Sunday, November 22, 2015

November 22, 2015 Poets United Poetry Pantry -- The Sunday Whirl/The Search for the Unexpected --Sunday's WhirLigig/A Snowy Afternoon -- Writers Digest November PAD Challenge/ Waiting...

THE SUNDAY WHIRL

The Search for the Unexpected

it was late in the evening            the light fell softy                         over her shoulder

as she began her tale                   telling us of finding                      the bits of leather

now unrecognizable                    hard to tell                                    what they had been

little dark abstract shapes            you could hold in your hand         you wondered about
                                                                                                                   them

she said long ago                         the butchers threw scraps              into the thames

when the tide receded                  all the hidden things revealed        secrets exposed

nothing holy there                        only things altered by time            drifting under the
                                                                                                                     water

things thrown away                     waiting to be found                        things from the deep
                                                                                                                     abyss

each day                                      when the tide goes out                   the search goes on
                     
fall is best                                    the weather cool                          sometimes mist

as she told her story                     we lost track of time                   we were hardly aware

just as she said she did                  when searching on the beach       imagination filled in 

                                                                                                                    the blanks       

she told of one day finding            a complete clay pipe once            as she told her story

goosebumps rose on our flesh       just to think of the everyday treasures             

and how she lost herself                on the beach           as she searched for the unexpected

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SUNDAY'S WHIRLIGIG


A Snowy Afternoon

what rhythms are hidden in the snow              so white                            so cold

the whirligig                         in the shape of a blackbird                       spins in the wind

black against white               late afternoon                                           no longer snowing

the light flat over the snow   shadows whistling                  the low afternoon light pierced

by the brilliant setting sun    the landscape frozen                        only the wind is moving

sometimes it picks up a hand full of snow                               and throws it as far as it can

it sparkles in the light           the trees stand in silhouette                           limbs bare

the scene is a pantomime      of other days                                                 all is quiet

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WRITERS DIGEST  NOVEMBER PAD CHALENGE

Waiting.....

waiting to see                       if you will see what i see                 will you be able to say it

my father always said it was me        but i think it might be you    even though you know

still hard to say                     hard to admit                                   the scene played out

right in front of you             you want me to carry the blame        when it has been as it is

for all times                          hard to know when it started         i had nothing to do with it

it seemed to happen in a foreign land          faraway                     did you know

probably not                         didn't fit the storyline                       she a precious child

smart as a whip                    the pieces didn't fit                           perhaps something missing

who can say                         as she grew                                       it has gotten worst

poor little match girl            with matches to sell                          she stands on the corner

we could walk away            and forget                                          but she belongs to us


November 22, 2015 










12 comments:

  1. Oh, the sadness of that poor little match girl. I love your description of the snowy afternoon and the quality of the light, which of course captures your artist's eye........Loved the first poem and the unexpected treasures found when the tide goes out.....I always loved walking the tideline.........

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  2. Such a lot of emotion & depth in both the poems... especially loved these lines:

    the low afternoon light pierced
    by the brilliant setting sun
    the landscape frozen
    only the wind is moving

    Lots of love,
    Sanaa

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  3. Annell, you have been writing the most powerful poetry of late. Each poem really deserves its own space, as no comment can do justice to all three of them. Of the three of them, I think my favorite is the third one; but that doesn't mean the others are not excellent. Carrying the blame, not fitting the story line, the little match girl standing there. And no, we CAN never forget.

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  4. The little matchgirl is one of the saddest stories every written... and what's sad is that seems to have to be rewritten for out modern times.. the treasures of the Thames, and the end is also very poignant... and excellent collection.

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  5. I love all 3 but the second really spoke loudly to me....the beauty of a snowfall perfectly penned.

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  6. I'm with Mary, each is worthy of its own space. I like all three for very different reasons and refuse to pick a favorite because that would somehow lessen the evocative power and imagery of the others. You keep it up cause there is definitely a book somewhere in the future,

    Elizabeth

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  7. Love how the story flowing so seemingly easy....from finding the gift in every day, snowy afternoon with wind throwing the snow, and the last one - about missing pieces, which always follow us, sometimes invisible.....very peacefully done, I really feel in balance, and say: it's okay, everything alright, it's never wrong....thank you, Annell

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  8. What beautiful sadness in all three poems. Yet is happens everyday all around us if not in our lives but in others as time passes, the tide comes in and goes out and the sun comes up each morning and each one of us makes a mark in the sand and then it is gone.

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  9. All 3 are wonderful but I especially like the Snowly Afternoon...

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  10. A poignant set of poems...how quietly we go about our days when perhaps inside we are screaming? Or at least wishing to be heard...in words i hope we all are..

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  11. The first is magical, the forth is so sad! My favorite line is in the second,l referring to the wind: "sometimes it picks up a hand full of snow ...
    and throws it as far as it can"! Very neat.

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  12. Very powerful writes ..so much sadness ... as we silently walk screaming inside ... very acute write. Bastet

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