Five Thousand and Counting

We are gathered in the dVerse Poets Pub this evening to share poems we wrote in response to a challenge from Laura who asks us to write about 'leaving home' and the four directions we might head from there. 

do i or don't i

should i or shouldn't i

will i or won't i 

hitch a ride

run away from home

north takes me where

the winds blow cold

snows run knee-deep

but they say hearts are warm

and doors open wide for strangers

east is way cool - where things happen

museums, a deli on every corner 

broadway, ballet, opera ~

but they say it's very crowded

and folks pass without smiling

south is lush and warm

beaches made for walking, shell hunting

theme parks and walt's friends

but oh the endless humidity

and the ever-present annoying snowbirds

west must be the best

this van is headed that direction

look, there's a photo of me plastered 

on the side - must be a sign, an omen

westward ho, away i go

 

 

Riding the Rails

Time for Prosery in the dVerse Poets Pub ~ Mish is hosting and introduces us to Gordon Downie, Canadian musician, author, poet, songwriter, storyteller and activist. Mish chose this line from Downie's poem "Starpainters" to use in our prose.

~~ The Starpainters are taking over now ~~ 

Pinterest Image 

New-found friends, off to see the world, approaching said world as though it were a gigantic defective transit map. [this journey had the potential of ending horribly.] 

In Paris, they boarded the Orient Express for Vienna, only to awaken in a foggy freight yard outside Bratislava. A rusty switch in Kyoto sent them rattling toward mountain snows ~ not cherry blossoms they were dying to see. 

Months of iron rails and misplaced platform tickets became their shared language. Yet, somewhere between the off-kilter itineraries, and the derailments, both stopped feeling like abject failures. 

The starpainters were taking over now. Friendly frictions became a real track, clashing personalities gave way to happy travelers ~ stepping off that final, sun-bleached platform  smiling, exhausted ~ bound together forever.

Turning Tables

Time to dance the Quadrille in the Pub! Melissa is hosting and today's challenge word is "Xenolith! For those of you unfamiliar with the word ~~

[A xenolith is a fragment of foreign rock trapped

 inside a larger igneous rock.]

a few of the shells i've collected

 

glass bowl holds them safe and sound 

gathered from many coastal zones

ocean's bleached and lovely bones

a stranger breaks my parlor door

this heavy uninvited guest 

exhumed from deep tectonic hell 

there to swallow up each shell 

a jagged beast, the xenolith

reaching out with tongue of fire

 

It's a Descort!!

Grace is hosting Meeting the Bar in dVerse Poets Pub today .. our challenge .. compose a Descort ~ a medieval French lyric genre where every line and stanza intentionally breaks uniformity, varying widely in length, meter, and rhyme.

 Alone With My Thoughts

i love dancing by 

myself

apples on our tree 

            changing color!

would you stay with me ~~ forever ??

it's way way way too cold here today   ❄❄❄❄❄

[ furnace on ]

stayin' alive, sort of

..... slowly i hope

~~ just tell me ~~ where is

 

Barry Gibb when i need him ?!

Magic

Time for Open Link Night in the dVerse Poets Pub ~ Grace is our host. I was intrigued with the line Dora chose for Prosery in the Pub from the Stanley Kunitz' poem 'King of the River' ~ I have had a life-long love affair with trains ~ the whistles ~ the magic. 

“and the iridescent image swims through a mirror that flows.”

~ Tracks in our neighborhood ~

long ~ long ~ short ~ long 

chords that drift behind

pulling the anchor of my mind

the melancholy strain

the grief of a whistling train

morning's whistle calls me from the deep

breaks the fragile tapestry of sleep

B Major 6th chord [ D#4, F#4, G#4, B4, D#5 ]

my day begins with a softened gleam

searching the edges of my dream

and the iridescent image swims 

through a mirror that flows

A Cross-stitch In Time

Time for Meeting The Bar in the dVerse Poets Pub ~ Laura is host and asks us to write poems using compounded forms of a word we choose. I chose the word "cross".

Seated at my Grandmother's feet

laughing hard not missing a beat

[the cross-stitch]

The pattern she chose is complex

now Grammy is needing her specks

[fingers crossed]

Grammy claims it's very easy

counting stitches easy peasy

[cause cross-eye]

How many colors must she choose

too many shades simply confuse

[try cross-hatch]

It's one tiny stitch at a time

there's no way to make this line rhyme

[been cross-checked] 

A Wee Bit of Advice

 ~ For Friday Writings Magaly has us considering the juxtaposition between despair and delight ~ 

Good Afternoon, my friends. Take a step outside to breathe in that fresh air, sit yourself down for a moment of peace and quiet ~ enjoy a cup of tea or coffee, a glass of lemonade, wine ~ or a stiff belt of something stronger if you so desire. 

NOW turn “them” off. I'll wait. Just turn them OFF! OK? Better? Turn off the scrolling doom, the flashing alerts, and the weight of a world that feels constantly broken. We need moments like these, to resettle ourselves, to turn off the crazy noise.

Breathe in, breathe out, you'll know when the volume, the incessant shouting, has diminished. Now close your eyes, open them to look at something that gives you joy, peace and comfort ~ maybe your garden, your child, your pet.

Simply BE for a moment. IN the moment. You may learn that between despair and delight lives afternoon delight! 

I Promise.

---

The Dark Side

Time for a 44-word Quadrille in the dVerse poets Pub ~  WhimsyGizmo  [ aka De ] is hosting ] The magic word today is JUMP or some form of the word jump. 

problem is

they suck kids in

with tantalizing images of 

bad boys

naughty girls

cigs dangling

 from pouty moistened lips

~ come on, kids ~

jump on board the bandwagon

cigs for a boost

cigs to lose weight

cigs to look cool

~ teach your children well ~

Remembering Sally ~~~

 

 

She formed words

in her mind

brilliant, succinct

words she could not speak 

mind intact, body failing

motor neurons misfiring

muscles wasting

bone density lost 

like iron converting to rust 

there was no way out

 

no happy ending

disintegration unstoppable

ALS ~ a cruel, merciless disease

Wildfire

 Merril is hosting Poetics in the dVerse Poets Pub today ~ Butterflies are on her mind ~ and on ours as well. Words in color are butterfly names. 

the sky has forgotten how to be blue

it hangs above Oregon like a grief

too heavy to name

its lungs full of ash

its heart beating in a frantic rhythm

forests collapsing into themselves

a cathedral of green

becoming a barrage of cinders

birdsong folded into silence

we search for something alive

LOOK ! butterflies

clouded yellow finding nectar 

in flowers that insist on returning

orange sulphur lifting from fresh

clover like a small declaration

mourning cloak no longer mourning

but bearing witness

we cannot unburn the forests

but we can plant, rebuild porches

trails, homes and trust 

we can plant one sapling beside another

one kindness next to another

until the land remembers itself

and perhaps the butterflies

[ who have always known 

how impossible transformations begin ]

will find us there

Call It What It Is ~ "A Potpourri"

 Time for Poetics in the Pub ~ Kim is our host and shares Rupert Brooke's poem "The Great Lover" 

Our challenge: create a "list poem" of times and things we've loved in our lives, that are precious. Poems must begin with 'these I have loved' and end with 'all these have been my loves'

these i have loved ~ 

The presence and energy of my precious children and grandchildren ~ of my  extended family  

 

Rimsky-Korsakov's 'Flight of the Bumlebee' ~

how it challenged that flautist ~ twelve-year old me 

'I Will Survive' ~ how karaoke and laughter got me through a few of the hard times 

Train from London to Wimbledon, off-season ~

a groundsman allowed me to walk onto Centre Court 

~ managed with a wee bit of flattery and flirting

 

Concerts ~ Pavaroti, Springsteen, Brandi, Eagles, Stones, Garth, Tina, Keith, Jackson, Prince, Carrie Rod, Frampton, Neil, Jackson ~ and on and and on 

Sunrise in Sedona, sunset in Cairns 

Gaudi in Barcelona, caprese & wine in Tuscany

 

Boarding a train, ship, hot air balloon, plane ~ landing in a foreign country ~ never knowing what lay ahead

Thunderstorms, the bigger the better ~ the aftermath splashing in puddles ~ freshness of the air

More than a few good men

Playing tennis from dusk to dawn ~ sunning topless on Seven Mile Beach in Negril ~ what a feeling

How Abba's "The Winner Takes It All" always made me feel invincible

All these have been my loves!

And Away They Go!

 It's Prosery Monday in the Pub ~ Merril is hosting and asks we use a line from Arthur Sze's poem Jaguar Song in a prose piece no longer than 144 words..

"I am the creature who smells your darkest thoughts”

A white Jaguar and a black Jaguar roared into Helen's driveway like two overconfident bachelors crashing a posh cocktail party. They began to preen shamelessly. White Knight purred “Darling Helen, observe my flawless six-pack.” Black Beauty revved “please, I am the creature who smells your darkest thoughts.” Helen looking elegant as ever, raised an eyebrow obviously interested. Six-pack Whitey flashed its headlights winking seductively at her. Blackie leaned in close vying for her undivided attention, both engines humming with hope.“You know boys I'm only making a supermarket run this evening.”

Both Jags deflated, indignantly they sputtered “Helen, you must know supermarkets are SO beneath our status in the automotive realm!” “Wait ~ White Knight offered “I've always believed groceries are the cornerstone of a balanced motoring lifestyle ~ does the supermarket have speedbumps?” Dark thoughts & Black Knight  never had a chance.

Puff Puff

Time for a 44-Word Quadrille ~ Lisa is hosting, the magic word is "PUFF"

slow press

with heavy sigh

velvet puffs

fill hollow sky

shells resist

yet take in more

standing in rows

slick, swollen, undone

shameful dozen

shimmering in the sun

one final dusting

like a lover's breath

before sweet bite that

puts them all to death

Are We Ever Too Old??

For Poets and Storytellers

Friday Writings

(me .. a while back)

when c.s. lewis whispers

"you are never too old to set

another goal or to dream

a new dream"

i nod ~ stretch my hips

and start planning 

something outrageous ..

a designer wardrobe ~ a brand new city

a new love ~ maybe

[ if he's got good hearing,

can dance and carry a tune ]

after all it feels like i'm 

just getting warmed up!

 

~~ A HUGE IF~~

 For Poets and Storytellers

Friday Writings ~~ Hammer / Teeth / Blooms

photo ~ Lori Crawford

if i held a hammer

i would not raise it for war

but strike a steady rhythm

on the door of every heart

i would use my teeth, voice, mouth

to bite through the overwhelming silence

speak whenever weary souls are forgotten

smile broadly when morning returns

if i carried blooms

i would scatter them 'cross barren fields

not as trophies of victory

but as promises planted in our soil 

Scarlet Fever

Time for Poetics in the dVerse Poets Pub ~ Lillian is hosting ~ she asks us to bring our crayons, its' time to color poetry!!! Found my box of 64, reworked an oldie.

Christopher Shay ~  Red Umbrella

midnight in Bangkok

behind a camouflaged door 

where deals are done 

bargains struck, goods exchanged 

head down, shoulders hunched, walk away

with your precious stash of hash 

tucked inside that tiny scarlet bag

 smoke it, blow it, get on with it, it's your life

but you will need that lovely red umbrella

 

for all the rainy nights in Bangkok

Poof ~ Gone

Time to dance the Quadrille with the folks enjoying the evening in the dVerse Poets Pub ~ De is hosting ~ the magic word is "myth"

 you seek a mortal form

yet find fresh air

sweet fleeting myth that lingers everywhere

i walk as whispers thru ancient trees

a phantom traced in starlight 

and in a breeze i never lived

yet somehow i remain

your perfumed dream

dissolving in the rain

This Would Be Me

 Melissa is hosting Poetics in the dVerse Poets Pub ~ our poetic challenge ~ the ‘unpunctuated’ poem.

while others dive 

beneath blankets

counting seconds between 

flash and boom

i fling open 

the curtains

hostess with the 

mostest

thunder arrives wearing 

muddy boots

lightning shows off like 

my cocky cousin at a reunion

and i sit there grinning

the neighborhood oddity 

with weather in her heart

it's called ceraunophilia

which sounds suspiciously 

like a tropical disease

but it simply means

when the sky throws 

a tantrum

i feel strangely at home

in my element