Merry Christmas and:

*See Sunday Scribblings for more festiveness!

A Reminder

As

raw winds

gust, we pause

and remember.

Omens of winter,

the dead leaves scatter.

In their wake, barren ground

covers the bones of those who sleep,

wasted in sunken, cement chambers.

As raw winds gust, we pause and remember.

This is written in response to the picture writing prompt provided at Magpie Tales and the promp 'Omen' offered from Sunday Scribblings.  Click on the names to check out both these sites.  The from is a Dectina Refrain created by Marion Friedenthal, with each line containing the following syllables: 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9 and the refrain repeats lines 1-4.  

June

June days are

strung out before me

round and shimmering,

like pearls on a necklace,

each one

a treasure of great price.

June is gentle, playful,

warm enough for afternoon naps

in my shirt sleeves;

bare feet,

take me wherever I need to go

in June.

I wear the perfume of

sugar snap peas

on my fingers.

they are fresh and green

all morning.

Peals of laughter

ring from birds

as they share my garden.

Bees hum a happy song

as they dance from bloom to bloom;

I am delighted with their sweet work.

Worms work for me too:

“Eat dirt!” I command –

and they gladly do my bidding.

I think I am Queen of the Garden,

until I realize

I am no pearl

nor string

nor clasp

that holds all together.

I am not even a knot

to separate each pearly day.

I simply am;

and that is enough,

in June.

Sunday Scribblings gave the word 'opportunity' for the writing prompt this week.  Soooo...I took the opportunity to post a poem I wrote some time ago about June.  To check out Sunday Scribblings for yourself click on the title above.   

Flock - Sunday Scribblings #269

Gather,

      all you inkblots,

           light tonight in treetops,

               dream deep of sun, rain, rushing wind;

                    next morning, sing the sun into the sky.

               Course plotted in your lineage,

          rise up, Icarus-like

     beak, claw, feather

Gather

This is for Sunday Scribblings, where they give a weekly writing prompt.  Also, this poem is a form poem called Rictameter, characterzed by a specific syllable count per line: 2-4-6-8-10-8-6-4-2, with the same first and last word.
And here is a little riddle for all you naturalists:
Q - Why is it that when birds fly in a 'V' formation one side is always longer than the other?
A - Because there are more birds on that side!

Better Late Than Never

If I could save time

in a bottle

I would,

cause I can always use

a few more minutes.

Late

is my fashion statement -

but oh,

that last minute

Is always the most

productive!

Written for Sunday Scribblings weekly writing prompt.  Click on the title to go there.

Sunday Scribbling #265 - Cake

Sitting here beside myself,
Myself, I said to me
How and why and wherefore
Did this ever come to be?
I might be spoiled just a bit
I know that may be true,
But just between myself and me
Honestly, I just don’t see,
Why I can’t have my cake and eat it too!

This little piece is for the promp 'cake' from Sunday Scribblings.

Raw

Here is a response to the writing prompt 'Raw' from Sunday Scribblings. I know it's very provincial, but ...

Fresh sushi platter
a work of edible art
which I title: Bait

Sunday Scribblings #257 - Raw

Apologies to anyone with a weak stomach. I have struggled with the idea of eating meat most of my life. I haven't for quite awhile now, basically because I have an over-active imagination. I also love animals, and am in pretty close contact with a number of them. Besides the dogs and cats and elderly horse in our care, I am also on a first name basis with a number of cows. I married a veterinarian, and while he mainly works on dairy cattle, he also handles a number of 'hamburger cows' (as my kids used to calle them). I am the only one in my family who doesn't eat flesh (meat or fish). In fact they think I'm a little crazy, and I suspect they're right!


When confronted with
Prime rib bleeding on my plate
Knife poised
To sing through the flesh
My half-baked mind wonders
Did I know you?

Sunday Scribblings #252 - Safe

The Fortress

we are builders,
all
who struggle every day
stacking stones around ourselves
the fortress must hold strong
whether to protect our overflowing treasure
or hide the barren room, once full
we must guard against those
who dare come too near
the risk is so great
the cost so dear
so you will understand
why I can not
let you
in

Sunday Scribblings #251 - Eternity

Eternity is…
Standing on the wrong side of the bathroom door
Waiting your turn in the doctor’s office
How long the kids have to wait to open their Christmas presents
The time it takes ‘Cherry Bomb Red’ fingernail polish to dry
A figure eight on its side
The time it takes me to balance my checkbook
How long I will love you

Alternate final line:
How long I will be a sap over loving you

Sunday Scribblings #238 - Progress

This is my entry for the prompt 'Progress' I feel as though it still needs some work, but at this point I'm not sure what to do with it. So, here it is:

So what exactly is my goal?
I’ll be damned if I know
But I know this, it must be deep
A thing not just for show

No increase earned in bank accounts
Or decrease in my waist -
The shallow realm of status,
Is bogus and misplaced

It’s big and it’s ubiquitous,
A hard thing to define
A quest to be more human
And also more divine

It won’t fit on an ordered list
Not linear, more free-form
A plunge into the darkness
To ride the chaos-storm

To learn what lies beneath the mask
In darkness and in light
To separate and yet connect
Within this sacred rite

So what exactly is my goal?
To laugh and cry and grow
And make peace with the paradox
That I can never know.

Sunday Scribblings #257 - Manifesto

Presto: Manifesto

My manifesto for 2010 was this blog. It was actually inspired by watching Julie and Julia at my sister-in-law’s Christmas-ish gathering. The goal was a poem a week – 50 poems by year’s end (two weeks off). I have both kept and broken that resolution. There were times when I only had one entry in a month. But looking back I have written 51 new poems this year. And maybe 52, if I can come up with something now, so watch below:

Twenty-eleven
Write more, love more and give more-
My manifesto

For me that is a successful resolution! Yay me!

Dark December - Sunday Scribblings #246

This is a poem I wrote awhile back, but it fits today's topic for Sunday Scribblings, so here it is:


Dark December

In her holy dance
Earth turns away,
From light
From warmth
From life

With each inspiration
Of cold, sharp air
Our lungs ache

Visible breath,
Ghost at our lips,
Dissipates
Leaving jewels of condensation
On all it touches

The austere landscape
Is covered by
A night sky
Of extravagant beauty.
Hung with precious diamonds
Pulsing with joy

As we run
Tears freeze in our eyes
Cold burns our ears
We taste darkness;
No light
No warmth
No life

Yet this is the dark of hope-
The cold that sets the bulbs-
The death that brings forth resurrection-

What are we running from?
Grace surrounds us.

Sunday Scribblings - Limits

Limits:
When do I reach
The line I dare not cross
Teetering on the edge - will I
Risk it all and fall into the abyss
Or will I pull back from the ledge
Just in time to live a
Smaller life of
Limits

I need to give credit here. I came across the information on this poetic form called Rictameter at a blog called Wordsalad by Luke Prater which can be found here:
http://lukepraterswordsalad.wordpress.com/2010/10/21/let-me/
He explains it as well, but the format is dictated by the number of syllables per line: 2-4-6-8-10-8-6-4-2 and the first and last lines are the same. Thanks Luke.

Sunday Scribblings #243 - Antidote

Sometimes the antidote for all the complex concerns of modern of modern life is a little foolishness. With that in mind:

How can I find
An Antidote
When I don't even know
The Dote?

Sunday Scribblings #241 - Bright Idea

My bright idea is actually dark. The dark of the night sky to be precise. I love the stars and the night sky. This is a piece I actually wrote awhile ago, but I think it can fit into the bright idea category. I live out in the country and got tired of not being able to see the stars from my yard because of the bright yard light that is standard issue from the power company. Then finally I called and made them take it down. Here is my offering:

Starry Night

When I lie awake,
And sleep won’t come
I walk out the door
Into the inky, blue-black sky
Of 3:00 AM
And look up
To find the stars
In their places.

Not far off
I hear the roar and swish
Of Highway 8.
Who is behind
The head lights that
Slice the night?
The baker
Speeds to work;
Soon her sweet rolls will
Will be taken
All over town.
A semi carries
Crates of round, red apples
In from Washington.
I hear them in the dark,
And look up to the sky
Where Orion greets me.

I’m told
Those in
Tokyo,
London,
New York
Can not see the stars
For the garish, sodium lights
We set between
Ourselves and the heavens.
And so the insomniac in Tokyo
Can take no comfort
From Perseus;
Ursa does not wink
At the nocturnal Londoner;
And Polaris
Cannot guide
The wanderer through New York

Darkness and light
Must be together
To be seen,
Felt,
Known.
To have
The jewel-bright lights
We must also admit
The dark
And when we shut out the dark,
Or medicate it away,
We are trading
The beautiful
Heaven-full of stars
For a puny night-light
Of our own
Design.

And so I call
The utility company-
And tell them
To take their light
From my yard,
So When I lie awake
And sleep won’t come,
For thinking of you,
I walk out the door
Into the inky, blue-black sky
Of 3:00 AM
And look up
To find the stars
In their places.

Sunday Scribblings #240 - Friction

Here is a quick little post for the writing prompt 'friction'

He left her wondering:
Is this true love
Or merely friction?

#239 - Intense, Sunday Scribblings

I had trouble coming up with something for the prompt 'intense.' Guess I was feeling more lacksidasical. I started toying with it first, word-play:
Intense/ In tents/ In tenths/ In tent city
But I think I have finally come up with a rather intense little poem:


Ember eyes burning
Bitter hands clenching

Screaming:
So close
I smell tunafishsandwich
From lunch

Screaming:
So loud
I can’t hear a word

Screaming:
Uncontrollably
The words pour out
I can’t stop

Sunday Scribblings #238 - Curious

The Sunday Scribblings writing prompt 'Curious' made me think of The Olde Curiosity Shoppe, how curiosity killed the cat and how, for Alice, things got 'curiouser and curiouser.' Then, in a sutiably playful mood, I started thinking of things that made me curious, made me wonder:


Did you ever wonder
‘Bout when the world was new?
Or how to build a storm cloud
Using only frowns and dew?

And how do plants remember
To flower every spring
Do they consult a calendar?
Or tie a knot with string?

And what goes on inside that egg
Before the bird breaks free?
I’d use feathers, love and duct tape
If it was up to me

And Sun remembers every day
Just when to set and rise
What sort of watch does he possess
To carry through the skies?

So many curiosities
Are all around us here,
Some great and grand, some humble -
I wonder… don’t you, Dear?

Sunday Scribbling: Harvest

This week the writing prompt is 'harvest.' I could talk about pumpkins and corn and wheat, but why do that when I can wax morose?

In the autumn
I gather my sorrows
Until the field is empty
Exhausted
I wipe my forehead
With the back of my hand
And look at the stubble
All around me
I smell dirt and
Barrenness

My shoulders stoop
Under the weight
Of my bitter harvest.
Downcast,
I draw no comfort
From the thought that
Come spring
I will once again
Sew my field
With regret