Mag 278 — goodbye

So as to not disturb the silence from which
this poem came I will whisper goodbye.

No goodbyes to the space that will always
hold us but goodbye to the vastness of
that space. No goodbyes to your face that
is there for friends in the good book of
these days, and no goodbyes to your face
in smiling pictures from those days,
but goodbye to seeing eye to eye.
Goodbye to your hands: I loved them to
look at, and being gifted by them with
pleasures. Goodbye to the pleasure of
knowing you well. Goodbye to your voice-
its tone and timbre, and your written voice-
its passion and poignancy. Goodbye to all you
were for me—heartbreaker and muse, taker
and lover, forsaker and friend, forgiver and
forgiven.


__________
*first stanza - with a nod to final line of HOW TO BE A POET by Wendell Berry

Written for The Mag: Mag 278 that inspired with the above image prompt.
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What is happening to me

 Photo courtesy of Unsplash

“What is happening to me happens to all fruits that grow ripe.
It is the honey in my veins that makes my blood thicker, and my soul quieter.”
— Friedrich Nietzsche


That which does not make our souls quieter
makes us stronger, honey.
And you, and you, my love, still disquieted,
I know what makes your blood boil. I know
what you see as strange or funny, that your
favorite fruit is the pear (substitute the 'p'
for a 't' and you have tear -same shape-
a familiar fluid we've shared).
You know veins in bodies and in rocks, and
how to rock a baby to sleep. You are deep.

Yet, that which makes me stronger
has ultimately quieted my soul:

accepting that blood is thicker than
water, that water can turn to wine (and
forgetting that could kill me), that
fruits need their chosen place in the sun
and soil to ripen; they need their
own happening place in time and space --
that we may always be thick as thieves,
but fragile and endangered as honey bees.
As for me -oh me- my love, you know I know
where to grow old and where my soul to keep.


Written for Write on Edge (I absolutely love that title!), who supplied the above photo and quote by Nietzsche as this week's writing prompt. I also incorporated another Nietzsche quote into my poem: "That which does not kill us makes us stronger."

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Friday Flash 55 — Roots

Rite of Remembrance by Madeline von Foerster

When there are roots

something seemingly dead is still

alive at the heart of the world

where silence lives.

Roots go deep,

holding fast to the memory

of days growing in the sun.

Then darkness displays

a crown of stars blessing the 

primal essence that could not die. 

And night birds sing to the moon.

~~~

My post in exactly 55 words written for Friday Flash 55.
Visit G-Man and his Mr. Knowitall community for more weekly 55s.

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Friday Flash 55 — The beaches

I must have them for they
had me at foggy swoosh —
at hoods-up walks with doggy
at making seabreeze stories —
at one hand pulled by another’s
up to lips for a tender kiss
at sunset, later drifting to a
warm pocket where the day's
sweet find lay hidden in granular
grace. It is the beaches.

My post in exactly 55 words written for Friday Flash 55.

Visit G-Man and his Mr. Knowitall community for more weekly 55s.

♥

Valentine's Day is also celebrated as Oregon Statehood Day, and it is Oregon's 155th birthday today. This poem (that contains a few words from a favorite Avett Brother's song) is to honor my state's spectacular coast, my special connection with it, and my love for those who have shared time with me there, never to be forgotten.

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Poetics — These boots

These boots have not taken me anywhere.
Yet.

I do dream of the places we could tread
together, but I must of course first
get

them. Then we'll go to Romania, Scotland,
Vienna, and Paris -- places I have not seen
yet.

We'll walk the streets of New York
again, and tip a street vendor who
has knitted the perfect scarf and
see what's on exhibit at the marvelous
Met.

We'll visit my hometown, kick up
our heels in the old stomping grounds,
pose for pictures from my knees-down
in the sweet old schoolyard where
my first love and I long ago
met.

Sometimes we will just stay close to
home and eat at Los Girasoles, have
a delicious traditional Chavindeca
served by the daughter of the cook--
A family pulling together, making the
American dream from their tears and
sweat.

I think these are the loveliest boots
and wonder where we might wander.
Will I make such a splurge to have
them, and if I do will my dreams
come true? I am not sure. What's your
bet?

***

Written for dVerse Poets Pub Poetics, where our host Shanyn Silinski 

offers a most whimsical prompt titled A mile in these SHOES. 

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Form for All: the Rondeau — We count in days

 

 

We count in days our times away
from unshared lives, thus we convey
parts of ourselves in space and time
when I am yours and you are mine
if not next year then for today.

What will become of this foray
into this shining spot astray?
Our sun-filled walks in perfect clime
we count in days.

‘Midst misty fog and ocean spray
I find my rock, I spy Pompeii.
Though not so young, not in our prime,
our spices blend like tender thyme.
I cannot help that you hold sway.
We count in days.

~~~

I am too late to submit this for dVerse Poets Pub Form for All~the Rondeau, hosted this week by Tony Maude. His writing prompt on the Rondeau caught my fancy nevertheless and I enjoyed the exercise. Thank you, Tony.

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Acrylic painting: Oregon coast, between Netarts Bay and Oceanside by Anna
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Friday Flash 55 — Rose

Image via Tumblr: La Chapeau by Misti Boe


      Her declaration of Self stemmed from her incapacity to any longer hold her feelings like a bud about to burst. Pearls of wisdom, sure, she had those, and they were years strung yet now as easily flung against brick walls as worn with perfect discretion. It was blooming time to show up in her life.

My post in exactly 55 words written for Friday Flash 55.

Visit G-Man and his Mr. Knowitall community for more weekly 55s.

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Friday Flash 55 — Remembering Crane

crowned crane by Jane Schnetlage


Crane your neck. See
them overhead, closing in
on a turquoise preserve pond so
clear a bird once disappeared into the
sunset sky, believing he was diving for red-
gold schools of fish beneath sparkling waters.

Each ~ as distinctive as a desert flower ~ lifts up,
up in blended creation to paint the horizon at migration.

 ~~~

My post in exactly 55 words written for Friday Flash 55.
Visit G-Man and his Mr. Knowitall community for more weekly 55s.

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Friday Flash 55 — Rx for living

Bloom where you're planted, so they say.
Appreciate you’re not here to stay.
Honor your roots, till your field of dreams.
Kick up some dust, let off steam -
Trust that land goes fallow and deserts bloom.
Once, twice, thrice be a groom.
Splash where shallow, dive where deep.
Life is not yours to keep.

Written for Friday Flash 55 - My post in exactly 55 words - for the G-Man.

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Form for All — The Princess' Poem to her Secret Love

under the moonlight by Cheryll Perez


He long was my muse;
my heart ne'er forgot a night
of splendor in the moonlight.

He told me in dreams
that I have the softest skin;
then he whispered in my ear.

                   ~~~


Written for dVerse Poets Pub FormForAll, where Samuel Peralta's prompt is
The Princess' Poem to her Secret Love. The prompt is for us to write a Sedoka, and Sam begins his beautiful post with these lines (please click link to read more):

As a poetic form, the sedoka is one of the rarest forms today, not often seen even within its native Japan.

And yet, some scholars have contended that one of the greatest poems of the Japanese language is a sedoka – a poem composed as a declaration of love by the Princess Nukata.

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Friday Flash 55 — I ♥ SF

Golden Gate Bridge Tower in Fog by Jim Brandano via Pixdaus

Here is the church here is the steeple...
No. That's not right.

Here is the bridge here are the people...
No. No. Not quite.

Here is my heart like a blurry tepal -
But I am not there what a pity.
Here is my love like a protective sepal -
Resting lightly over you and The City.

Written for Friday Flash 55 - My post in exactly 55 words - for the G-Man.

To clarify that tepal and sepal stuff  —

Above photo is a Lilium flower showing the tepals: 

the inner three are petals and the outer three are sepals.

Tepals are elements of the perianth, or outer part of a flower, which includes the petals or sepals. The term "tepal" is applied when all the segments of the perianth are of similar shape and color, or undifferentiated. When different types of organs can be distinguished, they are referred to as sepals and petals. 

For info about the secret history of 38 old nursery rhymes (The Church/Steeple rhyme is not yet included) visit Nursery Rhymes History and Songs at You Tube.
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Friday Flash 55 — in blueness

Welcome home, my love by teigert



A Danish photographer’s lens captured
blues barely fluttering in blueness.
Such utter passion passing as demure -
the breathless waiting or lack thereof.
A window to a dear heart enraptured
by an old love, or perhaps a newness:
one much assured, the other one obscure.
Yet titled with universal calmness
the everlasting: Welcome home, my love.

 

Written for Friday Flash 55 - My post in exactly 55 words - for the G-Man.

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Mag 159 — Summer Love(s)

Tell me. What did you see there,
across the sea from me?

Were her ears like shells, pearly
pink and did you taste them, did
you hear the future through them?
Did you really hear her —
Could you still hear me?

Did you really see her? Were you
visible to her there at the
ocean — Did you two then
sea as one?

Were the sands this white; did
the sun make you light up and
reach for her, and did she
shine for you?

Were the waves this gentle, this
soft aqua blue? Did the color match
her eyes when she squinted in the
sun at you?

While in the tropical forests
did your thoughts from time to time
run a magic zip-line to these
green-brown eyes of mine?

Did you envision me there or did
you feel Us oceans apart, while
you were in my own dreams of
the sea, and in my heart?

What do you now see? Tell me.

Written for The Mag: Mag 159 that inspired with the above photo prompt 
(image: Meal Beach, Burra Isles, Shetland by Robin Gosnall).

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Friday Flash 55 — Fall into me

Deeper by Scott Ferman

Fall into me while I am
still nested in this life.
I am layers of comfort
crafted by seasons.
I have thick skin
(the heart has reasons).
My shell is grounded-
my soul, like a feather.
You can fall heavy here-
I’ll bow to your light.
But if you cannot fall
I’ll honor your flight.

Written for Friday Flash 55 - My post in exactly 55 words - for the G-Man.
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Friday Flash 55 — Wabi-sabi shampoo

Let's shampoo in this sink, I said.

After napping on a gracious bed

(used the comforter as a spread —

left the room wearing not a thread).

We entered a bath where stress was shed.

The space was hewn gray stone, wood red:

Wabi-sabi imperfection purebred.

When shadows nudged light fled —

Then shadows on stillness fed.

Written for Friday Flash 55 - My post in exactly 55 words - for the G-Man.

More on Wabi-sabi here.

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Poetics: The Art of Letting Go

In the art of letting go,
practice makes perfect.

All your life you practice.

Each person you love,
once let go, is another
helper along the way.

Each goodbye you say
to another is also
whispered onto your
heart like a tender
engraving.

Each hurt you endure,
when fully felt, becomes
artful hurt, maybe
hurtful art, ultimately,
art.

You are practicing,
all your life,
the art of letting go
of your life.



Written for Poetics — The ART of Letting Go at dVerse Poets, hosted this week by Claudia Schoenfeld, whose prompt post included one of her well-crafted photographs, and (I should not be surprised by this any longer), a commentary that was so beautiful that it made me cry.

Image via 3LambsGraphics at Etsy.com

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Mag 152 — two

It is simple,
really. Who
they were then
they will ever be:
two grasping
friendship's
gifts;
two giving
without
expectations;
two living
connected
together
and apart;
two loving
in love
with grasping
and giving
and living
and loving.

Written for The Mag: Mag 152 that inspired with the above photo prompt (image: stock photo).

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Poetics: Change is turning?

chapter of my life. by Menachem Krinsky



When there is a restless stirring inside me
that callsandcalls, leaving no message —
but turns over upon itself, overandover,
waiting for me to decode the signals,
urging me to remember how novel
boldness can be, while not
misreading it as in the
past, a new chapter
may be ready to be
read, or written -
passive or
active -
change
is
?


Written for Poetics — ChaNGe & TuRns — at dVerse Poets hosted this week by Claudia Schoenfeld, who shared with us her freeway photography, and asking us to consider changes or turns in whatever form we chose.

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Poetics: Two-firsts

Two-firsts

From a walk-in combo pantry and bar
He poured me a tumbler of chilled gin.
I drank—he showed off his dad's caviar.
We peered back at our childhoods from afar
Then tumbled together skin-in-skin.



Written for Poetics — First Times  — at dVerse Poets hosted this week (for the first time) by Fred Rutherford, whose beautiful prompt post includes the most atmospheric description of the Poets Pub, it's spirit and community. I wrote about the predictable "first" in the cinquain poetic form.




Image: Loss_of_Innocence by Never_let_me_go, via InVitr0 - The Talent Incubator (check out the artistic video announcing the latest call: Loss of Virginity)

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FormForAll: Tritinas • On Facebook

 
Old Wine by Bob Smith



On Facebook

I have found most all of my exes;
      reconnecting has brought surprised ohs.
Our lives inspire laughter and awe.

My first had haunted my dreams, struck awe
      some solder forging poison exes.
Hurt forgiven, such long-ago ohs.

Now old friends sign with exes-and-ohs;
      their comments delighting me with awe
of camaraderie among exes.

Bless you exes, friendship circle of ohs, tempered by time and awe.




Written for dVerse Poets Pub FormForAll, where Samuel Peralta's prompt is On Tritinas .....and a tribute to one of his favorite poets, Marie Ponsot, who created the formal Tritina poetic form. Visit the link to learn about the form and to read Tritinas by our host and others at the pub.

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