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Posts from the ‘Poetry’ Category

11
Nov

The Thing I do Best is Now the Thing I Do FIRST

Shifting Priority

I have decided to change my priority
without worrying about inferiority
or the ways of the majority.
No longer will I pretend to put domestic concerns
ahead of my life’s purpose — Writing!

Back in the day any writing I did was secondary,
or confined to the secretary’s desk.
For a housewife back then
furtive moments  were doled out as rewards
or stray  opportunities to pen
wayward words or purloined phrases,
words of wisdom…
a note, a word, a reminder
–confined to the backs of envelopes
or shopping lists,
written in pen or pencil…or lipstick
or eyebrow pencil…

Gone are the days when making soup,
baking cookies…
and  pies
scrubbing and ironing…
or dashing through the store with a grocery cart
–all had  top priority over the Writing Art.
No frilly little aprons or caps
are needed to fulfill MY kind of Real Work–
no pretty cotton dresses
and certainly no high heels!

For now on–I have decided that Writing has top priority
and rather than hide it (regardless of seniority)
the thing I do best is the thing I do FIRST.

 ©Sometimes2015

8
Nov

A Word to the Wise

Why Blog?

All it takes to write in a Blog

Is a Writer who is a Blogger

and a Reader who reads Blogs.

If someone is reading that Blog

–even if the blog is about nothing

then all the components are there:

the Blogger blogs,

and the Reader reads.

And IF he is reading, and she is blogging

then there is a connection

a piece of her mind

for good or for bad

is read and ingested

and taken to heart.

So what if the Post is about Nothing?

If its being read someone is interested

this is obvious right from the start.

The Key to blogging may be

not so much clever phrases

or figures of speech

as simply a communication.

So, if a blog is about Something

then it can’t be about Nothing.

What does that all mean?

If one is blogging…

well, they are blogging.

and if Reading?

Thank you for reading along!

5
Nov

grand central station draft

the grand central station of the universe
souls of the travelers
lost in time
waiting eternally for their Lost Ones
waiting for the other shoe to drop
searching for the One that has come and gone
taking along the tattered and lonely souls
and broken hearts existing on the edge
and biding their time in waiting

What track is this?
did I miss my connection?
How far have I traveled afar and wide
should I have waited?
waited for you to return, even though you
said you wouldn’t…or couldn’t
did you say you should not?
though I know you wanted to.

There was never time to see it through
to a conclusion, whatever that could have been
is lost in a never-ending conundrum
what would have happened?

?l

29
Oct

Generosity!!! Reblogged from Autumn Ambles … with The Bride

This lovely flower photo reminds me of a beautiful dress…perhaps a wedding gown. I enjoy the photo and the poem so much that I was inspired to write a short rhyme of my own. Thanks to Bushka, of Autumn Ambles, for allowing me to re-blog.

[My poem, entitled The Bride, is below.]

THE BRIDE

A teardrop fell on her beautiful dress,
she saw it not, under her stress.
Her hand she could give, but not her heart
for that belonged to another to live
far and forever apart.
She smiled through her tears,
as she said her vow
and gently resigned herself to tomorrow.
©Sometimes,2015

Autumn Ambles

smile emoticon kolobok

No fairer lass there ever be
Than Generosity,
Her comeliness for all to see,
Sans animosity –
Patent felicity!

 ©Meanderings 2015

smile emoticon kolobok

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28
Oct

On Writing Poetry… with a nod to Miss Edwards

I have always been a writer.  At age twelve, more or less, I wrote a novel.  Although I don’t recall any details of the plot, or characterization,  I do remember a name…Joyce Reena Phane.   That was to be my pen name, I believe.  To me that name was beautiful, and the very essence of sophistication.   I was quite proud of my novel, such as it was, and when my aunt asked to read it I was delighted.   Aunt Jada was a writer herself, and was working on a novel dealing with a group of Kent State students during the Vietnam War.  She loved my novel, and was impressed enough to talk with her sister, my mother, about it.

That was the end of that.    My mother was a very practical and down-to-earth woman, whose no-nonsense beliefs had no room for frivolous or non-productive pursuits.   As far as she was concerned no one made a living from writing books, especially if they had no college education–and the prospect of ME going to college was out of the question.   Besides, my writing was childish, the plot far-fetched and the characters unrealistic…and the pen name I had chosen so carefully was silly and unlike a name any real person would have.  The early….and only…draft of that novel consisted of several notebook paper pages, which no longer exist.

I did continue my creative writing, with encouragement from my seventh grade English teacher, Mr. Wilkinson.

I have some early poetry written in a brown notebook, one of those old dime-store notebooks  that were cheap and plentiful.  In addition to my own works of poetry, I have in those pages the complete Edgar Allen Poe, The Raven, copied in my neat and even cursive handwriting.   Also much of Macbeth, Shakespeare’s masterpiece which had also been immortalized as our high school play.  I was so enamored of that classic that I saw fit to enter much of the original play into my notebook.  There is also some poetry that I can still recite in part this many decades later…I was quite proud of my poems which also immortalized some of my early loves in my handwriting.   I used a fountain pen with real ink, and when I made an error I ripped out the notebook page entirely and started over.  I still think that the handwriting on those pages are perhaps the most endearing aspect of the whole brown notebook.  I wish I still loved my handwriting as well as I did then.

As for Shakespeare, my exposure to his works were in my Junior or Senior year of high school, when the truly marvelous reading by our English Literature teacher–who was also the school principal–sends shivers up my spine to this day.  I always stayed on Miss Edwards’ good side.  She was a small woman in stature, tough as any marine sergeant, and did not need any police personnel to maintain order over her classes–or her school.  One of the things I liked about Miss Edwards is that she liked my writing…she is definitely one of my mentors who had a positive effect on my life.

Ah well– I will never make it as a poet, but as long as I like my poetry and other bloggers occasionally say something nice about it as well–it is worth the oft-times lame verse that escapes my fountain pen….er, keyboard.

28
Oct

Cycle of Red

DSC04624.jpg

Red Maple

CYCLE OF RED

Maple tree dressed in Red

remember the warm days of Fall

dream forward to Spring

when new buds have unfolded

and Green leaves look forward to Red.

26
Oct

Direct Line

The Moon, far away as it is bright
dims the brighter light of the stars
My eye sight follows the path of that light
passing the light-years between

Knowing full well the facts of the Moonlight
reflecting the light of the Sun,
it nevertheless leads me to imagine
that the Moon makes its own light from within.

Even if Galileo himself, who charted the Sun,
were to explain with patience and tact
I still would ignore him and blissfully say:
“Please dont confuse me with facts.”

26
Oct

Soul Reverie

I like a rhyme that curls the toes and mists the brow
telling a tale as fresh as tomorrow that comes in a dream but is real
and chills the heat of the restless kiss, escaping a lover’s lips.

Nothing spoken caresses the impact on the senses
like a passionate poem with soul-filled stanzas
I like a rhyme that curls the toes and mists the brow.

To a reverie back in time to the moment that captured the soul
lost in the soul-mate meeting, found in the loss of the Self
and chills the heat of the restless kiss, escaping a lover’s lips

O what has become of the reverie that comes in a dream but is real
longing for belonging, for only the Lost and the Found
I like a rhyme that curls the toes and mists the brow
and chills the heat of the restless kiss, escaping a lover’s lips

25
Oct

Namesake

Some have a sailing ship named for them, with duly lauded verse

Others have a baby relative named in their honor, for better or worse

For me they named a hurricane Patricia…and I’m simply blown away

(with apologies to Mexico…)

18
Oct

BRAIN WORKING

(This poem is my first entry for the group MAGPIE TALES. http://magpietales.blogspot.com/2015/10/mag-290.html
The inspiration is this drawing , No. 8, Black Flowing, Jackson Pollock

No. 8, Black Flowing, Jackson Pollock

No. 8, Black Flowing, Jackson Pollock

 

BRAIN WORKING

So many thoughts and images
tangle and mingle and jiggle
the senses
Life in my brain is filled with riches
and images, clearly vivid
through lenses

Here is joy and happiness
awe and mystery, new invention
Never too full, always room for more
learn as much about all things
no limit — that’s my intention.