Deliverance

He skids into my heart, stands guard
at my moist pillow in the night;
and when the moon shines bright,
Owl knows the curriculum
I climb onto the owl's wide back;
we whoosh up to the sky,
away, higher
Lifted by a mighty Nor'wester gale
we sail in interstellar channels
and beyond

The breath of God whirls us toward
sacred places, to a land I once knew,
but had forgotten - far, far away
My feathered chariot, my
benevolent chauffeur grasps
trailing blue ribbon reins
He ferries my cargo of memories,
tales gleaned from generations
before, brought to bear through
gritty legacies

I slumber as he croons
with the voice of an opera tenor
I feel to my core his thunderous
wings flapping - We soar,
skirting the milky way
to a place called home
Ascending to a high cloud, he
rests me down upon the banks
of a roving river; I capture a fallen
feather, hold it close to me

My feet alight in cool yet warm sand
I sift it with my toes

Then, in a quiet boat drifting,
my hand dips into clear
water and glides

Grateful for all the living I've done,
for deeds and promises kept by me,
and for me,
for gifts I gave to others,
gifts given  me, for all we shared,
I am thankful for the return ride



http://dversepoets.com
Strong verb usage today...

Wind song..

In honor of March we are writing about wind .....so many ideas came to mind...so just a little refresher about wing songs.....dversepoets.com   




A gentle breeze overturns twigs,
plays with a pretty lace curtain
Prevailing winds are usual,
nothing extraordinary
Moderate winds are perfect
for kite-flying weather
Strong winds, gusty gales reek havoc
in our lives
Then, once in while, A Mighty Wind
gives us reason to pray
Unless caught in a jet stream,
we go about living, 
an instrument of time,
bending, swaying, as if
life is but a dream

Depending on what's happening,
we heed the winds of change -
but must we Surrender to the Wind,
remember the Winds of War, or
be Gone With the Wind?
When the wind blows, 
the cradle will rock,
how scary
They call the Wind Mariah,
just one of many
Baby, the Rain must fall, 
baby, the wind must blow
my heart is yearning
Baby I must go

When love is in the air,
Love is like the wind
For love some will conquer Windmills 
Love is Written on the Wind;
we sometimes go Against the Wind
we will go Any way 
the wind blows
You are the Wind Beneath my Wings
a Candle in the Wind
but oh, how I love that Summer Wind!
After all, the answer,
 my friend,
is Blowing in the Wind

Foul weather..

I 






















Tried my hand at today's  Sunday Swirl where each week 11 words are posted as a prompt for a wordle. A wordle is the name for a short composition using all the given words.

Early morning I smell sweet hay,
hear a cock crow,
then a rustling raises dust clouds
The threat of rain I see nearing
What do the hens know of weather?
A dry summer rendered cows
parched and useless; word spread
there might be some kind of  plague
Then, sounds like wild banshees
or monkeys screaming
come from inside the old barn
Whole nests filled with fresh eggs
topple from their perches
as chickens fly against barbed wire

Flying higher than the pen itself,
the only way out, but that would just
make them more vulnerable
to the coyotes that appear,
just past the field below,
beyond  the knoll
Dogged and weary they growl
and slink away
We have prayed for a break
from the blasphemous heat;
it feels no different in the shade
- if only we could sit awhile
on the porch with a deck of cards
drinking cool lemonade

But this is home,
we've endured many years
in all kinds of weather
Our small farm is dear to us
although we cried many a tear
not for just flying feathers
The losses of horses and pets
was the hardest to take
The toll taken is well worth the
nasty cotton thorns
Why I always look past winter
into the spring
For I know all begins anew,
food and water will easily keep
Green grass grows, the well is full,
and the only activity is birdsong
and cries of babies being born

A shepherd's life..

There is a danger to overgrazing
a pasture, 
staying too long in one place
There is much satisfaction in 
the pattern of transitioning,
of establishing small encampments, 
moving between seasons,
in a nomadic way of life
For some there is a draw, a willingness
to trade well-known identity to become 
a soul living close to nature
Indigenous people of Northern and 
Eastern Europe, Mongolia, or North 
Africa might trade meats, wool and cheeses, 
own nothing,
but find peace in leaving the past behind

Free from living en masse, 
the grind of everyday commutes and 
psychic pressures of modern life where, not 
uncommonly, a young innocent girl
could be a violet stepped on
in a park and it's true -
in western culture there are always sheep 
in need of a shepherd
It's a comfortable transition for 
independents, we loners who shrink 
from this world and live
with fresh pastures to graze on,  

where unknown shepherds keep their flock
in tact, protect it. 
Yet it is a lonely life, when the name has died, 

buried long before the body 

Indeed, the life of a shepherd is on
a higher plateau, 
the distance between summer and winter
The herding of sheep, goats, or yaks leads one 
to a virtuous soul
Instead of homeless in a city, 
a camel trader might fall sleep one
bitter, chilly night to wake up on a 
slope of the flowing Steppes of Hungary
on a night clear and find the moon lying 
on its back,  
Instead, a young woman on an alpine 
hillside milks her reindeer, surrounded by 
fields of wild cloudberries
An awkward shepherd boy treated badly
by the village people can stand proudly 
with his herd and upon reaching the curve 
of a mountain, find a beach covered 
with snow

Starting our new week with new pub tenders over at dversepoets.com Anna has asked us to write
creatively to experiment using one philosophy to describe another. i.e... to write about something totally different using baseball terminology. 

Minecraft for life...

Open link night and the changing of the guard at      http://dversepoets.com/.  As Brian and Claudia pass the helm onto Bjorn and others, we continue to share our poetry and they promised they aren't going far. I have been writing this prose poem in my mind for awhile.  I will be late to comment, per usual. Today and tomorrow the grand kids basketball tournaments - thanks

Minecraft for life...

In the beginning we are pretty cute
we play, wonder, discover
When we start the game we do not know that
we've limited time in this giant world
We learn of fairies, genies, watch TV
With pretend with bows,  arrows and guns
We fend off foes with friends,
zombies and monsters,
yet we feel no threats to our protected life - 
and of course, we follow the rules of the game

In friendly sunshine, we start exploring -
find animals, plants, clouds, nature
We welcome all with both fear and 
exhilaration
We have adrenalin for adventure;
life is dynamic, joyful and fun
When night falls and skeletons come out
we pull our wooden sword,
barricade the door from creepy crawlies 
outside our room

In this game, sometimes you win..
and also lose
You learn it is about not only you, but others
You enter the creative mode 
and learn to build survivor skills 
You build complex machinery,
craft tools, and prepare your arsenal 
Minecraft is just a  game, 
there are no rules
There is a clock in the upper corner of the screen,

You construct simple house with four wooden walls, 
a door, no floor, no roof, no bed 
You don’t need more, just shelter
You mine just enough coal,
craft just enough torches to lighten your way
The game really is just blocks with 
different aspects interacting 
With your avatar you mine your way 
through a tunnel or cave, 
or through a mountain 

"They" crawl behind you and then,
literally explode,

It is pitch black and you meet a dead end;

you start digging a hole, but upwards
You mine a few blocks of rocks,
 find dirt and grass,
but then you hear sheep
Yes, that's right, sheep, purple sheep

You reach the top of a mountain with 

the aid of purple sheep by your side 

There are things outside that want to hurt you 

and stop your clock immediately

"They" make a lot of noise 
when following you

So you have plenty of time to prepare yourself

Your challenge is to live as long as you can

You fend them off bravely, determined
Even though when they find you,
you die, you have many lives to play with

In the real world, we amble along
in this state of vulnerability
We see our first beautiful sunset,
we finish school,  eventually find love,
We accomplish things and widen
 our perspectives, work and play 
and uncover diversity of the world 
It is the most reasonable and fulfilling thing to do
We find adventure, gain experience,
build new worlds, gather our resources

It's your choice; 
your resources are infinite
But in reality,
we experience ugly bruised feelings,
even unworthiness and exclusion
We soon hear the most intriguing things 
Now that you are in the full game of life,
you also notice there is a countdown
You've learned you have limited time 
THAT changes your whole perspective 

What is your purpose? 
How are you going to spend your time? 
Though some combatants are deadly, silent -
accidents and diseases,
others make a lot of noise and give warning.
You know you can protect yourself,
you forge ahead, and enjoy every minute
You are more alive, because now,
 you've learned you have
limited time to play 

What will you accomplish with your avatar?
You will move your house and stuff,
will live in another world, 
perhaps with another person, 
other things going on
One day everything will be gone
Will there be another world after this? 
I don’t know, but I hope so  

There is no actual clock in the upper corner

counting down the time
 you or I have left in the world 

Of course you notice the metaphor

You see how Minecraft mimics life,

with almost the exact same text

It's amazing how a modest game 
models so closely life itself  
Yet, life is just the the interactions 
of atoms and energy. 
The beauty of this is that the focus 
is on living experiences, not on collecting stuff
Stuff is left behind

But experiences are part of you. 
Remember, you can’t see it, but the clock is ticking… 

Wouldn't it be nice to know your countdown
or have someone warn you?
"Good morning, just to let you know -
 that this is your last day"!?"
I really don't know, but know that time is running out, 
I’m thankful that I didn't waste it all
For awhile, the game will remember me
I can win and I certainly can lose, but it will just end
One can't insert more coins or simply
click on an icon
What time do I have left in this world? 
I really don’t know, 
but I hope there's no  standing in line,
and I hope it will be an adventure

A joust between the left and right.....sides of the brain

For fun again today -  Jousting is the sport - we chose a line from two different poems written by Claudia and Brian to write a new poem in the same spirit as Tuesday's prompt, which was Medieval times.   dversepoets.com

The line (s) (2, one line from each poem) are underlined:



Where is the emphasis in your thinking?
Is it your right or left brain?
"What's the difference?" she asks
"It is huge", he says, and leaves her hanging
She does some research -
how much of this development is affected
by life experiences, she wonders, 
and how much is inherent?
Does it act like the moon and wax and wane?

When I paint, I am creating,
using the right side of my brain;
but when I am critical about my painting,
I am using more of the left side 
than the right, right?
Thankful I am for the nurturing I had,
a mother's guiding loving example,
with just the right amount of pragmatism.
Otherwise, as I understand it,
I might be emotionless, cold,
not fruitful or regretful...worse!
I would be robotic, a logarithm 
where a chip inside computes.

I don't know the latest science on this;
all I know is that one side of my brain
seems more dominant,
seems to have taken over the other 
The left side always en guarde,
the right side allowing me to explore and enjoy
It is an almost equal match; 
Are there no rules for the tilting 
by the hemispheres of the brain?
Do both parties wear helmets and armor, 
carry a shield as in a joust?
If that is so, then, in the case of my
particular brain, the tournament is over - 

Some games won,  most foiled... 
by the steely blade of the left brain's lance,
and in an  Attaque au fer , over much time,
my horse lost its footing and stumbled
The right side has taken over it's true,
though the left is alive and kicking
You might say opposing sides shook hands
in harmony,  but for all practical purposes, 
all things weighed and considered, 
the battle ended in a   Coupé

Maid Katharine's Movable Medieval feast...

At the head of the table sits the king
at the distant other end sits his queen;
Wooden goblets overflow with fine wine
Guests in high back velvet chairs sit between

Servants set the table sparsely with forks,
shiny carving knives, soup bowls and ladle
Lads in festive garb carry huge platters
overhead of fruit, figs, nut meats hazel

Straight from the fire comes fresh game, venison,
pork, beef, sweetbreads, succulent roast pheasant
From the kitchen, cheese curd, pickled herring
delicate quail eggs, simmered turtle soup

Plum pudding and apple-quince pie prepared
for the sake of celebration and mirth
Robust arms wrestle for drumsticks and legs,
tossing, discarding aside bones with dearth

Ladies forget dainty table manners -
while servants keep a continuous run
Triumphant toasts are raised all around, some
prefer to pass just jugs of homemade rum

Jesters and mimes perform with great aplomb;
Human targets stand in the forest trees;
doing all they can to remain quite calm
arrows fly at the greatest of speed

Quite serious moves are contemplated
in a mean game of chess or jousting a man
from his horse, landing him in a puddle
Full-bellied men, flushed ladies loll in rattan

Women untie their girdles, unleash their
bosoms to breathe; drunk young men trail maidens
into the woods playing games, in search of
greener fields, of beds yet undiscovered                                                                                                                                                                                                                                
Plenty of gluttony and sloth, needless
to say; truth be told, much baring of souls
with loud incongruous soliloquies ...
Some dance on tables, become total fools

No business is considered at this time,
no property exchanged, new laws made
Frankincense circles the encampment there                                                                                    
not far from the castle's high stone walls

Days of Robin Hood and his band of men
shared life together in Sherwood Forest
They dared robbing the ladies of their jewels,
the men their purses, for the poor, of course.

I remember the earliest version
romanticized in Hollywood, of Maid
Marian, flowers in her tresses, Big
Little John, Friar Tuck and followers

Oft I wonder if the story was true,
The legend reminds me of fiscal today
and the 99%, versus a few
Parallels are clearly evident of
this form of selfish indulgence
Modern man's precedent was set back then
when people followed blindly a pied piper
It's our responsibility to unleash
kindness's full power and to reverse the 
debauchery
... and stop playing games like -
pin the tail on the donkey..


                                                                                                                                                    
We are transitioning this week over at the Poetics web-site called  dversepoets.com  The changing of the guard does not mean people are leaving, but rather re organizing and and re-energizing the place.  Still there will be poems posted 3 times a week with some surprises thrown in.  In celebration we are having a joust of sorts -coming together for a banquet of poetry all about Med-evil society.  Have fun reading and hop over to read a bit.

Field and stream....another version..

We are writing from some time in the future. looking back, in one way or another today @dversepoets.com 

Today, sun and rain douse the meadow,
spring's wildflowers come alive, 
sprouting with color
I remember when all faded
into a volcano's glutenous 
magma slide

My body jerks as I snap out of slumber,
awakened by the nightmare
of global warming
I try to focus on the present day,
but my mind and body are the 
worse for wear

It's true, it seems like just yesterday
when we lost hope, saw a future bleak
Those who wouldn't listen 
succumbed quickly when disasters
and diseases spread,
chaos and havoc wreaked

It was an inconvenient truth;
high seas churned to boiling
Nations fought and stole for thirst 
and hunger's sake,
though for many years before,
they had sufficient warning

El Nino, atomic spills, pollution 
and more had defined our way of life,
dominated our culture
A world in constant denial for decades,
and congresses at a standstill,
we suffered constant hell and strife

Until a brave generation said "NO!"
They knew first hand the threats of 
emanate doom
Born in the late 2040's,
they were prepared for 
 - revolution

Upon them befell impossible trials 
and tribulation;  millions revolted, 
They sought to save the parched earth
from its own demise
Young people paid a dear price
with their blood and sacrifice

New information led to 
new technologies,
The youth of the world
secured a grand "coup d' etat"
With new tools and non violent skills, 
THEY are the greatest generation

The  American and allied forces
secured and won WWII
But to previous generations' disgrace,
under auspices of a new idealism,
a mid 21st century prodigy
put giant Eco systems in place

They abolished ancient laws,
rooted out corruption and fiscal waste,
wrote new legislation
From our own west coast 
to the far eastern shores
reign solar, wind, magnetic energies

Therefore, in my old age, 
it's sometimes hard to believe,
unheard of to this day,
that a world of garnered spirits
could police itself to create
a peace, so that  someday -

Today,  I awaken 
from dreams of the past 
to welcome wildflowers, 
gently blowing in pristine air,
divided by a clear stream....
as I sit in this easy chair
not wearing rose colored glasses