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.

                             

There was a sinner man..

The first prompt of the new year 
at dversepoets.com is to choose 
one of the topics for writing from 
last year out of a list.  I chose "listing",
a form of writing that is like a 
catalog or list of thing—an inventory of people, 
places, things, ideas, but it is no simple shopping list or to-do list; must tell a story or make a whole new point.  Some can be beautiful, but I had written this in fun awhile ago and it fits the prompt.


There was a sinner man who had an evil wife -
her favorite tool of choice was a butcher knife;
They had a deadbeat son, who broke all the laws,
their daughter was a troublemaker, wrongdoers all

Good for nothing, ne'er d well ex-convicts,
criminals up to nothing but dirty tricks;
Fugitives on the run, wanted by city hall
What would become of their victims after all?

Hooligans, hustlers, let me find all the words,
they lived as desperadoes when not  jailbirds;
Worse than scalawags, derelicts, delinquents 

recalcitrants, or undeserving miscreants 

Scum of the earth, crooked way beyond the pale, 

no strangers when it came to raising cash bail; 

wanted for multiple transgressions by police -
evildoers, lowlife punks, rascals, bullies 

They made Bonnie & Clyde look like benign thieves, 

shocked no one when they kidnapped their own niece, 

or when they swindled the mayor with high blackmail, 

gunned down anyone who was hot on their trail 

They weren't just black sheep but slippery eels - 

they couldn't run except backwards on their heels 

their ugly mugshots made the news for years 

Finally the judge sentenced them to four lifetimes - Cheers!

• 
  

Mother told me...

After a two week break
the poets are arriving 
at the pub door, eager 
to mingle with good cheer 
and hopes for the New Year...
stop in and read their poetry over at dversepoets.com

         ~
Mother said it's possible to love
more than one man in a lifetime -
the romantic in me disagreed,
but I loved them distinctly;
Each relationship had it's own flavor,
a song all it's own
Youthful senses, 
previously unknown, 
rushed love in with new kisses
(he's the one, it will last forever)
I won't get into the Prince Charming
thing, not here - but it helps
to know one's learning curve,
as in driving lessons,
or a growth chart -
from quick embraces in a church,
withered prom corsages,
wearing his class ring, and
notes passed in class
to beehive hair - too bad

Bouquet of tender mint blossoms,
a solo saxophone;
a falling in, like a tree into soft earth,
the miracle of kindling lit,
Burning slowly,
greenish blue to white,
reaching altitudes untraveled
where words take flight
The taste of honey recalls 
the hay in my hair,
horse nostrils at a county fair,
Tragedy spent some time, 
adding lines to my face 
as did laughter and mirth
Reaching for the moon,
we caught star after star;
for drama, and operatic measure,
there were lots of tests,
of time, maturity and trust -
A dozen red roses on my 50th
I won't say how many good men,
but less than 7 and more than 3,
then there is fate

Each interlude had it's allure,
a chain of hearts beating,
poised for romance forever
promises, comfortableness;
Bundles of feelings at stake,
and nowhere to go -                                      
early longing like 
the chartreuse weeping willow tree,
then the explosions of many suns
and ecstasy, not unlike
the gap between
dreams and reality
Long term is the meaning implied,
not sewing seams with uneven
ragged edges, but like
a wool sweater knit over time -

Nurturing skills learned 
make more room in the heart
for love to grow, exponentially -
Would it be to have had thousands 
of hand sewn days and nights together,
one soulmate,
creating a home for longevity
becoming a finished piece of work,
adorned with it's sublime shining 
threads of love's cooled embers,
fraught with a grown woman's passion
..it was not meant for me

Polar Bear Plunge...

January 1 is the day each year

some find it invigorating to dive

into water's freezing temperatures 

...I for one am not opposed to the jump

I've registered my bib number today

What harm can it do to immerse oneself

to stimulate the body's blood flow - yikes! 
All for a good cause and a tradition
drawn from that of northern Europeans
My question is if cameras are allowed -
it seems one of the rules is nudity
On a short beach, nothing to hide behind? 
Helicopters hover above the bay?
No thanks, I'm a chicken liver and will
withdraw my name in the blink of a shiver


To be fair, I believe this may not be true ;)  Happy New Year!

Rock, paper, scissors...

Sleepy lids close like dull curtains

awareness changes to deep REMs                         
I am sitting on Saturn's rings

  feeling like mercury sliding

traveling supersonic speeds,

  seems like millions of miles per hour;

 luscious drops of lemon frosting

   landing on my extended tongue 
while toes prance balancing the edge
  of space, smiling stars greeting me
while painted planets deliver 

  everyday birthdays on moonbeams,
benevolent rays of spun gold,
 glittering orbs of platinum                                             

Then abruptly I am frozen,

  halted from that jettisoned state 
a motionless gold panned nugget
  from warm silk to solid cold rock,
feeling free on that steely ride,
  then becoming a naked knot
of ore in a finished train crash
  becoming solid asteroid
Fearful of this recurring dream,
  I awoke crumpled in my bed,
 got up, went to my mother's room -
I couldn't tell her where I'd been
  I was the earth's cold beginning
before it's fire lit deep inside -
  How I became the smooth lava
flowing from where the earth first stirred

  Then how suddenly turned into
solid  unsculpted stone statue 
  with extraordinary knowledge
of how it actually feels 
to be inanimate, yet still
  have a range of human feelings
catatonic, without a voice

Recalling those childhood nightmares

 when into mother's room I ran,

to be comforted, but instead

  they returned again and again         

In this life full of conundrums

  are we to learn just how things end..                               

except what good and evil lurk

  in labyrinths of complexity?

What is the point to be made if

  there's no reason for anything? 
Will we find that illusive peace?

The air is full of Christmas....

Christmas spirit gladdens the air;
multiple Charley horses
kept me awake last night,
and sniffles 
-due to cold weather?
..reason some head south for 
the winter
Yesterday I had a raffle ticket 
in my purse; could win $1000,
to be announced at 1:00 pm.
First to the Holiday Market, 
then to the drawing, in time, 
in spite of myself!

Arrived at the red barn,
herbal smells of soup du jour 
mingled with of scents of cut
greenery, handmade candles,
fresh pies for sale;
unrushed, I found a handwoven gift,
encountering only
holiday good will, friendliness
People gathered to hear the winning 
number - wasn't mine, but who knew,
it was worth the trip 
I bought seeds from 
the The Chocolate Flower                          Farm Shop, 
entered the Gallery where 
local artwork sold
Hot coffee took away the chill,
down a lane and alleyway,
decorated with many  lights, 
I walked to Studio 106; 
reverie spilled 
from a wine tasting room. 
Main Street doors artfully decked 
brightened sidewalks 
as day turned to dusk
I drove the seven miles across
scenic farmland,
sprinkled with lights;
passed through tall misty evergreens
No mail today.. and so it goes,  
will arrive eventually
Snug as a bug in a rug; 
 now to bake Grandma Eva's 
gumdrop bread, 
presents to wrap, hour'derves to make,
on Christmas Day to take
to my daughter's.
 I will catch an early ferry
in the morning,
help her prepare for company;
blessed are we this Christmas Eve,
on the brink of 2014,
Christmas is in the air

winter solstice / driftwood dreams

cold clear day, sunny beach,                                            

ears frozen -                
just yesterday;
today, 
sugar coated earth, trees, 
two inches fell from heaven
 warmer  tomorrow -
 where driftwood logs
 hug grassy paths,                                                                  
 footprints of tiny hurried feet                                              
 disappear with high tide;                                                                                                               
                                           aware I am 
                                           of ripples in time -                  
                                           i feel the world pivoting                 
                                           from it's heart's fulcrum;
                                                                                
 i am dreamily caught in
 time's stunning, hushed, ancient measure..

Nets....a story..

                                                                                                               
The old sailor secured lines and anchor                                          

of the wooden boat built with his own hands
He had honed his skills at his father's side,
learned to speak an uncommon language
Cold salt water penetrated his face as 
he trudged up the hill in the mud,
deliberately and walked to the temple
by the sea's edge.
Home safe from the sea on prayers and amens
from villagers and families,
the fishermen, drenched and exhausted,
entered the building to light candles.
In remembrance they lit them one by one -
 for those who met their deep fate
in shipwrecks long before, in mightier boats than his
Hundreds lit candles that night before him;
as he put his next on the alter,
he knelt on his knees, bowed his head
in prayer
A choir sang 'Hallelujah'
Purposely he made the long walk home
His house was built in a glen of yew trees,
by a carpenter who once roamed the
countryside, a man who quietly suffered
great anguish and taught him how to fish
He remembers how many men gathered
for dinner when his father spoke; people
came from everywhere to hear him
He remembered his mother's tears,
hidden behind her cloak
Putting the boy on his knee his father
had told him how to live -
"...feeding souls is my purpose in life and
fishing is your trade...I am the net for
all men's safety in their struggles in life -
you are the seed from which faith will grow."
He had looked deep into his father's eyes,
 saw his own bright light of being reflected
therein.  The man replied  "Always be grateful,
faithful and kind;  you will fill my heart with joy"
And then he said, "and remember how we played -
you are my one and only boy"

This is the last prompt for writers over at dversepoets.com  - and Mary kindly asks us to make an offering of a poem of candles, light or any form of illumination that has to do with commemorating the season in any way..

Wood smoke...

....yesterday began with
a purchase at a copying store;
after, I bought gas, and coffee
as an eye opener                                                                  
Driving then to the little beach
to find sea shells to make
ornaments  -
presents for family,
mussel and clam shells angels
with a glue gun
Then I looked above the frosty
banks of the bay;
two eagles circled each other in play
A sailboat's mast became their perch,
December's sun reflected off
their snow white feathered coverage
Ice blue sky heralded pristine farmlands
in the distance, pink cotton candy clouds
brimmed with sugar sweetness -
our winter's cold   creating clarity
Water lazily lisped ashore at my boots;
unseen currents carry the salmon below,
and the eagles, to and fro,

taking them wherever they must go

Then I came home to decorate the porch -
(oh my, the tangle in the string of lights)
and to hang a huge paper snowflake...
All done in short order, "Festive enough,"
I say, with the 3 foot tree in the window,
 "I'll take a break! "

There upon arrived a spontaneous invitation,
I wrapped a scarf around my neck and
put on my gloves and walked
 a short distance -
to a gathering place in the woods;
the light in the window welcomed me.
There stood an old tool shed; neighbors
 sat inside around a small wood stove,
Snug quarters - a tiny lit Christmas tree
sat on a shelf, next to old pots and pans,
 oil cans, barrels and stools to sit on
My eyes took in the old collectables,
tools, and a small frig,
my ears the radio's Christmas music
And while I listened to stories
(said to be based on fact, real and true ;-)
we drank hot toddies, just visiting,
toasted 'cheers' to the night, and
to the holidays.
 Warm and delicious the drink,
the fire and the company..
just us old hippies..
And so it went; now it seemed to me
a current was also carrying me,...
through each moment of each hour
 of every day, as it should be...

Today we are writing of hearth or home using familiar common speech...with Gay Cannon at dversepoets.com

Advent's meaning..

1.

Love amidst the snow is falling                                                                 

Christmas time is here once again 

green garlands greet friends gathering
"Trim your hearth and set your table"
Gentle gifts, consideration
awareness of those less able

Advent calendars speak of time
paper windows count the days
of anticipation and hope
Father Christmas's stories told
by the fireside unhurried
of three ships and a lost angel,
illustrations most delightful

A crescent Clair de Lune on high
midnight song and candle lighting;
Hang wreaths of rose hips and fir
recycle your tree for a smaller foot print 
feed the birds, blessings to all 
around the globe - show you care

2.
Gingerbread houses and paper
snowflakes; life is not make believe
goodness is man's second nature
perhaps war is ultimately 
unnecessary.  The mentally ill
spill out of facilities                                                                                                                          
Catalogs celebrating toys retail 

wonder of homemade cards, stockings

give way to hunger games played out
dolls, toys, and nutcrackers smiling
party's guest sold wrong Christmas Story

Mischievous elves and Polar bears

borne out of fantasies ideal
naive Alice waits for St. Nick
and a partridge and doves a pair
sought solace in opium's kick
Lanterns spread light across the snow
and people know what is enough
frugality and dignity speak to those who know
Victor Hugo's Les Miserables -
lessons in poverty's sadness
for all donations not given,
miracles can prevent madness

Advent or Alice and Wonderland - which would you write about? 
We can even combine them today per Claudia at dversepoets.com I chose to compare the pros and cons of the Christmas season as we count down to Christmas Eve.