Wednesday, September 24, 2014

The Tufted Titmouse..and other meanderings..












Small kingdoms rise and fall

in blithe forests -
My spirit floats among branches,
alighting on each one,
dancing, as it always does.
at the center of everything
Fleetingly, paper bluebirds 
design and dress my soul 
to express itself fully
The woodsy tufted titmouse song 
rides on invisible sauntering winds,
in the land where giant woolly 
mammoths once roamed
 Titmouse song

Our bodies are boats for identity's sake,
hulls sailing away with undertakings -                                         
the writings of symphonies, 
sculpting a man kissing a woman,
writing a great read
While orioles flash in the morning light
and thin lips of poppies grin,
we experience life in new ways,
not otherwise manifested
Secrets in empty seashells, 
the hammer, stirrup, anvil 
of the ear - bones 
born from salty brine,
touched by light unknown                                 
Only the faintest star
remembers                                                        
it's recent beginning
We are reinvented as falling rain 
or crystals of ice
upon a bed of dying leaves
We are the waltz, the show, 
the audience -
in an intelligent universe, 
Knowledge and vision, 
our salvation and reward,
we are part of forever's plan,
transcending all dimensions
in the form of man -
driving red fire engines 
in vast snowy skies
To rest in the knowing, 
there is no nothingness -
only new evolving tasks 
of the spirit,
eclipsing time, 
devoted to spinning pure love,
weaving on larger looms
in larger kingdoms, 
beyond everyday matters
Sweet ivy climbs,
gathering its own momentum,
winding through spokes of silver,
frame of prose and rhyme 
A universal trellis 
made gritty by our humanness 
yet sensitive,
earthy,
yet heavenly divine



At dversepoets.com today we were presented with artwork by  Brooke Shaden to tease our imaginations in writing a poem or prose poem..

Wednesday, September 17, 2014

The Road to Revelstoke...















We are writing travel poetry today over at dversepoets.com....this is more prose or a story; I am sorry it was not condensed more, for the reader's time taken here, but it was hard to edit this or even make it into a form of poetry.  I hope all will enjoy the read, however, and I will be around to comment on others' poems over the day and coming evening.

Whining, we did not wish to go
Over the mountains, through high peaks
of Glacier National Park where we saw  goats
grazing precariously  on the steep slopes
Crossing into Canada's lower provinces,
we first stayed at Harrison Hot Springs Resort
There was horseback riding, a lake for boating,
a pool where my brother learned to swim
and I learned to dive in great form
One afternoon, we were to go on a hayride
while our parents went golfing and were not pleased
Peas were on our menu; so they went golfing anyway,
made us wait in the car for 4 long hours....
we hated peas

Winnipeg, Medicine Hat, Penticten -
I don't remember the order now
Our road map lined in dark blue ink
Driving through British Columbia
on the way to the Calgary Stampede,
the only route from Saskatchewan
through Moose Jaw was "the road to Revelstoke"
Newly graveled, the two lane road cut through
open plains territory;   cattle, horses,
views of flat farmland were all we would see,
the small dot on the map was where there would be
new asphalt, giving us momentum,
(I don't remember many cars)
a road less bumpy

A four hour drive at most, but as the hazy blue sky
turned whiter,  we crossed miles of dusty terrain
It seemed like forever, with many stops -
made slower because we kids were carsick,
had to pull over many times.  Finally,
we arrived at a small dingy motel at dusk,
far away from civilization but there were bathrooms
There was one light bulb overhead on the ceiling
in the room;  we were unable to sleep well
Not only were there mosquitoes but we
discovered bed bugs and cockroaches in the morning.
Our father complained about the dirty conditions
That was when we first learned the word "asshole".

I traced the winding inked line on said map
with my finger.  We had reached Revelstoke,
and soon the gravel road would turn to smooth
tardown and traffic in four lanes
But instead of four hours, as the road curved
north across Alberta and British Columbia,
by the time we arrived, it had taken 12 hours
(total) to get to the Calgary Stampede
Stopping for water often, it gave our parents a break
from our bickering; we grew tired of puzzles and
word games, singing the same songs,
their nerves  had to have been
very frayed

Once settled,  we saw the rodeo and logging contests
We wore our little red and brown cowboy hats
Alan had a toy holster and guns;  it was hot but we
had a pool at the motel, so no complaints
4H shows and rides, lots of things to see
We were ages 9 and 12 - I remember a large crowd
at the fair.  One night we ate at a fancy restaurant
We had by that time, learned to order politely
our manners in check
It was dark with romantic lighting,
and from the corner a piano player sang
"Hey there, you with the stars in your eyes" -
sounded just like  Frank Sinatra....to me, I thought,
for he looked my way occasionally as he played and sang
I was blushing, a strange sensation came over me
but I'm sure my parents could not see;                                                                                    

Onward we went, going south to Banf and Lake Louse,
the same as my middle name and
the name of my grandmother
It had to have been named just for us
Country western songs on the car radio
and an exciting baseball game
kept us entertained as the climate cooled
Still, the sky was true blue and was reflected wonderfully
in the Frasier River winding below and beside us
Rounding a mountain with a canyon on one side
I could not  look out for fear of height
Nature's creation of the huge ice blue glacier above
made the lake an even deeper shade of blue
In the distance we could see chunks of ice fall
splashing into the water

Heading south, we waited in the long line
so the border patrol could inspect the car;
it seemed strange to us, did we look suspicious?
The arches meant friendship between nations;
it was time to make a trip to the restroom,
take more pictures, rest a bit, as our parents were tired of driving
Arriving home in Washington, it was good to see familiar sights
We rolled in just before bedtime and although we thought
a lot of the trip was boring, we couldn't wait
to to go back to school and tell our friends where we had been
We had two little sisters who didn't go and whom we loved,
but one thing we didn't miss was their crying and yelling
We told stories  of the trip we call "The Road to Revelstoke"
which was nothing more than a speck on the map
an X with a circle around it marked the halfway point of our trip
which I still can see in my mind's eye

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             

Friday, September 12, 2014

Lace is...













  We are writing metaphors and dragging them out today over at dversepoets.com  Karen is the host.



Lace hangs her head sadly these days
thinks she has been profiled,
feels alone, betrayed
She thinks style has given way to trend,
she's destined to a dull life,
won't talk about it,
feels close to the end,
she cares too much what people think
She wants to do as her peers -
go somewhere different everyday
in all kinds of weather,
travel more, hang out with the sweaters

French, Swedish or Irish Lace
make beautiful souvenirs,
but Lace herself is a complicated beauty
She dazzles the eyes of many a man,
but lately is reluctant to appear,
would rather be a recluse
Lacking feelings of self worth
she is depressed with growing fear
of other fabrics take the limelight,
new designs and textures steal the day
This makes her feel boring,
tired and old-fashioned; people will look
the other way

Satin is a cool competitor, as is silk,
but Lace just doesn't care anymore
Other fabrics mix impressively -
jeans and linen changing their roles;
new designs like flannel shirts and bling
Lace would like to be more useful
when it comes to attire
Tired of hanging with ribbons,
she wants to be more versatile
She'd like to be cotton, ride in a rodeo;
she could be sewn into uniforms, sportswear
be attached to winter coats

All fabrics have their ups and downs,
ins and outs as to what is popular
She'd like to be on hats and pants,
not always in wedding gowns
But she needn't be envious
for she's much more than she knows
She's the shape of trees and shadows  -
black negligees that frame the stars at night
Lace is the bed of flowers on a spring morn
She graces women's heads as they grieve
She's a spiritual, intimate friend, birds in flight
the edge of a hanky that wipe away tears,
the object in someone's art
Perhaps if she reads this she will realize
she is blessed in all our eyes and hearts

“If you are always trying to be normal, you will never know how amazing you can be.”   - Maya Angelou 

Tuesday, September 9, 2014

Let your little light shine..




dversepoets.com
photo of Mukilteo under Sept. moon 2014   by klr

It's okay to keep some things to one's self, 
but some are better shared
We do the best we can;
it's all we can do
 But often when, unselfishly, 
our souls are truly bared,
our philosophy bends and finds new ken
Yesterday I found remnants from the past,
 today I am reclaiming my domain -
clearing my browsing data, managing 
my settings, putting my outlook in sync
Refreshed constantly, scanning 
the right and left sides 
of my brain

Content to be nowhere else,
I sit on a log to distill;
by the sea I breathe, meditate
Bees vie for the last wildflowers,
Mother Nature's winsome quills writing 
in the winds of time
Letting my guard down a bit,
insecurities trimmed, checked,
put out of sight,
I find balance to create
All that matters today is one more light 
shines somewhere; an individual's
internal resolve, 
with nothing but kindness and love,
will join in to begin to change 
how we evolve

As invisible gates opens,
those who see enter easily,
 never were they closed off entirely
Basic elements and truths on earth 
give us rich, raw energy  to do 
what we are supposed to do
 More steadily I walk trails to the beach
 and ask myself 'why must life seem so bleak?'
Such a waste to wrestle with life, 
though I understand perfectly
Answers may not be forthcoming, 
but I think nothing is more important 
than listening,
In this world of half taken breaths,
smile for the love already here,
be the joy in the making

I'd like to undergo regressive life 
therapy...find out if I  lived before
A lot in this world is unimportant, trivial
I think I know the reasons why 
 I hear an angel whispering: 
"Don't think 'oh woe is me', but let others 
know you care, for there is no dilemma 
 greater today than lack of 
enlightenment"

Dreamlike, I fall 
in and out of consciousness,
metallic dragonflies zing by
Nature speaks most honestly
Insects talk among themselves,
have private conversations,
inside stories, a tight group; perhaps they, 
to a small degree, are aware 
of what I speak
Don't think I could be all wet,
but then again, it very well could be
I'm barking up the wrong tree
 Eagles are carnivores, 
as I hear his hungry cry
A garter snake sneaks in front of me,
passes between rocks and blades of grass,
pretty shiny black and green,
Woodpecker bangs a tree

In this long poem all I'm saying is- 
we have to have the conversation,
for conversation's sake,
of what it means to live more 
selflessly, less selfishly    
There's order in the mayhem,
especially when you dare to set 
a different pattern in motion, 
            set the table for everyone              

Awake now at twilight I see fireflies 
find their way through a storm collectively
  My little light shines amongst
 all of yours, 
So let us make it be









                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         

Tuesday, September 2, 2014

Art and poetry as in Claudia -














Mary at dversepoets.com has asked us to write about fellow poet Claudia Shoenfeld's' artwork by choosing one of her watercolor sketches over at Flickr .......I chose 3 of them.




Once upon a time a lady
painted her self portrait as a quick exercise
From behind her sky blue tinted glasses
we see visions through her eyes
Her full ruby red lips symmetrical
sip coffee in the plaza where she sits,
sometimes on the ground;
she records in ink passersby,
traffic, details in a scene,
adding her own twist
She observes and translates
characters and their habits,
her sketch pad reveals subtle truths
She tells stories and write poems,
brings them to the pub to share
She is avante-guard, whimsical, and camp
Her artwork is like her poetry with
a certain savoir faire -
reflective, contemplative, upbeat;
she is unique, intelligent, a tiny bit kooky,
and we like her childlike imagination
Her sketch of St. Andrews draws the eye in;
feels like we are in a fairy tale,
not to mention her Van Gogh-like skyline
While she is a serious artist and poet
who communicates with grace,
she finds new hope without fail
Her freckles attest to her playfulness,
always hits the head of the nail
She works hard, is a mother and a wife,
has nothing but passion
for her family, for life
They just spent sweet time in bonney Scotland,
perhaps another honeymoon -
by the look of their feet in one painting,
one might deduce-
he's taller than she,
but her big toe looks like it could touch the moon!





Saturday, August 30, 2014

Island town






dVerse



For Open Link Night tonight I offer my interlocking Rubaiyat (set of quatrains) which was suggested by Bjorn for our last posting.  Also, at the last minute I am hurrying to send in my contribution for the anthology selection, so I will catch up with reading and comments later this evening over at dversepoets.com ;-)

        
 Island Town



Island town, restful and serene
turns the hazed veil of summer's scene
Summer's end becomes autumn's spear
hot chocolate replaces ice cream

Island town after blue skies clear
sun sets low as a mouses ear,
painting cloudbanks a purple gray;
shadows crawl longer and nearer

Island guests part with grand soire
apple stands line the streets by day
offerings of mushrooms and mums
hot seafood chowder by the bay

Island town's ardor for arts seen
throughout the whole year following
rolling out its crafts galore and
keeping its homeland sequin green










Tuesday, August 26, 2014

Homophonic translation...or, how interpreted a Romanian poem wrongly..

posted twice ...

Today at dversepoets.com we are translating poems from a language we do not know using just the sounds and look of the words instead of meaning....called "homophonic translations".
Don't ask me how I got this...I don't know!  Romanian poem is below - knowing latin is the key I suppose, but this verse took on a life of its own..



The name of my last lover was Russian                                                                
 he lay in his bed in a simple lean-to                                                                     
 he lay in his bed wrapped in white sheets 
 peering out at fiery skies of the season             
                 
 Floating from the terrace garden blooms 
 purple and white scented perfume;
 he felt a coolness and breathed in the 
 night air as he slept peacefully                                                       

 Pollen spread over him during the night
 and he began to roam in his pajamas,
 floating above his body;  until finally
 resting near me, moved closer

 The timber of each little bell flower  
 reached my ear and I smelled orchids;
 all my senses gathered in full grandeur,
  as our dreams began cascading together    

 The name of my last love was Russian
  he lay in his bed in a simple lean-to
  he lay in his bed wrapped in white sheets
  peering out at fiery skies of the season  

 Out from the dream we awoke together,
 slowly the aura of the dream disappeared;
 we stood at the altar before us at our feet
 then spoke our matrimonial forever vows

Ne-om aminti cândva târziu
de-aceasta întâmplare simpla,
de-aceasta banca unde stam
tâmpla fierbinte lânga tâmpla.
De pe stamine de alun,
din plopii albi, se cerne jarul.
Orice-nceput se vrea fecund,
risipei se deda Florarul.
Polenul cade peste noi,
în preajma galbene troiene
alcatuieste-n aur fin.
Pe umeri cade-ne si-n gene.
Ne cade-n gura când vorbim,
si-n ochi, când nu gasim cuvântul.
Si nu stim ce pareri de rau
ne tulbura, piezis, avântul.
Ne-om aminti cândva târziu
de-aceasta întâmplare simpla,
de-aceasta banca unde stam
tâmpla fierbinte lânga tâmpla.
Visând, întrezarim prin doruri -
latente-n pulberi aurii –
paduri ce ar putea sa fie
si niciodatã nu vor fi.



              

Friday, August 22, 2014

Pattern of the Osprey..














This week at dversepoets.com  we are writing about pattern.  It can be about anything in art or life, so a broad range of meanings and applications to choose from.  This is my mindset this week.




His wing power and wild spirit,
countenance of a bodyguard,
lead our eyes into the white
He sails the westward breeze
above the sandy shore
Along high cliffs his flight,
where crimson fire-weed waves,
catching same sunlight
He flies over sparkling sea,
wingspan fifty five inches wide,
back home to his residence
of gabled fir, cedar trees, and pine
Having traits of the bald eagle,
as well as owls',
he wears a snowy down suit,
vest, and majestic crown
He flies a straight line then dips
as he surveys the beach below,
between the tides where
kelp and sea urchins drift

Osprey outperform the kingfisher,
when hunting the abundant sea
for dogfish snails, other mollusks
swimming and digging to be free
Cattails in the marshes
gather dragonflies delfin blue,
Ospreys each year launch o'er
the Caribbean's turquoise hazy hue,
take extraordinary trips to
places where they can laze,
and stay a few...
before returning to breed,
in a climate cool,
raise a family
There is every reason for us to abide,
conserve, protect and maintain
the species,  letting nature be our guide
to help them survive...
prolong their  sustainability

Tuesday, August 19, 2014

If pub walls could talk..













dVerse
The last Saturday of each month is Open Link night at dversepoets.com ....free to choose
any topic - I was too late putting this together last week for Victoria's prompt about celebrating
pubs and the anniversary of this website, but here it is:                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            
Warmth seethes from inside the bar,
flowers in a planter tickle noses
pressing against outside window panes
Inside, time worn wood buffed
to gold highlights,
comfy chairs by a fire, tables full,
usually regulars from everywhere arriving,
filling the space with electricity
Open Mike Night is about to begin
Bundled in casual dress,
people order their preferred beverage;
some find the ear of the bartender
Sound of paper shuffling -
some sheets float to the floor
to be picked up
while chairs are moved
to best advantage

Comradery and poetry are served here!
interpreters not needed,
for it's understood we are here
to meet and greet,
absorb nourishment for the soul
Microphone tested, throats clear
as we listen for each voice to read,
enact, intone their recently conceived works,
revealing new ways of saying what we feel
Sonnets, haiku, triolets presented;
maudlin metaphors, steeped alliteration,
thoughts for food -
not unlike food for thought
Here, word groups are given birth,
find their way through the vessel of
hope and reason,
forming a whole poem

Free verse or rhyme,
prose poetry
all to be tasted, savored,
swallowed and digested -
to resonate in minds and hearts,
ears tuned for slightest hint of irony;
eyes take in gestures
unseen on a blog -
Intimacy descends because
he reads what you feel, but could not
find the right words for;
what she writes brings you to tears
Gee, I wish I had written that..
Kinfolk we are,
toasting to the wee hours,
like fresh wisps of air we breathe in deeply,
and release with a sigh
There's sunshine to grab
on a mostly cloudy eve
Listen....
how words are laced into stanzas,
become tonic to cure what ails

A man expresses new-found joy
in a good shepherd dog;
another, his courageous flights of fantasy,
or, science fiction, curiosity,
 sorrow and pain
One spills a secret, not to judge
There is unmatched beauty
in profound emotions described,
pressure released by letting go
of internal woes, or forever love
Discover empathy....
hearing poets read their writing
ripping open the seams of
the human condition
Words echo in a refrain from
a stream of consciousness
Poetry becomes you,
as in easy...and inspiring

Often it can be dripping, bleeding,
seething to a point where the doors expand;
poems can uplift  us
just as delightfully..
or thrust their essence at us
in multiple ways:
a river rages, a tide pools,
an ocean rocks us
Responses begin as baby raindrops that
swell ...
until they must burst into smiles
or tears
We've heard the best..and the worst,
and in serious consternation,
we've faced our fears
We have more questions,
more insight, but our thirst
for words is never sated
Applause, we leave,,,
we write and return again
to share










Wednesday, August 13, 2014

Home.....Aug. 2014 - for http://dversepoets.com












To help us remember what a good man
he was, we quote his lines in his movies
"All of life is a coming home...
we all are restless hearts trying
to find our way home":  Patch Adams
This dog day of August we recall 
his smile, his courage, 
how he rocked the DMZ
We know our passions for poetry,
music, and art are not passing fancies
from Dead Poets' Society
Like summer winds with scent of sugar pines,
it is what we breathe in, 
and exhale with heartfelt sighs
"What is our verse to write?,"
asked John Keating,
prose, poetry, or songs of revolution 
and human dignity?
In our world, our fight 
is against indifference and ignorance,
misunderstanding
Death is not the enemy
As we remember what sustains us
in our need -
our mantra, our beliefs or creed,
we remember Robin

His humor carried us all,
staved off many a mean season
of stark wars, hunger, loss and hate
He entertained joyfully,
causing laughter till sides ached
He left us abruptly this summer day,
for he had given his all;
the world was now too much for him,
he heard his drummer call
As the heat drenched flower heads wilt, 
in sorrow we mourn his passing
May he find peace from suffering
We could not channel 
his energy for him, 
or know his private pain
For his choice was his choice;
'too soon for us'..we say again
His head now rests in beds of red clover,
his furrowed brow no longer frowns
Forever wrapped in sheets 
of adoration and love, he left 
as low, soft thunder rolled
His despair was unrelenting
yet he's not the first, or the last,
we will be lamenting
But there is something else
in the universe, a harmony 
between all living things, the stars
Finding that balance escaped him,
hence he lost his stride
So, another restless heart 
has found it's way home;
we will remember Robin always 
in the heat - of  summertide



dVerse












http://dversepoets.com