Monday, January 16, 2012
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Three Sunday Morning "Vain" Poems*
The following three poems were written inspired from by the following words provided by
The Sunday Whirl courtesy of Henry Thoreau's Walden via Barbara Yates Young
vain, dotted, dormant, reel, kneeling, surface, still
spectacle, depth, resolution, contemplate, broad, crisp
In The Vain, dotted with dormant putrification of consequential action sprung to pustulating spectacle - they, the legions of crisp charred flesh, reel, exposed in true burned bare form - kneeling on the surface of the broad road - the stench of careless flung hatred, scorn, vapid lethal indifference, the depth of their former indifference powerless as a bubble on the air - now they stare at the ruin of idled hands and contemplate in ribbons of finally felt pain their resolution to do better, oh so far better, in the future of a never promised tomorrow.
2- OH YES YOU'RE SO VAIN*
just like the song - surface still
spectacle - kneeling
spectacle - kneeling
on the dotted rug
to contemplate your broad face
check resolution
in the mirrored floor
gauging depth of expected
reel. Crisp you rise
3- DRAINED OF VAIN
On the still lake there at the edge she stands
Watching the v dotted flight of Canada geese
As all senses coalesce tumbling on the verge
of reel force her gently unfolding down drained of vain
To kneeling on the surface of the spectacle of
The depth of life sweeping through the crisp new
Morning air its depth too chasmic to contemplate
Despite her broad intention as she walked bare footed
Chilled in her dotted night dress to contemplate
On the still lake
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
"Imagine" has won the Liebster Award!!
As promised here are the further details about the Liebster and announcements of the winners I have chosen!!!
Barbara Ehrentreu has bestowed this honor on me. Liebster is German for "favorite" or "dearest" and “dearest” is most definitely an adjective I’d reach for first for Barbara and favorite – well I think everyone knows how I feel about her character Carolyn Samuels and her new novel If I Could Be Like Jennifer Taylor. Barbara’s blog is as delightful as is she and I am constrained by the rules of this award not to recommend back to her but nothing can stop me from encouraging you to enjoy yourself and get right over to
Barbara’s Meanderingshttp://barbaraehrentreu.blogspot.com/ So thank you to the former fellow Long Islander, whose hugs I feel everytime I read a post of hers although we have never met in “actual space” she is as Anne of Green Gables would say a “kindred spirit” and as we might say today a soul sistah” of the highest degree. I have shamelessly lifted the description of this award from Barbara’s posting to me as follows:
The intention of this award is to draw attention to blogs worthy of note, currently without a lot of followers, and a condition of acceptance is to post it and share it with five other blogs. It can't go back to the person who bestowed it on you or the one who bestowed it on them so you have to choose without them.
I do agree with Barbara that picking a blog is very very difficult. I have chosen those blogs that have given and continue to give me personal pleasure and that I find have become an integral part of my life. Although the idea is to spotlight blogs without too many followers, I felt I had to make an exception and include Poetic Asides and Robert Brewer, since it was Poetic Asides where I submitted my first poetic posting.
Here are my choices and it was very difficult to make them!
Rosemary Nissen-Wade: Tanka on Tuesday: - Meet some of the most talented and delightful world-wide haiku and tanka poets and photographers!!!!
Madeline Begun Kane: - Just laugh yourself silly!
Robert Lee Brewer: - Homage to the blog and the editor who inspired me to submit my first online poem
http://www/writersdigest.com/editor-blogs//poetic-asidesClaudette J. Young : - You will be hard-pressed to find a more talented, experienced, or kind writer or wise woman!
http://claudsy.blogspot.com/
Jane Penland Hoover: Absolutely stunning photographs and delight-full poetry.
http://jpenstroke.wordpress.com
CONGRATULATIONS
LIEBSTERS!
LIEBSTERS!
ROBERT LEE BREWER COMMENT TRIBUTE TO PROMPTED & COMMUNITY
www.writersdigest.com
On the Poetic Asides blog, Robert Lee Brewer introduces a Poetic Asides member anthology and asks some questions about a possible Poetic Asides event.
Monday, January 9, 2012
MY BLOG WON THE LIEBSTER AWARD!!!
Stay tuned for my dearest/favorite blogs!
Actually, a quick note here - I truly think such awards are important and truly - delight- full!!!
Sunday, January 8, 2012
WORDLE #38 - Nearly Forgotten
Nearly Forgotten
There, in the night, swaddled in fetid blankets of Constraint before the blackened Hearth of deceited Realism – she lay. Clean and still-young-eyes-wide open
Stray bits fluttering through the thatched roof.
There in that dirted-dark-night- pressed by the breathing of them all inhaling her future,
drooling the spittle of her spill-stolen dreams, she lay. In final furtive flash she stood, silently slipped the bloodied feet of slumbered siblings.
Out on soft feet over smooth stones to/through the hanging gate.
There bubbling bounced from the tips of ambered fingers of almost-dawn, thousands of forestalled and trodden possibles floating toward the edge of the dropped horizon of Forgotten.
drooling the spittle of her spill-stolen dreams, she lay. In final furtive flash she stood, silently slipped the bloodied feet of slumbered siblings.
Out on soft feet over smooth stones to/through the hanging gate.
There bubbling bounced from the tips of ambered fingers of almost-dawn, thousands of forestalled and trodden possibles floating toward the edge of the dropped horizon of Forgotten.
Reclaimed now with wide-armed, glorious, greedy, gladdened grope,
as flush-filled fresh- she runs – through wetted meadows,
first clear-light-sun streaming in her hair flowing freed toward the shimmer of Rebuild.
as flush-filled fresh- she runs – through wetted meadows,
first clear-light-sun streaming in her hair flowing freed toward the shimmer of Rebuild.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Unstoppable Forces - 2 Poems
The Unseen
He taught the toddler girl to sing
Swing Low Swing High
Sweet chariots and all that coming for to
carry him home
and yet when his time came there was no swinging
no sweet chariots
not even a single white horse pounding
Simply
a tornadoed coalescence of the collective Universe
there obscured from the toddler girl, now grown
obscured, but felt in an escaped tendril of a tenfolded tsunami
as he, ready, stood, shoulders squared, blocking her view
his bare feet solid on the precipice of All
now seen, now blowing his hair back flat against
his skull as pure power inhaled him
whole
*****************************************************************
Just a little giggle at dinner
it started as a giggle
at the table there that night
sitting in our dinner clothes
hair combed, ribboned,
pomaded, shoes shined
from head to toe just right
it started as a giggle
between a brother and a sister
and ended with erupted gales of laughter
and Mother’s “You will now leave this table mister”
******************************************************************
******************************************************************
Monday, January 2, 2012
Happy birthday Daddy
I hug you hard and
All that, shovels, dirt
Long ago and melted in
an August heat dream
Here the realitied
You, present strong
Everywhere as you
Said it should be
Here in my still time- bound instant
watching - the thick bare branches wave
the cerulean sky dotted with
a single red cardinal for
a pop of contrasted color
You smile in familiar incarnationed
eyes, darker, deeper.
A flash of sun beamed platinum hair to
show me how it might
have been, your mustache
tickle- soft against my neck as you hug
me back hard
And a flock of Canada geese
pass overhead
I breathe you
happy birthday
Sunday, January 1, 2012
Writing Our Way Home Small Stones - January 2012
The river of stones is a mindful writing challenge. Properly notice one thing each day, and write it down.
Click here to find out more about this wonderful project
Writing Our Way Home writingourwayhome.ning.com/
Following find my contributions to this year's river of stones -
-Namaste -
In the dark - light bright on computer screen - brighter within - warming cold hands, the softness of red flannel against a throat just slightly sore, no party hats, or champagne, just this simple flannel embrace, eyes softly heavy - ready now - for sweet sleep.
January 1st, 2012
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January 2nd, 2012
In the mirror that was my grandmother's once the big marsh tree's thick bare branches wave in the wind against a clear blue cold sky - brown, blue , and piled on pleasant plumpness pile of bright white new shammed pillows that will crisply make my bed on this my father's birthday. The IPAD on my nightstand black against its clean white cord is freed and I write feeling him all around me in and of everything just as he always old me it would be.
**********************************************************************************
January 3rd, 2012
With one eye closed the bulbed light from the lamp warms - bright and clear enough to be the Caribbean sun- no longer longed for in this quiet wood furnitured study - cold wind whistling out nearby black windows the sounded ping of heat pulsing through the radiators. With closed eyed breath the wind is surf, rolling gently toward and away, and back to claim me again. I need not leave, even with eyes open to be where I want to be - all is perception.
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GIRLS IN PLUM SWEATERS
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| jks Lola |
Girls in Plum Sweaters
what can girls in plum sweaters
be expected to know of loss
as they pass the shovel among friends -
unorated letters on pretty stationary drift
in the wind - as earth hard-hits the coffin
inside - sweatered pruning friend on white satin -
outside they - fresh as dropped stitches
from a single skein of yarn
knitting a forever hole
girls in plum sweaters,
dirt under fingernails
cold wind in their
fresh washed hair
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panting and all that
meditating with thumb
and forefinger in the
soft sunned air
Ready to ride the
waves as turquoised seas
and meditation flew out
the window – a long billed scream
as she pushed that misplaced
watermelon – splatting she was sure
against the white-washed wall