Sunday, March 29, 2015

The Sunday Whirl/ A Witch/ Poetry Pantry #245 -- The Sun Shines (Almost Everday)



A Witch

a witch you say     i think not      an artist i retort

unless you are referring to the use of the word for a wise woman

then i'll accept the name         for i am

you accused me of the ancient craft       was it because i was wearing black

to mark the recent death of my young husband       without knowing i respect it

as much....or more       than the fiery fairy tales you hold so sacred

it doesn't matter       i'm not a joiner       not a part of a group

though i live in magic       i do not call myself a witch............ regardless

i was looking at chance      a form of science      when you called me out

you said things that cannot be repaired       cannot be taken back

not that you wanted to      i exist on the edge       the clouds billowed

the darkness gathered       it rained on the long journey back home       just one more thing

to be added to that moment       it is an old story happened so many times before

as i sing it      i was framed       given a bad deal    embarrassed in my mother's home

March 29, 2015



Note: Written to the prompt: Sing, craft, frame, fiery, repair, deal, billow, chance, add, back, exist, call

It happened, is true. And it happened so many times before, so many woman were accused of being witches, often they were older women after the death of their husbands. The church hired men to go into small towns to find women without protection, to accuse them, to take their property...to call them a witch.


The Sun Shines (Almost Everyday)

yes it happens each day      the sun moves across the valley      all day long shadows change

the sun shines       (al)most everyday      it circles my house & studio

the center of my life      at the end of the day

it falls in the west     & the blinding rays are      purple & red

almost blinding the poor watcher      yet to capture it all in a few words

what else is there to say      talk about the zombies      the walking dead

the pain of a pierced heart      the beauty      but these are little things

little everyday things      it is the mountains that speak the loudest

tell the truth      remind us our little dramas are of no consequence to the land

the land has always been here      & will always be      it is what mabel found

& it is what i have found

March 29, 2015

The sun moved across the valley all day long, circling the house that was the new center of my life, and fell early, with blinding rays of purple and red.
--Mabel Dodge Luhan (from Edge of Taos Desert: An Escape to Reality)




Wednesday, March 18, 2015

dVerse/An Unseen Shape Shifter

An Unseen Shape Shifter

the wind is not to see     but to be felt though      not as a feeling like happy or sad

we can see the damage it can do    knock down all the buildings on a far away island

named vanuatu    that wind was called a cyclone         spinning winds a tornado

and like the wolf     with the hair on his chinny chin chin       who threatened

                         the little pigs he would blow their house down

the tornado can blow your house down... and your town                        yesterday

we discovered the winds                 had moved the portal you built off its' foundation

& one day the winds ripped the roof off the studio                         in march

when the winds come               it melts the precious snow pack off the mountain sides

the snow pack that is needed to fill the rivers and wash the dust away          in summer

when the sun shines continually              & the air is still a gentle breeze is welcome

it finds its' way into an open window                   cools your face & makes it possible

to live a little longer         moves the wind chimes in the garden reminds you it can be

a welcome companion or a dreaded enemy                      an unseen shape shifter

March 18, 2015






Sunday, March 15, 2015

The Sunday Whirl/Don't Be a Monkey/ Poets Pantry

Don't Be a Monkey

leaves rustling        as they are blown down                                    the dry creek bed

looking for rocks         some in the shape of hearts                  some exactly like eggs

tears roll down my cheeks          it would be blasphemy            to say anything i could have done                   

would have changed the outcome            still i have regrets                      am plagued by wishes

the deck was dealt           the future was written as sure               as if it had been written in stone

the leaves dried                     crumbled                                             and fell from my hands

nothing to keep but my memories                                                  which I have tied in a blue cloth

we travel this way only once           if there is a chance to be anything else          don't be a monkey

sleeping the day away in the branches            if the plague is at hand                                  be smart

head for the hills               where the air is sweet                         and your children will be safe

what is done has been done                              and now you drag it along like a puppy on a string

March 15, 2015










Wednesday, March 11, 2015

Poets United Midweek Motif/ An Ordinary Man

An Ordinary Man

he was an ordinary man      the love of his mother       hard to know

keeper of secrets                  complex                 kind                      just a man

for his mother                          the world is not as bright without him

such a beautiful boy              a peter pan of sorts            a hero in his own way

he had a smile that could light the world                 never complained

ripped a hole when he left        an ordinary man            that could not be replaced

March 11, 2015


Sunday, March 8, 2015

March 8, 2015 The Sunday Whirl/Spring is Here at Last/ Poets Pantry #242

Spring is Here at Last


the sun is shining bright      the wind barely a breath      still it stings my face

the string of my arms hang loose                  i am a puppet without tension

i knead my brain       look for new images                no need for excuses

old memories materialize      the trip unfolds         begin new life in the west

it has been a hard winter for many       buried beneath the snow

today we are instructed to reset our clocks                   spring is here at last

March 8, 2015