June 26, 2016 Sunday's Whirligig/A Single Dandelion -- Poets United Poets Pantry--The Suday Whirl: Wordle #257/ Medicine for Broken Heart

A Single Dandelion

life on a coastal tidal plane     emptiness of a single dandelion in bloom    it beckons

waves in the breeze        blooms and shrivels in the hot sun           poppies aflame

orange and yellow flaring           contrast the green sea grass            salt marsh

sparkling sea glass         wildflowers bloom among the dunes           innocent crabs

scurry across the sand          leave traces of movements    wind footprints on the spool

seek scrapes of food            bodies of the dead                   washed up on the beach

a fin here/an eyeball there     a jellyfish/dull and lifeless   a single dandelion among them

the buffet rearranged with each new wave   castaways upon the shore    wanton no more

June 15, 2016

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Medicine for a Broken Heart

take two            call me in the morning                        is there medicine that will cure

that will heal a broken heart                            perhaps a splint will do

tears drizzle down your cheeks                                is it pain from sorrow and lost

does the heart still beat                         with stethoscope pressed to your chest

hear nothing          all is quiet                            the weeping stopped for one second

the heart rots                     gone to seed                      stands lonely in the fields

your wandering            leaves a trail                       you tunnel back to place of safety

the tears return like diamonds                  at the corners of your eyes

like waves on the shore                                       emptiness returns swiftly

you are a saint              heaven watches                    there is no medicine to offer

they beckon to you                from a peak on high              it is as it should be

”where two roads diverge in a yellow wood” so Robert Frost tells us

it is at this point                              we will be separated from the one we love

June 26, 2016

June 26, 2016 Sunday's Whirligig/A Single Dandelion -- Poets United Poets Pantry--The Suday Whirl: Wordle #257/ Medicine for Broken Heart

A Single Dandelion

life on a coastal tidal plane     emptiness of a single dandelion in bloom    it beckons

waves in the breeze        blooms and shrivels in the hot sun           poppies aflame

orange and yellow flaring           contrast the green sea grass            salt marsh

sparkling sea glass         wildflowers bloom among the dunes           innocent crabs

scurry across the sand          leave traces of movements    wind footprints on the spool

seek scrapes of food            bodies of the dead                   washed up on the beach

a fin here/an eyeball there     a jellyfish/dull and lifeless   a single dandelion among them

the buffet rearranged with each new wave   castaways upon the shore    wanton no more

June 15, 2016

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Medicine for a Broken Heart

take two            call me in the morning                        is there medicine that will cure

that will heal a broken heart                            perhaps a splint

tears drizzle down your cheeks                                is it pain from sorrow and lost

does the heart still beat                         with stethoscope pressed to your chest

hear nothing          all is quiet                            the weeping stopped for one second

the heart rots                     gone to seed                      stands lonely in the fields

your wandering            leaves a trail                       you tunnel back to place of safety

the tears return like diamonds                  at the corners of your eyes

like waves on the shore                                       emptiness returns swiftly

you are a saint              heaven watches                    there is no medicine to offer

they beckon to you                from a peak on high              it is as it should be

”where two roads diverge in a yellow wood” so Robert Frost tells us

it is at this point                              we will be separated from the one we love

June 26, 2016

June 23, 2016 Poets United Midweek Motif - Resilience/ Life is Not Easy

Life Is Not Easy

who is to say        who will get up again            who will not

you are hit                  knocked down                 out of the game

and yet you rise again    i have seen fights like that      one just wishes

the fighter would stay down       for the count        let it be over

but no...                      he rises staggers to his feet

the fight continues             life is like that                  sometimes

you are tripped up         knocked down                    knocked out

the possum whispers         just stay down                it will all be over soon

in the other ear                                the coyote yells

get up                         get going                              it is not over

the human spirit is resilient       like the coyote              life isn't easy

was never meant to be        what is it all about      perhaps we need what is hard

to recognize what is easy         to know happiness       to know what is precious

June 23, 2016

Note:  At first I selected the "raven" as the voice to say, "stay down, play dead"....then realized that I made  a  mistake by choosing the "raven," and should have chosen the "possum", who is more likely to fall down, and stay down, playing dead as his means of survival.  So I have changed the "raven" to be the "possum."  

June 19, 2016 Poets United -- The Sunday Whirl #254 -- Sunday's Whirligig #64 / Rebirth in the Time of the Summer Solstice

Rebirth in the Time of the Summer Solstice

in the shadow of the full moon        an eruption of energy        crows black as night gather

bees swarm                         sweet roses bloom                          a fury of activity

where earth and oceans meet     the artist sweeps the canvas clean             adds new paint

colors chosen by the light of the shimmering morning star                without reason or logic

the scent of honeysuckle fills the air                         butterflies flutter by on colorful wings

ideas are boiling                  bubble over                               a rise to extraordinary inspiration

the heart opens                         the artist discovers a new way of looking at the world

the thorns have been removed from the roses           it is a time of a new era of human history

night is left behind    there is a ripple upon the still pond          the creatures of the mud kingdom emerge

outrage, grief, fear and strife       are left behind                unification of mind, body and spirit

there is a huge potential for ingenious insight                                  love rules the land

no longer the thief                    now the creator                     in the temple of his own studio

open your mind                 it is a time of rebirth                      the muse awaits your return

June 19, 2016

June 12, 2016 Sunday's Whirigig #63, and Poets United Poets Pantry/ Graphite On Paper --The Sunday Whirl #255/ Aunt Maggie's Farm

Graphite on Paper

the moments                           hours                         years

flash before me            yet... in the rear view mirror          hard to recall breakfast

or the thoughts of last week                writing helps                  creates a map

better than breadcrumbs         for marking the way home           yes...i was lost

uneasy                         struggled to stay on course      i am beginning the third year

since you left...                    passed...                         DIED

the word so hard to use         so hard to hear          makes a tangle of every sentence

life has no effect at all           on death                          it will come on schedule

the day circled on the calendar     marks the date   the day unknown to us

 but oh....death does effect life                      distorts all that you know

my life has been altered...          my sister came                             held my hand

said goodbye to you...              to me                                   i remember going home

the flight to denver           flying above the earth                      the dark storm ahead

lightening flashed on the horizon       a jagged line             drawn by hand

the missed connection       no way to get home          like you, all i wanted was to go home

after midnight             all night in the cold airport            it was as if the universe was saying

you thought this day bad       and that is not all...                  there are still storms ahead

the future unknown to me         i wonder...                               would i have continued

if i had known                      what was ahead                                     would anyone

still....in the quiet of morning    the explosion remembered      the howling splits the silence

i cover my ears                      count to three                                        open my eyes

it is a new day                     the sun is shining                i can see no movement on the mesa

my life is less without you        no food that satisfies             i am left lonely

i draw the emptiness of my life        with a pencil                             graphite on paper

June 12, 2016

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Aunt Maggie's Farm

the words familiar                                  splattered on the page

read what you wrote                and indeed i see my words

are out of date                   last week's news

it is a mystery                           question without answer

i am left wondering                    where you found these words

perhaps in an old snuff tin                 with lithographed face

an old man with scar on his chin    or in the empty butter churn

no longer in use                  the stalls empty too

the cows sold long ago               no one lives there anymore

the fruit trees in the orchard           grow wild

lemons fall to the ground       rot                  aunt maggie's farm

only reminds in memory             the long chats on the porch

the squeaks from the rocker                   rocking back and forth

on long afternoons                        the windmill whirring

the hot summer wind                            we dig out from the dust

that piles by the barn                    smirk at the chickens

that strut in the yard                            so proud of the eggs

pearly white                                               gathered in the basket

kept by the door                                           the trim farm remains

chiseled in the memory of a little girl who often played there

Jane 12, 2016

Note:  I went to the site, The Sunday Whirl, and found the words...I thought, though they looked familiar...the past few weeks I have not always found a place for the words in my writes.  I worked hard and this week I used all the words.  Then when I went to Elizabeth's site, I realized my words were out of date.  I returned to the Sunday Whirl, and still the words were the same...so I took the words Elizabeth listed and wrote another piece?  Still wondering?  But it was fun to return to my Aunt's Farm where I used to play.

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Father's Day

i would like to send a card to my father               post office unknown

where do people go when they die              leave no forwarding address

if they are somewhere      what do they do      how do they pass the time

is worry a part of heaven     or only left behind               for others to do

he was always busy      and if he is somewhere       i think he is busy still

he never said no         when asked for a favor         ...except that one time

you explained              sounded so reasonable                  at the time

but things change     time changes everything             one can speculate

about the after life        unknown         until you experience it for yourself

a simple man             no pretense                                got right to the heart

no beatin' around the bush     so my card would be plain     just the facts mam

i miss you everyday          your my daddy                          hold me tight

June 12, 2016

Note:  I wish I could send a Father's Card to my Father....so this little poem will have to do.

June 11, 2016 You Are Here

You Are Here

i like to think you are here with me              though your shadow i cannot see

i can no longer touch you      and yet in the silence of this room       you are here

you are in the wind              your breath upon my cheek          you whisper to me

and sometimes raise your voice      you are in the rising sun          waking sleepily

peek into my bedroom window       you wake me                        say good morning

with a wink                  remain with me through the day    with each tick of the clock

you are here                 you are in the gurgling stream                   on mountain high

and in the evening               when the light is low                           you are here

when the moon rises            to keep watch                                      you are here

you hear me                     when i call your name                              you are here

always close by                  within my heart                         and in my dreams as well

June 11, 2016

June 10, 2016 It Seems Normal

It Seems Normal

my life was simple                 it seemed normal                safe

secure                                     a child's life                    without expectations

the sun was bright        sparkled on the pieces of       glass scattered on the ground

where we played in the chicken yard                         at my aunt's farm

we shielded our eyes         with our small hands                 we played

sang                                    told stories                     up early to bed the same

my life complex             it seemed normal                    above my pay grade

too many questions     answers insufficient                  love grew in my heart

expending like a balloon    when it popped             the explosion was unexpected

tore my world apart

i always thought my life normal        and perhaps it is            some of it happy

some of it sad                  it started small                                 grew larger

more complex                  like the plant                    in the little shop of horrors

out of my control         now... it grows small again               it will get so small

it will disappear          knowing i did what i could          and all else won't matter

there will be no one left to care                     which seems normal

June 9, 2016

June 7, 2016 Poets United/ Grace -- dVerse -- the music in you

Grace

and what is it after all        what did i mean           when i asked for grace

was it grace in my presence     my movement        my being...

my acceptance of what is      or... what will be       am i talking about fate

or prayer...          and who will hear this prayer      who will listen

who shall answer         is there a god after all        ... perhaps it the universe

the universe that i see    the universe that sees me          when all hope is lost

and there are no easy answers    grace may be all that is left     to see us through

our spine to remain rigid     will not crumple in the hall     lost in our own sorrow

grace will point the way     stay together in our being         will not fall apart

look ok on the outside      movements refined       though we scream on the inside

still... we ask for grace     and like death                 our skirts gently brush the floor

heels clicking in the hall         they will look at each other        with knowing eyes

nod their heads and agree       it is grace after all                     when all else is lost

there it will be crushed into a crumpled ball               discarded upon the floor

waiting for you to reach for it    slip it over your head      smooth it upon your being

you are transformed           your prayers answered                    it is grace after all

June 7, 2016

Note:  I think it is one of the things my Mother gave to me.  No matter what, we agree the situation is bad, but grace will see us through.

Note:  I'm not sure it could be a song?  But I have been wanted to write about, "Grace."

June 5, 2026 The Sunday Whirl Wordle #253/ Time Passes -- Sunday's Whirligig #62 -- Poets United

Time Passes

time passes        with age i soften              so many times i have said...

oh, i couldn't stand this... or that      time passes            things happen

the child pouts    stomps away petulantly       as i am no longer a child

that is not an option      i take a stand                  hold firm

dig my toes into the sand                          each wave washes over me

unsteadies me             i feel each grain of sand                      alive

washed from under my feet       as the wave rolls back to sea        i get ready

                                                                                                for the next wave

as the wave reaches me                      i jump into the air laughing

time passes       my own mournful howls can be heard      no longer soft whispers

my spirit trampled           i am dreadfully lost                        i limp back to shore

holding on to all that is sacred        i glance around                  the world is smaller

the maps must be drawn anew        acquire a compass               locate a light house

a touchstone      a landmark                  the sound of the waves breaking split the air

crash onto shore     the sand is washed from under my feet        as the waves roll back 

                                                                                                                       to sea

time passes                        cover my mouth                                    silence the scream

does it come before or just after     cheeks flushed                         hazel eyes shut tight

these eyes are not my own       but your eyes sleeping now           to wake no more

the rest is deserved                    still                                             letting go is hard for me

the small boy that you were     the young man               the grandfather you will never be

each leaves a scar            a hole that cannot be filled                       no food can satisfy

i am less without you              many months pass                                  i soften with age

June 5, 2016

Note: Tomorrow will be the anniversary of my Son's death. In some ways it seems so long ago, and in others, only yesterday. It was not the last thing to happen, so many things continue to happen for each of us. Life has a way of continuing, ready or not. With each loss, I think I cannot continue to live...yet here I am, celebrating the life of my Son, my Nephew, my Mom and Dad, my Husband, friends.....it is said, “we cannot know joy without sorrow,” and sorrow comes to every life. It is up to us to know the blessing, even in sorrow.

June 2, 2016 dVerse/Bingo

Bingo

i suppose non of us are really young anymore              still it is hard to believe

you were the next chosen        the baby of the family       there are no answers 

                                                                                                  to the questions

of who is next                         who was first                                   or why

after all you had so much ahead     a young man so strong                 still a boy

chuckle as you left the room       a sparkle in your eyes          i remember you 

                                                                                                 as a small boy

so many of the characteristics still in tact                  you left this world too soon

the apple of your mother's eye       she held your hand                  never left you

                                                                                           to struggle on your own
                
you will be missed                   so handsome                                  sweet and kind          

it was your mother's fear                you would go too soon     one misstep

                                                                                              and down you would go                      

the story was written long ago     as it is for each of us        perhaps it is like bingo          

your grandmother's game            numbers are called               someone wins                          

we all exhale       soon the caller begins to call out the numbers again            we wait 

                                                                                    for the next number to be called

one day our numbers will be called       quietly we leave the room        did we win or lose

                                                                                    or is it just the nature of the game

June 2, 2016

June 1, 2016 Poets United Midweek Motif/ Adoption

Adoption

he is small              just a little tyke                          a snuggle bug

his parents aren't able to care for him       a sad story indeed

but other parents     who want him                          will love him

who can care for him      have stepped forward       will be his new parents

one of the most important undertakings of all times        it isn't perfect

but sometimes it is the best answer     they offer a sanctuary       safe haven

June 1, 2016

Note: It happened for us, and for my Husband, who was also adopted.