Sunday Whirligig/ 14 Carat Day

14 Carat Day

today is a special day       as is every day           but today is circled on the calendar

plans were made sometime ago                    today we lay before you

for you to see       what has long been sleeping inside of us          now on the outside

we made them visible by the sequencing of the paint     we hope you will find them nifty

if we look back                 we see all the events                    that have led up to this day

a golden chain            everything connected                         that day last summer

we met by the river              the sun was warm on the skin                         we separated

going our own way             on different sides of the bridge                 we picked our spot

we wore sun hats               we sketched until it was late          we ate cherries for a snack

soon enough it was hot                                        we looked for shade

we were beginning to boil in the hot sun                        too much for our lily white skin

there were other experiences        we painted             it was a 14 carat day

one of many in the chain                that led to this day                                   we'll pause

we'll wear our best shoes                we'll take a look                   we have invited you to see

today is a 14 carat day

May 29, 2015

Writer's Digest/ A Learning Poem --Poets United Midweek Motif/ Weeds -- Imaginary Gardens with Real Toads

A Learning Poem

each day like a page in a textbook       an opportunity to learn something you didn't know

you awaken to a new world          if you look at the past           you will see

indeed each day is an opportunity       it is said        the universe doesn't care if you get it

if you don't        the lesson will come around again       so we can be sure to get it this time

sometimes learning is fun       sometimes hard                     so hard you will swear

your insides are filled with razor blades                               at least that is how it will feel

this life is definitely for higher learning           and all we have to do is pay attention

 now i am not saying the learning will be easy        it is my experience that it won't be

but nothing that is really worthwhile         comes easy

May 27, 2015

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Weeds

weeds are the ones we don't want                        the grass that grows in my garden

that tries to choke the flowers i planted          the flowers struggle to make purchase

the weeds thrive          they serve as a model for me       i would like to be like a weed

i'll take what you give me               i will thrive with little care

it is not about what is happening around me                   i have all that i need

sunshine and shadow                     a little space to call my own...                and you

May 27, 2015

Sunday's Whirligig/Summers at my Grandparents / Poets United Poetry Pantry #153

Summers at my Grandparents

my grandfather                       charlie                               loved to play dominoes    

once he took my little sister and I to the domino parlor          my grandmother        

alma                                  who did beautiful needlework                   was very angry

called charlie a fool                   for taking two little girls                 to such a place

the rift was soon mended         he promised never again         we often laughed about it

my grandparents lived in a small rural texas town            where fences were made of stones

robert frost said                  good fences make good neighbors  

                                                         ... and they keep the sheep from leaving

down the road was a little white country church                        on hot days

the windows were open             wide eyed                           and the bees were buzzing

we would hear humming          from the church         and the scent of honeysuckle in the air

it all seems so long ago         cherished memories no longer sharp        bleached and faded

May 23, 2015

May 22, 2015 Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads/ A Check List

A Check List

(here is a check list of things an artist might ask himself as he looks at his painting)

scan the edges perhaps covering the rest of the painting (are the edges interesting?)

check the corners (because the eye will automatically go to the corners, we don't have to put interesting things there)

like reading, we 'read' a painting from left to right

move into the painting (a path is created on the lights, or on the darks)

the center of interest is created near the center but not directly in the center (this is for a regular painting or regular design, be it realistic or abstract – even abstract painting need to be aware of the rules of design, the center of interest is not for an all over painting - some rules follow us everywhere)

the rest of the painting should also be interesting (nothing should lead the viewer out of the painting)

does the painting before us resonate for us

is it fresh (a balance of bright and dull)

does it have mystery

is there a dominance (of a color, temperature, value, forms)

the artist might ask himself, again, what is he trying to say? Does the painting say it?

May 22, 2015

Writer's Digest #306/Childhood --dVerse #149

Childhood

a time wishes came true      and happy endings      sing a song of six pence

the tooth fairy always came      left a penny under the pillow      pocket full of rye

parents and grandparents      would always be here      ashes      ashes

a small child      with a child’s world view      we all fall down

May 21, 2015

Note:  The prompt today was Childhood, in thinking about my childhood, I realize I don't remember too much, it was a long time ago.

Poets United Midweek Motif/ Happiness

Happiness

happiness like peace       is hard to define                    is it the absence of sorrow

no...                            sorrow is a part of life               yet everyone wants happiness

longs for it                         tries to create a life            filled with it

given the choice                      most people like to tell you about their sorrow

paint big canvases                 fill billboards                     allow sorrow the big space

keeps happiness to themselves                  i awake in the morning

the sun is just topping the mountain           i step outside          the air fresh

 fill my lungs with the aroma of sage         my work waits for me

 unfinished where i left it             my life is full                    you are here

 you bring a smile to my face             we have what we need

 happiness and sorrow tee totter                     like children on a see-saw

the combination makes a life             my companions follow me through the day

take turns selecting the color          creating a color-field          happiness and sorrow

sunshine and shadow            held in the balance                             for all to see

May 20, 2015

Sunday's Whirligig/The Prodigal Son Returns --Poets United Poets Pantry/The Gift

The Prodigal Son Returns

each of us are one state of grieving...      or another                     light candles

say prayers                      do what is necessary                           travel to the tavern

find those who understand          roar with laughter           at the common state of being

the sun shines somewhere         no matter the weather        the prodigal son has returned

he is the treasure of your life       you have searched              at last you have found him

your longing is satisfied            celebrate this day                             only to find

he does not have long to live       his journey is over                you are again left alone

...you continue without him

May 16, 2015

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Poets Pantry

The Gift

alone                 tears poised                                            ready to roll down my cheeks

is sorrow everywhere                  for all to share                             who is here

who is not                                     what is lost                                    what is found

who is speaking                    what words are said                       is there any meaning

to it all                                         or is it simply                 a song i sing softly to myself

a children's game               of hide and seek words                   learned in childhood

in this moment                       sitting here                                          without pain

i think of you                        a memory i will keep                              examine it

for wear                                  fold it away           carefully                      lovingly

the scent of your hair             the sound of your voice                 the feel of your skin

i could never tell                   what was the color           of your eyes               blue

grey                                            green                                                 so hard to tell

the story of you                     and yet each day the memories          flicker on the screen

the little boy laughing and crying         you fell                     skinned your knees

hurt your finger                    the boy a young man                         you took chances

the world your oyster                     a place to play                          you took it all

a grain of sand                   or a piece of cake                                  a mother's love

you told me you cared                pointed to my heart                      and to your own

said we were one                        your greatest gift                           given in the end

May 17, 2015

dVerse/The Story of a Boy

The Story of a Boy

how to tell the whole story       leaving nothing out       perhaps in the beginning

just a thought             or no thought at all                       we brought you home

it was night        yet we were surrounded by light         the tiny strands of golden hair

reflected the light          it was the beginning of the week           everyday of the week

a good little boy              you grew straight and tall         curious about this new world

always looking under               over           beneath                  behind

you missed nothing          our lives revolved around you           the little boy and his dog

but to tell it all             is to say           they were the best of times               the worst

you got sick           an illness that couldn't be cured                 you were hit by a car

you drowned                        i kept you in a bubble                     safe beyond harm

for all my dreams of safety             you lived as was planned             one day you died

leaving me alone on the beach             sorrow surrounding me                today i cried

tears filled my eyes             tomorrow i will be happy                     ...because i knew you

May 15, 2015

Poets United/Waves

Waves

as a child i had a most intimate relationship            with waves     we lived near the beach

days were filled with picnics at the beach                                 laying out our towels

playing at the beach all day         then loading up the car                       filling it with sand

and home we would go                                                all sunburned and tired

i was surprised        when i moved to the desert            how like the sea the landscape was

and of course when i found my sorrow         oh how it was like the waves of my childhood

the wave comes to shore         often knocking me down                then between the waves

my toes found the ground             i would turn and face the wave and wait to be splashed

i remember when the waves came                      i could jump and ride with the waves

perhaps sorrow is also like that         i face the wave            know it might knock me down

in between the waves          my toes again touch the ground         i turn and face the waves

knowing if i jump at just the right time i might be able to ride the wave... live another day

May 13, 2015

April 30, 2015 Writers Digest PAD Challenge April 2015/ Bury the _______________

Bury the _______________

And why do we bury after all         is it about hiding       putting something out of sight

or... do we bury                                             for fear it might begin to smell

or....bury the hatchet                    is that to bury the strife between us  

old ways just aren't working           yes, squirrels      bury the acorns      food for later

perhaps the idea of burying                                    is to not deal with it now 

putting something off until later        a way of putting the problem 

 out of sight               out of mind               in our country

 we have been burying the problem of hate     oppression          unfairness

 abuse         poverty       education             I wonder        are the elected leaders 

smart enough to dig up the problems                       and deal with them

 be honest about who we are             what we have done      and know how to fix it 

 our history is long                                                   it won't be easy

April 20, 2015

May 10, 2015 Sunday's Whirligig/ Purple Donkey/ Poets United

Purple Donkey

the words ring hollow       yet donkey jabbers on        while leaning against the tree

scratching his itchy back          he looks southward                  the direction

man and animals disappear       his hoofs buried deep in the soil       he takes a breath

feeling a little feeble      the morning disappeared into the plow      he takes consolation

that so far        there is no task he hasn't been able to complete              he wonders

just how long he will be able to do this                                  as he is now 20 years old

May 9^th, 2015

May 7, 2015 Writer's Digest/ Craft

Craft

it is not necessary for craft to be art      perhaps it is just a manipulation of materials

while art is not craft                                        it should have some craft in it

art is something else           like so many people say                i know it when i see it

i heard someone say                  it is art when it makes the hair stand up on your arms

or perhaps when the image is memorable                      or some would say

when it resonates with something inside the viewer                            for me

when the work comes from the heart                 there is the possibility

it can be seen from the heart                               perhaps it is intention of the creator

to create a very personal visual statement         because the creator is a unique human being

the work should reflect this                                        it should be unique like no other

when i look at an art work                                      i shouldn't feel i have seen this before

it should be a new and fresh experience         remind me i am seeing this for the very first
                                                                                                                          time

art like life                                    each day a new experience to be experienced only once

when this day is gone             it will not come again                     no do-overs in art or life

May 7, 2015

May 3, 2015 Sunday's Whirligig/ The Nurses/ Poets United Poetry Pantry #250

The Nurses

was this a game      we played as children                 playing with our dolls

church bells toll the hour         ring on sundays                   ring for funerals

a simple peal from the tower             it almost speaks your name

 the one whose life is over     (ding) ended      (dong) ceased to be

 (ding) no longer a being on earth      (dong)slipped through the opening

 you were without clothes          slipped on a surgical gown

 the last thing you wore          laid you gently on the bed

 beds in a line           beds in a row        each bed held someone's someone

 like a garden         the time was spring     the beginning of the year

 new sprouts appear        the color new green

each one known by his latin name...

honey        you work tirelessly         washing        turning       comforting

dispensing meds       you are in your element        this is what you trained for

you can't save everyone        you have to let some go         you told me

you rarely see the same one twice                      you are the angel of mercy

each day you are the same                  your life is the same

it is the patients         who are different               but each needs you the same

May 1, 2015

May 2, 2015 The Sunday Whirligig/ The Nurses

The Nurses

was this a game      we played as children                playing with our dolls

church bells toll the hour       ring on sundays                    ring for funerals

a simple peal from the tower               it almost speaks your name

 the one whose life is over     (ding) ended      (dong) ceased to be

 (ding) no longer a being on earth     (dong)slipped through the opening

 you were without clothes                                 slipped into a surgical gown

 the last thing you wore          laid you gently on the bed

 beds in a line             beds in a row       each bed held someone's someone

 like a garden      the time was spring        the beginning of the year

 new sprouts appear           the color new green

each one known by his latin name...

honey           you work tirelessly        washing        turning            comforting

dispensing meds       you are in your element            this is what you trained for

you can't save everyone        you have to let some go                  you told me

you rarely see the same one twice                              you are the angel of mercy

each day you are the same                     your life is the same

it is the patients who are different                      but each needs you the same

May 1, 2015