Sunday, March 31, 2019

Last Day of March/the suday whirl and The Muse #49/The Blue Butterfly

Last Day of March

The morning cloudy
But not the kind of day
Not one cloud in the sky
Instead no clouds are visible

Rather more overcast
The sky a solid grey
Snow is predicted
Last day of March

My wish is that, it will be the last day of snow
For I have seen enough snow for one year
My spirit longs for the new green of spring
Yet, the morning carries a strange chill

Each season has its’ own rewards
Soon enough, there will be
The smell of roasting chili peppers
And the voices of the people

Singing sacred songs
The beat of the drums
Will all mix with the clear mountain air
The alchemy of place

Reminding me of where I am
Perched on the mesa
Living a life
Following a path

Under the nighttime moon
This path was set before
At the very beginning
The history of Taos is rich

March 31, 2019
Wordle 396




The Muse #49

The Blue Butterfly

Someone has painted your face
The colors blue and red
The butterfly rests upon your lips
For you cannot speak

Filled with secrets
Cannot say, what is on your mind
The butterfly is the lock
Without a key

You stare right at me
Never blink
A confrontation
As if you are casting blame

It was not me!

Who painted your face
Nor placed the butterfly
Over your mouth
To stifle your truth

March 31, 2019



Saturday, March 30, 2019

Blue is Lonely/imaginary gardens with real toads

Blue is Lonely

The Universe
The plants and planets
Seas and sky
The all of it…

Best viewed at night
The stars to see
As they sparkle
Each with its’ own name

The name of an ancestor
Glory be
A twinkle to make a wish on
For baby and me

Give us this day
Our daily bread
Send up smoke signals
Keep in touch

So many questions
Without answers
Yet new theories
Come each day

Blue is lonely
So far away
Sing your little song
Put the candle in the window

Find your way home
The first day of April
April fools day 
For when she is the fool 
She is no longer alone



March 30, 2019



Friday, March 29, 2019

The Silence is Broken/imaginary gardens with real toads


 The Silence is Broken           
In the shadows of the late afternoon
The silence is broken
By the sound of church bells
Calling all to worship


It has been centuries
Though it seems much longer
Once we were inseparable
Your chair remains empty


A careless word spoken
An unkind phrase
Can give rise
To a darkness immune to light


Sugar and spice can make everything nice
March is closing its' door
And the month of the fool begins
Teasingly the temperature drops


Reminding me of the winter
That is now over
The summer promises to be kind
One day follows another


March 29, 2019


Note:  These are the words I have chosen from the list:  shadows, afternoon, centuries, March, teasingly.







Wednesday, March 27, 2019

She Shares my Solitude/poets united midweek motif/Solitude

She Shares my Solitude

I am a morning person
When the sun comes up
To greet me with its’ sparkles
I am waiting

Anxious to begin my day
The light attends slowly
Creating shadows
Under each sage brush

A small coyote
Appears and disappears
In the low brush of the mesa
She is always here

Sometimes I forget to look for her
And she passes quietly
Without notice
Going about her business

It is spring
She has two pups to feed
We live side by side
She doesn’t know I am here

She walks in solitude
I am in solitude, too
Happy to have her here
A small bit of wildness

March 27, 2019













Sunday, March 24, 2019

The Moon Controls the Tides/ the sunday whirl

The Moon Controls the Tides

A life as unique
As the one who lives it
Even days which begin cloudy
Turn out to be like no other

We never know what might be around the corner
Life is such a curious mixed bag
The sweetness of an early spring morn
And the hot of a Hatch chili pepper

Perfectly formed
The alchemy of the two
Mixed by folding in lightly
Results melt on the tongue

The last few days have been the first days of spring
The early mornings begin with a chill in the air
The sun rises and warms the heart
There are new blades of green grass in the fields

If I listen carefully
I can hear them sing their funny little grass songs
Last night 
the moon so bright
It appeared like the noonday sun

The moon’s pull controls the tides
The waves swell and crash 
ashore
One after the other
My spirit walks the beach alone

March 24, 2019




Friday, March 22, 2019

The Principle of Peter or the Orange Man/dVerse

The Principle of Peter or The Orange Man

In the East
The clouds are thick 
Over the mountains
In the West the skies clear

A silvery blue
Lights the world
All is quiet
Most still curled in their beds

Each morning
The question appears
What will this day bring?
Our leader a buffoon

Will the truth be revealed?
Will the report be given?
He squirms like a worm
Trying to get back under his rock

His appearance is that of a little boy
Caught with his hand in the cookie jar
He doesn’t fool many
He performs in broad daylight
It is as if he doesn’t know

He is a perfect example of white privilege
Lacks understanding 
Can we say?
“Father, forgive him, he knows not….”

March 22, 2019



Thursday, March 21, 2019

Empowering the Self/poets united midweek motif/Empowerment

Empowering the Self

You have no control
Over what other people think
Only control over what you think
And you have set your goals high

Higher than any clown can fly
Even the trapeze artist
Can only fly so high
How do we empower ourselves?

Such a big question
Each time we hit a pothole
We vow we will be more careful next time
But sometimes there are more potholes than road

Still maybe it has to do with our own thoughts
Have we prepared?
Have we learned from the past?
Have we stated our goals clearly?

Have we looked carefully at your goals?
Set new goals more appropriate for the current time?
Revision may be needed
Still it is: desire, determination, and discipline

Perhaps the desire and determination are there
But the hard one is discipline
And this is where most fail
It is only if we “stop,” that we fail

March 21, 2019




Tuesday, March 19, 2019

Each Has His Own Path/imaginary gardens with real Toads

Each Has His Own Path

Each has a path of his own
It is not for me to say
What is right and what is wrong

And yet…I see the plants closing
The loss of jobs
I see the ones who only kneel
Before wealth and power

I see the evidence of
Climate Change
I see the storms
The floods

The water rising
I see what they want to do
In secret
I see the high prices

I know there are hungry children 
The world is changing fast
I see people pushed out
Left to die, sick and lonely

I am touched by the homeless
The ones who have lost hope
The sign she holds
“Mom with children, out of work”

March 19, 2019





Sunday, March 17, 2019

Climate Change/the sunday whirl

Climate Change

Each wave unique
Like the first
Of its’ kind
To come ashore

I read your writing
Fires are lit
In the silence
Of an empty beach

Empty as far as I can see
Dark clouds gather
Rain begins to fall
Soaks the earth

And the garments I wear
The moisture is welcome
For it has been three years
Since the last rainfall

This spring will be greener
Sunbeams shine through the raindrops
The world sparkles
In gratitude

March 17, 2019

Saturday, March 16, 2019

Tick Tock, Tick Tock/dVerse -- Pantoum

Tick Tock, Tick Tock

Because life is cyclical
It often seems we have seen it before
Been there before
Heard it before

It often seems we have seen it before
Time repeats over and over
We have heard it before
Never knowing the beginning or ending

Time repeats over and over
Tick tock, tick tock
Never knowing the beginning or ending
Life is like the alligator who swallowed the clock

Tick tock, tick tock
The sounds are clear as he approaches
Tick tock, tick, tock
Nearer and nearer

Tick tock, tick tock
Each year we celebrate the same old holidays
Tick tock, tick tock
The year begins with New Year’s Day

Tick tock, tick tock
The year ends with New Year’s Eve
Tick tock, tick tock
The same with each day and each week

Life slips through the hourglass
The past dissolves
The future is now
Tick tock, tick tock


March 16, 2019

Thursday, March 14, 2019

Each Day of the Week, Has it's Own Question/imaginaary gardens with real toads

Each Day of the Week, Has its’ Own Question

Perhaps each day has a question
For us to ponder
On Sunday 
It might be asked
Is it the first of the week or the last?

And on Monday 
What does this week hold for me?
Or… What do I hold for this week?
On Tuesday I might ask
Who will go to the store this week?

The cupboard is bare
The children are hungry

Wednesday comes with its’ question
How will we fill our days?
Thursday will ask
How are you doing with the list?
Will this week be long enough?

Friday, I ask, How could it be Friday again…already?
Saturday, the week is slipping away
And I ask, Where are you going?
It seems I hardly know you
And on Sunday, the questions are repeated

March 14, 2019

Tuesday, March 12, 2019

A Poem is Like Picking Blackberries/poets united midweek motif/neighbors

A Poem is Like Picking Blackberries

I gather words 
Like picking blackberries
Reaching for the best ones
In early summer

What is the meaning 
Of this collection of words
They can’t be used for making jam
Instead I seek the words of the heart

I have lived in the West
For many years
There is a certain 
“Live and let live,” here

It is not that I don’t like my neighbors
Simply different people
With different lives
I a hermit

No hanging over the back fence
No gossip to exchange
A life of devotion
A life of dedication

Time is the essence of my life
So much to do
So little time
I have to be careful of what I choose




March 12, 2019



Sunday, March 10, 2019

No Longer Free/the sunday whirl

No Longer Free

Is it all just a prank or caper
This thing called life
Suddenly there is pain in my hip
Which runs down my leg

It feels better when I rub it
I am making a passage
Into old age
I’ll have to pick up the pace

There will be a new plan
Of stretches and exercise
My instinct is to rest
As the pain is excruciating

Like a Voodoo doll
Stuck with a thousand pins
I am not the only one in constant pain
So many others

Using a walker
No longer free
Chained to a helping device
The bar has been raised

March 10, 2019


Wordle 394:  Caper, prank, leg, rub, passage, pace, plan, instinct, stick, other, chain,  bar       

  

Saturday, March 9, 2019

"Out of Reach"/imagianary gardens with real toads

“Out of Reach”

Space as far as I can see
And further
I imagine the cosmos
And the distance of infinity

The words are simple
Yet, hard to get one’s brain around
I am a gormless slow-wit
Like molasses dripping slowly from the bottle

How far is infinity?
How big? 
How wide?
The answer is illusive

I am brain-dead
Flat lined
My head is filled with hot air
Maybe I am dead?

March 9, 2019








Thursday, March 7, 2019

A Rock Garden (or The Wisdom of the Stones)/imaginary gardens with real toads

A Rock Garden (or The Wisdom of the Stones)

Having trouble breathing in
A most basic function of being alive
Amazing how when something happens
We automatically inhale

It isn’t something we plan
It is just something that happens
And it happens over and over
Often, we put our hand to our mouth

I don’t garden anymore
I am too successful with weeds
And it hurts my back to pull them
And it is hard to be happy with a garden full of weeds

One year ago
I had two young men
Convert my garden into a rock garden
And now I hear the rocks chatting

Hard to have my own thoughts
With all the clamor
The rocks themselves
Are ancient old

And have much to say
They really don’t care if you listen
For they will speak
And they will speak over each other

They have much to say
In the quiet of the day
Talking, talking, talking
It is for us to listen

March 7, 2019

Wednesday, March 6, 2019

Time/dVerse

Time

We schedule our lives around it
Though Einstein said, it is not what you think it is
We can’t hold it in our hands
We can’t reverse it

We can’t see it as it passes quietly
We can’t taste it
We can’t smell it
Though it is with us always 

We can’t go back in time
But, sometimes we are stuck there
We ask, what time is it
We are told, it is a time for us

We wear a watch on our wrist
Carry one in our pocket
Sometimes it passes slowly
Sometimes it flies

One day we wake
And are surprised
Like Rip Van Winkle
Many years have passed

One day, not too long ago
We were only beginning the journey
And now, it is almost over
Perhaps we only mark time
Never really experience it

February 6, 2019




February 6, 2019


Tuesday, March 5, 2019

Waiting/imaginary gardens with real toads Tuesday platform

Waiting

I wait quietly
Waiting for the words to flow
They come in stops and starts
No connection

I am aware the room is hot
Too hot
Turn down the thermostat
Open the door

Fresh air rushes in
Brings new thoughts
Hard to see the forest for the trees
Sometimes we are so focused on one thing

Impossible to see anything else
Even when it is right before us 
You say, maybe it isn’t “right,”
But offer no alternative 

One is left uncertain
The path ahead is the only road visible
There may be other ways 
But the path is overgrown
Brambles block the way

…Still I wait

February 5, 2019


Sunday, March 3, 2019

Hope/ the sunday Whirl

Hope
We talked long into the night
Is it hope?
That ushers in disappointment
Unrealistic expectations

I will make a note to myself
To delete hope
I will walk through fire
Not because “I hope” I can

Instead, because I can…
As soon as I make this declaration
I catch myself “hoping” again
Always hoping things will be better

Truth is sometimes lost
In a sea of lies
Spouted by a “liar and chief”
His words corrupt

He is smug
Mocks everyone
He was born for the role
A man of destiny

I will send a memo
To myself
To remember
To forget “hope”

February 3, 2019

Saturday, March 2, 2019

The Temple/imaginary gardens with real toads



The Temple by Tomasz Zaczeniuk
Used with permission
@fotowizjer


The Temple

Where sacred things
Are kept
Where each seeker finds
What is sacred only to him 

On the outside of the temple
There are figures carved
Hard to read
From where I stand

A little window 
At the top of the temple
Opens to the room where
Rapunzel is held prisoner

A man appears
Asks her to let down her hair
She does
He climbs to her window

Through the window he steps into her room
He appears as a witch
He falls in love with the beautiful Rapunzel
But, since he looks like the witch

Rapunzel is afraid
And seeing this
He again appears as himself
The young prince

As most fairy tales go
Like the hero’s quest
There is much to overcome
But in the end…

They all live happily ever after
This is the rub
Life does not follow the fairy tale 
We don’t all live happily ever after

And when the story reaches its’ end
And nothing is to come after
Life still goes on
Embracing all that is good and...all that is bad

March 2, 2019










Taking time off.....

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