GEOGRAPHY

For Tuesday Poetics we’re asked to consider
GEOGRAPHY in an open-ended manner featuring
where we are, who we are and how it might impact
why we are who we are.  Whew!
Submitted to dVerse
March 26, 2019
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My belonging place is in north central Illinois near a tumbling
little creek called Rooks Creek.  Were I to empty a glass of
water into Rooks Creek where it flows past the little country
church of my childhood , it would join its waters as they meander
through the fertile black soil of the corn belt and find their way
into the Vermilion River.  The Vermilion is a  rowdy, obstinate
river that against all odds flows north to its confluence with the
Illinois River, where its waters are redirected south to its confluence
with the mighty Mississippi which travels south past the levees
of New Orleans into the Gulf of Mexico and hence into the
Atlantic Ocean.  Geography comes alive when I consider the
journey of the waters from my glass.  I once read “all the waters
of the world are one“.  Perhaps it is so. 

TROLLIFICATION

Time for a Quadrille (44 words only)
and our subject word is TROLL
The troll took a toll on me, so to speak!
Submitted to dVerse
March 25, 2019
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Say something spectacular
In 44 words, no more
A pox on the troll who spoils my fun
And counts behind the door

What wondrous things I might’ve said
If only I had the chance       
But  my spontaneity's been trollified
And now I’m left askance

ODE TO AN AMETHYST

It’s Open Link Night at dVerse, and I’ve chosen
to write an ode to my birthstone, the amethyst. Given
that politics seem quite odious at the moment, an ode
seems appropriate.  The amethyst  is said to promote
calm, balance and peace, and is also used to eliminate
impatience, of which I seem to have a good deal of late.
This IS a Beverly ode, after all, so don't look for a strophe,
antistrophe or epode!  I don't know exactly what they are.
Submitted to dVerse
March 21, 2019

Oh stone of purple, made from quartz
I call on your magic powers.
The State of the Union is dreadful,
the politicians rant for hours.
Our president goes on tirades
as scattered as grains of wheat
He’s seldom at the White House
and he’s running the country by tweet.

It’s become nearly impossible
to determine what is true.
In our state of desperation
I thought I’d turn to you
Oh stone of purple, we call on you
to cast a mighty spell
Please infect the fools with honesty and wisdom
before the country goes to hell.

IDENTITY

It’s Poetics Tuesday.  Gina has asked us
to ponder how our writing inspiration
and our occupation interact.  I’m retired
now, so it isn’t an issue, but once in the
long ago I paused to think about my
identity…the executive me and the
inner me.. Here were my thoughts back
in about 1995...(of course in one of my
folksy little rhymes),
******************

It’s important to know yourself, they say
Retain your identity
If that’s the case, then I’m okay
I’ve always known I’m me.

They call me lady executive
In the job that I have now
But I’m the same little farm girl
Who used to milk the cow.

I sit in on business luncheons
Where we all discuss loss and profit
But I’m the moppet who drove the tractor
When I could barely climb on and off it.

My co-workers think me efficient
And sometimes even wise
But I’m that same pudgy dreamer
Who used to catch fireflies.

Sometimes when I look in the mirror
I can hardly suppress a smile
Admittedly the exterior is changing,
But inside it’s been me all the while.

The inside me likes to take the time
To take up paper and pen
And indulge in childhood memories
And record my “remember whens”. 

MARDI GRAS

Poetics Tuesday at dVerse, and we’re
challenged to consider our thoughts
on some of the traditions of the Lenten season
or perhaps the tradition of Mardi Gras in New
Orleans.
Submitted to dVerse Tuesday Poetics
March 13, 2019
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Beyond the levee, the mighty Mississippi flows lazily to the ocean.

In the heart of New Orleans, around the area known as “The Quarter”,
it’s Mardi Gras.  The streets fill with marching musicians and elaborate
parade floats from which beads, aluminum doubloons and small treats
are tossed to the raucous crowds of revelers, some in elaborate and
gaudy mache masks, a razzle dazzle potpouri of humanity made up
of tourists and locals including Creole, Cajun, indian,  Spanish, French,
Zulu, and perhaps an occasional voodoo priestess, each bringing their
own ethnic tradition to the frenzied revelry, which continues into the
night, lighted by flaming flambeaux.  The air hangs heavy with the
scent of alcohol, smoke, pralines, King cake and Cajun  cooking.
It is the “festivale supreme”.

…and beyond the levee, the mighty Mississippi still flows lazily
to the ocean.

SPIKED PUNCH

Quadrille Monday #75 and De suggests
we feature SPIKE or a form thereof in
exactly 44 words.  If I hadn’t been limited
to 44 words, I think I could have had
more fun with this one!
Submitted to dVerse
March 11, 2019
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Why do speak, spake and spoke
not claim their cousin, spike
They wouldn’t be such a snobbish bunch
if they let him spike their punch .
If he spikes their punch today
tomorrow could they say he spoke it 
and consider it spiked or spoken

SELF ASSESSMENT

Open Link Night #238 and
Grace is our gracious hostess.
Here’s the result of a recent
midnight epiphany.
Submitted to dVerse Open Link
March 7, 2019
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I’m a woman with a word fetish
I’m the rhymer in the room
I know little about iambic pentameters
and the vaunted, dread pantoum
My poems just sort of come to me
simple little rhymes, ‘tis true
but I’ve learned to appreciate
the haibun and haiku
I find it’s quite constricting
to fuss with ABBA or such
trying to make my rhymes fit
annoys me pretty much
I admit I’m  old and cranky
but I think I would be worse
if I hadn’t become enlightened
 when I chose to visit dVerse

TIME

It’s Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, and
Lillian has asked us to choose a line from
The Ecclesiastes quote “For every thing
There is a season"
Submitted to dVerse Tuesday Poetrics
March 5, 2019

“…a time to cast away stones, a time to gather stones together”

The autumn of life is upon me

time to reflect on that which has been
and that which is to come
time to cast away the stones of
old grudges, old misdeeds and lost opportunities
Time to gather the stones of happy memories
of loved ones, good friends, babies birthed and raised,
challenges met and conquered,  time to
reflect on the faces of lives touched along the way.
a time for peace and a grateful heart.

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Bri.Rose, Artist