This Holy Place

NaPoWriMo  Day 11: no prompt. 

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The candle is lit.
Her resolute hand
sparks bright yellow flames
as gold iconography shimmers.

Statuary bears witness.
Tears spill sadness
as hearts laid open
silently name their fears away.

Well worn kneelers
impress needlepoint cross or dove
on bared knees of any age
bent in supplication.

Tourists shuffle
up and down aisles
whisper loudly
ignore the calligraphy hush.

Believers turned gawkers
their occasional donation
a tip for service
we pay for with our souls.

Monday’s Promise

April is National Poetry Writing Month.  NaPoWriMo 2015 is a challenge to write a poem every day in April.  Today’s prompt:  write an aubade – a morning poem….perhaps about love, perhaps about Monday.  

Monday’s Promise

Last night’s shooting star
carried my wish
streaking across the sky
someone listening
outside our universe
promised me
tranquility and love
in yesterday’s tomorrow.

Prism

The more I look at this one sentence poem, the more I understand how the words we choose can reveal so much about who we are.

This is indeed how I see the world — not in black and white, and not just in the shades of gray between those two choices. I love colors: their variety, life, warmth, and depth. How they can blend and blur.  So look below and tell me,  how would you answer the question?

 

Prism

When I’m asked How do you view the world?
I squint a bit under the bright lights
looking for the crimson of her scarf
and answer “Through a kaleidoscope.”

The Next Stage

Have you read About me yet?

So here I am, comin’ round the bend in my stages of life. And it occurs to me, there’s a reason why I bought a refrigerator magnet that says Do More of What Makes You Happy. Do you do that?  Guess what I choose in the poem below.

 

The Next Stage

A tectonic shift in life occurs
racing to the next mile marker.
Youth and middle age behind,
we peer
beyond the line.

This time
we will choose.
We’ve earned that right.
Read carefully
and then apply.

Wrinkle-free?
Slap on an age-defying
mystical cream
or pull on press-free
dungarees and tee.

Duty-free?
Must have
a tax-free everything-watch
or toss off the Timex and live,
task-free with exuberant flair.

The Tree

We lived in Bermuda for  35 days (Jan 24 – Feb 26) at Crooked Elbow, #5 Shinbone Alley. Bermudians in St. George name their homes. So we totally missed Boston’s 100+ inches of snow.  Well, not missed, but missed — you know what I mean.

We understood quickly why, during one of his stays in Bermuda, Mark Twain famously wrote, “You go to heaven if you want to, I’d rather stay here.”  We spent many a day in shirt sleeves hiking the Old Railway Trail.

            

The Tree

Sprawling twisted legs
of varied length and size
gnarled knotted and crawling over each other
seeking to be sure-footed on this earth.

Torso evolved into two odd-shaped
bark encrusted bodies fused as one
yet each side and angle unique
as if a fraternal twin.

Like many-armed goddess Durga
female in beauty strength and power
you bear fruit with crimson leaves
to protect your own from the maelstroms of nature.

A tree spirit, you walk and dance while rooted in solitude
your only partner a yellow breasted Kiskadee who
flits from branch to branch making its acquaintance
with all your wondrous limbs.

Pollyanna

If you haven’t read my About, now would be a good time. Looking at this post, it seems to fit with who I am quite well.

Sunflower

Pollyanna

She was called a pollyanna.
Positive exclamation addicted
she high-stepped and varied her pace
through life’s shifting textures.

Retrieving sea glass and a scallop-cut piece of shell
from the day’s foam ruffled waves
at the edge of iridescent aquamarine.

She lived as a greeter.
Always expectant, rounding each corner
to meet until-now unfound friends or catch
a coin’s shiny glint from the sidewalk’s crevasse.

A collector too, she gathered smiles as she
walked past and sometimes toward faces
moving to their meeting places for the day.

She said regrets lead backward.
Ruminations rehash long ago or too current
memories looking for what-ifs and what-thens
not in her mind the stuff of collectibles.

She chose to live today
and dream tomorrow
always loving forward.

This was written in response to a poetry class writing prompt: think about your regrets.  I sat down with my journal, a morning cup of coffee, and began to “spill” on the page. Thoughts, not coffee. And then I stopped. Not fun. And it wasn’t me. So I started again and out came Pollyanna. Have you heard the term? I can define it by something my daughter once said to me, Mom, every movie can’t be The Sound of Music!!!

The picture is from Provincetown, MA, many years ago. It just seems to fit with this post, right?  Besides, sunflowers always make me smile.