Green + Brown = Hazel Irish Eyes

Posted for  dversepoets.com  'green' is the theme today..such a broad area to choose from.  I believe there is one extra syllable in this somewhere but I hesitated to take one out in it's place..ah well..

 Between green and brown on the color wheel,

the shade of my eyes with a touch of blue

 Spritely yellow banded beams help conceal
melancholy tendencies sneaking through

Spartan portals of sparrows' harmless hues

Irish eyes that dream of a verdant Isle 

 where ancestors aimed with an arrow true

 forged rich character with a wink and smile

Not hunter, pine, gun metal, crocodile 

 Nor  greens harlequin, Russian, or phthalo 

but spheres of fractal art meant to beguile

Eyes fairy dusted with illusive gold 

Therein shines fighting muster Leprechaun green  

ye'll find the master's file at rainbow's fin

  

Random cinquains...

  I      Chess                                                                                      III    Snow

         Bishops                                                                                           I kick                                  
         and knights protect                                                                           snow high because
         the King's crown from capture                                                         I am mad at the world
         sacrifice many noblemen                                                                   better ease my anger thusly 
         Check mate                                                                                      Rage gone                         
                                                                                             

         

  II    Caravan                                                                                       IV    Bees
         
         Gypsies                                                                                            Purple
         dance in firelight                                                                                honey made by
         bandannas wave the air                                                                       bees that suck blackberries
         circling feet stomp to sweet music                                                       for us to find in honeycomb
         Tango                                                                                               Humming

V   Justice

Fairness

truth and honor

                                                                     integrity not lost                                                                   

unless one can afford O. J.'s 

lawyer

Today we are being asked by Tony at            dversepoets.com    to write cinquains, the form of five lines of words with syllable counts of  2, 4,  6. 8. and 2...always fun to do..and for me, much easier than limericks as I am  unfortunately not clever enough for them..;)

Rhyme for the foot...

For dversepoets.com

In the movie "Out of Africa", a script which I have for all practical purposes, memorized, there is a scene when Denys Finch Hatten (Robert Redford) mentions to Karin Blixon (Meryl Streep)  that there are poems written for almost every body part, but not, to his knowledge, one for the foot.  The following is how is goes:

RR:  There's lips, eyes, hands, face...

 hair, breasts...

legs, arms, even the knees.

But not one verse for the poor foot.

Why do you think that is?

MS:  Priorities, I suppose.

Did you think you would make one?

RR:  Problem is there's nothing to rhyme it with.

MS:  Put.

RR:  It's not a noun.
 MS:  Doesn't matter. Along he came and he did put

                                         upon my farm his clumsy foot.

Well, I have written one using part of her line and what else I venture to say may have been added to the  poem; author Isak Denison wrote beautifully of Africa;  this is an exercise in imagination and my version in the form of an exphrastic poem referencing her work...

He trekked 
and hunted the desert

led bartering for tribal independence
for Kenyan territory 

  He walks the red dirt path to her front door

led by scents of jasmine, coffee 
beans, the sound 
of Mozart, 

  An after safari post of sweet repose
where good food, wine, 
a steam bath can be found 

He longs to hear her enchanting stories
 her mind an almanac and he 
with a fine cigar

He views 
the porch where they 
once napped and drank tea with lemon,
 dusts his hat on his khaki right knee  

The farm not hers 
except to cultivate,

the Kikuyu and Masai belonged there

She had worked the fields
 started a school under the blue gum trees
on the vast plains under hot 
African sun

 humanity's cradle where wild 
beasts still run
in the purple haze

He winces, then 
with one last broad step he does put
upon her farm squarely there 
his left foot

 Days became years 
 soul mates in their world of nature, 
yet he eluded planting roots 
 Now overlooking the antelope grazing 

he lies buried there
The lite foot lad and rose lipped maiden 
would.like that o'er the farm 
now reign blazing sunsets, copper, 
oranges and soot 

 created from stories shared there
where once they stood

Blooming shrub.. Tuesday Muse

For Nancy Claeys' at aruraljournal.com  Tuesday Muse meme prompt....sweet smelling Pieris Japonica shrub ..first a little old world texture and then a bouquet that has been posturized..  Several birds awakened me Sunday morning and I found this in bloom.

Diamante...raining Lego..

 dversepoets.com
If it's not too presumptuous of me, ( I hope it's O.K.?) I'd like to share what my 

10 year old grandson, Burke, came up with last night while overnight here...after I used some 

of his words for the poetics prompt he told me he had studied haiku and diamante last week at school
and I had read Aprille's poems which are diamantes also, so I told him he could 

choose all the words and we would write it and I would post it...so from 

his mouth to your eyes, ears :  

Bear

awesome cool

riding  running  racing  

 scooter  road  Lego  storm

hit    jumped   dive
blue  sparkling 

                                                    waterfall                                      by Burke B.

Noun
adjective adjective
verb verb verb
noun noun noun noun
verb verb verb
adjective adjective
noun

                                                                                                                          

Moon glow...

Brian Miller at  dversepoets.com asks us to write a poem around 10 words, preferably given to us 

by someone else. With help from my grandson  ( if all were up to him the words would have 

been awesome, cool, Lego and well, I think you know what I mean), we came up with the  2 nouns - flame,  dawn...3 adjectives - white, sleepless, broken...3.verbs - kissing, found, turn...

and any 2 other words - dragon, goodbye...

Moon glow   (Moondance)

Outlined sharply by blue-slate dawn sky
the castle ruins remain where I left them,
appearing like moon rocks fallen
from my body
I am the crescent moon falling
slowly in the east..
faint distant flutes
swoon an ancient melody
- for it was not meant to last,
the love between you and me..
sleepless days wandering, a truce..
a white flag hangs from a spear
planted in the garden.. scarecrow.. 
broken mirror prisms dash light 
diagonally across 
the courtyard.
Kissing you goodbye
meant I would not return
...but I did..and found
no frightening memory, rather markers 
of what still can be..
like a new baby dragon
being born out of it's shell in the wet
clammy sand;
and not blown out by
the winds of change, a flame...
that reveals possibilities ...
a different course of action 
from revolving, turning, 
a trajectory from which I can
slip into another order...
for my heart is in no race 
to another universe..
sure of itself... but
will never lose again..
take second place..I have
my dream ticket to paradise                                                                          

                                                                                                                         by klr

 As an after thought, and in response to Gretchen's music prompt, I would like to add that this Van   Morrison song pretty  much encapsulates the feeling I wanted to convey with the above poem. Only after   perusing all my favorite music did it dawn on me that there is a connection for me,  albeit subconscious ;)

Babbling mountain brook...

dversepoets.com  ...today we are writing about where we each live..



Hiking to a clear mountain stream
or lake..... nothing less than stellar 
views of curling ferns...downed logs
and moss sleeping among the forests beds..
trees that reach high and nudge snow sprinkled
mountain ridges...winding trails with stories to tell...


Deer cross in front of me, unafraid,  salmon spawn up river...goldfinches arrive early...as does my craving for strawberries out of season...
Marguerite daisies sprout
from rich soil...
full of nutrients of understanding, 
supple ground renewed with 
seeds of knowledge.. as I sit... 
on a large rock
after a long climb....
hours lost in the poetry of trees..
their soulfulness surrounds and carries me.. arms outstretched, they absorb all.they hear.  

They wear verbs for a coat.. preserving ancient tales..of love's haste and remorse, voices echoed down old paths....feelings lifted or dropped like pine needles by lovers, mountaineers, other passersby...their leaves and fallen twigs are nouns tossed in the air.....telling of decaying and growing....teaching patience and tolerance..forgiveness, chiding and redeeming...absolving...displaying nature's comings and goings.....
Here in this sanctuary, the forest begs to be read...the babbling icy brook longs to quench my thirst; 
my spirit is broadened by fresh scents of pine and cedar...
where sunlight comes and goes...
waiting for me to turn the pages of its soul, listening...

Sitting beside a woodland waterfall...on a rockery...nature speaking with me, 
an inspired listener...
a book is a tree..a tree is a book?  Is a cloud is a conversation?
No one knows where I am right now...
will the stones of the brook 
remember
how it was today?
As the ivy climbs and falls, what secrets will it tell?  
Are the rustles in the bushes a code?
...if a wild rose is compost...is compost a wild rose?
I want to know...
inhale...exhale.'''
.inhale...exhale..
...we all breathe freshly in unison


by klr

Ms. Christie..

by klr



Here to investigate a perfectly

carried out murder in the library

 the inspector and usual suspects

gathered to unravel the mystery

Varied characters pointing to others
alibis formed, proclaiming innocence
Twists and turns easy for most astute sleuths
poker faced..cards are played close to the chest

Detectives have their own style to cipher
the truth.. searching for hidden clues and those
that might be blatantly in one's plain sight
right under Dame Agatha Christie's nose

Short verse is the request today at dversepoets.com, and some are very short, an art in itself if you care to read more, please visit...

Photo Art Friday...Vintage..

It's been awhile since I participated in Bonnie's Photo Art Friday..  Here are 3 that I 

played with today, but this first shot of a photo of a vintage picture that had been blown up, framed, and hung on a bathroom wall at the place we stayed at the beach last Nov. is my favorite ....I just love it.  Still, though I notice a bit of the remainder of a reflection I didn't manage to hide.I hope to add it to my bathroom decor as well, only smaller...the colors are perfect.
.I only wish I knew who the ladies were...;)                                                     

Seaside Ore 1924

Pitcher with roses with french doors

                           Calling card paperweight (my great great grandmother's)...

                           

Words cry out...

Something new, an Exphrastic Trireme Sonnet  written today per instructions from poet Samuel Peralta for Form for All at  dversepoets.com ...

Words crying out to be freed and written

 to his long time wife he scripted an ode

pen inclined to paper tracing his blue heart 

From love's first sight til her now fate given

when rain falling distilled about her brow

rainbows growing to bridge their times apart

Letters were sealed by his moist lips to send 

(she waited for them in tide pool's mangrove) 

 kept them tied in blue ribbon in her armoire 

Branches bow low and soft billowed clouds wend 

soft warm breezes in places they once strode  

Sharing a hammock of legs hands and arms  

he recalls she asked of him, "...tell me, then, 

where do you begin...and...where do I end?"

by klr

The pelican's song...

  It us Open Link Night over at dversepoets.com  Today I put together a poem with a recent watercolor of mine of one of my favorite birds...no prompt..it's going out on it's own merit..I hope some of you find it and like it...

Roaming the
hemisphere,
sovereign,
free to be who he is,                                                                                    
no need for approval here,
He often drops in
where not welcome
on his own terms
admonishing seagulls and terns
Dinner jacket, a mottled
feathered matting of ivory,
keen eyes. generous beak,
a curved mandible to envy
In spite of his ample trough
for hoarding fish, not awkward
but glides low skillfully
skimming the sea,
gracefully changing his course,
elegantly using thermal winds to slip,
soar or float, a natural diver he
                                                                                                       
A good name for him might be
Paddy,  Pavlov, or Pascal
not a vicious or ugly pest but rather a docile
simple duck with a handsome profile
A symbol of sorts of man's
ongoing ability to transform,
his right to freedom and mobility,
to fly openly,
border-less,
inspired to stopover,
pause, let go and move on
or change direction
Feeling inspired by every moment,
each one being a juncture of the soul's journey
to be enjoyed from one moment into the next
..avoiding  extinction..
                                ....thus far

I carry secrets...

I carry secrets:
whispered messages 
from distant flaxen shores
ebbing in faint aqua tides

turned and retold
in watery grooves of sand

Energy connecting waves 
sing verses of the sea,

nourishing my poor soul, 
returning you to me
and me to you

 In ocean's lulling foam
beneath beaming rays of sun

 laurels float about my head..
brackish marine life
clings to my nakedness 
my feet become the stern

Life moving in 
and out of me

turning me inside out
willing I am to be
a prodigious vessel
patroness
empirical link to 
the cosmos' 
natural harmony

by klr

Today Kelvin at dversepoets.com has introduced several of his drawings to inspire us to write descriptively..not hard to do on a day where the the sun is out and one is in the writing mood ,,,

graffiti in Seattle...

Participating at    dversepoets.com today we are exploring graffiti poetry, the underworld artistic society of misplaced or unknown people making statements via this age old manner of expression...

Hits you like a bolt,
the stark satire
   graffiti on a bus -
birds drawn on a wire..

music streams from the ferry..

behind the stadiums..
..by the train tracks
  wise words spray painted,
some scary..

Culture unseen by many...
 " TO OBLIVION & BEYOND "
.. life depicted colloquially
Testimony/
/technology
rapidly move the world..
a city with it's heart on it's sleeve..
Guns and roses, too

                              In other words...
                                      bleeding sides of buildings..
tell the pain and glory
dripping colors cry out or smile
Warehouse walls shout "Viva Zapata"
..chalk drawn art as a time capsule
for martians compiled...
 "Elvis lives"!

Giant sketches of boobs & high heels,
words date the world of heroin,
bikes & tattoos..
.... a plaintive's plea
for amnesty/NOT the new Tea Party
Gemini
KKK
- freedom of speech no doubt..
Glad it's hidden from
youngsters' eyes, tho
            4 letter words you know
..and hate..
         Exceptional art stands out
   amid funky scribbling
      ....they made a movie with
                  Dreyfus & Ron Howard
                           History scrawled -
shapes filled in//
time warps....
           speed bumps//
Now that's what I don't
call hip anymore!
Tower of Babel,
                                gardens & art gone -
                                   reminders of war..
                                      tumbling down governments
                    ..democracies yet to be borne

Zeppelin -
 Lil Abner.....yin yang,
 Pi
...Peace, Man...
above all ...
LOVE

 - it all hits you like a bolt

Show me a place...Leonard Cohen ..my version

Tying a Leonard Cohen song or song of a place to a poem of my own immediately made me think of a special place I'd like to be, in Italy with someone special....on a long extended summer Tuscan holiday...not as moody as Cohen and not as many rhymes as his song but I hope it has the same effect.  Still recovering from the flu I was unable to even use the computer the way I wanted to for two days....it's good to feel better finally..thanks to those who expressed their well wishes ;)  dversepoets.com  

Show me the place.... that calmed my restless heartbeat

Show me the place..back down that familiar street

Show me the place..where I felt so young and free

Show me the place...dreams were born and carried me

A summer place..
where willows swing and sway

where a summer song
plays its sweet refrain

where morning shades
are a tropical drink..

an ideal harbor washed
in turquoise haze

Somewhere a place...a home away from home
of years gone by

Mid days fade to cream as "Al Di La" plays

..like a technicolor Casablanca..

Where grapes turn into a smooth Pinot Noir

for those who came from afar.... 

evening conversations
to plump our hearts .
...and bewilder our minds

Show me the place.... that calmed my restless heartbeat

Show me the place..back down that familiar street

Show me the place..where I felt so young and free

Show me the place...dreams were born and carried me

Show me the place....
where pudding aromas laze in the air..
of paella and bread...where lavender and coconut 

swim with flair 

Somewhere that summer place
defines my life's desire

Where echoes spill
from the countryside...play in the salty air...

an orchestra of chanting monks...clomping hooves..
...of fountains cascading

Somewhere a place to rest ...awhile in the whiteness

of a feather bed.. sewn of silkworms and bamboo

A coverlet of cirrus clouds
outlined at twilight in blood orange glaze

Show me the place.. .
eyes close with sleepy desire

Somewhere there is a place I long to go

A summer place.....keeping me warm from the cold

shaded from the heat....where I'm safe from harm

Somewhere a summer place...

Show me the place..

Soda fountain memory..

 

Today we are invited to write using some of the many styles of poetry, forms and various tools and  incorporating them into one poem..since I arrived late on the scene at dversepoets.com I have worked on only a few.  This I had already written for Valentine's Day and thought it might do as it is more prose, story, a rhyme or two, colloquial.

Driving the Coca Cola truck was a job he loved..
uP/ D
        o
         w
           n   ramps ..loading - unloading crates..
shipping bills - inventory - neon signs as gifts..
people made the day go around..not the clock
ESPECIALLY,  when he delivered to Woolworth's general store
in San Diego..







..he timed his arrival to coincide
with her coffee breaks ..(after the ice was broken)
She was a tall brunette with a shy smile..
her demeanor  made him feel at ease..
She worked behind the counter at the soda fountain
most days, on her feet all day,  with
her nose in a book when she had the chance..Friendly to all,
she made lifelong friends wherever she went..
He wore a white cap, pushed back on his head,
pushed a hand cart
to wield heavy loads  (and us)..

His laugh was deep yet soft; he was respectful and polite and
she said 'yes' when he asked her for a date
They went square dancing regularly
He kept his beat up Chevy well tuned
.... ordered a fudge sundaes...
she was partial to a 7UP float
with vanilla bean ice cream..
They double dated with friends..he wooed her with HUGE
glittery Valentines and birthday cards..
always signed them "All my love, Eddie"
For many years they both worked hard, he at the lumber mill,
then driving trucks delivering pop and beer..she at the shipyard during the war, the cannery,
and the post office..
Many happy years and many friends later,

After 60 years, she had boxes of his saved cards
They had a wonderful old craftsman home once,
where I remember chickens, a cow, a porch swing, and
the moon.. a dog named Butch. my teddy bear...
But there were many locations as they were like nomads moving
many times between WA. Ore. & CA.. always with my great granny in tow..
I was his first grandchild and I loved him so much.
He rolled his own..smoked until he had cancer at age 86..
I visited him in
the nursing home.
I told him that he looked more handsome every day...
and he winked and smiled back at me the same familiar way ;-)
Grandma live another 12 years..
I never doubted their love for each other,
How they missed one another when he was on the road all those years,
but she would sit on his lap and hold his face in her hands
and they would talk for hours and hours.....
I'll never forget them and all the memories..

Synonym of adj. bittersweet => sad ( vs. glad )...

 The prompt today at dversepoets.com....is "letting go".  Having written along more somber lines

 recently I was poised to pen something funny; but alas, I wanted to share my experience of letting

 go (one of them) that means a lot to me and many may relate to.  I know Claudia does ;)

When our eyes first met and said 'hello'

my life's purpose was made crystal clear

Unfolding you I whispered so low..
'I'll not let you down...so never fear'

Dreams were created in your design..
A sturdy nest so not to fall through
Proud to show off and say you were mine
I poured affection all over you


Your wings grew as did your confidence and grace
I in awe of your talents and esprit de corps..
humbled as your guiding light to show the way
I could not be your sail nor would be an anchor

My heart pendulum swung low and high
myriad times watching each tiny step
Felt new pain when you were ready to fly
You came home from college some weekends

I gave you away on your wedding day..
sat by your side when your daughter was born
I learned circumstances always do change
But you are my daughter forever morn

And though you belong to God and the world
and are not mine to keep..
I'm glad you are soaring high as a bird
for that I will ever happily weep...

Sometimes words are inadequate for new poets..
but as your friend and peer...suffice it to say ..
I am honored.....
            ..and divinely blessed
     each and every day..

         
..




My Mary at age  42

Paper dolls..sour lemonade..

Today at dversepoets.com we are writing about childhood memories...a huge realm of subject matter..

Young girls played in rows 

of Ladies' Mantel..
smelled of new hay and squealed
high soprano C

     rose lips pursed.. pretending to be movie stars

They wore hand sewn dresses..

played 'neath cedar trees

..ran barefoot..made mud pies...

played hopscotch 

in the same field where they caught 

grasshoppers in jars..

They drew pictures of horses...plucked daisy petals

They wound pastel ribbons 'round the 

maypole in May while 

the piano played

...gained many a skinned knee..

jumping rope..climbing high bars..

Among their best pastimes..
 cutting paper dolls..sharing a sleeping bag..
learning to tie knots..balancing on
a sunbeam..pushing each other high
on a swing..swooning to 45's
wearing mom's heels, dressing up
..making brownies..
running long and faaaar
They thought they might be dancers 

in the Royal Ballet..

even Miss America
..but the wrong way signs

pointed to factories..

where they ironed firm pleats 

with dry steam

...no longer wishing on stars

Others folded diapers..

being still a teen....already daughters

of faulty design..

they were not meant to be amid bridesmaids

who flocked to the beaches 

of Bordeaux

..not to mention no accolades from an

Alma mater

Had they known from 

the beginning...that the pattern was set..

that their deep scars..

left by mixed messages and

conditional love they trusted,

would impede them, 

they would have rebelled..ranted and raved

They would have had the power..

..and would have denied the sour

lemonade...

they had they been fed 

from the start