Follow the Clouds

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Follow the Clouds

Stairs direct eyes, climb to clouds
holy canopy to this house of God
inside wooden warmth minus marble cold
simplicity defines Divine.

Four elderly black women
dressed in crimson choir garb
raise voices in praise
sing hymns as ancestors sleep

I sit ramrod straight, cedar bench stiff
then kneel on threadbare cushions
and for the first time in many years
my spirit soars.

My Photos:  Her Majesties Chappel, St Peter’s Church, is the oldest surviving Anglican church in continuous use outside the British Isles, and the oldest Protestant Church in continuous use in the New World. Located in St. George, Bermuda, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, the interior is filled with pew boxes and ceiling rafters of cedar wood that was long ago, plentiful on the island — and then depleted by ship building and disease. The land to the west of the church was reserved for burying slaves prior to the British Empire’s emancipation of slaves in 1834. We were privileged to worship here every Sunday in February, 2015. Also using this for a photo challenge on CLOUDS

Those Were the Days

May12:  All poets, even house-poets, share bits and pieces of themselves every time they set pen to paper.  My poetry writing started in February, with an online class, and then another and another, with a wonderful teacher/mentor. A recent assignment: write a poem of celebration,  in an exhuberant mood, made from a list, possibly including negatives and positives.  Tall order.  This is what happened!

Those Were the Days

There’s Florida! I’ve got Maine. Shout outs
from the license plate game. Insert tapes.
Sesame Street morphed to Aretha.
R-E-S-P-E-C-T at the top of our lungs,
windows down, rolling along. Campfires
and that sloshing green water jug we lugged.
German shepherds, standard poodles.
One cat named Blossom, not mean like Siamese.
Recitals and running for yellow school buses.
Clouds of Aqua Net created almost asphyxiation.
Legos and taco suppers accompanied by
Circle of Love, our sung not said table grace.
Saucy beef stroganoff caused upturned
noses, just like Alice’s jello salad – green not red.
Escanaba cabin seven, just steps away from cold
Lake Michigan. Real play pens. Emphasis on safe and
play, not pen. RC Cola and Cool Ranch Doritos. Cold milk
and Oreos, no oatmeal and definitely not fish.
Birthday parties in 613’s orange and yellow family
room not at Chuckie Cheese or bowling alleys.
Singer sewing machine hummed near clunking
barbells by the chest freezer. Teenage angst appeared
with hot hormones. Not bad. Just challenging
and sometimes loud. Cymbals swished by foot thumping
bass drum while sticks twirled and beat. Juxtaposed
to sonorous organ chords or piano arpeggios.
Sweet Iowa corn with fresh-from-the-garden red
tomatoes. Melted butter and cherry juice slid down
licked fingers. Tractor tire sandbox in a city yard.
Pals walked to grade school with metal lunch boxes.
Not metal detectors. Split foyer house with upstairs
kitchen and one shower for all. Those Were the Days.

** Title inspired by the folksong, Those Were the Days….watch and listen to the original song by the Limelighters.

Forever

Sometimes, things happen in life that truly truly make you thankful for every day. I’ve been 46 + years now with the love of my life — and we are grateful for every day in this “rejuvenatement” period of our lives  (see my About for an explanation of the term). This poem was motivated by a poetry class assignment:  look very very closely at things around you and write about something you want to save from oblivion.  The mind jumps around and makes various connections, the pen writes, scratches out, and writes again…and this is the result.

Forever

Two gulls skitter about the shore’s edge
leaving track upon track, their dance notation.
Voices sound cacophonous shrills
wings flap, contract, and flap again.

IMG_4004Two children skip, swinging hand in hand
suddenly unjoin. Side by side, in unison
arms wide, they leap and jump
like gulls ahead who splash, lift and soar.

Waves rollick and return, out and always in.
Sea, animals, and children seen in twos
assault my oneness, so recently assumed
etched into being, sears and spills my tears.

Hands rest upon this familiar rail
seek coolness from the seasons’ heat
instead, send chills from hand to heart
my body, an eclipse of the sun.

Let go the rail. Come stand with me, my love
your life, not death, forever.

New Life Abounds

Early buds of spring tempt
like sizzling popcorn kernels
suddenly burst open
to joyful oohs and ahs.

Cheerful yellow daffodils
beside candy-striped tulips
nestle in new mown grass.

Wide-eyed passersby
enjoy blue hyacinth perfume
beneath canopies of creamy
white magnolia trees.

Discarded bulky coats reveal
bright topped pregnant bellies
as young women strut
like ducklings on parade.
New life popping everywhere!

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Photos of the sculpture Make Way for Ducklings, in Boston Commons. A mysterious unknown person always puts seasonal hats on the ducklings — these are their Easter bonnets!

Come Fly With Me

 

The large guest room hides
from baby squalls, ice cube maker
coffee grinder and garage door sounds
a three floor climb to indoor heaven.

Double bed entices with heirloom quilts.
Wall to wall, three-paned window
frames tall verdant backyard forest
invites dreams,  a portal to the mind.

Mornings are delectable. Sun filters
myriad shades of green, breeze shivers
through leaves, becomes visible in movement
dew evaporates chills to warmth.

Pure luxury to lie in bed, eyes open wide
as sun rays seep through window panes
left to right, flit from branch to branch
like reading nature’s tale revealed in glass.

Morning presents positive possibilities
light unchecked by darkness or distress.
I become the bird that spreads its wings
and flies toward the day.

Life’s Choices

City life can be invigorating. Sometimes I crave the natural of the sea.  The juxtaposition of these two got me to thinking about the two sides of myself and voila, this “person” resulted. I do think that sometimes, there’s a “reclusive idyllic” in all of us…..as in today’s Daily Post Word Challenge.

 Life’s Choices

Reclusive by nature
she lived everyone else’s dream
a New York-Wall Street-Starbucks life.

She woke ten years ago, exhausted
ignored the ticking clock
sipped coffee slowly and decided.

One greatly, not gently used car
stuffed suitcase, and road map later
she searched the road for seaside serenity.

Dune shack dweller these many years
she fancied herself a Crustacean
sliding through life sidewise.

Exo skeleton deliberately developed
avoids tourists, sudden noises
eye contact and sand castles.

Off-season, she feasts on quiet
vast stretches of sand, sea and sky
shell discarded, she feeds her soul.

Summer’s Delights

NaPoWriMo  April 29  and  Photo Challenge to share a photograph that captures motion and tell the story behind it.  Several summers ago we were delighted to have our daughter and grandchildren join us for a weekend in Provincetown. Oh the joys and innocence of childhood!

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Summer’s Delights

Apple tree blossoms in curly hair
knocked off their branches
during the morning climb
by scraped and knobby knees.

Sidewalks with white chalk not snow
crooked squares and wiggly numbers
smudged by hop scotch jumps
and dripping lime popsicles.

Seaside escapades scented by Coppertone
childhood tag at water’s edge
joy forever captured in portraits
of red-brown freckles on sun flushed cheeks.

Come Walk This Lane

NaPoWriMo Day 28:  no prompt

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Come Walk This Lane

We travel the road with smiles and song
two seniors, a little girl, and giggles galore.

Slowed by aging knees and cataracts
our steps hesitate on uneven ground.

Her six year prance, skips and tugs
a young colt straining against its reins.

Hands seasoned with brown age spots
grasp fingers fresh from popsicle licking.

The wheels on the bus go round and round
segways to Knock knock. Who’s there?

Elephants! Suddenly we’re swaying
makeshift trunks and holding tails.

Beware! Silliness is contagiously infectious
in close proximity to grandchildren.