Wednesday, September 30, 2015

Writer's Digest/Forget About Me --Poets United/ Midweek Motif/ Healing and Recovery

Forget About Me

sitting beside the road      dust flies into the air                          cars rush by

to forget your unkind words       that is the challenge       still i continue to hear them

as if whispered into my ear                                                see your face contorted

the snapping                              spitting                             of each word

the anger displayed             still i made no response          i removed myself

to other climes                     quiet meadows                       a gentle horse

with shiny coat               nuzzled my shoulder                   sun shines

it is warm in that meadow       from where does that anger come         it amazes me

that people behave in a manner unseen before                      not in my family

yet it is my family          who behaves in that manner               how to forget

wipe the windows of the bus clean                       it is as if we are all drowning at sea

i cannot save you              i cannot save myself                 you float away from me

soon i no longer see you        still there is something lost          alone beside the road

September 30, 2015

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Healing and Recovery

after a while                          i could see again                            could feel again

still the pain lingers              is it illness or                                  disappointment

pain or grief                          so hard to tell                                 one from the other

the damage was done            no one knows when sometimes     there are no answers

maya says       we won't remember the words spoken but     we know how they made us feel

perhaps it is feelings             that get sick                                    the body follows

fill the old kit bag                  off to war                                  we can't always be sure

how it happened         or how to make the patient well          healing can happen over time

sometimes not           a cold compress helps               take an aspirin call me in the morning

September 30, 2015







Sunday, September 27, 2015

The Sunday Whirl/ Starry Starry Nights --Sunday's Whirligig/ TheMorning's First Light -- Poetry Pantry

Starry Starry Nights

fall           the loveliest time of the year                 without notice

it has slipped into place        all is visibly changing dressed in yellows

red and gold            nights are cooler        music floats onto the mesa

sounds of drums         heartbeat of the people            dancers practice

kick and spin                    magical nights                           celebrate

quietly preparations are being made              the level of activity is high

apple butter bubbles on the stove                         the kitchen a mess

memories of other years                                            bring deep sighs

fall is the season in between      extremes of hot summers and cold winters

a time of gratitude and anticipation                 cold clear starry starry nights

September 26, 2015

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The Morning's First Light

the morning's first light       still                  quiet                          breathless

the native horses stand in the field as though painted by the artist's hand

along the railing                   motionless                                    their coats shining

catching the first light of day     dreaming of dancing      pow wow's prancing

singing poems                     today they         stand luxury apartments block the view

people at the windows          watching horses standing                all dreaming

in the morning's first light           still            quiet                         breathless

September 27, 2015








Wednesday, September 23, 2015

September 23, 2015 Poets United / Midweek Motif/ Choice

Choice

you have a choice                    to make a choice                         choose wisely

choose what you will               you will keep it forever               it will be yours'

you will slip into it                   see how it fits                           it will be who you are

it will define you                      take your time                             be sure it is your choice

and not the choice of another   you will care of it                       watch it grow

it will color your world             you have a choice                      to make a choice
September 23, 2015



Saturday, September 19, 2015

September 20, 2015 The Sunday Whirl/Fighting in the Streets --Heart Lines Grow Deep/ Poets Pantry


Fighting in the Streets

in the great canyons of the city      people crowd the streets     flee in all directions

mickey and minnie                    and scantily clad women         with the letters NY

on their bare bottoms                 cowboys and indians               dash for subways

no longer free               the threat didn't come from another      someone unknown

instead it came from you              my love                                 i didn't see it coming

your attack deadly                    the scent of death                      in the air

freda once painted the scene      death by a thousand nicks       there was no retreat

as in historic battles           one had to stand and take it             streets soaked in blood

people slipped in the bloody gore      maybe it was all about     winning or some other prize

that couldn't be ignored             i ran the gantlet                         took every blow

from your deadly bag of tricks       could not deny your cruelty         our history long

you knew my weaknesses         i did not respond                       for that

you became more angry           tossed thunderbolts                    i try to understand

the cause of such bad weather       a sudden thunderstorm         but have no clue

about the motive                      or was it                                      just the time of day

September 20, 2015


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Heart Lines Grow Deep

the tree loaded with green apples      ripe for picking      it is the harvest time of year

standing on the shore      watching the waves return       see your face in silhouette

as though it were carefully cut from black silk            it drizzles even as the sun shines

the season of the heart               is now                              and has been from birth

heart lines grow deep         into the deepest depths            into the dark places

it is the child in you        that takes unfair advantage      he knows no boundries         

he knows you best                you have opened to him     shown him all of your secrets

nothing hidden                     he has the power                   to strip you to the bone                    

holds nothing back               he can be vicious               for what the child doesn't know           

even love itself                     can not always heal                      what is broken

September 20, 2015

Note:  I do not know why the spacing isn't as it should be?  It appears correct, but when I update, it no longer is?



Friday, September 18, 2015

Sunday's Whirligig/The Day of Resentments

The Day of Resentments

the day was overcast       the clouds hung heavy               the streets were crowded

an old woman naked       carrying a guitar             superman and the statue of liberty

resentments tied on strings       followed every step           like rescued puppies

dazzling array                        of grievances                            offered for inspection

no it's not my birthday              still you thought               the day was right

the time had come           the clock struck the hour           you readied your weapons

sparks flew         resentments can rot your heart          choking the life from your body

erode your sanity           you cut me down to size             all that is left are stumps

we were perfectly pared       you opened the gates                   showed me i was wrong
September 18, 2015



Thursday, September 17, 2015

Writer's Digest/Without Hesitation

Without Hesitation

if i hesitate it is only for one moment      one second        then it is bar the door

i dive in                                 without hesitation                don't look back

let go                                      consideration                       evaluation

will come later                     the morning crystal clear       edges hard as stone

a landscape chiseled            from yesterday's remains       without hesitation

the heart continues to beat      exploring the mind field      that is my life

September 17, 2015







Wednesday, September 16, 2015

Mid Week Motif/ A Phenomenon

A Phenomenon
it was a phenomenon      what happened at times square that day      a criminal act

without provocation        an ambush                                                    quiet unexpected

it is said                           they came out of nowhere                            hurling bullets

rocks                                arrows...                                          and other hurting things

no reason could be given       it seemed they had been waiting           for just such an

                                                                                                                   opportunity

wanted to say                   exactly what was on their minds                 held nothing back

there was a storm on the horizon        the flood came                          swept cars away

wild fires scorched the earth               people had to flee                     there is change

                                                                                                                   on the land

unrest among the people                     some say                                   it is climate change

some say                            a change of the heart                                  love lost

repent                                 the end draws nigh                                     no safe place to

                                                                                                                     hide
September 16, 2015

Note:  Phenomenon

Phenomenon: something (such as an interesting fact or event) that can be observed and studied and that typically is unusual or difficult to understand or explain fully.

Crime: an act that is foolish or wrong

Offense: something that causes a person to be hurt, angry, or upset

2 : something that outrages the moral or physical senses

3 a: the act of attacking: Assault

4 a: the act of displeasing or affronting

b: the state of being insulted or morally outraged

5 a: a breach of moral or social code: sin, misdeed




Monday, September 7, 2015

Sept 7, 2015 Magpie Tales #284/ The Road Ahead

The Road Ahead

the day begins in quiet        high above the valley              a good vantage point

from here i can see              what is not visible below        the old pathway

marked with stones              well worn and traveled           if i but follow it

will all be well                      will all turn out as planned     safe from harm

or are there hazards ahead    unseen                                     unknown

like most roads                      which seem so inviting          one never knows

what he will face                   so like the fool                       in the deck of cards

i step forward                      without looking back                to face the road ahead

September 7, 2014




Sunday, September 6, 2015

The Sunday Whirl / Sun Shiny Summer Morn -- Sunday's Whirligig/The Silence of Morning -- Poets United Poets Pantry #268

Sun Shiny Summer Morn

friends are the true treasure      above money      can't be bought

i wonder about my DNA        is it made up of sorrow   cells & organs

drip with tears               a terrible green                 or a sunny yellow

climb the tower           rotate the antenna           search for your signal

to know where you are             the pond calm             reflecting

receiving the messages            you are sending         you grew up

became a man           strong and straight            served your country

to your mom           the boy was still there           holding on to her skirt

I remain on the bridge       between life and death        i am waiting

waiting like the french lieutentant's woman              counting butterflies

sun shiny summer morn     honeysuckle in the air      all is bright yellow

time stands still                   as i stand                         ever so still

it happened there         had to let you go        something I'm not good at

if I could            i would have kept you               held you with my teeth

like the cat with her kitten       spring into summer    summers empty now

time passes             though i hardly notice                fall is in the air

the temperatures cooler           winter faithfully follows...

September 2015

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The Silence of Morning

what verses may be hiding       in the silence of this morning     demanding to be heard

yet reluctant...                           pretending to be shy                   softly playing

the sweet songs of the heart      show scars of days gone by        sorrow's loss spins her web

writing inscriptions on tears      as they fall to the ground            holding on for dear life

flying low below the clouds       navigating by well worn paths    pretending bravado

still there is the stench of death    under each scarlet layer            exposing the clown

the fool                                       the jester                                        ...and me

Sept 5, 2015











Saturday, September 5, 2015

dVerse/ The Silence of Morning

The Silence of Morning

what verses may be hiding      in the silence of this morning      demanding to be heard

yet reluctant...                          pretending to be shy                    softly playing

the sweet songs of the heart     show scars of days gone by         sorrow's loss spins her web

writing inscriptions on tears     as they fall to the ground             holding on for dear life

flying low below the clouds      navigating by well worn paths    pretending bravado

still there is the stench of death under each scarlet layer               exposing the clown

the fool                                       the jester                                     ...and me

Sept 5, 2015







Wednesday, September 2, 2015

Poets United/Midweek Motif -- Watershed Moment

Watershed Moment

the time the earth stood still      all air sucked from the room

 the merry-go-round stopped     they told me the water got hot for sure

 no one knew exactly what happened     it was said it couldn't happen

 not then at that moment     not to him      perhaps to another

 still his body was laid cold      upon the slab     my touchstone

 my anchor      my love      the life had gone out

 the world grew dark                    ... the young king was dead




that was the moment you asked about       but did you really want to know

some had seen him just before      said he was great relaxed and in great spirits

still the phone rang and rang      just to say he was dead   no longer alive on the planet

but I knew no other      the one the only      the other member of my tribe

 perhaps it was then our world fell apart      numb without feeling

the impossible happened                 you arranged for the mariachis to play

his favorite song              the one about the little bird                     La Poloma




it seemed he would appear      sing along      he would not let us sing alone

that only happened in my imagination          he did not appear

 he was gone for good             had sung his final song

said he made a good party for the boys          and now his days were done




it is said we never really know until someone is gone              it is true

or least it was for me          i took my life for granted          thought it would always be

the time the earth stood still        all air sucked from the room

 the merry-go-round stopped          there was a silence you could eat

 nothing was ever the same                                     ...especially not me

August 30, 2015