Sunday, September 30, 2018

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

Wednesday, September 26, 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

Tuesday, September 25, 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

Thursday, September 20, 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.

Wednesday, September 19, 2018

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.

Tuesday, September 18, 2018

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

Sunday, September 16, 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.

Saturday, September 15, 2018

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 

Wednesday, September 12, 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

Monday, September 10, 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

Sunday, September 9, 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 9th, 2018

Wordle #368

Thursday, September 6, 2018

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

Wednesday, September 5, 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

Tuesday, 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

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

Sunday, September 2, 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

Taking time off.....

I am taking some time off from posting on my blog.  I am studying, practicing, have so much to learn....