End of Discussion/poets united poets pantry -- The Sunday Whirl Wordle 371

End of Discussion

Stand and face your accuser
Your face contorted
Your performance awful
Did you see the same 

You question the need for facts
You made faces
You were angry
What does that qualify you for

You worry about what others say
You should worry about
Your less than professional performance
Let alone for a place on the highest court in the land

I cannot think of any position you would qualify for
Perhaps your plans were knocked from your grasp
You said your life was ruined
As if it didn’t matter your behavior

I can only say for myself
As a woman
I know, I would never trust you
It is difficult to talk about sex

Especially, to talk with you here

When she says she remembers
And has no motive
When a woman says she is 100 percent sure

You can take it to the bank
End of discussion

September 30m, 2018

The Wall/poets united midweek motif/wall

The Wall

A wall was promised

It encircles us

Snow covers the ground

I would like to think

It was settled

Understanding all around

Your fingers pick the strings

Feet begin to tap

Soon all are dancing

In the low light of evening

She tells the tale

Monkeys cover their eyes

See no evil

Their ears -- hear no evil

No accounting for their words

She asks for an investigation

She is surrounded by

A wall of nine white men

Twenty-seven years ago

A circular firing-squad

Same men have learned nothing

Pain intense

Vision swims

Date unknown

Location a mystery

Notes stick to the wall

Like notes on a bar of music

The sun shines brightly

Music fills the air

She is dressed in black

Her skirt skims the floor

The heels of her shoes keep time 

September 19, 2018

The Judge May Not Be Telling the Truth/imaginary gardens with real toads

The Judge May Not Be Telling the Truth

The morning found me

Runny nose and itchy eyes

The fall

That is so pleasing

Is my nemesis

Yellow tumbles 

Down the mountain side

The sky a lovely shade of blue

The words that appear

In my mind’s eye 

Disappear just as quickly

I am left in the dark

My hands search for them

I cast my net

In hopes, the words I will find

There it is, that word again

“Truth” and how will we find it

I’m not sure

But with each word untrue

A nose grows a little longer

Now if only that was true

We would not be left wondering

What did you do in high school?

September 25, 2018

Saudade in Autumn/imaginary gardens with real toads

Saudade in Autumn

The morning brought rain

Rain running down 

The window panes in rivulets

Like tears down your cheeks

Water, water everywhere…

Immediately I step in Saudade

All over my wellies

My coat

Saudade everywhere

It is autumn

Usually my favorite season

Time passes so quickly now

I look ahead

Make plans

It seems there is plenty of time

And suddenly the “now,” is behind me

I am filled with Saudade

The chasm between us widens

The day of your leaving

Seems like yesterday

Slowly, without my knowing

It has become light years ago

Careening through space

Stars up close

The clothes line hung

With memories of days past

It is a “cold case”

Little evidence to go on 

Though blurred the details remain

I find you in the deepest parts of my being

September 20, 2018

Fireblossom Friday : Say The Word

English is a funny language. A lot of it came from other languages, and some of those words retain their foreign sound. Some remain foreign and not strictly English at all, but are used much in the manner of "Voila!" Moreover, some of them roll off the tongue very poetically, it seems to me. Even without knowing what they mean, they just sound cool. Add the meaning, and it's pretty much nerd heaven. 

What I want you to do is to take one of the following words and build a poem around it. Don't just jam it in some place where it sticks out like a sore thumb. Make the word you choose central to your poem. I think we may get some interesting results. Write, link, enjoy!

I have selected to write to the word, Saudade. (Portuguese) A deep emotional state of nostalgic or profound melancholic longing for an absent something or someone that one loves.

How to Know It is Black/poets united midweek motif evidence or clues

How to Know It is Black

I return to the letters

Thrown by the roadside

In a heap

Letters scattered everywhere

What does the morning bring

The silence of songs unsung

Words unspoken

No wind blows

And how do you know

It is black you see

Reach into your pocket

Where black resides

Grab a hand full

Pull it out

Examine it in the light

It is no longer black

Same with the rainbow

Look carefully

It disappears

No pot of gold

Nothing is as it seems

Church bells ring

On any day of the week

House of mirrors

Distortion reigns

Out of focus

Sorrow overwhelms

Dressed in black

Pick up the letters

Begin again

Write a poem

Seal it with a kiss

September 17, 2018

Note:  Sometimes we have no clues, no evidence of how we know something, or how to write a poem.

The Circus in My Town/dVerse

The Circus in My Town

I was taken to the circus many times

Cotton candy comes to mind

The lights turned down low

The costumes sparkled

Under the spot lights

The clowns with big shoes

And baggie clothes

Crawled the perimeters of the big top

Like colorful spiders

Elephants with painted smiles

The lions roared

Or were those screams

The clowns threw buckets of tears

At each other

Thousands of clowns 

Stuffed into tiny cars

The music played

Was it Satie with his sad tunes

A world of make believe

A sad state of affairs

September 18, 2018

How To Make a Poem/poets united poets pantry -- the sunday whirl

How To Make a Poem

The lights are low
The lights on stage are bright
It is time to begin
You take your place

The buzzer sounds
You begin
Without knowing where the beginning is
You work on instinct alone

You choose the letters
That make the words
To make ideas visible
Words with a special sound

And meaning
It is what is behind the thought
That you are after
Words with a special strength

To blow past-ideas from view
It is the spirit of the “thing” really
You work with speed
The speed of a “ten-mule team”

You drive to the finish line
And with a flourish
The work complete

September 16, 2018

Wordle 369  Note:  I found no place for the word “raffle,” so I left it for you.

Resist What is Not True/imaginary gardens with real toads Resistance

Resist What is Not True

Resist the easy

Resist the first horse out of the chute

Resist what is given

In the darkness of night

Resistance doesn’t come easy

It takes an effort

Fully awake

On guard

Wait for it…

What is meant to be

Will surely be

Resist what has been done

Sort out the old

Look for the new

The new way to see

The new way to say

There is a war going on

A war everyday

And yet the way is open

You are invited

Yes, you are expected

There is someone waiting

What it is that you have to say

It may not be great

But is it true

Is it your own

Does it come from the heart

If so, perhaps it is what you are after

The perfect image in the mirror

Resist the one that is not

For you

There is only one truth that is your own

September 15, 2018 

He Walks in the Glittering Sunlight/imaginary gardens with real toads

He Walks in the Glittering Sunlight

In the glittering sunlight 

Chamisa in bloom

Yellow against azure sky

As he is himself

He casts a dark shadow

Begins his journey

Exact time unknown

Though it is always in the fall

He lifts his head

Arches his back

Gracefully takes one step

Like the bull fighter

Then another…and another

He plants each of his eight feet

As he steps forward

You will see him walking

On the road

As if it belongs to him alone

He gives no quarter

Issues no right of way

The tarantula walks alone

Destination unknown

September 12, 2018

Note:  So far this year, I have not seen him or his buddies, but others have told me they have seen him.  It is a mystery why he walks in the fall, or where he is going, perhaps because it is so lovely this time of year, he is just out for a stroll.

The Sun Sets Over Taos/poets united midweek motif Sunset

The Sun Sets Over Taos

How to write about the sunsets  

In the Southwest

It is an almost impossible task

Since the skies are the biggest

The light is the brightest

The clouds either

Cover the sky with abstractions 360 degrees

Or they are not there at all

Often the sunrises rival

The sunsets

Like an artist

Has spread paint across the sky

As the sun rises in the East

Over Taos Pueblo

The color begins to soften 

Into pinks and blues

Later at the end of the day

It is as if the artist

Has spilled his paint

From his pallet

Flaming red, orange, and yellows

Glorious color

Even greens and purples

Woven gold in between 

September 12, 2018

The Orange Man of Honor/dVerse

The Orange Man of Honor

Quick-draw at the “OK Corral”

Or…he quickly says 

Whatever comes into his head

So you say

All that he says is quackery or

A big bluff…

But what about the flaming orange hair

And what about the biggly promises

Isn’t he a man of honor

September 10, 2018

It Happened A Long Time Ago/the sunday whirl -- poets united poets pantry

It Happened A Long Time Ago

The grass of my home
Thick, green, and
Cool to the touch
A delight to the toes

Grass that grows in the desert
Is different
It is often long, stringy
And course to the touch

Most of what grows in the desert
Usually has stickers
And doesn’t want to be touched
Often dried a golden color

How lovely the golden grasses
Rising from the sandy earth
To touch the blue sky

The wind that dances 

Among the desert grasses
Often becomes a dust devil
Before your eyes

The smoke rises from the fire

Wraps itself around me
Like time
Past, present and future

You say it happened

A long time ago
To me…
It seems like yesterday

The stars aligned

The accident 

A freak
Many said what happened
No two saw the same thing

It is hard to find the truth
Burned in fire
Washed in blood
Hung out to dry

September 9^th, 2018

Wordle #368

The World of Color/imaginary gardens with real toads

The World of Color

The mark is made

The paint is applied

It can be made to look

As if there is dept

But my choice is a flat space

Two dimensional

Without depth

How is this done

I am working with color

And color theory

If we are aware

We will see that some colors

Seem to recede

And some will advance

So how to keep them

On the same plane

Neither going back

Nor coming forward

I create a world

Where you can get lost

It seems the cool colors

Recede to the horizon

While warm colors

Want to come close

Snuggle next to you

Colors seem 

To have a mind of their own

Follow their own will

September 6, 2018

A Farmer I Am/poets united midweek motif Charity

A Farmer I Am

You ask, “What do you know

Of frustration and heartbreak?”

I a farmer for low these many years

With my shoulder to the plough

Have planted with great expectations

And more than once 

The seeds were caught by the wind

Only to blow away

Into my neighbor’s fields

The rains came and flooded the fields

The rains didn’t come

Everything dried to ash

The dry fields blew away

One wonders why continue

And yet I remember

The harvests well

When there was plenty

For me and my family

And for all the neighbors, too

The satisfaction of success

Is greater than that of failure

September 4, 2018

First of September/imaginary gardens with real toads

First of September

I rush to open the window

Fresh air surrounds me

There is a tension 

Red to blue

And back again

A drop of color

Mix until blended

Apply to the canvas

Repeat

You have accepted

The new conditions

The horrible rope

The clanking chains

All comes with a price

The chimes in the garden

Whisper their song

Welcome the coming 

Of Autumn

Distance unimportant

It is the willingness of spirit

To seek the essence

Breathe deeply

One foot in the front of the other

Each in its own time

Until completion

September 1, 2018

The Morning Appears Out of Darkness/dVerse

Note:  Since I did not read the prompt carefully, I made a mistake, which I will try to remedy.  I wrote the poem that was waiting to be written...then as I read a few poems by others, I began to realize, I didn't really understand what was being asked.  Back to the drawing board or to the computer to make it right.



It is autumn, my favorite time of year.  I have been sleeping a little later, the sun rises before
I do.  Coffee and flour tortilla, then take the cat for a walk.  So like a dog, he strains at the leash, wants to run ahead, everything fresh...and new.  

Memories of the night before, gathering with friends, celebrating the holiday of labor, and now it all begins...again.  I awoke, someone saying, just a short time until the mid-term elections, and the hearings begin today, that will take the courts back to the 1950's.  I don't know about you, but this is not what I expected in my old age.  On this brilliant morning, everything seems bleak.

Walk the cat in the morning 

Inspite of the brilliance

Everything seems bleak

    

The Morning Appears Out of Darkness

The morning is a new beginning

A “do over”

Another chance to get it “right”

The morning appears out of darkness

The sun rises over Taos Mountain

Lights the world

Everything fresh and new

And yet… a box of memories

So much we think

We have lived through

Dealt with

Put away

Stored in the attic

And quiet unexpected

The memories

March forward in formation

Dressed in their little uniforms

They present themselves

As if for the first time

Demand our attention

They do not want to be left behind

They want to be a part of this new day

Unlike statues of stone

They do not crumble

They will remain as long as we do

They are past, present and future

Old stories that go back to our beginning

September 4, 2018

A Summer Day/Honeyseuckle in the Air/the sunday whirl, wordle #367 -- poets united poets pantry

                                 Fragments Grometry and Change  36"x36"  acrylic on canvas

A Summer Day/Honeysuckle in the Air

For one who has been stung by grief
Surrounded by memories
A small bird
Might fly in
To remind the griever
Of the loved one’s touch

It happened to me
On the morning you died
A cardinal and his mate
Flew close and seemed to whisper
“Hurry” for time passes
And soon it will be too late”

A chill enveloped me
Even though the morning warm
A summer day
Honeysuckle in the air
The sun found its way through the trees
Shadow patterns dappled at my feet

The morning quiet
All was peaceful on that day
I gathered my strength
As the little bird said
The van arrived too late
Your room empty

You had gone away

I remember it well
Like a movie seen many times
Each detail sharp in memory
Your trunk open by the bed
You took nothing with you

I held your hand 

For the last time

September 2, 2018

Wordle #367