Poetry Thursday: Poetry Post Card Exchange

A postcard of an e.e. cummings' poem, wonderful!

And an original poem from Jan on the back.

I love the last line about her son being bigger that the imagination can hold.

January over at Poetry Mom extended an invite to send a postcard with a poem. She would send one in return. So I sent mine and this past week, hers arrived. What a joy to get.

It makes me think I may try this with my poetry club this year. If you would like to do a poetry postcard exchange, let me know.

Poetry Thursday: An Open Window

an open window
moon glow spills silver in
summer living room
pull you close
my night spoon
rise and fall of breath
lulls me asleep
my dreams
dance through
an open window


What do they say one door closes and another opens? This is the last week for Poetry Thursday. Liz and Dana have done a fabulous job. They say another poetry place is coming. I hope so. It has been such a joy to write weekly and be connected with writers.

Poetry Thursday: Summer

Like the moderators of Poetry Thursday, I have been taking a break from writing a poem each Thursday. Yesterday, a poem came knocking as I sat in the backyard to read.

Summer

Fresh air living space
I sit, rest, and watch
Spotted towhees flit here, there
Scrounging the next meal

I sit, rest, and watch
A warm breeze caresses
Wind chimes lull me asleep
My book falls to the ground

A warm breeze caresses
Whirring wings of the hummingbirds
As they send Morse code messages
To each other

The whirring wings of the hummingbirds
Am I dreaming?
A petite energy warehouse
Cupped in my hands and released

Am I dreaming?
Short rapid barks startled me
I awaken. Pick up my book
Surrounded by fresh air living space

Yikes. Sad news. I visited Poetry Thursday to leave my link and found out that Poetry Thursday will be ending in August. Hopefully, someone will pick it up. It is such a cool web page for poetry prompts.

Poetry Thursday: Humor

We have been invited to write a humorous poem for Poetry Thursday. I have been dealing with annoying allergies this spring. This popped into my head. To be honest, I don't do rhyming much so I am a bit surprised.

Sunny day, pollen count
Runny nose makes me pout
Flowers grin at the bees
Would someone pass
Me Kleenex, please
Wonder why my eyes must cry
Allergies the bees reply
Stay inside, instead of out
Sunny day, pollen count

To smile or laugh out loud, visit Poetry Thursday.

Poetry Thursday: Reflections

Poetry Thursday is giving a free week. A week to do as we wish. Perhaps a poem will surface and/or perhaps those participating in NaPoWriMo need a break or a time to reflect.

Hi, I am Jone and I am a poet. I wrote 30 poems in 30 days. It sounds somewhat of a recovery group.

NaPoWriMo pushed me to write every day. I have not ever written for that many days in a row. I only missed one day of actual writing of a poem. I feel pretty proud of myself.

I walked around a little lost on Tuesday. I didn't have to write so I didn't. I took a break. The break led into Wednesday. So how does one keep up the practice? I am trying to form the habit of writing in daily pages. Can I do a page a day for thirty days?

I wrote a lot of haiku. Sometimes I feel like that's cheating. They are so short but they are also so in the moment. I try to stay in the moment. I wrote some pantoums, a style I was introduced to and like quite a bit. I was glad for the daily prompts from the women of PT. Some days, it was the seed I needed.

I didn't comment on other people's writing as much. No time. Some days after teaching all day, after schools activities, and other commitments if was enough to get a poem written. I feel bad when I don't get around to the blogs to comment. It is this little neighborhood community and I missed the conversation. I do appreciate the comments and visit by others.

How do you choose a favorite poem over your other poems? They are your little creations. But I have a few I think about. Two are haiku, two are pantoums and one is free verse.

Day Five
Broken threads, dried up little cloth worms
Discovered while cleaning the garage, looking at theremains of your library. Rest here.

Day Fifteen
Mother’s pearl necklace in hand
Her last gift
Offered as peace and understanding
Son receives it graciously
(Rest here.)

Day Seventeen and Day Twenty Written after the news of Virginia Tech. My cousins go to school there.

Day Twenty-one
Garden Tips
In the dead of winter
read seed catalogs, poems for the
garden (rest here)

Also on Day 21
Rooted
Uprooted my roots at seventeen
Transplanted to Oregon, a college girl
Roots needed fresh soil
Good growing environment (rest here)

It was a good month. I feel a like I have sowed many poetry seeds this month. I can tend to them like my garden.

If you read any of my poetry for April, I would love to know which, if any spoke to you. For more Poetry Thursday responses, go here.

NaPoWriMo: Broken Thread

Writing Prompt for day five of NaPoWriMo: “broken thread”. I carry a verse from William Blake in my “poems I collect” journal.
From “For the Christians”:

“I give you the end of a golden string
Only wind it into a ball,
It will lead you in at Heaven’s Gate
Built in Jerusalem’s Wall.”

William Stafford, one of my favorite poets, often referred to the above lines. One of my favorites of his from Writing the Australian Crawl:
“Only the golden string knows where it is going, the role for the writer of reader is one of following not imposing.”

I draw inspiration from these two men as well as the prompt today.

Broken threads, dried up little cloth worms
Discovered while cleaning the garage, looking at the
remains of your library. A broken thread
tucked in yellowed yearbook pages. A message
jumps out, describing a scene I did not know:
You roller skating on the third floor of the dorm
You, telling ghost stories until the wee morning hours.

Graduated, ready to serve your country, married
instead. Broken thread of the
dusky blue dress, remnant of your bridal gown
slipped in the pages of your Catholic Bible. Six months later,
you and dad climb aboard the Greyhound bus.
Heading west, your Bible packed next to his from the
Presbyterian church.

Settling into the warmer clime, place of sunshine,
Orange groves, opportunity. You and dad worked
out the ups and downs of married life sans
family opinion. You tucked a broken thread from my
baptismal dress into my first Bible
Easter Sunday, 1953, orange blossoms
perfumed the air.

These broken threads and others
tucked away like some gigantic puzzle of
your life. I sort them
wondering how to weave it altogether
now that
you no longer walk this earth
leaving broken threads behind.

Today is also Poetry Thursday, to see what others are writing and who is participating in NaPoWriMo, visit here.

From This Window

The ladies at PT are taking the "imaged defined" a step further this week. Find a piece of art that you really enjoy, be in that art, and write, you know experience "ekphrasis"(verbal description of a work of art).

Georgia O'Keefe is mostly likely onr of my favorite artists. I love her work, stayed at Ghost Ranch(where she once lived) and walked the hills behind the ranch.

Okay, I hope this is okay to do. I got the image from http://www.artst.org/. I hope I am not violating copyright laws. Here's my poem:

1940 - The Patio - No. 1
painting by Georgia O'Keefe

From this window
Witness
Hills turning tangerine red
Each evening

From this window
Witness
Amaranth tumbling across the desert
Each evening

From this window
Witness
Wind and coyote howling at the new moon
Each evening

From this window
Witness
I wait for your return
Each evening

To see who landed in which painting, click here.

Poetry Thursday: Image Inspired

Dragonfly @ Glen Echo, 2005

Momentary rest
Dragonfly tranquility
Blink - vanishes

Just this week, the photo cd which contained this image surfaced. I am so happy to have found it once again. It's one of my favorite photos as I love dragonflies.

There are more lovely images and poetry here.

P.S. I have been asked some questions about the community of blogging, would love your input. The questions are at this recent post. Thanks.

Poetry Thursday: Defined

From Poetry Thursday:
Look up a bunch of words in the dictionary. Look at the entries only, not the definitions. Don’t even peek at the parts of speech. What you’re after is some groovy, weird word that you don’t know the meaning of but that you like for whatever reason. You might want to make a list of several words. For your poem, select the word you like most and write a poem that defines it. Not like a real definition, which you couldn't do anyway because you don’t know what the word means. It can be a wacky definition, a way-out-there definition, an over-the-top definition, even a definition that contradicts itself.

Okay, easier said than done for "little-miss-I-must-read-the definition". So I had my husband give me a list of words from The Official Scrabble Dictionary. The two words that I like best were "ferula" and "brumby". I decided to use "ferula". After I was finished with the poem I looked up the words. I really wish I would have also used "brumby" or worked it into the poem but now knowing the meaning, I felt it would be totally cheating.

Ferula in the Distance

A ferula in the distance
Fog settles on the river
A furtive glance and
Foraging begins

Fog settles on the river
Ribbon like
Foraging begins
In the quiet moment of dawn

Ribbon like
Water sprites crisscross
In the quiet moment of dawn
Spirits bade farewell

Water sprites crisscross
A furtive glance and
Spirits bade farewell
A ferula in the distance

Poetry Thursday: Red

Red lipstick tube
Streaking down the expressway
A traveling
Carnival ride on wheels

Whooshing wind
Blowing hair, songs, words,
Floating
Towards the sky

Looking up
Tree arms stretching over us
Creating
An emerald canopy

Your fingers dancing
On my skin, remembering Costa Rica
Driving
A ribbon candy road

This is a revision of a poem written years ago. I have been dealing with a naughty tooth. Root canal yesterday.

For more red, visit here.

Poetry Thursday: Beauty Without a Name

From the Window

Silver french knots twinkle on
midnight blue velvet
silent trees keep vigil
deep fuchsia-rose-flame scarves
tip toe in dance, signaling
feathered choir's performance,
lauds this canonical hour
Buttery essence arrives
Flickering new beginnings

It took me awhile but I did it. I knew from the first what to describe. The how without totally saying what it was; my challenge. Thank to Poetry Thursday and using Chris Sapp's idea. Sometimes we all need to stretch.

The Body Knows

The body knows
Secrets of the night
Hears whispers, feels caresses
Syncopated breathing

Secrets of the night
Candlelight flickers, shadows dance
Syncopated breathing
Sleepy souls spoon

Candlelight flickers, shadows dance
Sounds linger, fade away
Sleepy souls spoon
As the tide is rising

Sounds linger, fade away
Draping arm pulls the body closer
As the tide is rising
Gibbous moon appears

Draping arm pulls the body closer
Hears whispers, feels caresses
Gibbous moon appears
The body knows

I discovered the poem form, the pantoum, as I was judging the poetry books for the CYBILS Award. The form has been percolating in me. For more poetry, click here.

Poetry Thursday: Prose Poetry

Well, first of all, let's sing a little "Happy Birthday" to Poetry Thursday. The are a year old today. What a challenge they put before all of us. (not nearly as bad as the mathematical proof)
Write a prose poem. I looked through my writing, thought of writing, and then decided to tried revising a poem I wrote over ten years ago. It was inspired by the vigil being held for Nicole Brown Simpson on the anniversary of her death.

Day Five

Oncoming traffic prevents her from turning left. She loses time. She loses place. She is the dutiful pupil remembering to look left, right, and then left again. Courthouse looms ahead but this is not her destination. She sees the temporary clothesline. More tee shirts line the stairs leading to the courtroom doors. She pulls over, stops the truck, jumps out. She needs a closer look, yet trembles as she walks toward the scene. Are you still hitting? After twenty years I am at peace I cannot take it anymore I live but my mommy does not
Tee-shirts flap as the wind whips them around. She loses time. She loses place. She weeps and flinches as the hand rests on her shoulder. “Would you like to make one?”
She takes a tee shirt and the pen:
When will it end? Her tee shirt flutters free. She wonders who felt violence during this brief, peaceful vigil.

As originally written:
Day Five

Oncoming traffic

she decides not to turn

left until 13th

at Franklin

She is the dutiful

school girl remembering to

look both directions

sees the

courthouse

a clothesline of tee-shirts

flapping

lining the stairs

She stops the truck

jumps out

are you still hitting?

after twenty years, I am at peace

I can't take it anymore

I live but my mommy doesn't

unaware of the time

a hand rests

on her shoulder

would you like to make one?

She takes the tee shirt and the pen

when will it stop

two clothespins her tee shirt

flutters freely

who felt violence during this

peaceful vigil?

For more prose poetry, visit Poetry Thursday.

Poetry Thursday: Changes

Wrinkly, tiny feet
Universe bids you welcome
Kissable pink toes


Wobbly walking steps
Curiosity, your friend
Invites you to play


These are the changing feet of my granddaughter, born February 5, 2005. Her feet have seen a lot of changes in a year.
For mre changes, go to Poetry Thursday.

Why I Love Poetry

Why I Love Poetry

I have a thirty minute commute to school each morning. Great time to ponder prompts. Must be something in the air. The prompt over at One Deep Breath was on the process or craft of writing haiku earlier. What synchronicity this week.
I have always written poetry, love the word play, brevity of words lingering long after in my brain.

Calming the spirit
Centering poem prayer
Daily guiding thoughts

Magic word moments
Dancing across mind pages
Encore on paper

For more on the love of poetry, visit here.

Poetry Thursday

This is a great prompt from Poetry Thursday this week. We were to leave a line for the taking and borrow other lines. Fun, fun, fun. Day three of snowed and iced out of school.

Chance Meeting

The email, an olive branch, inviting
You to lunch
Too busy: kids
Work
school
to meet without an agenda
“Another time, perhaps”
Parents died years ago
Aware I am not innocent in creating the chasm
Between us.

Our blood flows fast in currents of time
Chasing after blue-bellied lizards, sand crabs
Perfect for belly buttons
Fighting, our feet as weapons on car trips
Dinnertime talk, me mostly listening as
Parents riddled with question after question
Annoying younger sibling habit
I left for college
Unaware it would be a lifetime away
Between us.

I enter the restaurant, Friday evening.
Standing room only.
Familiar couple sitting at the bar
Savoring a liquid dinner
Silver white hair, double take
Parents died years ago.
Our blood flows fast in currents of time
Performing the “duty” hug
Aware there are no coincidences in this journey
Between us.


Thank you to Sassy Dewy ( I am not innocent) and Tammy ( Our blood flows fast in currents of time) for their quotes. Thank you to Liz and Dana for a great prompt idea. For more "borrowed lines" visit Poetry Thursday.

Poetry Thursday: Cliche

Morning chat with you
Forgot to ask a question
Angels arrived later

The prompt for this week was "cliche". I particularly like the one " Don't put off tomorrow what you can do today" (it is more likely a proverb). It has been three years this month that my dad has been gone.

Hooray: The Top One Hundred

My aunt and a friend of her encouraged me to submit this photo into a contest. I found a local one which is a fundraiser for the Multnomah County ESD Outdoor School Program. I was surprised to see it made the "Top 100" semi-finalists. There were 165 contributors and almost 1400 photos to select from. Now anyone who desires can vote for their favorite "Top 10".
Here's how to vote.

1. Please go to http://www.photooftheyear.net/default.asp?pageid=-602262091.
2. Click on How to Vote”
3. Choose the “Top 100”.
4. Find my photo of the Dahlia Center and vote for it and 9 others

My goal: to make the top 10.
You can vote until January 22nd.

Time Zones

Poetry Thursday introduced us to the Gumball Poetry website. Can you imagine? You put a quarter in a machine and instead of gum you get a poem. How cool is that? I think I want to find a gumball machine and do this with student's poems.

So I checked on the submission part of the poetry website, only to discover they are full up with potential submissions for now. This is the poem I would submit.

Time Zones

Three o'clock in the morning
I lay awake. Our dog's moist pointy nose
nuzzles the ell of my knees.
You sleep soundly.

East coast bakers swing open doors,
releasing aroma ribbons, invisible hooks
pulling early morning workers inside for
hasty cups of coffee and warm pastries.

West of me, moonlight guides a lone wanderer
roaming deserted streets
Church bells sound off, an alarm clock
proclaiming a new day.

I turn over, draping my arm over your midriff,
pulling you closer. Breathing synchronizes,
our dog shifts south
All this while you sleep soundly.


For more, go to Poetry Thursday.

Elizondo Street

Look alike houses lining the street
You, my best friend, next door
Planning our next adventure
Lathering ourselves with baby oil
No sunscreen here on Elizondo Street.

“Big Red” my dad’s endearment to you
“Monkey” you called me
Walking to school, singing
Zeppelin anthem, off key
No buses for us on Elizondo Street.

Arriving home, waving “good-bye”
Our front doors open, we enter
A phone call first before homework begins
Regaling the day’s events
No text messages then on Elizondo Street.

Swearing off boys only to
Rediscovered them
Exploring, secret whisperings
Your mom on late night patrol
No questions asked on Elizondo Street.

Thirty plus years has passed
on Elizondo Street.
Families grown, parents gone
Emails sent regaling our daily lives
Friendship remains.

Oh this was harder than anticipated and a work in progress. That's why the late, late posting.