Lamplight

Anthony Desmond at  dversepoets.com is moving on with a new book in the works. He leaves us with several lines of his. We are to incorporate at least 3 of them into a new poem. His words are  underlined below; the rest is mine. Have a good day.























Once, your  sweet love enveloped me,
we played in the noonday sun;
golden grass has grown taller -
our story had just begun
Then you moved and I went away;

the sun departed and rain came to stay,

neon goldfish flashing 
in the pavement waterway
Shade like shadow engulfed me

and like a lioness with belladonna in her eyes,

I craved images of you

Today I felt the fluidity of your presence

when I heard the loons call your name 

It's been a long, long time -

but you are just like you used to be,
the same

You came back into my life for a day,

a lost love found me, in you

and flooded me like a lone streetlight 
amongst the darkness
to shine on what is true

Forgetting.

For dversepoets.com

This is a make-up for a prompt I missed two weeks ago to write a poem using the term "I forgot", "I forget"or "How we Forget".




I forgot what it feels like to be in love,,,
           yet I remember certain kisses
I forgot how the elephant raised the circus tent
           but remember I once kept a dime in my shoe
I forgot how Brando wept in "On the Waterfront"
           until I watched it again today
I remember when I was deliberately lied to 
           and when I learned to trust again
I remember when you carried me piggyback
          because I was barefoot over a rocky trail 
I remember your arms putting me gently down on the grass 
           like finding and losing the holy Grail
I remember the campfire songs so sweet
           I forgot candlelit small boats sent downstream
I forgot her birthday on Christmas;
           I'm sure she feels cheated each year
I forgot about the one Native American girl in our school,
           how alone she must have felt,
I remember her crippled, aged mother
           who always smiled at me
I remember the drive through the mountains
           as a young girl to the sea
I remember listening to a football game on the car radio...
           I remember it was U of W vs USC
I'll not forget the men I have loved
           How many have not forgotten me

A wisp of hair..

This is under 200 words...my first thought when it came to the subject of  "CHANGE', the prompt given to write about today over at  dversepoets.com   My, the possibilities are endless


Incredibly soft skin, a wisp of hair
a knowing look -
   wrapped in a blanket
Soft early yellow light gently fills the room
By mid morning the dew is gone;
a rusty bicycle slouches against a willow tree;
each day refreshed

By noon, citrine beams push up
a beanstalk reaching above a wall;
the playground explored,
lessons hammered in,
knowledge ricochets beyond the local fray,
Ideas are jettisoned across bridges of dreams,
to be spent or realized

Over time, joys and sorrows careen
in the blazing late afternoon sun
Much is given, much taken away
Passion and pride intact.
there is much to do,  one lifetime
to dance in the streets;
doors to the Library of Memories
are kept open late

Welcome evening shade slips
between streams of amber light,
bent upon a good heart
Moonlight trickles into eyes
incredibly deep, with wrinkled stories,
grey shades of light, veins of life
Peaceful rest, wrapped in a blanket,
 a knowing look,
          incredibly soft skin,
      .....a wisp of hair

Crab season

Home is the deep moss green water where eelgrass grows, where they walk sideways the floor. Their bodies are hard-shelled, spiny-backed, painted a blotchy raw umber with tinges of purple; they have cream-colored undersides. When cooked, they turn bright orange. I've looked into their beady-eyes, and wondered if they could see me and if they have thoughts or any idea of living dangerously.

Using a GPS, fishermen drop round, cage-like crates called pots from their boats, setting them 100 feet deep.  Filled with raw bait, they are left for hours. Crabs sense and follow the scent of chicken parts or anchovies, oblivious to the lines connecting the cast iron traps. Innocent of any crime, they are captured, prized for their delicate meat.

The men return no later than dusk, finding several crab, still pinching their claws, in each crate. Though females survive, are thrown back, so goes the life of many sea creatures. 'Tis the season of catching wild Dungeness in Puget Sound.

Without compassion,

nary any cause to weep,

boiled, broken to eat

For    dversepoets.com   today,  we are visiting the subject of Haibun poetry. First, in prose, a story of a couple of paragraphs. Then, ended with haiku which encapsulates the gist of the  prose. Referring to nature usually, and a more beauteous prose, but this is what came to my mind.

Spongebob Squarepants ..and the "I'll see you in September" song...

                                                                                               






                           

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      
Today we are asked to write about returning to school...it is right around the corner again already. Such a broad subject. I started with a serious theme but a different idea emerged as I was writing. See what others come up with over at dversepoets.com  




Young sponges 
absorb everything around them -
stimulated by their environment,
are fed stories early in life
Kindergarten has them playing
with crayons, building blocks 
They play on the swing 
and merry-go-round


At the next rudimentary level 
they soak up geography, math, 
emphasis on reading
Curious, eager and thirsty, 
they take home work to study
They do all the prep work, 
hone their skills
to get passing grades, 
to 'get somewhere', 
Their world expands beyond the classroom 
they decide which path to take,
discover who they are
That knowledge gained, 
life ought be that much more manageable 
later, one would think

But the longest learning curve 
is maturity, notwithstanding 
peer pressure, daydreaming,
and one's still growing brain
Social life becomes the light 
that shines through
Young sponges take in music and sports, 
write term papers,
find what interests them most 
They become educated about 
the opposite sex -
no lessons on family planning, 
raising children, those sudden feelings 
they experience, 
hormones urging them to explore 
that part of themselves
Teen sponges 
emulate upperclassmen 
For me, it was their hairstyles, 
full circles skirts, sweaters 
and saddle shoes they wore 
We idolized cheerleaders, 
honor students, 

husky football players  

We loved summer vacations,
but, oh, those Septembers were sweet!

Young adult sponges can become 
waterlogged, which causes 
risky behavior
They need to learn to float
before it is too late, 
Sometimes this means 
some form of rebellion;
they might join the military,
drop out, or fight for a cause -
some go straight to work
Full of language and equations,
they are equipped for college

They become rulers of their domain
while their earliest imprints 
are sometimes trampled on,
tested or.. possibly they can be enhanced

No one knows the odds 
or chances of survival as they 
tip and falter for a a time
They are squeezed by perceived
unrealistic expectations
They are still children
when it comes to their frontal lobes

Their character formed,
talents defined, young adult sponges
advance to college,
into adulthood,
learn accountability
The school of life takes on w
worldly meanings
Students choose to follow a star,
find their passion or bliss  

The energy filled sponges find jobs,
live in a world ever changing,
no longer able to absorb
as they once did

They filter information and events
at their own discretion,
discard what they don't need
They find chance and circumstance 

can crash their domain
Moments of joy are interspersed 
with pockets of sorrow,
unresolved issues,
and black holes of the unknown
They develop pot-marks 
and rough edges,
as they continue to strive and create,
pursue their dreams
Success, however, 
is undetermined at this point 
in a sponge's life
Hopefully they learn to love 
and understand:

         Amid the thrills 

         of discovering and learning,
         elements of faith and hope 

         are involved

         Before life wears one down,
         or one runs out of steam

         what book will they write

         before they graduate 
         from this life?

Book woman

For http://dversepoets.com we are writing "echo" poems, something I had not heard of before.  Easy to rhyme, but difficult to tell a story. I enjoyed this.



Her lips, chapped by the hot sun, kept closed now
how
Her eyes search toward the northernmost sky
sigh
Their affair need not have ended but for
wore
thin his stubbornness, her buttermilk style,
while
when neither would swallow their foolish pride
lied
She packs his bags and puts them on the porch
torch
along with his hat and satchel of clothes
loathes
She tossed his dusty boots outside the door
floor
Familiar tunes echo in the wind
rescind
Coalesced clouds of white birds take up flight
light
She walks back to her log cabin in peace
cease
She lives a world apart surrounded,
fed
by books she had meant to read and began
can
build her own life down the Book Woman Road
load
She watches and sits in the summer swing
wing
She is sheltered from the storm of warm rain
sane
For her life has become her own to live
sieve
She intends to live it as she sees fit
knit

Sunrise, sunset, summerness

dversepoets.com


Gold filigreed sun descends as,
at the same time, rises the moon...
looming full blue, spanning the quay
Moonrise, sunset, kiss gingerly,
a quick goodnight, on the same day
For hungry eyes, it's much too soon

Searching for the fleeting feet of
a fiddler, his slant silhouette
prancing o'er rooftops impishly
His wink of an eye shows the way
to calm an angry, fearful heart,
put all trepidation away

To celebrate for a fortnight,
swiftly before the disarray..
a child's fable of catching stars
Taking time to welcome the sight,
their simple glory in artful play,
for summer fairs, summers' best night

A philosophy of hope

Today at dversepoets.com  we are invited to write about philosophy of life, about taking a break from "being connected" and taking time to be with one's own thoughts and how we can re-write our scripted life.  I had written this earlier but it seemed to fit the category of "opportunities to look at one's life", taking stock of what one has, a way of surmounting trauma and disappointment, etc.

Skeletons of old railroad relics lie scattered,
stuck in foliage stiff and dry
Sing my poverty!
Squirrels whisk nuts underground,
barn to barn the swallows fly
nab what fruits they can by robbery
Prickly heat throws back the sun; 
we breathe the motionless air

How different the weather is,

the river does not flow,

runs and hides a honey bear
Overhead jet stripes in the sky
bees vanish as scythes pant,

The horseman's ruddy gaze 
says he is parched from the inside,
emerging from checkered shadows,
drunk on his drowsy ride 
Red brick in color, 
chunks of clay earth break away
where waterfalls used to slide,
hawks scared the jay
His sight stretches back to the volcano
that emptied its belly -
when hope faded quickly away
and heat softened the mind
He had the strength to carry on,
the desire to live a different way
Glimmers a mirage in glassytude,
just when an oasis soothed the eye.
Imagining underground water blue
He dismounted and crawled,
digging elbows into silt,
sprawled on his stomach in the dirt,

Grateful he might live another day

he quenched his thirst in morning dew
A slip of grass caught his chin
as he bent his head to pray

Essence

After a short hiatus the team at dversepoets.com has opened the pub today for more sharing of our poetry. We are asked to write no more than 12 lines re-introducing ourselves using six words - three which tell something about who we are or what is important to us and three words for things we are grateful for.  I am looking forward to reading what everyone has to contribute.

This is a re-written poem with a few slight changes. The words (plus 1) I chose are highlighted below:

I want to go beyond the unfair paradoxes of this world,

experience the fluid universe, 
swim through the salty brine of a cold cosmos - 
till I reach that serendipitous beach where I'll find 
yellow sunshine falling on driftwood, 
a cool place of unadulterated  peace of mind 

Where horses neigh, children are safe, all ills are cured;
There, the roads are paved with sincerity, no bigotry or political foe
Outside, exquisite flowers grow; 
inside, friends dancing and bountiful art abide 

I'll rest in a cathedral of trees, for I will be home, 
Sorrow and happiness in my journeys intertwined, 
chained together in an infinite, rapturous melody

Before summer's pale...

At  dversepoets.com  Bjorn asks us to write flashback poetry:

Bluegrass chords lightly 
strummed,
erase present thoughts
I float suspended in time, 

clouds turn pink apricot

I recall a young true love 
of mine who 
still owns the key
to my full heart

"My dear, it is much like 
saving a dime -
always in my sock,
on my foot in a shoe,

like having a full apple cart,
or a glass of red wine
I'm reminded of a peace
I once knew 
when I was much 
younger than you."

Eagles' shadows 
with wings wafting wide usher 
in memories 
"Do you see the two buoyant 
silhouettes?" descending from
an teen age ice cream sky?"
Romance laced breezes glide 
by and revisit me

They carry summer scents 
of climbing roses 
and huckleberry pie
You hold marshmallows
to the fire and
giggle with delight
Evening folds into night

I fall into a white sleep 

and recall a boy with 
a special smile,
Doe cross the meadow 
without a sound;
his easy stride says 'I'll stay awhile'

Dreamy purple fills the sky

and I recall tangled, 
thorny bushes that creep, 
grab my knees
A chorus of frogs from a pond,

faded lilies nod and weep
Summer's sober robin eats bugs 
from cedar 
I long to stay amid moss green
 cattails and June's heavenly fog
forever

I see cats, mosquitoes,
 old friends swimming at the pool
we held hands in a theater
Going to church,
sitting behind him at school -
simple moments shared
Tugs like taffy pulling 
within my chest
How can it be possible?
Not since have many compared;
my friends (boys) then were 
better than the rest
He was the best -
but winds of change 
seem to already know 

their destinations, and

make me shiver to be gone

I inhale whispers 
from wood smoke encircling me,
as the world revolves 
our days away
Welcome changes, 
as well as those I did not invite,
reach me in Einstien's 
elegant time
I am lost and found again 
when your youthful laughter 
awakens me, 
brings me back
to what's at hand - 
eagles flying, calling me
to this present life 
with its mysteries grand

Princess Charlotte pudding

I've long admired you for your sultry charm,
soft curves and elegant flair,
for your smooth almond flavor,
your color of eggshell -

your laughter, lighter than a bite of air
My affair with you is eternal,
of cerebral and delicate making,
If a voice, you would be an oriole,
lending its song gastromomically,
to the refreshment of my soul

I would like to swim inside you,
immerse myself most blissfully,
tasting you with gusto,
my tongue and lips enveloping you,
savoring the texture
of your delicate body
Artful, lyrical, esteemed pudding -
from a recipe card stained by olive oil,
a most precarious undertaking

My mother made Princeess Charlotte pudding
for special occasions and luncheon teas
Now it bears a new royal connotation,
with its cornstarch, gelatin, whipped cream,
whole egg custard consistency
Milk and vanilla extract heated,
a newborn's lovely fragrance folded in,
You are on Henry Theile's restaurant menu,
in Portland, served as the favorite dessert
for  the Duchous or Duke of Cambridge -
you are fit for any King or Queen

Slow dance

We are invited to write a Palindrome poem today by Mary at  dversepoets.com  Also called mirror poetry, it reflects like an image in a mirror.

I still have all my memories
the pressed corsage of peonies
from the slow dance our young hearts had
before the war took the young lad
before the stars all turned around
until the day when they were found
Words spoken from out of the blue
sent on an angel's wing anew
How is it possible you asked
for the present to mirror the past?

For the present to mirror the past,
how is it possible you asked?
Sent on an angel's wing anew,
words spoken from out of the blue
Until the day when they were found,
before the stars all turned around
Before the war took the young lad
from the long dance our young hearts had,
the pressed corsage of peonies -
I still have all my memories

"Feed me, Sweetie"

A closeup of nature over at dversepoets.com...

June evenings find me
on my front porch,
watching mauve-gold sunsets,
waiting to see who or what
will come visit me

A brown-tailed squirrel's eyes ask
 "where are the peanuts?",
 then runs up the yellow-
green maple tree
White yellow ribbons of sun
play in branches and on backs of
newly arrived goldfinches
seeking niger and sunflower seeds.
Juncos and nuthatches forage
what leftovers fall to the ground
I am partial to the black-capped,
chestnut-winged chicadees
 for their personalities and song
        (chee-dee-dee)
Used to me now, they let me know
when feeders have been empty long
They are bold enough to land
on my elbow, not ready
to eat out of my hand
Rufous and Anna hummingbirds,
 dressed in neon red and lemon-lime,
respectably, hover near me,
fluttering, as if to say something
profound. Then, drawn by
natural nector, they buzz to
the nearest clump
of flowers, pretty violet
columbine

2:00 a.m.

                                                                 

We are to write about 2:00am today at  dversepoets.com





A friend drove us to the hospital -
April birds chirping (cheering?) wildly
I saw the moon in an ocean of night,
next to Mt. Rainier
Contractions 5 minutes apart,
Orion on my shoulder near
....2:00 a.m....toilet seat cold ...
grey green hallways, operating room,
Warm lights yellow gold,
voices in the background,
handsome doctor's face,
Of course fierce pain,
but instinctively borne,
erased by a spinal block,
none too soon
6 hours later
I heard a sweet cry,
soft, tho -
then you were in the crook
of my right arm,
you gave me a reassuring look -
serene, and with your eyes you said
"Hi Mom, it's ok,
I'm here now..for the long run"
I conveyed the same thought to you
We knew each other already,
but it was the intimate focus,
the eye to eye contact
that moved me so
Immediate recognition
in that moment we had waited for-
almost as if we had lived it
a thousand times before
In your eyes, my mother's eyes -
tender and caring, yet keen,
sure and thirsty for life
I'm sure I visibly smiled,
as awe enveloped me -
when I realized two hearts
two souls, were we,
apart now, instead of as one
You were so pretty, as always,
but I am prejudiced, I know
...so began our journey
45 years ago

The Color of Emotion

At  dversepoets.com today, Bjorn asks us to write about opposites....of any kind....

Blood spattered is

50 shades of red -

only God knows how many

 tucked into a rainbow,

splashed in an emotional field 

 How deep the Red Sea ?
How inviting, the red lantern's
warm glow!

The flamingo's blush
feather coat is easy on the eye -
as is nature's bed of greens,
browns, and blues
 that anchors us

Tall reeds of sea grass thrive
 in a cool smooth lake,

 a mottled grosbeak nearby

Red tomato, hot tamale!

A bonfire spits skyward -

the green flame,
 jealousy discarded

Red is the wood of my violin 

that plays "you left too soon"

Red velvet is the night
against the moon

Colors azure, peach, sand
and sage - palette of the beach
keeps us sane,
as do hazy earthen rows

of homes and trees on a
Tuscan plain, muted
 paintings, masterpieces of art...
red is the color that reigns

 Jutting from my ankles,
although blue, red is the
blood running through my veins

The same can be said, it's true,
about the color of my heart
Red the velvet rose petals

against my cheek,
strewn on a pillow on a bed

Crayola's red is dull,

it's boldness taken away
Red is understood -
banner for ire, vendetta, hate -
but not for its transparency

 Lipstick on a collar, burnt sienna
blood stains on the sheets -
regrettable memories

Warm saffrons, magenta,
pinks have their place,
as does indigo -

but neutral colors and yellow
stand for nothing political
and I do believe them to be

......spiriting grace

Crescendoing

We are discussing layers in writing poetry today over at dversepoets.com - scratch the surface and there is more there -




When I was young and put my toe
in the sea, I felt
bantam waves warm and foamy,
like an extension of me
I had no words to describe it then
Each time I returned,
I had matured,
so I waded further,
feeling the undertow

I felt a thrill when I jumped higher
waves above my knees and then,
as they bumped against
my chest
Words like "cold, pulling, fear,
port and harbor, navigation
and bandoleer" came to me
My strong legs could withstand
the cantankerous tide's ebb and flow

I learned to catch a wave to ride
all the way in,
the moment to swim before the
swell broke into a
 long white ruffle
Now I could articulate what the sea
incited in me, its beauty, its draw,
its rushing to spread itself thinly
upon the outstretched sandy beach

The further out one adventures on
this graduating terrace,
the greater the cross currents each way
My ability to surf larger waves
let me see other horizons
The rolling sea of life,
its calm and its tempests,
waves that never cease

The sea awakened me
to a mystery - deeper and more
complex now is the study
Thus I write stories and poetry,
essays on nuances of what I see,
feel, touch and hear -
I sketch and paint the dangers
and joys of life,
its idiosyncrasies -
my observations of this living,
undulate, breathing
Delphic sphere