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

From Whence I Came..

I am a Lassie, one quarter Irish,
from Counties Cork, and Kerry
As in the song, "I'll Take You Home Again,
Kathleen", I would feel at home in Eirie
I used to think it was written for me.
I come from the sea, will return there,
from whence I came, more briny than blimey
salt in my veins and sea spray at my feet

I try to carry on a unique legacy of women,
Four generations of Girl Scouts
and by that I mean home loving, strong,
hard working, resourceful;
Curious, intelligent, standing up for a cause,
tolerant, generous, pioneering

Like Sarah Jane, distant great relative,

who crossed the plains in 1853,
left Illinois, settled in Lane County,

Oregon, carved her name on Chimney Rock
where she encountered Indians for the first time

I learned survivor skills for many things -
things I never imagined in my wildest dreams
I'm from a small logging town,
come from a patriarchal household,
being a judge's daughter taught me about
unfairness, as well as fairness
A product of the 50's, a baby boomer,
front seat observer of mid-century turmoil,
lover of Rock n Roll, bobby soxer.

But much more than this,
I come from the spirit world
I am part of Gaia, our Mother Earth,
a stream of consciousness spilling over
Sprung from forests verdant green, white-capped
mountains in winter; where crystal springs and
waterfalls lead to a mighty river
where once walked Sacajawea
to a wide world of many natural wonders

We are all born of authentic goodness and hope,
I want to shout out to the world,
beseech humankind to listen, to heed the messages
Saving our planet is still within our reach
For what higher purpose could there be?
We all come from innocence to learn;
our mission is to heal and cleanse this beautiful world -
 a testament to
to such a varied land and people - we can
truly change the earth for the better



dversepoets.com

Road to awareness...

Today at dversepoets.com  we are asked to write an octet, 8 line stanzas - and included is a challenge to write about a road, journey, or travel or make an 8 by 8 square poem. I could have gone in several directions, but this is what 'came out'.

Twilight's vines reach deep inside me 

   the sea's mood spectrum leads me home                                      

Smooth wet sand reflects my being

   in past summers' patina glow                                                          

Sea spray bathes giant rocks till clean,

   birthing fresh sand in its foam's flow

Instilled when first learned starfish breathe 

  - echoing a chorus of ohms                    

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bees nurse their new honeycomb 

   as against a tree trunk I lean

I look out from under its dome

   Rain drips languidly from folded leaves

Willow branch fingers reach below

   into a perylene green stream

Into the perfect wave I go,

   for I can imagine heaven

- now without being sad, I know

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   

Unrequited...

           

I steep in the afternoon sun,
cup of tea in hand,
and become an island of one
In my mind, one thousand and one
images evoked of you
One thousand harps play 
through dark matter
One thousand mirrors sparkle 
in the light of day

Unlike many a life's journey,
it all began with early trespasses 
against the heart;
an uncertain perforated hull,
forever impaired the ship from sailing
Inevitably, the means to travel 
transformed  - 
rather a steamship lugging along 
an unnamed winsome river
Without gigantic sails to navigate 
more easily the curves,
it's a wonder to have come thus far -
when it was Magellan whom we 
set out to be -
upon the rugged sea

What befell us left us breathless 
and out of sync, agog, 
ardently grasping, 
as opposed to better halcyon days
The question begs an answer;
will the truth yet be known -
of little hurts that negated the essence
of  us?
All we strove for and stood for,
everything we were, 
cut down like tall grass 
by a sharp scythe, minimized
Sadly, the polish that was there
was rubbed away, tarnished
Under appreciated,
 we became an unused silver tea set,
on the shelf, worse - 
melted, sold, given away, 
or pushed aside

Nevertheless, we strive to survive
simply and quietly, 
unrecognized 
by the one thousand and one souls 
passing by,
who otherwise might stop to say hello,
join us as we steep in the afternoon sun,
cups of tea in our hands




Today Anna has us writing about diction, our favorite words that give our poems a certain flow.  Somewhere I have a list of them, and few come to mind now that I must think of them, but I like the    spontaneous "freedom of continuous, meandering thought"             dversepoets.com

Mad Moon Rising...

                                                                                                                         

Good luck to those writing daily for NaMoWriMo !  

The Villanelle is the subject of today's poetry assignment, should we decide to attempt it. With this, the pattern of the villanelle can be illustrated as as A1bA2 – abA1 – abA2 – abA1 – abA2 – abA1A2 where “a” and “b” are the two rhymes, The two refrains (“A1” and “A2”) and two repeating rhymes (“a” and “b”). The first and third line of the opening tercet are repeated alternately as the refrains, until the last stanza, which includes both refrains.   dversepoets.com







Dawn wakes as impressionistic art
tribulations fade with night's long shadows
The day amends the mad moon's reckoning

A white cheddar moon bleeds red tears tonight
Pain looks anew out the leaded window
Dawn wakes as impressionistic art

Escape the wrath of the mad moon's red light
What dust was left of the stars lies below
The day amends the mad moon's reckoning

Love's face in glowing embers joins the night'

hope turns to new madness he's come to know
Dawn awakens as impressionistic art

Chasing the mad moon rising out of sight,
his chest breathes out true love of long ago
The day amends the mad moon's reckoning

The heart no longer wants to fight the fight
Wind in the trees mimics her whispers low
Dawn awakes as impressionistic art
The day amends the mad moon's reckoning

Bake a cake..

 -

Ladyfingers adorn her cake;

makes headlines for charity's sake,
first prize surely was hers to take

Some say she coerced the judges,

wearing a necklace of pink pearls

that set off her flouncing blond curls;

her tight dress stressed the other girls

Under the stylish wide brimmed hat,

she has only business in mind

Flirting with the powers that be,

her talent for baking unseen

Ladies opine, as she flashes 

a leg and bats her eyelashes -

the end must justify the means

When she, who is most kind, not blind,

confidently presents her cake

they hurl accusations her way -

daggers in their eyes "How unfair!"

Their cakes look superior, yes,

appear to be the most divine

But the judges do not digress

Because, you see, the ladies' wiles 

were but tainted with jealousy

Judging is done with tender care

To tell the truth, they had no chance 

She won the cake contest solely 

for its superb tasty flavor -
judged to be far beyond compare

We are writing about vocation or "calling" at  dversepoets.com today...how about a cake decorator?

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



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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.