Tuesday, May 31, 2011

Tuesday May 31, 2011 To Paint

To Paint
I pick up the brush
It drips oil paint
The still life is before me
A rather ordinary day
The famous light finds
Its' way through
The studio window

I do not feel like me
A stranger in my place
Holding my brush
Standing before my canvas

It is said
If you feel comfortable
Change your medium

It has been awhile
Since I held this brush
Mixed the paint
Drug the brush
Across the canvas
It is as if
It is the first time
A virgin... again

All that I know
All that I have ever known
All that I can remember
Is required

I have created some markers
I know some unwanted things

That is all

I will continue to
Hold my brush clumsily
Until I can do otherwise
Destination unknown

Sunday, May 29, 2011

Monday May 30, 2011 Beyond the Bezone


Illustration by Amy Cutler.

Silent Truths
Earth, fire and water
The circle complete
The elephants hold the tail
Of the one before
Robbed of their life
They cry out
And spite out the tails
Which they throw
In the gutter

Walking into the twilight
Night lights begin to sparkle
Too many to count accurately
Stars light the way

No destination
Turning in circles
Afraid to gather the leaves
They long for
Instead write notes
On old stained sheets
Soon to be sent to wind planet
Farms to gather wind into
Large spinning windmills

The sheets will be flags
And words will
Fall over the land
Warning against a future
Patterned and sewed
Onto a flawed past
Hopes which soared
Like hot air balloons
Now fall back to the ground
The keepers in long skirts
Stride out to gather and
Hide the silent truths

Saturday, May 28, 2011

Saturday 28, 2011 Writer's Island

Writer's Island visual prompt

Something Forgotten
Oh gracious me,
Yes I know it
Was but a dream
I had been asked
To perform
And it had been a while
Busy unable to practice
There I was on stage
Ready for the performance
Though unprepared
I realized I had forgotten
Something very important
No pants!

It was the same as another
Reoccurring dream
I came to class as usual
On time no problem
As I looked around the room
I realized everyone else
Had before them
On their desks
Blue books!
Somehow I did not know
The test would be today

Friday, May 27, 2011

Friday 27, 2011 Theme Thursday

Clouds over New Mexico

Theme Thursday prompt: Cloud

Ordinary and extraordinary
The spring board
For the imagination
A hole to fall down
A place to "get lost"
A place of freedom
Lie on your back
In the grass
Breath in
The luscious air

The circus has come to town
Elephants parade
With tails in their trunks
Clowns tumble
The lady on horseback
A tight rope walker

A symphony
Plays just for you
Violins and horns
Strings and air
Bassoons or trumpets
The Maestro
With his stick

A fairyland
Of castles
Elves and
Magical creatures

Alice's Wonderland
The queen of hearts
The mad hatter
The rabbit
The Cheshire cat
Tea cups and such

Lands far away
And magical
You don't have to
Go anywhere
Wear special clothes
It doesn't cost

Right in your
Own back yard
A collection of
Funny actors
On stage
Clouds are
Nature's story teller
And all we have to do
Is look up and dream
Images emerge
The words of
The story follow

Thursday, May 26, 2011

Thursday May 26, 2011 Thursday Think Tank

Thursday Think Tank #50 Chocolate

Chocolate is just OK
Chocolate is not the beginning
Or end
But there was a chocolate cake
I remember

There used to be a bakery
In a small town
Near by
And their chocolate cake
Was definitely
Worth the drive over
For special occasions

I knew it then
But did not
Know one day
they would close
Their door for good
Move away
And take their chocolate
Cake with them
Now only a memory

On sleepless nights
That lovely chocolate cake
Turns the knob
Steals in
And takes its' place
Among all of the other
"Very Best" I've known

Not too sweet
Just right
Even Goldie Locks
Would have found it perfect!

Wednesday, May 25, 2011

Wednesday May 25, 2011 We Write Poems

Prompt #55 Everything, and how it began!

Everything, and how it began!
I do not think
I was here
At least not fully formed
Into the being
I am today

About "everything"
I can not say
Only about the beginning
Of this day I will tell
Before the sun
Rose over the mountain
All the world was dark

A little bird flew
Before me
Sang the sweetest song
How it all began
Enough to fill the heart
The words of the song
I will sing the whole
Day long
Giving thanks
For how it all began
........and you


Image from the internet

Poetic Asides #133 Prompt: Priorities poem

Equations Complex and Simple
So what is important
After all
I awake each morning
Give thanks for
All that came before
The complex mixture
That I am

An equation
Both complex and simple
Earth, sky and mountain
Your soft purr
Beneath my hand
Your kisses upon my skin

The air I breath
The Mother's gift
I am her daughter
From head to toe
The complex mixture
That I am

Now to be specific
Hand and eye
Join the beating heart
Song of drum
Magically the image appears
I sing my song for you
Give thanks
That you are
A complex equation too

Monday, May 23, 2011

Monday May 23, 2011 Mayfield Artists Book Project/ Magpie #67/Sunday Scribbling

These are the professional pictures of Mayfield Artists Book Project, any boy born without pretension and raised in the hill country late 1800's --turn of the century. On Friday May 20, I wrote about this project.



Unexpected, Unrequested
All dressed up
To the party we go
He examines the morsel
With the special glass
Round and ground
Shiny and clear
A parcel of sun
Served with the chicken
Our host asks
Who is responsible
And all the while
The musician
Plays his lute
And giggles

Image from the internet.

Sunday Scribblings #268 Better late than not at all

Better Late Than Not at All
As agreed
I pressed the
Numbers on the phone
Again you are not there
Perhaps you will call
Better late than not at all

The smell of your baking
Floats out the door
And into my own
It was not ready
For breakfast
Better late than not at all

The minutes tick
Time flies by
I was early
Now late
Better late than not at all

I wait for the phone to ring
The e-mail to come
Hear your voice
Read your message
Better late than not at all

Sunday, May 22, 2011

Sunday May 22, 2011 Beyond the Bezone

View from studio window in winter.


The frost of winter "wanes"
Gives way to open "window's" "flight"
"Angels" whisper encouragement
"Surrender" to the season
Take off your shoes
And slip your feet
Into the "absolute" tenderness
Of new green grass
"Risk" it all

Fly into spring
Smell the flowers
Red, "yellow", pink
And all that "utters" to you
Soon enough
The "lull" of summer's
Heat will gather on your doorstep

All will be "rearranged"
"Beneath" your very nose
And before you know it
Winters frost with it's
Special chill
Will softly come again

*Yesterday I finished the Mayfield Artists Book Project, and I took it to the photographer's. Soon I will have pictures of Mayfield to share with you. I got his clothes made and am beginning to think of new projects that wait for me.

Saturday, May 21, 2011

Saturday 21, 2011 Writers' Island

Image from the Internet


The Devil Comes on Horseback
When the world is hot and sizzles
Sun shines so bright
Shade your eyes
Or like lizard
You can even close them tight
But only for a moment

The devil comes on horseback
The horizon you must watch
To see his dust arising
With every clippity-clop

He does not come for supper
Nor does he come for tea
It's you he's after
It's you it will have to be

Friday, May 20, 2011

Friday May 20, 2011 Poetics Asides

Poetics Asides Prompt: Tell it like it is.

Mayfield Artists Book Project

The real story of Mayfield
Will remain untold
I will use Mayfield
The idea of Mayfield
As I would a good and
Trusty mule
Plowing the rich field
Of Mayfield
A story of children
Born without pretension
Who lived and grew up
In the hill country of Texas
Sometime in the late 1800's
Turn of the century

It began last year
While visiting my Sister
In Kerrville, Texas
Heart of the hill country
We went to an estate sale
I bought some baby clothes
All the while wondering
About the couple who's
Estate sale it was

The baby clothes
Were carefully folded
In a box
Clearly marked
In ink

The handmade baby clothes
Reeked of moth balls
Were foxed with age
All made by hand
With tiny stitches
I thought of the young
Expectant Mother
Or the Grandmother
That made the little clothes
How proud they would be
Of the boy called Mayfield

On that day
I also bought a large
Book of Japanese prints
Inside the book
Was a document
Recognizing Mayfield
For the 30 missions
He flew over Europe
(Which I returned to Mayfield's family.)

I was intrigued by Mayfield
What little I knew
His Mother was proud of him
He grew up to be a war hero
Was successful financially
He loved his wife

For sure they had a
Happy life together
From what we saw
They loved parties
Not only to attend them
But to give them
There was at least
A truckload of party
Favors and costumes
Even two matching purple wigs
Mayfield was quiet tall
And his wife a tiny woman
I could just see them
In their matching wigs

I thought about Mayfield's story
The specific story
But decided instead Mayfield could be
Every boy born without pretension
In the hill county of Texas
Grew up during the late 1800's
Turn of the century

The Mayfield Artists Book Project
Is made up of three books

In the first
I used the tiny baby clothes
As the pages of a book

The second was from
My husband's Grandmother
Maddie Livingston's Memior
Which I copied by hand
Into a handmade book
The story of a family
"Any family" who came to
Texas in the late 1800's
Turn of the century

The third book
Based on stories from
The Old Order
Katherine Anne Porter
I copied whole sentences
And re-wrote long poems
Stories about children
Growing up in the Texas
Hill country, in the late 1800's
Turn of the century

Tiny head of Mayfield, made by Cathy Cullis.

I am telling it like it is
Artists book projects
Carry you along
To unexpected places
I decided the project
Needed a rag doll
That would be Mayfield
The head was made by
Cathy Cullis
Today I plan to make
The clothes for Mayfield

I will use paper to
Create the patterns
A shirt with tiny pearl buttons
Coveralls and a little jacket

Mayfield, any boy
Born without pretension
Grew up and raised
In the hill country of Texas
Turn of the century

*The clothes seem like a big hurdle as I have never made doll clothes before. But I am trying not to think ahead to what I don't know how to do. But rather, one step at a time.

Thursday, May 19, 2011

Thursday May 19, 2011 Theme Thursday/Poets United


Gossip is an old fashioned
Kind of communication
In a small town
Everyone knew
What everyone else was doing
And had to comment on it
Over the back fence

Anything that could be found out
Who is or who was doing who
Was passed around
On the tip of the tongue
Of the church ladies circle

And at the quilting bee
It was best to arrive early
Or else you might be
The topic discussed
As the needle
Drew the thread
In and out
In and out
All the while
Eyebrows raised
Heads nodded up and down
One tongue to another

At the barbershop
Trimmed and shined
Observations observed
Tales exchanged
Tongues rattled endlessly
Births and deaths
Who was up
And who was down

All the while
The sun shine filtered
Through the dust
And each waited their turn
To find their name
The latest scandal
Titillation on the
Tip of the tongue
Passed around
Tongue to tongue

Gossip old fashioned
And yet still today
TV, tweeter, and facebook
We check in to find
Out who is doing what
People on the other
Side of the world
As familiar as your
Neighbor next door
All the world is
A small town now

Image from internet.

Poets United prompt: Untitled

Nothing definite
No direction
North, south, east or west
No name known
Spin around

Grasp what is before you
Slide your hands over the surface
Does something come to mind
Can you see
Or do you remain lost

Taste for sugar or salt
Smell for something familiar
Call out in the darkness
In stillness the owl answers
Bird of wisdom
Sometimes we like to be lost
Because it is so good to be found

Wednesday, May 18, 2011

Wednesday May 18, 2011 We Write Poetry

Image from the internet.

We Write Poetry Prompt: Make it up yourself. When I read that, my mind was blank. I had no prompt. Today I was reading some pieces of other writers. When I read signed...bkm, Counting Syllables, I loved the words "truth in the wind." I thought I would write something based on that. And then realized it could be a prompt, or was a prompt. Take a couple of words that inspire you from another poem. " Borrow from your neighbor, it will be exactly what you need.

Truth in the Wind
In the morning
I am left alone
You are nowhere
In sight
Wonder where
You are hiding
Reflecting the sun
On starry unseeing eyes

Perhaps you are resting
Under a sage brush
Gathering strength
For your afternoon blow
After lunch you appear
Whispering truths
Barely audible
If no one listens
You shriek and scream
At the top of your lungs
You threaten
Your authority is not questioned.

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

Thursday May 12, 2011 Theme Thursday

Image from the internet.

Theme Thursday: Escape

Heavy grey clouds threaten
Shyly clear blue peeks through
Tiny opening in the clouds

There is a place upon the land
In which I fit
Snuggle in
Lick the glue on the envelope
Pull down the flap

Having found this place
Just my size and style
Do I now need escape
Run away
Seek the unfamiliar
Is it too comfortable
In the downey nest

Like the young aviaries
Do I need to spread my wings
Soar in the wind
Sing the gypsy song
Wander free
Or like a child's kite
Do I need you to hold the string
Which secures me
To my mesa home
Below the sacred mountain
Under threatening skies

Monday, May 16, 2011

Monday May 16, 2011 Magpie Tales

New Beginnings Artists Book Project

Magpie Tales #

I am in love with books
I own too many
They are everywhere
I will never live long
Enough to read them
Because of this love affair
I have gotten interested in
Creating artists books

Artists books are not
Books about art
Rather art expressed
Through the book form
It is not a simple
Container for information

Instead a work of art
Where the content
And form are considered together
And are given equal significance
The goal is to involve
The reader actively
In the viewing process
Not only to see the
Words on the page

But to think about the words
Pictures and physical
Form of the object
The display of the artists
Book is difficult
Because the object both
Conceals and reveals

But ideas that can
Be expressed
Through the book form
Are endless

Man of Sorrow Artists Book Project

*note: I have completed several artists book projects. I like the idea of a project that can go beyond just the book itself. I get an idea, and think about it over time. I begin to work on illustrations for the books, and collect information for the book. I consider ideas about the form of the book. I have posted several images of my book projects.

Sunday, May 15, 2011

Sunday May 15, 2011Blue Bell Books/ Poetry Tow Truck 20/ Sunday Scribblings/ Beyond the Bezone/Poetry Pantry

Blue Bell Books

Taos Balloon Festival
Balloons to the West
Balloons to the East
Float above in the air
Balloons everywhere

In the fall
Balloons above the gorge
Balloons above the village
Balloons everywhere

Balloons of every color
Balloons of every shape
Folks are crazy about them
Set on fire at night
Lovely to see
Float above in the air
Balloons everywhere


Exercise One: Starting Points

From the periodic table, choose a line of at least 6 elements in a row in any direction: horizontally, vertically, or diagonally. Write those letters/sets of letters vertically down the side of your paper. Use those letters as inspiration for the first word/words of your lines. I attempted the following:

C/ Candles warm yellow flicker against the lavender night

Si/ Singeing your auburn hair

Ge/ Gently save yourself from harm

Sn/ Sneak preview of new hair cut

Pb/ Publicly bungle it all

Uuq/ Utter urgent quip "Hearts on fire!"


Image of the flag of San Jacinto Battle, image from the internet.

Sunday Scribblings prompt #267: Surrender

Death Enters Gently
When all is said and done
And life isn't possible
Surrender is all that is left
Not one more breath
Not one more day of struggle
Give it up
Death enters gently

Surrender is hard for some
Black-beard was shot five times
Cut twenty before he surrendered
With all his evil ways
He was a brave pirate
Surrender didn't come easy
Death enters gently

There are many stories
Of people seeking a place
Undergoing hardships
And yet, surrender was unthinkable

In war
This unwillingness to surrender
Is seen often
Men willing to risk it all
Until surrender is all that is left
Death enters gently

How much better
If only they could
Embrace surrender
Before it all began
Each side throw
Down your arms
Give it up
But everyone is fighting
For what is "right"
Perhaps one day
We'll find a better way


Image from the internet.

Finding Meaning in Words
Inspecting the words
Sorting them into little piles
Ideas slip into the words
Slowly begin to "filter"
Into my coffee cup

Into the quiet of
This lavender morning
The simple void
Is "substituted"
By racing horses
Each "brandishing"
Symbols of the tribe


I turn away
You are there on
The foot "bridge"
A "rural" setting
Smoke curling
From the "chimney"
Blue skies

Life is "textured"
By many images
The ones before us
And the ones within
All the while "slurping"
A "salty" big boy
The waves roll

"Eke", slime in the
Ice machine


Back to the piles
Ideas hidden in words

Image from the internet.
Poetry Pantry

Goodbye Ben
Can I speak of death
In this quiet place
Without sound
Chilling like antarctica

A distance to travel
The destination
You were born for
At least he knew
He had set up
The circumstance

It was no surprise
Long years he had waited
He followed the path
Of his choosing
It had all be written
As towers fell
Dust rose from
The cities' floor
Coated the windows
Finger traced his name
And now he is no more

Goodbye Ben
You did what you could
Believed your own words
Perhaps there could
Have been another way
It was all up to you
Now it is quiet
Without sound
You name traced
In the dust
Chilling like antarctica

Saturday, May 14, 2011

Saturday May 14, 2011 Writers Island

Image from the internet

"Faith is believing what you know ain't so." --Mark Twain

Writer's Island prompt: Superstition

Must apply
To all things
That cannot be proved
And that includes a lot

People that huddle together
In fear
And seek answers
From people or books
What is found is
More often than not

Like Huck
I'll keep my rabbit's foot
In my pocket
I won't step on cracks
I'll throw salt
Over my shoulder
Keep a bottle
Tree in my yard
Rub a potato skin
On a wart
Paint my windowsill blue
Whistle in the dark
Knowing all the time
It's all superstition

There are many realms
And for each one of us
It may be different
Probably is
Since we adopt them
To ward off our fears
Cross our fingers
And hope for the best
When all is said
And done
A little superstition
Doesn't hurt

More Than We Know
Windows of the building across the way
facing away from the sun,
are filled with golden light.
How can it be?

The are reflecting
light reflected from mine.

Could there be
accidental gifts
we give
without knowing it?

--Nina Mermey Klippel

Friday, May 13, 2011

Friday May 13, 2011 Poets United #48 Mirrors/Theme Thursday

Image from the internet.

Poets United #48 Mirrors

Mirror Mirror on the Wall
Mirrors reflect my life
Behind me
And all that came before
I can see the people
Coming to a new land
Land of promise
They came with their
Traditions, songs and beliefs
Found their places
Built towns
Along the roads
Scattered about
As puzzle pieces
Once joined
Now taken apart

I would like to sit
With them
Find the reasons
They could not see
This land they took
Belonged to others
They showed no respect
For traditions, songs and beliefs
Of those who already
Occupied this land
They called it their own
Could not see what was
Before them

This history isn't pretty
It was hard on everyone
But especially those
Who lost it all
Of course how else
Could they deny
Except they could not
See what they
Were doing

It is our tradition now
We take what we want
Without regard to others
What you say
It is their land
It is their resource
And we are surprised
When others don't like
The way we treat them
Look into the mirror
It is reflected there
We create the legacy
We give this gift
Of disrespect for others
And then we wonder
How it all got this way

And now my life
Has brought me to this mesa
Where on quiet star light nights
The sounds of the drums roll
Across the sage
Enter my open window
Whisper night mares
Of blood and sorrow
Reflected in the mirror

We clean the windows on the bus
And yet it is all there
To be seen
We can not deny
Who we are
Who is reflected in the mirror


Image from the internet.

Theme Thursday: Escape

Heavy grey clouds threaten
Shyly clear blue peeks through
Tiny opening in the clouds

There is a place upon the land
In which I fit
Snuggle in
Lick the glue on the envelope
Pull down the flap

Having found this place
Just my size ad style
Do I now need escape
Run away
Seek the unfamiliar
Is it too comfortable
In the downey nest

Like the young aviators
Do I need to spread my wings
Soar in the wind
Sing the gypsy song
Wander free
Or like a child's kite
Do I need you to hold the string
Which secures me
To my mesa home
Below the sacred mountain
Under threatening skies

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

Wednesday May 11, 2011 Poetics Asides

Poetics Asides Prompt #131 "When you are not paying attention"

When you are not paying attention
All kinds of things can happen
Take your eyes off the ball
You can become lost
Miss the catch
Lose the game

As an artist
It is the muse
For which you must
Pay attention
For surely
As you nap comfortably
She comes
She will not wake you
You will not know

It is your job
To be at your post
To pay attention
You are waiting
Otherwise you will not
Even be aware
That you have arrived

Tuesday, May 10, 2011

Wednesday May 10, 2011 Magpie

Magpie #65

A Saint
Open your eyes
Allow the beauty
Of the world
To come unto you
You are not alone
Care for others
Allow all creatures
That crawl, walk
Swim and fly
Freedom to pursue
Their own happiness
Allow them space
Speak up for those
Who cannot speak
For themselves


For the Young Who Want to
Talent is what they say
you have after the novel
is published and favorably
reviewed. Beforehand what
you have is a tedious
delusion, a hobby like knitting

Work is what you have done
after the play is produced
and the audience slaps.
Before that friends keep asking
when you are planning to go
out and get a job.

Genius is what they know you
had after the third volume
of remarkable poems. Earlier
They accuse you of withdrawing,
ask why you don't have a baby,
call you a bum.

The reason people want M.F.A.'s,
take workshops with fancy names
when all you can really
learn is a few techniques,
typing instructions and somebody else's mannerisms

is that every artist lacks
a license to hang on the wall
like your optician, your vet
proving you may be a clumsy sadist
whose fillings fall into the stew
but your''re certified a dentist.

The real writer is one
who really writes. Talent
is an investigation like phlogiston
after the fact of fire,
Work is its own cure. You have to
like it better than being loved.
--Marge Piercy

Sunday, May 8, 2011

Sunday May 8, 2011 Writers Island/ Sunday Scribblings/Beyond the Byzone

Writers Island #19 prompt: Season

I thought Autumn
Would reveal
The wise woman
But instead I find
The child is
Still with me
And claims much
For herself

I have walked
Many new beginnings
Begun and ended
Ahead I see
Many more new beginnings
Each built upon
The ruins of
The past

Spectacular sights
New horizons
Since one thing
I know for sure
Is that we cross
This way only once
Each remaining
Step will be seen
With new eyes
As if for the first time
With wonder

Even unto the end
Each moment
Each second
A new beginning
A new season


Sunday Scribblings Prompt #266 May

Month of May
Beginning of warm
Days of summer
Temperatures rise
Sun higher in the sky
Sinks in the west
Much later
Days are longer

It is the month of your birth
The beginning
Just five months before
The time of your death
I swam with Taurus
And yet, you stamp
Your foot
Snort your breath
To show your displeasure

The clothes I wear
Are not my own
I am a stranger
Even unto myself
The low tone of
The color blue
Envelopes me

I am not myself
It was Friday
When last I was here
End of the week
Looked over the roses
Sipped tea

You sang for me
Old favorites
From long years back
Many Mays ago
Silver braids hang
Near your shoulders

Wish you were here
The temperature is 90
In the South
You say --
Head north follow
The evening star

Ride through the sage
Dust rises
Like dust devils into
The pure blue sky

You will know I am coming
You will hear the sound
Of my ponies hoofs
In the sand

You will follow my trail
Traces of my passing
The wind erases
My footsteps
And yet in the future
Many Mays from now
You will know all of
My movements


Beyond the Byzone

The "evaporation" of
The sweat from my skin
Leaves me damp and sticky
Moss hangs like horse
Tails from branches
Of the old trees

The summer air
"Breathes" from the bay
Blows hot wind
Across the yard

Thoe tends the
Flower garden round
The pink house
Images "embroidered"
On my heart
The time of our youth
Hand in hand

Sometimes the past
"Supersedes" this
Present moment
"Tugs" at the heart strings
Simple melody
Repeated twenty six
Thousand times a day

"Mist" forms in brown eyes
A "tiny" tear sparkles as it
"Slides" down the cheek
A "river" of memories
Like tangled "seaweed"
Just below the surface

A door opens
We are here again
Given "water"
"Released" from longings
Sunlight sparkles across
The freshly cut lawn
Lash runs to greet us
He has been waiting
Under the shade of
The gently rustling palms

Friday, May 6, 2011

Friday May 6, 2011 Theme Thursday/Poets United

Poets United Prompt # 47: Toes

Toes almost always
Take the lead
If there is something
That needs stumping
Toes will do it

Toes keep
The body grounded
As they dig deep
Into the soil

Toes are full of memories
Of barefoot childhood summers
Fresh mowed grass
Sandy beaches
Icy mountain streams

Tenderly toes
Tell the story
Of forgotten
Loves and holidays

All the places
We have been
All the footsteps
Left behind

Drawing by Amy Cutler.

Theme Thrusday Prompt: Puzzle


The day
Morning, noon
And night time, too
Clocks tick
Like the continuous
Beating of the heart

Life is a puzzle
Finished picture imagined
This is my life
This is what it
Will look like

To fit the pieces
One to the next
The difficulty
Of squeezing an elephant
Through the eye of a needle
Sometimes the puzzle
Called life is hard
Sometimes not

Wednesday, May 4, 2011

Wednesday May 4, 2011 We Write Poetry/Poetics Asides

We Write Poetry: Prompt #52 Limits

Life is But a See Saw
Middle of the week
Center of the see saw
Which end will be up
Which will be down
No way to know
Or to even know
If one is better
Than the other

Feels like flying

Feet on the ground

No correction needed
One in the same
Up then down
As one follows the other

There is no way
To confuse the order
Of the up and down
Limits set and prescribed
Long before the
Creation of the see saw

Children at play
On the playground
Our day goes on
Up and down
Life is but a see saw

If I were to edit this, perhaps the first stanza is all that is needed.

Life is But a See Saw
Middle of the week
Center of the see saw
Which end will be up
And which will be down
No way to know
Or even to know
If one is better
Than the other

Poetics Asides/ Wednesday Poetry Prompts #130: On the other hand

On the Other Hand
The words come back to me
From a country western song
A favorite
Simple direct
Easy to hum along

A golden band
On the left hand
A union
Holy and sane
Applies only in dreams
Of young girls
Dancing round the May pole
Dropping red and pink
Searching for security
Promise forever
When no one
Has forever to give
No matter the song
Or how easy to hum along

On the other hand
The hand given
In companionship
A loving partner
Is indeed a gift
To be treasured
Simple direct
Perfect union
Easy to hum along

"Forever" will take
Care of itself
Do, do, doodle, do
Easy to hum along

Sometimes I so entertain myself, I get carried away. Perhaps this piece is too long, no pay off. If I edited it, this is what it would be.

On the Other Hand
The hand given
In companionship
A loving partner
Is indeed a gift
To be treasured
Simple direct
Perfect union
A song
Easy to hum along

Tuesday, May 3, 2011

Tuesday May 3, 2011 Carrry on Tuesday/Big Tent Poetry

I wrote this piece about 15 yrs. ago. It sorta fit Carry on Tuesday prompt and Big Tent, two in one.

Carry on Tuesday: Prompt: All the world's a stage and all the men and women merely players.

The first three lines are from Maxine Seates poem Last, with small changes.

A Little Bit of Madness
Suddenly recognizable
As if torn yellowed pages
Fall from a larger book
The curtain opens for all
To see
All is quiet
In anticipation

A little piece of madness
Laughter heard all around
Clowns tossing yellow, red and black
There's a low tapping
Coming from the back

The mailman enters
Has a letter
In a brown cloth sack
Words written upside down
And backwards
All about the meaning
No facts

Written without concern
The actors don't
Know how to act
Yet they take it seriously
Think it makes a difference
Try to get it right

No one is listening
Heads resting
Chins upon the chest
Eyelids shut tight

Opening night
All the world's a stage
And all the men
And women merely players

When all is seen
And done
Curtain drops
The lights go up
What was begun
Is now over
White dove flies away
Pages replaced
Remains thrown
To be taken
By the wind

The smile
Is flipped
The merry night
Turned to sadness
No curtain call
Just death
Found in
Every pocket

Monday, May 2, 2011

Monday May 2, 2011 Magpie #64/Poetry Potluck

Magpie #64

Holy Family on the Portal
Innocents snuggle close
Mother with strong arms
Wraps her will around them
Turns her back on
The smokey mountain
That threatens
Life and limb
The very porch
She stands on

Plans have been made
They have come too far
This is their home
One has already been lost
In the mine
The black maw
Giver of life
And taker of same

The greed and desire
For the black gold
Energy for the country
And as far away
As London
Destroy the land
To get at that gold

Holy families extinguished
They were never told
Took away the treasure
Left destruction in their wake

A Mother
With her little one
Knows nothing
Watches blind


Poetry Potluck:prompt: Doubt, Fear, Inhibition and Hesitation

Doubt, Fear, Inhibition and Hesitation
Do not make friends
Do not take them along
They will undermine
Your confidence
They are the
Neighborhood bullies

They will keep you down
Insure your failure
Keep an eye out
If you see them
Heading your way
Lock your door
Turn the other way
Find a new path
You don't need them

Like a cold wind
Shield yourself
Pull up your collar
Whisper five good things
About yourself
You are complete
Without doubt,
Fear, inhibition
and hesitation

Sunday, May 1, 2011

Sunday May 1, 2011 Sunday Scribblings/Beyond the Bozone

Image from the internet.

Sunday Scribblings: Prompt/ Cake

Sweet and warm
Aroma fills the kitchen
When fresh from the oven
Cake for all occasions
And cake for no occasion at all

Spread with sugar frosting
Sometimes on fire
To celebrate the season
Your name spelled out
In fancy letters
Happy Birthday
One and all

Your cakes were always best
Your touch was magic
A little cake for you
A little for me
May I pour the tea

Cakes make any day special
Cake for all occasions
And cake for no occasion at all


Beyond the Bozone: Wordle

Image from the internet.

Desert Windsong
I whisper visions
Of your return
To "animate" my dreams
Ride the "train"
Seek open space
"Hillsides" burned by sun
Golden against blue skies
The desert "sustains" me

My spirit is "resilient"
And rises before me
Follow my own
Footsteps in the sand
"Thirst" for water
"Scribble" your name
Fill each letter
With life giving rain

"Aching" for your presence
You name "thrums"
In my brain
Has vanished
Into golden "hillsides"
Against blue skies
The desert "sustains" me
The wind now
"whispers" your return


  Mother   mother, a simple word just six letters   “m” is for mine, meadow, meow all the wonders of the world wild meadow orchids including...