March 31, 2016 dVerse/ The Silly Little Poem

Silly Little Poem

the queen of hearts         she made cream tarts             all on a winter's day

the british solider           rode his one legged horse         on the road beside the bay

the gulls they sung         and flew around                 their numbers to many to count

the phone it rang             and rang                                   some more

in celebration                  of of the day                             the clown

collected snow white shells  and put them into his bag   then tumbled into the sea

the little girl                    with the turban                          wrapped around her head

laughed with the dog       in the middle of may                 the cat with the fiddle

stood up on his hind legs   spread his paws                       showed his claws

and like tom thumb         he said                                        what a good boy am i

March 25, 2016

March 30, 2016 Poets United Midweek Motif/ Oh to be Ninety

Oh to be Ninety

oh to be ninety              still a ways to go                   mountains to climb

problems to solve         in most other professions      we would be retired

but to be an artist          at about ninety                       women artists might be recognized

before that time            we are invisible                      we are here

still unseen                    interesting to be told at 70      we are too young

still so at 80                   although some might be recognized in their 80's

men are often recognized at 20 –30 – 40                      i think for many

beyond that                    if they are not recognized       their careers are over

still... as women artists are waiting

in my 70's now              have been practicing                 for over 50 years

it is a funny business      this being an artist                   we go to the studio everyday

we practice our craft       alone                                        some days we wonder why

some days we know        i wonder if a young person knew these truths

they would choose to be an artist      if we had it to do over would we choose to be an artist

of course                         maybe we don't choose            perhaps art chooses us

March 30, 2016

March 29, 2016 dVerse / Taos Mountain

Taos Mountain

you are there      you look after me                         mother mountain

sacred to all        who live in your shadow             listen to the low hum

of your song       the people live in the valley         topsy turvy

or as best they can     still they know                      as long as you stand

you look out for them      the native people            go up the mountain

to blue lake                       each fall                         walk 27 miles

and back again                  i not-being-native          cannot say exactly why

but i like that they do       with native people          all things sacred are secret

and all things secret are sacred   they don't trust us            do you wonder why

is the pale face trust worthy        or could it be      we have we broken every treaty

March 29, 2016

March 27, 2016 The Sunday Whirl Wordle #244/ Enlightenment Guaranteed --Sunday's Whirligig #52/ What was Gold Now is Brass -- Poets United

The Sunday Whirl Wordle #244

Crooked, smoke, words, moon, water, three, name, light, pebbles, phantoms, lead, god

Enlightenment Guaranteed

where is this god         of whom you speak                when we looked for him

he was not there           i came to the desert                not to find god

but to allow god           to find me                               the moon rises above the mountains

lights the landscape     the pebbles come alive            still there are phantoms

hear their songs            in the wind                               led by the smoke

from their fires             find words along the way         use them to tell my story

begun so long ago        and yet the mountains tell me               it was not so long ago

among the words          that come to me                       i find the names of things

that were given long ago     again the mountains tell me        it really was not so long

there in the light of the moon      i begin to see             what was hidden before

three times                    i dropped to my knees              enlightenment guaranteed

March 27, 2016


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Sunday's Whirligig     Whirligig #52

brass, earth, stone, sea, honey, hold, shine, ink, meditation, miracle, forbid, battering

What was Gold Now is Brass

the earth             is the great healer                        when all seems lost she is still here

and here in the desert      you can see                     what is left of the great sea

that once covered            the southwest                   it seems a miracle

that we are here              where camels once roamed                    in meditation

i feel with fingertips       the stories scratched into the rock          come alive

i can see it all                  a place of milk and honey      the earth has taken a battering

at our hands          she may no longer be able to support us          and our kind

nothing was forbidden       and we raped and pillaged                   held nothing sacred

still the sun shines             most days                             the moon at night

the earth moves beneath my feet              it is no miracle               only fracking

dip my quill into the ink     i write the end of the story        what was gold is now brass

March 27, 2016

March 23, 2016 Poets United Mid Week Motif / 300 Mile Winds

300 Mile Winds

the voice on the radio      was talking           about the the ocean conveyor belt

and how it affects climate         it said                  so much ice is melting

fresh water                    pouring into the sea         the ocean conveyor belt

just might stop working      or maybe...                 it said 

 probably would stop working       it said              there would be storms 

 with winds up to 300 miles     last night         the wind howled outside my door

 wants to come in          would my house stand against 300 mile winds      i think not

we rush to destruction    the world we have known           will no longer be

the voice said                 it was thought                           it would happen later

it seems                          it is happening now                  in our lifetime

March 23, 2016


Note: The global ocean conveyor belt is a constantly moving system of deep-ocean circulation driven by temperature and salinity. The great ocean conveyor moves water around the globe. The ocean is not a still body of water.Jun 3, 2014  (Picture below)

Match 22, 2016 Poets United / What is Lost--dVerse

An Eco poem....

What is Lost

i walk along the path       follow the trail          and grieve

what is lost                       what will be lost      what is not to return

what is dumped into rivers   waste everywhere    what is thrown away

what is kept                      how to live simply     how to conserve

how to step lightly           without destroying      what is loved

what is needed                  what is still here          spring is here again

the birds that vanished      are returning                will there still be a here

for them                            are all the trees cut down          is the air foul

will they find something to eat               will they sing again this year

March 22, 2016

Note:  In response to Sherry's post of Eco Poems.   It isn't inspired by the name of groups of birds...but I think will will due? 

March 20, 1016 The Sunday Whirl #243/ A Unique Story -- The Sudnay Whirligig #51/ The Birds Show Us How -- The Poetry Pantry Poets United

The Sunday Whirl #243

A Unique Story

all stories seem             to return to the source                 standstill just a moment

and begin again            each a journey                              a cycle

how to tell the story      that is uniquely                            your own add a stone

until the vessel overflows     each is born                  more or less exactly the same

everything comes together     the atoms                      and all the stars in the sky

are aligned                      something wondrous happens        and we call it you

it happens                     for each of us                                   only once

March 20, 2016

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The Sunday Whirligig #51

Open, drought, aiming, arms, oaks, surprise, warblers, branches, feeders, black, beige, flycatchers

The Birds Show Us How

yesterday                i heard the cry of the fly catcher                      he calls to me

each spring at his return        i answer his call            said i was glad to see him again

i no longer fill the feeders     there is danger in the garden      my new kitten is a killer

i don't think the fly catcher    really minds                               he does not eat the seeds

i put out                                 he prefers flying insects                   the little finches

like the black seeds               but this year                    they will have to look elsewhere

the mighty oaks                     in my native home                        have small root systems

when it rains a lot                  and the winds come                     the oaks simply fall over

it is a surprise                        to hear the thump                        on the roof of your house

everywhere                            there is danger                             you would not know

to see them                            as they go about their lives              it seems a total joy

they flit through the air          build nests                                        raise their families

seemingly                              without fear                            they show us how to continue

March 20, 2016

   

March 17, 2016 Writer's Digest Prompt: A Lingering poem -- Thoughts of You Linger

Writer's Digest Prompt: A Lingering poem

Thoughts of You Linger

what lingers        after you have gone                  the feel of your skin

silk under my fingertips     the sound of your voice       i hear in memory

the smell of your hair         your tears                            your smiles

again your smell lingers     in the covers                       where you slept

the anxiety and worry        of the growing up years     if only i could have known

it would all work out          maybe not the way            i wanted

but it would all work out     i wonder did it have anything          to do with me

so unprepared                     no way to know                it is only after you have gone

i begin to have some idea     still learning to let go          even after all these years

March 2016

March 3, 2016 Poets United Midweek motif/ Our Lady of Sorrows (You are my Own)

Our Lady of Sorrows (You are my Own)

started out as most children do       a lovely small child        loved by everyone who saw her

the apple of her mothers eye      everyone commented on her beauty        she stepped across

sorrows                                       like skipping                       across stones in the stream

never getting her slippers wet      she took each sorrow         folded them into her pack

like collecting bones in the desert       rarely complained   kept her words in a small bundle

near her heart                               hidden by her smile                                a passerby 

would never know                        could not guess                                      most days

were a series of memories            recalled what happened                        a silent dread 

the daggers that pierced her heart      the wounds that bled                       the mother may i

please be with me when i die             sister of mercy                                love's sweet song 

queen of heaven                                 our lady of sorrows                         you are my own

March 3, 2016

March 15, 2106 dVerse/ Hands to Hold and Hands to Let Go

Hands to Hold and Hands to Let Go

i look at my hands       they are my mother's                 my grandmother's

and possibly                 my greatgrandmother's              my ancestor's hands

my mother taught me    to use them                                to care for them

with these hands          we crawled out of the trees          gathered food

rocked the cradle          washed and bathed                       prepared food

mended the wounds      made things                                  played instruments

before we could speak    we made gestures                       we made love

we learned to count        hold what is precious                  learned to let go

                                                             and with our fingertips we remember

March 15, 2016

March 13, 2016 The Sunday Whirl #242/ Spring Moment -- Sunday's Whirl/Gathering Echoes -- Poets United

Spring Moment

listen to the words     full of dreams     transform the moment

by naming     flowers take on new meanings      become more than objects

the fruit trees are in full bloom      pink is everywhere      spring the most

unpredictable time of year      one minute hot      the extra little left-over snow storm

winter lingers      all seems       fresh and new

listen to the words     let them tell you who they are      teach a flower to talk

ease into the present moment      leave yesterday where it is      feed and water your garden

the sun shines      spring is here      new green at last

March 13, 2016

Note: It all seems so sudden. Yesterday, a heavy snow storm as I left Santa Fe, then it cleared and the fruit trees in Espanola Valley were in full bloom. No ,winter in it's last fury, can not stop the spring. ________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Gathering Echoes

i have been blind     without sight     i feel for my crown

still in place    a gift given to me     i look into the mirror

i am reminded of the mirrors      at the carnival      i am distorted

still it is me     the queen of hearts      i have grown older

my face has the softness of age    i set my snare

in hopes of catching something     a lonely heart perhaps      a scent

a track      i follow the trail    always alert

often i return     my sack empty      my body bent

from the weight of age     folded like a letter     slipped into an envelope

...or coffin    whichever suits   the skies are empty

no birds in sight    i step over shades & shadows    gather echoes

March 13, 2016     

March 8, 2016 dVerse The Morning you Left June 6th, 2014

dVerse
Prompt: Choose a line from Burning the Old year by Naomi Shihab Nye
“Where there was something and suddenly isn't”



The Morning You Left June 6th, 2014

the flaming red cardinal    with his lady friend    flew right by my ear

whispered to me    i saw them but didn't stop    i would have liked to

to fly with them    to watch them    to admire them

their vibrant color    flaming red    in the verdant morning

tell them how glad i was    to see them     but there was no time

knew the meaning    of their visit    i was in a hurry

stepped into the van    directed the driver    to hurry

no time to wait    i was late    just like the rabbit

looked at my watch    i'm late    i'm late

no time to say    hello goodbye    i'm late

i'm late    i'm late   ...too late

i walked to your room    the door was closed    my heart broke

i called you name    there was no answer    you were no longer there

yesterday    “where there as something     and suddenly isn't”


March 8, 2016

March 6, 2016 Sunday's Whirligig #49/ Life's Journey-- The Sunday Whirl #241/ Amethyst and...Gold Poets United Poetry Pantry

Life's Journey

though it seems you wonder      in the wilderness             hungry and thirsty

take counsel                great changes are at work               come from all directions

north, south                 east and west                                   praise the wind in the willows

the spaces waiting       give thanks to the unknown            welcome the darkness

do not trouble yourself        with the mountains                  the oceans

with the heaviness of life     leave that for others                you are at home in the city

and the country                    you have no enemies               you will be challenged

you will be asked to step higher         dive deeper                run faster

do not be faint of heart        shift directions                          attune yourself

to the deeper feelings           you are being honed                 like the blade of the knife

March 6, 2016

Wilderness, hungry, thirsty, works, darkness, counsel, thanks, enemy, north, city, fainted, praise

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The Sunday Whirl #241

Amethyst and...Gold

the hearth                            the center of                              life and home

each of us has but one story to tell     with many chapters     (if we live long enough)

our stories are just a little part of the whole                         the story of humankind

each story will be one of strength and courage                    unexpected twists and turns

loss and sorrow                  woven with happiness and joy   thus the wheel of fortune

all in the spirit of the game   the beginning of each story is ancient       and perhaps one

we are whirling through space      on this little planet           into oblivion and darkness

with the help of spirit            we are defiant                          sparks of rebellion

sometimes we are ground down   but we get up                   and we begin our story again

flags fly                                  red, yellow and blue               amethyst and...gold

March 6, 2016

Strength, hearth, story, spirit, darkness, defiant, game, amethyst, oblivion, ancient, sparks, ground  

March 3, 2016 dVerse Open Link Night #167 Our Lady of Sorrows (You are my Own)

Our Lady of Sorrows (You are my Own)

started out as most children do       a lovely small child        loved by everyone who saw her

the apple of her mothers eye      everyone commented on her beauty        she stepped across

sorrows                                       like skipping                       across stones in the stream

never getting her slippers wet      she took each sorrow         folded them into her pack

like collecting bones in the desert       rarely complained   kept her words in a small bundle

near her heart                               hidden by her smile                                a passerby

would never know                        could not guess                                      most days

were a series of memories            recalled what happened                        a silent dread

the daggers that pierced her heart      the wounds that bled                       the mother may i

please be with me when i die             sister of mercy                                love's sweet song

queen of heaven                                 our lady of sorrows                         you are my own

March 3, 2016

Writers Digest / The Empty Book

The Empty Book

a life could be thought of as a book       usually never written         just lived

so many stories                                       never told                          just lived

words left unspoken        perhaps jotted down on little slips of paper        waiting

a pencil and piece of paper                     a perfect gift                      a blank book

a journal                                                  even so                              left by the bed

empty         i thought i would get around to it         the sands in the hour glass run out

will you remember         all that wasn't written                                in the empty book

March 2, 2016