Sea Bound

 

                    

The sea reaches out with foamy fingers

the sandy shore to grip,

then retreats and repeats o’er and o’er.

She well knows her bounds

set forth by God at His command

and illustrated by King Canute.

 

                    

Winter Go Away

                         Spring

Mornings of green grass covered with dew

Soft fragrant breezes and skies of blue
Butterflies, pansies of startling hue
These are the memories I always choose
When winter lingers and slyly coos
That she’ll never leave, she’s such a shrew.

March I believed every word she said

April was sad, many tears we shed
Then May arrived and my faith was fed
with visions of beauty filling my head.
Winter tried hard to fill me with dread
but Spring came and lined my flower bed.

Ah, spring, would I have loved you as well

had I never known cold winter’s knell
announcing outside this self-made  cell
(I call retreat) and to all that dwell
in the Snow Queen’s wintery icy spell.
I’d love you not so well, truth to tell.

 

In-Form Wed

Take a line or phrase from another's poem and write your own. "Nothing is as cheerful" from

WALT’S WALTZ - Walter J. Wojtanik –Feb.  2013

 

Nothing is as Cheerful

 

Nothing is as cheerful 
as a newborn  baby’s coo 
a slobbery kiss or two
playing  peekaboo.

Nothing is as cheerful

as sunbeams on my face
a book and comfortable place
drawing that fourth ace.

Nothing is as cheerful

as a cup of hot minty tea
a sunset over the sea
you and me becoming we.

 

 

Rubáiyát

The Rubáiyát is a Persian form made of several quatrains. Its name derives from the Arabic plural of the word for “quatrain.” This, in turn, comes from the Arabic Rubá, meaning “four.”
This Persian form of poetry is an unlimited series of rhymed quatrains. In each quatrain, all lines rhyme except the third, leading to this pattern:
a
a – 2nd line rhymes with the first.
b
a – 4th line rhymes with the first and second


               Sweet Spring

Indolent breezes gently waft perfume,
eau de lilac, from mauve clusters of bloom
that float on spring’s congenial currents
like silk threads woven on a fairy loom

I raise my windows and open the door
as fierce neural pleasures tingle my core
while breathing in great fragrant draughts of scent
that rivals any distant sultry shore.

Oh spring, spring, with sweet Syringa flower
the dismal winter you over power
in purple paroxysm you chide Jack Frost
Undoubtedly, this your finest hour.

Surprised by Joy (apologies to CSLewis)

This is one of those rare, rare days that I live for, long for and am always surprised by.  There have been only a handful of these days in my 61 years. I am truly blessed to experience them, more, to recognize them for what they are. Insight is everything.

I tried this morning to describe to myself what it is I feel that is so different from all other days. Peaceful? Yes, but that isn't it. Relaxed? Yes, but again not it. Pain free? That's a biggy but not it either. Then, suddenly, I knew. I knew I fit into this small part of the universe where normally I am just slightly out of synch. For these brief moments I fit snuggly into the puzzle board (the wooden one that the pieces fall from so easily), straight, tight, aligned, instead of my usual wonky fit. 

Tomorrow I'll arise to life as normal, but that is OK. To have had and to have these rare moments of perfection is bliss. Maybe this is what Heaven holds.

IN-FORM POET WEDNESDAY – IMAGISM Poetic Bloomings

Imagism is the name given to a movement in poetry aimed at clarity of expression through the use of precise visual images. The early period often written in French form was Imagisme.Use the language of common speech, but employ exact words, not the nearly exact, nor the merely decorative word.
Try your hand at connecting with the Imagism spirit. Be descriptive and paint the visual picture. Good luck.

            Wintry Night

The sky is black and endless

with pinholes of light
that flicker
glimmers of white and blue.

The air is shivery cold

forced into lungs
with short painful gasps
of needlelike stabs.

The snow kicked up

by a stray gust
swirls a tiny tornado
of diamond dust.

The wind moans a fey song

in the trees, limbs sway
like a deranged dancer
moving only from the waist.

The silence is sudden, stark

filling the night with expectation.
A frozen branch cracks-
a cannon’s boom.

This wintry night,

breathtaking, lovely,
wild, alien
is crushingly lonely.

Poetic Bloomings... glad I found you.

I was recommended a new site recently. You probably noticed from some of the poems on this page. They do prompts on Sundays and Wednesday, which are a lot of fun and really good practice. I have seen lots of websites for poets, some have been really dreadful. Even I, amateurish and unlearned that I am, cringe at some of the offerings. I know that sounds like I think 'I'm all that' but if you have looked you must know what I'm talking about. I know, from personal experience, that stringing words together in a perfection of form is not what makes a poem. It is the difference between a kazoo band and an orchestra. They call poetry a craft for a reason.

Anyway, I strayed from my intention. I wanted to say that at Poetic Bloomings not only did I find people who are talented, able poets and poets that I hope to learn from, but they are incredibly kind, helpful and encouraging to each other. The first prompt I attempted -not bad- but certainly not the caliber typically found on the site was met with positive, friendly responses, though just pats on the back is not all (smile) I want. I hope to be perceptive enough to read their poetry and discern technique and heart and thereby improve my own renderings.

I am quite fortunate to meet with a mentor once a week. He is a published author of poetry and flash fiction. He is passionate and practical about writing and an excellent teacher having taught for more than 30 years before retiring with his wife, Sharon, to WV. You can find an interview with him here: Salvatore Buttaci... 
http://poeticbloomings.com/2011/08/17/web-wednesday-salvatore-buttaci/

Sometimes, I feel my writing is nothing more than an exercise in vanity.  Other times, I feel it is worthwhile if for no other reason than it meets a need in me, a creative need. If it should touch someone else's life at the same place as mine then I guess that would be ideal.