Poetry Jam - Enough

Resolution

Enough is enough, you say

The effigy of seasonal indulgence

Gets dragged outside

No ceremony now

The match is lit and up it goes

Enough is enough, you say

I sweep the remains and think

We don’t need this bag of fudge

I have two sweaters

He has three cans of nuts

Let’s pass some where they need to go

We have enough

Your cheeks are cold and red

The deed’s been done

The pile of booty is made

No ceremony here

We look at all the excess and say

Yes to passing around the wealth

So sweaters socks fudge nuts scarves

Find their way to need and want

I touch your cheeks kiss you soundly

Kiss you again again again

Four times and more

That may be enough

Enough - This is the word that I will hold close this year. I resolve to have enough and no more. If more comes, I resolve to share it so others may have enough. Simple and simplifying ... 

shared at Poetry Jam

Poetry Jam - Untitled

Untitled

The pencil broke.

Lead that flowed o’er pages

Snapped.

All work stopped.

Grey dust swept aside

Smudged.

The keyboard clogged.

Nonsense fonts

Defaulted.

The muse de-camped.

Words that came so easily

Dammed.

Somewhere deep a new muse sleeps

Dreams prodigiously-

The cosmic soup of words

Bubble and stew-

I wait for mine to break the surface.

Images form behind the eyes

That Jungian mosaic swirls

Colorful and kaleidoscopic-

I open eyes that blur to reality.

Time and time will bring it back.

Time and time …

... shared with other writers at Poetry Jam

Alone at Night

Alone at Night

Tonight the stars called to me

I stood

Alone with my bare skin and nightgown dangling

And the window

And the bright stars

The air was cool against me

I watched

The breeze soft and insistent on the curtain

And the trees

And the cloud wisps

And the stars called and winked and whispered

I went

Into the night and across the damp grass

Down the field

To sit alone

And still the stars called to me

I searched

Plumbing the heavens for you and your blue eyes

Past the stars

Into the black

Far

Far into the alone of night

Poetry Jam

written on the theme of 'alone'

Image: dohlongma's photos - Flickr

Tattoo Haiku - Poetry Jam

Is it the rain or

your heart that beats so strongly

I trace your tattoo

It poured off and on this afternoon and I got to thinking about another time and place; rain on the roof can be such a romantic influence.

shared with other writers at Poetry Jam - check it. 

Image Credit : Photo by Nesty Ocampo  

Sundown Dad - Poetry Jam

Sundown Dad

His blue eyes glimmer soft these days

Blue veins, wrinkles, silken skin

He lingers over memories, old ways

His chatter stutters, stops, begins

He watches sunsets with closed eyes

Too bright he says, it’s nicer here –

Retreats to porch and sits and sighs

Draws blanket off the chair and near

My father in his sunset years

Is not the man who held me high

Who whistled away all childish fears

Who told me he would never die

My father is a feeble shell of life

With rattled memories jangling round

Fed on pills by beleaguered wife

Who walks on eggs and makes no sound

And yet at times, he sits up straight

And makes a joke and laughs aloud

And shows us ‘Dad’ as he was then

Witty, happy, bright, and proud.

This long goodbye is painful to me

Watching as his sun drops low

It seems that we would all be happy

Should he simply just … let … go …

 ... shared with other writers at Poetry Jam who have written to the theme of sunsets ...

The Cold Dark Desert of Night - Poetry Jam

the cold dark desert of night

they say the sun falls hard in the desert

settles to horizon’s line then drops -

a golden coin in a slot

soft darkness deepens to a blue

that slowly spangles with first stars

until a chill blanket of light

blinks and beams across the heavens

I lay back upon this bedrock - watch

my Janus facing day and night

reach out to touch a strong arm –

whisper words across the space

while Janus turns to look toward Mars

I loll back – sigh and settle to

the cold dark desert of the night

shared with others at

Poetry Jam

Opening Day ! - Poetry Jam

OPENING DAY!

grass turns green

hats come out

gloves get limbered –

old hands return to

springtime duty

new blood races

hopes and dreams awaken

gravelly voice shouts

PLAY BALL ! 

sunlight glares on

upturned smiling faces

scoreboard flashes

tears flow when anthem

blares out over the crowd

youngsters race

to grab their dreams

that hang the end of each

well swung bat – CRACK!

old timers lean back

pace themselves with peanuts

cold beer and perhaps

a dog of an umpire

carping the plays or nodding

approval with grins like

old fences they remember

peeking round or crawling over

before getting pitched - OUT!

shared at Poetry Jam, where this week's theme is 'baseball and barriers' ...

Poetry Jam - This Evening Slicing Lemons

Painting: A Bowl of Lemons - Julian Merrow-Smith

This Evening Slicing Lemons

My sharp knife halves the orbs.

Oily fragrance coats my fingertips.

I twist juice from their yellow cups,

and in their mist I squint and see a yellow sun,

a bright green awning, the gnarled hands of 

that Spanish elder presenting me a 

burst of lemon coolness in the searing heat

of old Granada.

My fingers remember the slippery

chill of the red clay cup.

I can tilt my head back and feel the ache

from that first cold swallow.

I squint and see the Sierra Nevada

through the icy fumes rising

from that citrus nectar – 

all this,

all this before my kitchen counter.

shared at Poetry Jam

Poetry Jam II - Haiku

Commuting Life II - Haiku

I sit like soft lint

The fabric of life streams by

Trains pull strands away

Souls in constant flight

The breath of thousands mingle 

Rise with blackened smoke

Rise at the train's rush

Turn to eyes that crane to see

Anonymity

... a variation on the theme of 'trains' ...

...shared at Poetry Jam

Commuting Life - Poetry Jam

Commuting Life

We walk the same path every day

Straggle on and off the trains

Sometimes blink and look away

Eyes following a million planes

Looking everywhere but at each other

Separated only by air and fabric

Our hearts beat common dreams

Hidden behind peacoats and blazers

Beating insistently to the rhythm

Of wheels on rails, thrumming

Clunking, swaying us ever on

Toward the work a day world

Later tread the same way back

Looking rumpled and worn

Earbuds giving a dose of news

Bass line thrum tapping fingers

Gazing glass-eyed out the windows

Eying signage and the buskers

Balancing flowers or the paper

A bag of produce or a bottle of wine

Looking up with heads lolling

Drooping downward on seats to nap

Staring past neighbors to watch

Evening sun as we race homeward

One day I’ll tire of the anonymity

Smile at you and speak up

Perhaps we’ll talk sports or weather

Share a seat and clink water bottles

Discover the common things we share

Chuckle over a cute child across the car

Recommend dinner spots along the way

Give each other an elbow of farewell

A quick ‘See ya’ as we head back

To our separate worlds

... shared with others at Poetry Jam

Haiku - Poetry Jam

Haiku

Flicked like dandelions

Harsh words fall on children’s hearts

Wilting bright faces

... shared at Poetry Jam

Dandelion Days - Poetry Jam

Dandelion Days

Walking home from the library

I never stepped on sidewalk cracks

I clutched books close and climbed

Up and over the railroad tracks

Coming down the other side

Sneakers kicking dust and stone

I’d sometimes lose control and slide

Careening my way closer to home

Cross the road and up the street

Into the shade, away from the heat

Dark lush maple tree nods and sways

Cooling off those dandelion days

Up the hill to the little grey house

Round the back quiet as a mouse

A clothesline tent with pillows lush

A place to hide in summer’s hush

Beginner books that held me sway

And helped pass many a summer day

With words as lush as any flowers

Adventures to while away the hours

Ideas and dreams that oft took flight

Like dandelion seeds blown free

Seen in that tent’s soft dappled light

The books, the summer, the sun, and me

... a fast write shared at Poetry Jam ...

Monadnock - Poetry Jam

Monadnock

Folks round here call it ‘my mountain’

There are hoards who climb it daily

Striding fast, counting steps

Conquering it by mid-morning

Planting their hands at summit

A touchstone  – ‘I was here’

Rising from the crouch they peer

Around the peak to claim the view

Plan their day as they trek back

Down to the world of cars and noise

Up top there’s the wind

Sometimes a smell of pines

When it rains, there are rivulets

They run along the fissures

Look like silk rippling down

The stone smells metallic

And musty from lichen

That’s when I like it best

That’s when Monadnock is washed

Clean of the hoard’s noise

I sometimes think of the Abenaki

Ancients who named this mountain

Women who picked its berries

Children who gathered her nuts

Hunters who crept over her ridges

Before that wolves who ranged

Up to see the moon and howl

Chase prey over rocky paths

Claiming ‘their mountain’ too

Gathering life from hidden caches

Monadnock sits solidly over me

Holding my place here

Anchoring me to this green swath

Showing me rainbows of color

Across the four seasons

Watching from across the meadow

As I turn daily to greet ‘my mountain’


... shared at Poetry Jam ...

Grey Clouds of Doubt

Grey Clouds of Doubt

I could walk ten miles

Even more

They would still be there

Threatening

Hanging there

Just waiting to rain

Itching to drop scratchy cats

Barking dogs and leaden buckets

Hailstones too

Yeah

Hail stones like to pound

The urge from my skull

Pound it hard

Make me quiet this truth

That threatens just as hard

Pushes just as insistently

Works its way upward

Heated by faith and need

Yup

A gush of uncensored feeling

Passion and frustration

Couched in creative energy

Roiling out like a geyser

Against the status quo

Grey blah clouds

Weighing me down

Weighing me down

Weighing

Me

Down

...shared with the writers at Poetry Jam ...

Poetry Jam - Sparks to Flame

Sparks to Flame

The morning cold is harsh today

It’s crept in over night and settled

A chill that is bone deep wraps me

Cold fingers bring match to kindling

Immediate warmth and glow reach

Touch cheeks, arms, flannel shirt

A first warm rush fans hair from face

I feed the flames, tent the sticks

Watch the fire take hold

A snap, a rustle, low clicking

First coals drop out and away

Make a warm bed of glowing ash

This is a moment of creation, yet

I contemplate the irony of destruction

Adding the first small logs carefully

I bask in the warmth that rushes out

Feel cold pushing back from behind

Take the time to mindwander

Old paths, small plans, or soft memories

Lists form, a day’s routine takes hold

Sparks and flames of thoughts that flicker

Then I stand, turn and face the day

Happy New Year to all the stalwart organizers of Poetry Jam!  May your year be full of warmth and fellowship and may the community of writers increase ! 

Take a look at others who have written on this week's theme of 'FIRE'.

Hit this Poetry Jam link.

Poetry Jam - Fibonacci Sequence

Conflicting Messages

Think

Think

Be wise

Look both ways

Use your mirrors, kid

Objects are closer than they seem

Keep both hands on the wheel and eyes on the road ahead

Crank the radio when you head out on a road trip

Roll the windows all the way down!

Pedal to the metal!

Don’t look back!

Grow!

Go!

Fibonacci Sequence Attempt # 3

Being a parent is the most difficult test in life ... enough said.

-shared at Poetry Jam - 

Check it out.

Poetry Jam - Harvest Moon

Harvest Moon

Last night the coyotes yipped and yammered

Raced harvest moon across the ridge and yowled

Chased wary deer through bracken ferns

That stood yellow and curling in the moonlight

The windows were open to the night breeze

Cool air and nighttime drama swirled

Bringing me from a quiet sleep to listen

Burrowed deep in downy blanket and pillows

The cat sat sentinel on the window sill

Watching the nighttime branches sway

Twitching her tail at the occasional twitter

Of restive birds in the cedars – waiting

She knows that autumn’s turn has come

Each night she dashes through the door

Turns and swats her tail at dark danger

Shakes herself and circles round my legs

We are a pair the cat and I

We watch and listen together

Curl warm by the first fall fires

Feel the change that’s coming

- 9/25/13

October is coming on and there's a change in the air, on the wind, in the woods that border our little house. We're gathering close and watching nature shift toward the season. 

... shared with other writers at Poetry Jam ...

Image Credit: Harvest Moon Rising - Tim Trott

Lost ... Poetry Jam

Lost

Lost… the Jets game tickets and accompanying bet.

The parent's anniversary fête

The children’s play in which they sing

The diamond and emerald engagement ring

The big deal

The corporate steal … all lost.

Lost … appointments with Sis to power shop

The time and money to island hop

Beach time with family on Cape Cod

A chance to make his peace with God

Her babies’ smiles

His lover’s wiles.

The keys to the garage and the PO box

Lazing by the pond skipping rocks

The girl on her way through the ‘glass ceiling’

The sight of his daughter that leaves him reeling.

The corner office with the view,

Keys to the executive washroom too … all lost.

Lost … people loved and barely known.

Peer and friend, worker, drone.

Up in smoke, fire and dust

Down in twisted skeletal rust

Wet from fire hose and tears.

Gone, exhumed, dried up, sere … lost.

Original draft written April, 2004

Revised draft – September 2013

 Mourning those lost ... 9/11/01

Shared at Poetry Jam


http://www.upworthy.com/the-incredible-inspiration-one-man-gave-us-in-the-last-hour-of-his-life-9?c=ufb1

Artwork credits: Towers of Steel - by John Arelt

                          Visit www.AreLtArt.com to see more of this artist's work

Poetry Jam - Tales of the Hunt

Tales of the Hunt

Scrape the stone and make the dust

Gather up the deep red rust

Mix it with the bison blood

Make a paste that feels like mud

Gather round a blazing fire

Smoky meat drips on its pyre

Feast and then turn to the wall

Draw the hunt, tell to all

The rust of ages on those rocks

Will stay until a boy unlocks

A crumbling stone, an echo deep

A world released from a long sleep

Back when I was still teaching reading and social studies and 'all that stuff ' to youngsters, I found a book called First Painter by Kathryn Lasky.  The class was doing a bit of work on oral history and how it might have progressed from telling tales to written stories so I used the book to help the kids understand how the transition might have begun. 

I found some old pieces of brick and took them, some burnt wood coals, and my stone mortar and pestles to school and read the story with the children. I gave the mortar and pestles to the children when it was circle time and every time I paused in reading the story, the children carefully passed the mortar and pestles on to the next child so that everyone got a chance to grind the brick to ochre dust and the wood coals to black ash. Then, we mixed the black and red dusts with egg whites and let things dry up a bit to make paint paste.  A friend donated old slate roof tiles and each kid got a chance to make their own stone painting ... the kids were filled with awe at what they could create with the basics from the Earth. 

The minute I opened this week's Poetry Jam challenge, I knew I would write in some fashion about that magical day in the classroom. 

Poetry Jam - Walking Out

Walking Out

In evening light, step out and pad up the alley

Quietly pass the shuttered window of Zia Anna

Smell her pot of gravy and listen -

She’s praying her rosary, the beads clicking

Five doors down, a lace curtain wafts aside

Old Pietro shuffles out, moves toward his stool

He looks sideways at all passers by and puffs

Is it a ‘hello’ or a ‘go to hell, bastardo’ ?

Further on, the scooters lean the walls, looking

Sexy- waiting for soft thighs, rounded bottoms

Ready to rev, belch black smoke and

 Bounce libidinous echoes off ancient doors

The corner brings the square and music

Tables and chairs are set at Papillon

A glass of Strega, a daily newspaper await

The regular on the same evening schedule

Just steps from the airy, rented room

This quiet world unfolds for the stranger

Skipping steps down the stairs and out

Onto the cobbles and into her new life

Luca stops and drops a towel, looking,

Murmurs a ‘Ciao Signora’ and smiles

A question sits behind his eyes and

On his lips, but he swallows, dabs a spill

The Strega is spicy, strong warm ribbons

Warming the throat, crisp inky pages

Pass silent time, bring memories and flashes

And the sun sets and the walk back is golden

Shared at Poetry Jam 

Photo Credit - 'Italian Street Scene' -comic book guy @ Pixdaus.com