No name and no identity. I was caged, abandoned. Lived in a shelter, not really a home.
Rise up . . . let ’em know my worth. Look ‘em in the eye and stand up tall.
Rise up . . . from obscurity. Major news story, I’m staking my claim.
Rise up . . . just walk on in. 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. DOUS. That’s actually me.
You try it now. Let ’em see your worth. Look ‘em in the eye and stand up tall.
It’s a new day a comin’. tell the whole world. I got this now, so you can too.
Written for Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets, where today Peter from Australia is hosting. He is looking at Poetry of Witness and asks us to go to our local newspaper and find a publicly reported event to write about. IE giving witness to an occurrence. That’s President-Elect Biden above, with his dog Major who he adopted in 2018 from the Delaware Humane Association. He was a shelter dog, abandoned to the shelter by someone for whatever reason. Unwanted. And now Major will be the DUSA (Dog of the United States), moving in to the White House on January 20th!
And the allegorical tail? Major teaches us that any person can stand up tall, look ’em in the eye and ultimately become POUS!
Caldron nearby she is the enigma, silver flowing garb white hair plaited high. Index fingers encased in wax, flame extinguished by gust from fleeing bats.
Eyes heavenward, pointing skyward she seeks illumination. Answering nay, consumed by clouds, lunar glow dims and disappears. Tear soaked cheeks dried on thinnest cloth sHow dwindling faith . . .
consumed moon pearls from tissue candle salve skulls of saints spiritual songs
her crooning voice cracks this hallowed eve. This burial ground, last chance to find her gods. All sounds, all hopes cease.
Pleas unanswered she returns to abysmal cave, forsaken and alone.
Written for Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Laura hosts and refers us to the American Poet, Samuel Greenburg. His “…feverish tubercular episodes gave him a verbal recklessness that lent itself to surrealism.” In The Pale Impromptu, written in 1915, he strings words together in indentations and to Laura, they appear like charms on a bracelet. She has listed for us twenty-one of these “charm” phrases from The Pale Impromptu and asks us to use five of them in our poem. I’ve attempted to use his form as well as five of his “charms” which are italicized for easy recognition. My apologies to Laura and Samuel Greenburg if I’ve not explained this very well.
Compass magnetized to truth, lead me to serenity. Through brazen brambles toward path with verdant ferns, emerald grass and sentinel trees. Close to streams unseen but heard. Soft swishes, trickles too, psalms in salient tranquility. Guide me through morass into a land of grace.
Written for Quadrille Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the world. Today De is hosting and asks us to include the word “magnet” or a form of the word in our poem that is exactly 44 words, sans title. Photo taken a number of years ago on trip to see our niece in Ohio.
In the wee hours of the morning my mind tumbles faces, places, memories. Little aches ping. Hand holds pen to write, conduit for black words birthed on white unlined page. What is this but a ledger of life?
Dids and dones undones and shoulda-dones woulda-dones, coulda-dones. Little ones raised to move on to raise little ones to move on to raise little ones to move on. Where in this pattern will I cease?
Dawn rises, stains sky in fiery reds oranges, glaring orange-reds. No sorbet pastel hues today. Yesterday’s clouds only wisps today. If they dissipate tomorrow, will their essence still exist somewhere in that indigo sky?
Someday, I shall no longer walk this earth. How many little ones raised to move on to raise little ones raised to move on will recall my name? Know where to find my words, poems once so thoughtfully scribed.
Perhaps I shall be a faded photo in an antique frame, dusty but shelved with someone’s knickknacks between Kahil Gibran’s The Prophet and James Patterson’s final mystery. And when I think about it, listening to the ocean roll in, I’m okay with that.
Click on link above to see video…takes a second to run. Written for Open Link Night at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. OLN means folks can post any one poem of their choosing; no prompts given. Video taken Wednesday, September 16 in the age of Covid….from our deck in Provincetown.
I take my walkabouts at the optimum time of day, always with my shadow in the lead, following her confident pace, one step at a time into my future.
I walkabout at half-past two. Toe-to-toe, my shadow leads the way then picks up the pace. We two-step then strut then run. We dare the future to trip us up, dare the sun to set.
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Peter, who is from Australia, tells us that we write like a dog and should edit like a cat! He asks us to rewrite a poem we’ve previously posted. I do like the second version better. Photo from Pixabay.com
I like my positive attitude my hazel-green eyes my dad’s white-streaked wave in my hair the Vionic shoes I wear to support my feet so I can dance when the mood strikes.
I love that I married my best friend that Face Time allows me to see our son that our daughter still laughs with us and our children still think our thoughts are important.
I love that I’m in my seventh decade and whenever anyone complains about growing old, I always say, “and aren’t we glad we are!”
In this age of Covid, I am blessed to be a recluse with the man I love to walk along the Charles River to be healthy and safe. I am humbled by my privilege.
Written for Poetics Tuesday at dVerse, the virtual pub for global poets. Today Sarah asks us to write a self-portrait poem. Last week , we walked along the Charles and then through Boston’s Public Garden, where this photo is taken. Since we do not own a car and avoid public transportation during this age of Covid, we explore and walk within a perimeter that our feet will take us. Can you tell we’re smiling for this selfie?
Wilting daisies crown her head. Twined in double-chain necklace wilted more, they weep happiness like old mood-rings on blue-veined hands.
Bare knees peek out beneath tie-dyed ruffled skirt. Tire-tread sandals grace her feet, big toes polished in fireworks.
She seeks nothing now, mind enveloped in hazy blur. Nothing but a return to youth before the savagery of time.
Love IS. Love the world. Love everyone as your kin. Crooked sloppy words painted on torn off shingle.
She holds it high for no one to see, proud of its weathered look. Blotched spots drip from letters like tears shed in her dementia world.
At seventy-one, determined to return, she roams these Woodstock fields empty now, save her memories. In her mind, she is there, back in her revolutionary days.
Merril is hosting Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Today she asks us to consider the idea of revolution. We can write about it in any way: revolution of the planets, a spinning top, a political revolution, new ideas and inventions, medical discoveries. You get the idea.
What’s happened? How can I be a Russian Nesting Doll? Shrinking. Shrinking. Travelers were we. Recently returned from China, South Korea and Japan. Walked the Great Wall. Reveled in Mt Fuji and cherry blossoms. Sailed the seas. Viewed sunsets and sunrises across waves. Escaped Boston’s winter in San Diego sun. Two months walking Balboa Park, La Jolla coast. Seafood galore. Joyfully we planned for our 50th anniversary to meet our children and their children. Long weekend in Washington DC. Laughter, love, and more love. Then Covid-19 raced across our land. And yours too. Told to stay at home we are minimized. I exist on a much smaller plane. Just me here in these few rooms. But at least I am with you.
Written for Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Today Laura asks us to “conjure a room or rooms in the literal, functional, metaphorical, imaginary, or fantastical sense.” I am struck by how the Covid-19 has shrunk our world and decreased our living space….our “living rooms” so to speak. And thus this post. Image from Pixabay.com