Wednesday, May 14, 2014

Who said life is a bowl of cherries?













Today is Poetics day over at dversepoets.com   and we are given a choice of 4 questions to write about. They are:

 Who are you and whom do you love? What else are you, that no one has seen before? Describe a morning you woke without fear. What lingers when all is said and done?
         This was written as a stream of consciousness, my answer to the last question.



Who said "Life is like a bowl of cherries?"  And what was their rationale?


To me, it is a day like yesterday, 

a perfect day with sunshine,
blue sky, a soft breeze;
it's skipping a rock,
birds singing,
flowers in bloom,
and a friend to go walking with 
Three days before there was rain,
when gray clouds suddenly parted
with a downpour of hail
Tiny white crystal balls 
bouncing like mini rubber balls, 
so high,  maybe three times again

They appeared to enjoy their time,

some bounding off at an angle;
others rolled down roofs,
traveled a bit more,
stopping at the grass,
Most gathered in crevices or 
became a temporary white coverlet,
wetting the ground, then melting
And when the sky cleared, 
the sun staged a summery feel
of thriving and enduring

Perhaps too simplistic,

but when all is said and done, 
we are caught in life, 
it seems to me,
between storms and paradise
One day exquisite things happen,
the next day can be lonely and cold.
Yet this earth holds so much more
Under a giant magnifying glass 
we appear as colonies of billions of ants,
 with tiny homes and cars,  
the tiniest of books on our shelves -
yet with incredibly complicated lives

There is the unseen world 

that is felt and dreamed,
full of meaningful thoughts, prayers
All flows into a beautiful common sea
of human talent and gifts,
for the betterment of said physical world
What we learn and with new ideas, 
we recycle,  as nature or God would have it.
Moreover, the art, music, and technologies, 
created with so much joy and pain, 
cannot result in nothingness -
can NOT be in vain

To this my point and now to say:

we are energy unleashed in human form
But sometime we must leave, 
taking with us what lives inside
It's value is from a sacred place,
the center of the heart of everything, 
a safety net of love, 
where nothing is forgotten or lost
Like a fiddler dancing happily on the roof,
so the hail dances in it's glory,
both playing until they run out of steam
Engaging, then impacting the earth,
but never really gone
Hail becomes water, evaporates, 
but can put on quite a show .


 Life is just a bowl of cherries; 
Don't make it serious; 
Life's too mysterious. 
You work, you save, you worry so, 
But you can't take your dough when you go, go, go. 
So keep repeating it's the berries; 
The strongest oak must fall. 
The sweet things in life 
To you were just loaned, 
So how can you lose what you've never owned? 
Life is just a bowl of cherries, 
So live and laugh at it all.  


Original song written for a movie in 1931 with Ethel Merman.   Also, there was a phrase in the 17th century, "Life is but a cherry-fair", but that meant "Life is very short."



Friday, May 9, 2014

Daisy Mae today...



                    










Claudia at dversepoets.com  asks us to write a poem with dialog....quite the challenge.  This was something I wrote a long time ago and had only 9 views, so maybe now more will read it.;)

   Yokum family - Daisy Mae & The Smoos
         

She seldom complained,
one of her countless virtues 
Li'l Abner took her for granted 
Daisy Mae is blond, 

not dumb; she has a brain,
voluptuous without being bad 

"Daisy, them peas need to be planted." 

Today, this is how she might respond:

"Well, Abner, today I'm goin' shoppin',
get me a nice dress,
a job, too!  I'm sick and tired
 a' wearin' the same blouse everyday!"
"Now Daisy," Li'l Abner says, "don't fret -
you gotta stay on the farm. 
Don't leave!."
"'..sides, I cain't afford it anyway."
She was determined, 
sold her blond locks,
bought new clothes and shoes.
"And I ain't goin' bareboot no more!
 Gotta get one a those laptops!"
She was more the wiser now,
"Abner, you just pig headed;
why, I gotta be respected, 
earn equal pay 
for equal work!
'swhat Gloria Steinem say!"

In this modern day,
being sexy is allowed
and she can use her skills and talent.
Not a Martha Stewart, 
but not a Beverly Hillbilly either
No more did she want to be like
the "winnen folk" in Dogpatch
Men would woo her properly.
But any fool can plainly see
her love was meant for only Li'l Abner,
yet, her worthless true love 
showed little interest in her,  
romantically 

Daisy's mother, Mammy Yokem,
speaks her peace:
"She won you in a foot race,
on Sadie Hawkins Day!  Ain't you got
no sense, Abner?  All you do is wile
your time away,
out in them hills,
and she do all  the work!"
Abner responded, "ah- I know she trick me 
into matrimony, 
I was a busy huntin' and making whiskey!

If I had my drothers", he said,
"guess I don't want her to go,
She can sure cook up a storm!"
Mammy took her pipe out of her mouth,
"Sonny, she do things 'naturly'...
and be "bootiful" at the same time,
...you don't know what you got 
till you 'bout to lose it!!"

Daisy Mae told them both -
"No mo' pigs runnin' free,
I'se gonna be successful!
my boss is gonna respect me, 
not make me do all the work!
Suddenly, a puzzled look came over her face.
"But...if I was livin' like that,
I'd have to leave li'l Honest Abe
home all day; oh, my poor baby!
 Why, then my life 
would be incomplete!"
Abner smiles, "Daisy Mae,
is you gonna stay?  
...you real life is with us,
cuz we have the most amoozin 
but confoozin life!"
"Ok, Abner," cried Daisy Mae,
"let's leave well enough alone
an go back to what we was doin?!"
She hugged him and he hugged her back 
harder than ever before.


So if you are interested in reading more
about the Yokums and the Smoo family,
turn to your newspaper cartoons, 
and "CORN-tinue" to read -












       



Tuesday, May 6, 2014

Haiku for trees...












dVerse

A few haiku today for today's "tree" theme.  Much has been written
about them over time.  Visit dversepoets.com  to read what else is submitted today..


Willow weep for me
  wipe dry my tears in the wind
  so no more be shed 

Strongholds of safety
mighty oak, cedar, and fir
toothpicks in lava

Deep forest secrets
gather moss for safekeeping
fall on fauna's ears

A nest with a view
eagles spy their midday meal
 capture and return

Tree pollen settles
powders my nose yellow green
Allergies abound

Shadow of an owl
 within his arbor abode
wise eyes turn around

And for my friends who come to the feeder in the maple tree:

Sip sugar water
energy for propellers
Hummingbird yoga










                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      .                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                               

Sunday, May 4, 2014

Sunday Swirl - Learning to fly






                                                                                                                                                                                                                                          





For Sunday Swirl this fell into place for me, using the 12 words given above; the image is not mine but is from google.




Four baby blackbirds soon to be free
spreading wings for their first flight
A dreaded moment, indeed
Eager for food at dawn's first light,
Nest of grass, twigs, and yarn; 
four fledgling bobbing heads -
amazing to see this new life
Pushed from the nest at 2 weeks old,
panic sets in as the event unfolds 
The first three make it just fine;
number four looked promising
as he began to arise,
but he was falling softly
right in front of my eyes
It can be mended, his broken wing,
but even so,
so no reason to abandon him
At night he is tended lovingly
soon to fly away happily

Friday, May 2, 2014

Oh Havana...

















In the form of Shakespeare's forte, (whose 450th birthday was last week) a sonnet.  Tony asks us to write one today at  dversepoets.com  I think it is a lovely form, but little time to do it full justice. I've never been to Havana,  just tired to imagine it.



The stars seen from Havana are brighter
They say walking the wharf at night mends hearts
Pain becomes a stranger, the load lighter
'Seek gaiety', the nickel moon imparts

For changing fashion, it could be Paris 
Orange blossoms, tobacco scents set the mood
Zarzuela dancers tap on the terrace -
must have something to do with latitude

Shadows embrace old written purple prose
of colonial times, revolution
She remembers pigeons in the white snow,
long ago caresses no illusion

Nightingales announce morning skies umber
with the dawn comes new lovers' soft slumber






Wednesday, April 30, 2014

Hello Beautiful!



dversepoets.com



             Hello Beautiful!

             Have I told you lately what I love about you ?  I love your catching smile,
             your electric aura, the map of your nervous system, muscular and lymphatic,
             skeletal, too. Your purple veins throb faster, ecstatically, when I am close to
             you;   I love your super energy.
           
             Not to mention your red hot saucy, steamy sensuality.  Lest I forget your 
             poise, your intellect and grace, fine morals,  your true blue heart.  But what 
             colors you most - is your vital and winning personality, your soul of glittery 
             gold.

             Forever yours





Looking down...looking up..
















Today at dversepoets.com Grace asks us to write poetry to the art of Cheryl Kelley which is like looking in a a kaleidoscope check it out here  for some fun.


Thirsty for coolness
to flow around me
I swim in the indigo sky with stars

Springs from whence I came 
shine in the distance,
their routes wayward
yet defined by mountains
phalo green, abergine,
burnt sienna
Obvious to the map maker,
breaks in the sea appear
and streamlined quinacridone gold bridges
carried me for the day 
                              leaving no footprint

Wearing my opera rose lipstick,
I played the lead for awhile -
until my legs gave out,
but not my heart
Beyond the sea
I found knowledge,
love and beauty
amid chaos, people screaming
My vision of the world,
through the stained glass window 
of my soul
where I found what I needed
most to know

Still I think to return
to the midnight star brigade
stretching my arms
in large strokes -
be the butterfly migrating
across the miles, 
the eagle with sharp eyes;
my thirst to be quenched,
soul renewed once more

                                   

Thursday, April 24, 2014

News of the week...










Over at dversepoets.com Bjorn asks us to write poetic journalism, or a 'daily poem',  called 'dagsvers' in Sweden, and are usually about recent events in the news..


NEWS OF THE WEEK,  APRIL 25, 2014


While  I  can' t  quite wrap  my head  around  it 
Brian Williams is rapping the news at a cool beat
Fallon' s  kicking  it on  the  Tonight  Show
For  living  green just  listen to  Michelle  O
The Mustang  is  50 years  old last  week   
It's Shakespeare's 450th say all the Tweets 
Now  that  tax  time is over until  next year
the focus is baseball - moves into high gear















The next thing we know there's another George!
His  parents  are  Kate M. and William  at  large
He' s  cuter  than  ever  at  eight  months  old
His  life  is  just  beginning  to  unfold..........
A  caring soul much like his grandmother, 
Di, and Paparazzi spreads rumors of a brother
Charming even when his nappy needs a change,
His  entire  life  is  already  prearranged             

Saturday, April 19, 2014

Easter ruba'i...


















A place setting for twelve, and a host
no napkins, plenty of wine, no roast
Ring the supper bell, pull up a seat
and raise your goblets - to Him we toast

Thursday, April 17, 2014

Self portrait poem...







                                                                                                                       






dversepoets.com , my favorite poetic website; Brian asks us to write a self-portrait poem.  I really need more time to improve on this; some offerings are wonderful...


I am stardust,
a glint in my ancestors' eyes;
before, all was still
But with dragonfly speed
I travel, and when the owl cries "Who",
I answer "it's me in the tower of Babel"
A ponderer, critical thinker,
finding political games frustrating
and sad; in a wink I imagine
I can be anywhere -
I was a cowgirl,
a baseball mom,
have little hair
A nourishing spirit,
I am loyal, still waters run deep-
still impulsive, sentimental
I often spill over
and regenerate,
 muster my courage
again and again,
could almost BE
the ballet's premiere (just kidding,
no way)

I marvel at wind chimes'
and changes;
I blink, and suddenly a birthday candle
flickers for as long as it's able
Whispering meadows
become wallpaper on my soul
I'm a cottonwood blowing
in the wind, or on a wound,
sensitive, yet strong...
Surprisingly, sometimes,
a tincture of Mercurochrome
On a large plain brown paper bag,
I am painting my life,
a "wanna be" this or that;
doors opening, closing,
wearing a cranberry feathered hat
Sometimes a womb-like place
is all I seek,
but not without
the butterflies of adventure
I like wild berries with cream,
birds, driftwood hugging the shore
yet there is so much more to explore
To see everything virtually
is not my cup of tea,
rather sail the seven seas
sit once in Princess Grace's throne
All there ever was,
all that ever will be -
we are part of, I do believe;
And, to never be alone,
forgive.

The universe is our oyster,
rubs us in the sands of time,
possible pearls to be exposed
Be the best we can be,
I suppose
And for interest of rhyme,
I cook mostly with thyme
Once I had a distinct desire
to do it all over,  but no -
it's all good,
would not trade gold for silver
or ecclesiastical attire
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           





                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 

Tuesday, April 15, 2014

Photo art by Phyllis Galembo



    dversepoets.com we are introduced to the photo art of Phyllis Galembo;
 we are to write a poem from one of her intriguing photos -




He had been the young king of hearts,

fondly thought of throughout the land;
he bestowed upon all he met fresh fruit tarts,
but perhaps he was dealt a bad hand
Men thought him the king of plenty 
for his gold alone, he lived on an island
He seduced ladies with glasses of champagne
liked them to be at least the age of twenty,
but from sex with them he did abstain
for they were ooh so pretty and innocenti 
Folks say he was pleasant, spoke gently; 
though they did not know he was insane

All twas not for his own personal gain
but it didn't pay, for his crown was taken away
Outcast and alone,  he was driven to feign
There is safety in the trees they say
So he lived as a tree twixt and twain
Though he had one fourth wheel missing,
he was, for all he did, more valiant knight 
First, he let all prisoners get away
and, as he was known for his kissing,
they grabbed him and locked him away
Soldiers put him in handcuffs tight;
his destiny became just an existing
Who can explain the turn of events-
 he became the king of the asylum,
first using his natural talents to start
by earning degrees in the fine arts
Proud of his aboriginal descent,
he still was crazy, one hundred per cent 










Monday, April 14, 2014

How many know the story? Poem # 14












I am unable to respond to others' poetry like I should so this is my last post on the NaPoWriMo website, although I will continue to write and post here for the rest of the month.  I am sorry for the lack 
of courtesy on my part.  All deserve to have their poetry read; I am far too slow at this to keep 
up with everything.
NaPoWriMo

www.napowrimo.net
The prompt for today is to write a poem of 20 questions except for the last line.


Poem #14
HOW MANY KNOW THE STORY?

How many know the story?
How old was the old oak tree?
Did the roosters crow in the morn so people could flea?
Was there no warning of bombs to hit the ground?
In 1936 why did the Germans attack an innocent town?
Why did 1400 people have to die in a 3 hour period of time?
Who remains in Guernica and what did it mean?
How many generations of people and acorns lost?
Was no one able to intervene?

How many now live in the little Basque town?
Have you been to the grotto there?
What symbol of freedom survived that unsuspecting day?
What now has replaced the rubble?
Where now do the people assemble to have their say?
What took the place of the huge old oak tree?
What, if any, village shops and businesses survived?
What was left after the carnage?
How many losses were of children's lives?

Is there anyone still living there who recalls?
What now stands as a memorial in the center of town?                                      
How have the families been remembered en masse?
Were some young trees kept alive?
Or is there a large stump encased in a protective case?
Have you seen the art Pablo Picasso achingly designed?
Do you know the place is guarded in marble and stained glass?
Who and how many will come to visit and come to know the story?

God bless the sacred ground of this small colony.        







Sunday, April 13, 2014

Worthy heir...Poem #13

NaPoWriMo
WORTHY HEIR - Poem # 13   Writing kennings today...

Their  means of travel
is a Rolls-Royce
He steps out wearing a
penguin suit; she,
a Princess Diana like gown
A conscientious and poised pair,
their demeanor is Savoir-Faire,
They have the ability
to communicate
between blue-blooded
and red-blooded citizenry;
are mind-worthy
of their nobility and crowns;
trendy yet traditional -
in a nice kind of way
Ladies in waiting bow,
soldiers stand attentively
But almost of walking age,
who is it that steals the show-
a handsome Prince George
who already seems to know
how to sieze- the- day
Certainly he'll grow
to be an officer-gentleman,
will be a genuine good leader,
Surely a worldly statesman.
peace-maker
Of course, too,
he will be a heart-breaker