
wider as summer moves on

July and August moons beckon, 
highlighting the Irish moss,
skirt and skip between branches.

Rustles in wind signal September
her moon sets
on wedding nuptials and vows

October's and November's hunting and harvest moons send ardor through men's veins,

yet they venture not far from home and hearth.

December's moon is your smile

caressing my cheek, for a calendar complete,

God's personal design for my lunar cycle




               

...ordinary New Year night...

dversepoets.com is where you will find OpenLinkNight on Tuesdays - we are writing our first poetry/prose of the new year..

..on a night like tonight when
the moon drips it's yellow paint sideways
 into the thin air
and Auld Lang Synge is being
sung 3000 miles away, all the grocery carts are
indoors..late shoppers hurry in and out;
my hunt for the eggnog is futile..
the manager waves hello and points me to the lentils,
... they moved everything recently
all else is located quickly and I let the
others go ahead of me in line...
the checker is bald except for both sides above
his ears...he gets off at midnight..going straight home
to his 7 week old daughter..she sleeps 6 hours straight
 at night already..
help out to the car is much appreciated
..the 18 year old fellow will go back to work in six hours...
in June his unit leaves for Somalia..needed there
to keep the peace..others leaving Afghanistan
will join him

the cat feels I've put her off too long...looks lately
like she's gained, or it's her extra growth of a fur coat

...trying not to trip over her I put eggs in the blender
add frozen yogurt, crushed ice, frozen half banana,
skim milk, vanilla, cinnamon and nutmeg ...
frothing it all, add the last of the rum .. then I
pour it into the pretty brandy
snifter I rarely use....the movie selection is the same
holiday offerings still but I land on the Merle Oberon
 "Til We Meet Again"....
and hope I don't end up in tears; I'm really not in
that kind of mood this New Year's Eve...I  recall for awhile
previous such eves without companionship;  also,
 particularly, a neighborhood sledding party in a
heavy snow flurry in the 70's,  bonfire at the
bottom of the hill...other years there were long
midnight kisses, dancing and then out to breakfast till
the wee hours,
and... many when the kids tried to stay up for the countdown
but just couldn't make it and fell asleep
on the sofa in front of the tv or on my lap..

fireworks went off next door, the loudest making me
 jump an inch...
as I write this I am falling asleep at the computer...
it's a new year..I plan to see Les Mis' today and hope
 I am not disappointed
in my mind, the 2010 British anniversary stage production
and cast cannot be surpassed....volume to the max..
 the sun is supposed to come out so a nice
crisp day to go for a walk..
now to stop rambling...;)
...the black and white screen is flickering and they
are having cocktails on a ship deck......
.dormir bien...zzzzz

A collage of New Year's Eve nostalgia...

...sharing some of my collection of favorite New Year pictures - mostly

 vintage postcards, which I love;  also you will see what else comes to mind for many usually on this Eve...

or what is memorable or special about the this time of the season.  Maybe you will find one

 photo that particular rings a bell for you or strikes a chord ;)

Happy New Year to all blog visitors this night...

BTW, my newest search found a scarce greeting card by John P. Squire meet packer

 company, possible sent to only store owners, not the public.  It shows a mother pig with the 

old date on her back and the piglets with the new year on their
backs, 1912...can be seen on eBay..

.

Clickety click of change..

Over at   Dversepoets.com lovely Claudia suggests we write about change, turnings taking place...she gave us a wide latitude, with the New Year on the way, for all types of change...

Once, 
she worked 9 to 5
in the secretarial pool..first ladies of the
pantsuit desk set... buttoned down
blue collar blouse....
..shorthand tablet
at the ready
Brassy,
clickety click 
of typewriters
halted abruptly..
whingg!
A long whistle sounded,
emptying rows of desks
Prattling, they punched cards.. 
Down,
crowding into an
elevator..
wrought iron
40's type..
10 floors to the 
main lobby of the department store..out 
the glass swiveling doors.. onto the neon lit puddled sidewalk
Night..
found them at the darkly Rose Cafe..a joint that played the blues, served stiff Martinis...for a time, a speak easy, of an era when art nouveau  flourished..with olives, she preferred two.  Blythe spirits jitterbugging..dancing the flat foot floozy...
Noises echo now....in my minds eye I see them...or is it a movie screen?

Changes, 
 ...the world would soon be at 
war, second one..
Facing the abyss,  ladies united,
worked two jobs - as riveters,  making
parachutes, packing ammunition
The tenderer sex had to
ration, sacrifice...
a patriotism few questioned
Clickety clack,
machines drown out
gay voices and song... 

70 years go by..
new doors open, new paths to travel 
We fly around the world in no time..
Ladies today can be anything..an executrix,
win congressional seats..
Well...
then there are micro chips...
Generations make rapid strides..
for all we know Hillary will be President
one day, and Bill
will be the first First Gentleman
Change..
I have a feeling it's always going to be 
something BIG.. in store for you and me
.
Clickety click...
a toast, so "let's have another cup of coffee,
another piece of pie!"

                                                                      
                 
   

...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 ;)