Something About This Tree

 

For Friday Writings ~ Poets and Storytellers United

Ghost Tree

in my imagination

 

it has leaves

alive

in my reality

its beauty astounds

something magical about a ghost

On Mother's Day my Family and I celebrated with a late lunch at a restaurant with a great outdoor eating space. Right next to our table was a large tree that looked "dead" to me. It was explained they are called Ghost Trees and used frequently to enhance landscapes. Literally moved from wherever they are, transported to their new homes. Roots secured within a concrete base deep into the ground. This tree was simply beautiful and silly me didn't take a photo. Which meant a return for more of their tasty food! Which I did.

Hot Time in 'Chi-Town'

 

De reminds us it's time for Quadrilles in the dVerse Poets Pub ~  Inspiration?  “This One’s Gone to the Dogs”.

I'm snowbound in Terminal Three

with canceled flights trapping poor me

this blizzard roars loud thru the night

while the crowd grows surly, (might fight ?) 

... and a Hot Dog keeps calling to me

they're always quite messy to eat 

this gastronomic treat can't be beat 

when O'Hare shuts the whole world away

those hot dogs will rescue the day

** first comes the "dog" in a steamed poppy seed bun, toppings are layered in a "specific" order: yellow mustard, neon green relish, chopped white onion, tomato wedges, a dill pickle spear, pickled peppers and finally a sprinkle of celery salt.

For Friday Writings #227

 Rommy supplied poets with several memorable lines from The Princess Bride, encouraging us to choose one as inspiration for our poems. [we also had the option of choosing  another line from the movie]  I chose Westley saying to Buttercup "hear this now: I will always come for you"  

** As You Wish **

Even if delayed by dragons, rain

or a goose with territorial issues ..

I shall arrive dramatically windblown

Hear this now: I will always come for you.

Just For Fun!

  Bjorn has us concentrating on lists today in the dVerse Poets Pub ~~ I felt like being contrary.

Lists bore me to tears

it's freedom I seek

the great out of doors

{ like fording a creek }

I've a list of twelve chores

wouldn't you know

can't find where I put it

{ I'll go with the flow }

At my advanced age

it really won't matter

creating those  lists

{ like thoughts, they will scatter }

Join me now friends

just crumple that list

let's meet at town's square

{ you get my gist }

We're going to have fun

those projects can wait

there's always tomorrow

{ now don't you be late! }

White Space

Time for Poetics in the dVerse Poets Pub ~ May in India is a month when there are art exhibits ~ many of them. Punam provided us with several lovely art pieces as inspiration for our poems. 

the distance of mind from reality

is white space framing 

every thought every action

crossing borders best left uncrossed

as if caution tape were woven

through the bloodstream

as if memory itself 

required permits

i stand at the checkpoint

holding a passport made of weather

yesterday stamped with invisible ink

tomorrow refusing my photograph

 

Take A Chance

sometime in the late 70's

take a chance, take a chance, take a chance 

is chanted [rapidly] during this ABBA song

my little quartette got all tongue-tied

then we began to giggle 

giggles soon turned into guffaws

we had to leave the stage

talk about embarrassing

Listen to the song, you will soon understand!

Beauty Surrounds

Merril has us swooning over an image of roses in the dVerse Poets Pub ~ she has  shared a list of names bestowed on the beauties ~ next come poems using a few of those names.     

Sunrise we greet ~ Summer Song sweet
Wind Rush and Sea Foam wherever we roam
Tangles that bind ~ Quicksilver mind
Restless we wander far from our home

No Surrender calls through the long night
White Wings are lifting our hearts into flight
Ebb Tide is pulling ~ soft and untrue
tell me oh tell me ~ will it be you

Peace like a whisper we never quite keep
drifting between us in shadow and sleep

*** If you are into music, 

my poem's rhythm should read 

like a waltz, a 6/8 time signature. 

Think the theme song from Outlander.

https://youtu.be/0pyRbHzWCAQ

A Barrage of Books!

this is the home library

of a good and great friend

his library speaks volumes

[ pardon the pun ] 

those who love him

label him 'a hoarder'

[ in the most gentle of tones ]

the beauty of his quasi Dewey Decimal system ~

he knows exactly where to find what he seeks

even though it may rest 

in a stack on the floor or on dining room table

this historic home was built in 1902

quite close to the 1904 World's Fair site

rumour has it dignitaries from Europe 

rented the home for 

weeks at a time during the Fair ~

if they could see it now!

Downcast, Not Broken

Time for Poetics in the dVerse Poets Pub .. Melissa has us focused on the art of  Gerard Sekoto, born in 1913 in South Africa .. our challenge .. compose an ekphrastic poem!

Woman With Downcast Eyes, 1955

I carry the morning on my shoulders 

heavy as the tin roof trembling in the wind

some days the dust calls me by name

coating my skin

settling in my breath

how much of this world

am I willing to swallow?

I walk with eyes lowered

not in shame but in study

I have learned to stitch hope

from the smallest of threads

a child's laughter, the blooming jacaranda

Let them say the world is unkind

let them say the load is too much

I will carry it anyway

step by step

breath by breath

Unfinished Business

Rosemary [ Friday Writings ] asks we respond to a provocative question:

 "This world has no meaning. Why fucking bother?” 

Also Submitted to Lisa and the dVerse Poets Pub ~ Open Link Night

'The woods are lovely, dark and deep, but I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep'. ** Robert Frost **

you ask me why, why bother at all?

i have stood in that question's shadow

in a world that shrugs at meaning 

should i forget the sound 

of my own footsteps

it will only grow louder

the woods are lovely, dark, and deep

but i haven't come this far

to lie down in them just yet

meaning is not found ..

it is made in the small

insistence "of staying"

so why bother?

because my story is not done

because love has not released me

because there are miles before me

i walk them, shoulders back

gloriously awake

  

Where Does Love Go?

 Kim is hosting Poetics in the dVerse Poets Pub * "When Love disappears .. Where does it go?" is the burning question * and the inspiration for our poems. 

love is a dramatic little creature

it slips out my front door

dragging a suitcase full of sighs

lurks in the sleeve of an old sweater

waiting for a cold enough morning

to wrap myself in memories 

I swore I'd thrown away

love enjoys small disguises

that song I almost skipped

the smell of rain on a day I needed mercy

on ambitious days love hides in my future

between plans I haven't yet made

when it's feeling particularly brazen

love might even hide in plain sight 

so no, love hasn't left

it's hiding inside the word "again"

..... waiting, simply waiting

Thirty-one ~ My Lucky Number

 “It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen.” 

~ George Orwell 

 

look at this clock face with doubt

a 13 where 12 should appear

turn it about let "my number" shout 

thirty-one’s mine ~~  are we clear ??

The "Professor"

Laura hosts Meeting the Bar in the dVerse Poets Pub .. inviting us to write an epistolary letter / poem in verse or prose form.

 

Dear Professor Franklin C Kreider,

Beloved Director, CHS High School Band: 

You are most deserving of my everlasting gratitude 

in 1955, at the tender age of fourteen, I entered high school 

an aspiring "first chair" flautist in the nationally acclaimed

Collinsville Illinois High School Band.

Three national championships and barred from National competition

so what did you do, took our show on the road

Niagara Falls, Pikes Peak, a new destination each Spring

four Greyhound Busses packed with kids, chaperones, instruments 

concert venues, standing ovations, encores, quite the head rush.

Those tours taught me more than you could know

how to quell stage fright, how to feel joy in performing 

an appreciation for music in all its myriad forms

you made me a better musician, encouraged my talent, believed in me

and yes, made my dream of playing "first chair flute" come true.

I'm old now, Professor Kreider, as were you when first we met

my embouchure is compromised, muscle tone has diminished 

hitting high notes close to impossible 

something I could never have imagined as a teen.

I am blessed with countless memories .. musicians who are still friends 

endless stories .. shared with my children and grandchildren

actually .. anyone willing to listen ..  

YOU, Dear Professor, made that possible.

Fondly, 

Your favorite flautist 

Helen Louise Klenke 

[ Dehner today ]

False Spring vs. False Winter

Tuesday in the dVerse Poets Pub means time for Poetics .. Grace is hosting and reminds us "false spring" [ that fragile time between seasons ] provides great inspiration, literally and metaphorically, for composing poetry. 

in my city we are promised winter

the honest kind that creaks bones of trees

writes its name in frosted breath

instead we got a half-hearted draft

a penciled-in season never pressing

hard enough to leave a mark

we donned coats in the morning

out of habit not necessity

gloves, scarves more nostalgia than need 

somewhere winter was happening

rivers locked in thought

fields frozen clean, snowy white quiet

in my city we linger, a polite misunderstanding

a false spring that forgot its lines

a false winter that never learned them 

 

Feeling Deeply

Rosemary asks us to share something precious today ~ feelings we hold deeply and close to our hearts with the Friday Writings Community 

Also sharing with dVerse Poets

Once upon a time

not that long ago

our special needs Son, Carl

walked into the living room and asked me:

"Mom, if you and Dad had known

how I would be ... would you still have had me?"

Yes, those were his exact words

I was momentarily dumb-struck

trying hard to find some semblance of composure 

I responded ... 

"You, my precious Son, are without a doubt the best thing that ever happened to our family .. you made each of us BETTER human beings! I cannot imagine our lives without YOU. You've inspired us to be generous, empathetic, inclusive, without bias. 

Everyone who knows you, customers who interact with you each day at Safeway [ the supermarket where Carl works ] admire and respect you!" You brighten their days, elevate them.

Carl is turning sixty-five this year

He is my housemate, my buddy

travel companion and assistant chef 

he makes me laugh, we share movies 

television shows, sporting events

concerts, walks and dinners out.

a family strong

what is truly important 

for all our lifetime 

 

MAGNIFICENT OBSESSION

 Time to Meet Up in the dVerse Poets Pub ~ Kim is hosting ~ our challenge today is to write an Acrostic poem using a name ~ any name we choose. Those who know me, understand my undying love for the man, the poet, the voice ~~ Leonard Cohen. My acrostic is all about HIM.

BEFORE

LOW VELVET VOICE THAT LINGERS IN MY SOUL

EVERY WORD A QUIET CONFESSION 

OLD WORLD CHARM WRAPPED IN SHADOW

NIGHTS ARE DEEPER WITH HIS MUSIC

A POET WHO UNDERSTOOD LONGING

REVERENCE IN EVERY BROKEN HALLELUJAH

DESIRE DRESSED IN CLASSY DIGNITY

DURING

LURING HIM WITH DINNER, CANDLELIGHT, WINE

EYES THAT HAVE SEEN TOO MUCH TO RUSH OFF

OH, YOU AREN'T LEAVING JUST YET !!

NO DOOR IS OPEN ONCE YOU JOIN ME

AFTER ALL, I HAVE WAITED A LIFETIME 

RESISTANCE MIGHT BE CHARMING, BUT FUTILE

DINNER MAY END ~~ BUT WE CERTAINLY WON'T

LATER

LIPS THAT TURN LYRICS INTO TEMPTATION 

EVERY LINE A SLOW, SLOW BURN

OBSESSION FEELS LIKE HEAVEN WHEN YOU SING 

NOTHING ABOUT US IS INNOCENT THIS NIGHT

A MAN WHO MAKES SHEER SILENCE SEDUCTIVE

ROOM GROWS MORE INTIMATE BY THE SECOND

DON'T EXPECT ESCAPE ~~~~~~ 

This Day ~~~

 It's Tuesday / time for Poetics in the dVerse Poets Pub!  Lisa hosts / it's all about St. Patrick's Day!!! 

Streets turn green / laughter spills

a bright and rowdy run

yet somewhere far beyond the cheers

the world has come undone

We raise a mug with tempered hearts

aware of all that's wrong

hoping that a spark of joy

might help us carry on

Music lifts / dancers whirl

share their happy grace

headlines whisper heavy truths

we cannot quite erase

Even in these shadowed hours

a moment's light can stay

reminding us resilience blooms

in a small and human way

Let this day be bittersweet

a mingling of the real

grief we hold / hope we keep

the things we long to heal

Yoda Kitty

Merril is tending bar in the dVerse Poets Pub ~ We are to compose prose of no more than 144 words which must include this line from D.H. Lawrence's poem 'Winter Lull' ~  It all belies our existence; we wait and are still denied.

I've been sitting here for more than several minutes. Possibly hours. Time moves differently when one is starving. My bowl is empty. I've verified this repeatedly. My human walked through the kitchen a moment ago. She glanced out at me, nodded politely, continued on her way. Humans are very poor observers. I tried moving close to the bowl. I tried staring at it with unwavering intensity. I looked back and forth between the bowl and my human in what I believe was a clear demonstration of the problem. Nothing. It all belies our existence. We wait and are still denied what matters most. In this case, the pressing matter is tuna! I'm moving to the center of the hallway, she must step over me. This has proven effective in the past. If that fails, I may have to begin knocking things off the counter.

 

Remembering Tuscany, 2016

Magaly provides this phrase as inspiration for our poetry ~ “the world is burning, but…”  

the world is burning, but

when olive groves call

leaves dance in the breeze