POISON IVY

It’s Tuesday poetics, and Kim gives us
a challenge to write a poem in the format
and style of either Sylvia Plath or Ted Hughes.
It must be about something that grows or
multiplies and is in some way invasive.   I
like Plath’s brief tercets, and poison ivy
comes to mind.
Submitted to dVerse
November 26, 2019
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Such a lovely vine
winding its way
up the tree

Some speak of it
with warning
“Beware leaves of three!”

In innocence
I touched it
Oh, woe is me.

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GRATITUDE

Haibun Monday -
Frank asks us to consider gratitude
on this week of our Thanksgiving
celebration.
Submitted to dVerse
November 25, 2019

Lord, help me to not take for granted the
good things in my life.  Help me to remember
there are those who would be grateful for such
simple things as a roof to shelter them from storms, 
enough sustenance to satisfy the gnawing hunger
that is part of their daily existence, for  clean water
to slake their thirst,  for a safe place to sleep at
night, and  for the ability to walk the streets of
their homeland without fear of gunfire or
mayhem.  Help me to celebrate gratitude for
small daily miracles that often go unnoticed,
and to face each day with a grateful heart.
     **************
daily miracles
pass by our way unnoticed
may we be aware

THE ME GENERATION

Frank asks us to choose and describe a poetic style.  I find myself always turning to the more traditional poems, finding their rhythm soothing.  Research tells me "A traditional poem is any poetic work that adheres to a definite verse structure or set of characteristics. traditional poems are known for typically following particular rhyme schemes and metrical patterns. However, contemporary poems favor free verse, which employs no rhyme or poetic meter."   I'm afraid I don't know how to describe the metrical pattern of this poem, if any!  Thanks to Frank for sending me on a journey of research to try to identify my "style"!
Submitted to dVerse
November 21, 2019
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It’s the “me” generation
It’s in vogue to please yourself
The idea is highly touted
In the books upon the shelf.

Self-fulfillment, self-enrichment
Look out for number one
If it works so well, I wonder
Where happiness has gone?

The divorce rate is steadily climbing
And many are at the end of their rope
Are we so busy feeding our egos
We’re running out of cope?

Our houses are growing larger
At quite an alarming rate
First we have to find one another
Before we can communicate.

Our children grow up with a sitter
Who has problems of her own
When we decide to spend time with them
We find they’re nearly grown.

The men are at the golf course
And the women at the pool.
And the children leave the sitter’s
And go to nursery school.

The husbands go to the men’s clubs
The wives go to the spas.
Are they so busy self-developing
They forget the way it was

When love was new and joyous
And each lived for the other
And finding time together
Wasn’t such an awful bother?

Could it be we had the answer
In the not so long ago
When we weren’t hung up on possessions
And what we had for show?

When our concern was more for others
And we loved our fellow man
And we weren’t too busy self-developing
To lend a helping hand?

Could self-denial be fulfilling
And self-control enriching too?
Is it just we have the self misplaced.
I wonder, is that true?

There’s a very great difference
Between what we want and what we need
And what we call desire to achieve
Is perilously close to greed.

It seems what we wear not who we are
Is what it’s all about
But ugly is still ugly
If it comes from inside out.

We’re all looking for the answers
And there’s little else to say
But, if we reassessed our values
Would happy come back one day?

MOUNT HOOD DAWN

It's  Quadrille #92, and De has
challenged us to use the word
CRACK in exactly 44 words.
The photo is Mt. Hood in the
distance from my daughter's
bedroom window.
Submitted to dVerse
November 19, 2019

Once I said I rose at the crack of dawn,

but I had a friend named Dawn who

objected

I've adjusted my terminology and

I'm pleased to say I now stand

corrected

I arise at daybreak, secure in the

knowledge my phraseology is

perfected.

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GONE

November 11, 2019

                                                

She’s gone.   With a last sighing breath her weary heart ceased to beat
and we’re left in the darkness of loss and despair.   A beloved voice stilled,
a beloved spirit gone from our presence.  Grief settled upon us like dust
carried by prairie winds after drought.  “If it’s darkness we’re having,
let it be extravagant”, someone said, and one by one we shared our happiest
memory of her until the room filled with the laughter and joy of who she was,
with the happy memory of her rinky tink piano,  the sound of her accordion
and sing-alongs shared at family campfires,  her cute little giggle, loving
hugs and favorite recipes….and the extravagance of memories lit the darkness.

************

My response to Victoria’s challenge to practice prosery,
to include this phrase from “Taking Down The Tree”, a
Jane Kenyon poem --“If  it’s darkness we‘re having
let it be extravagant” in approximately 144 words.  I have
been dealing with loss these past few weeks, thus the quote
seemed timely.

THIHRTEEN WAYS OF LOOKING AT A TREE

Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Tree 
 (Emulating the style of Wallace Stevens      
Sunday Muse #81
Submitted November 9, 2019
       ************

It falls from high, a seedling  

Small, brown, inconspicuous 

Containing promise of mighty oak 

Young roots seeking sustenance 

Growing strong and tall  

Fulfilling destiny     

    

Shield from summer sun  

Dappled shade    

On cool green grass.

    

Natives gather beneath

Shelter provided

From summer storm   

    

Feathered inhabitants

Find welcome homes

And raise voices in song

Now standing sentinel

Beside pioneer cabin

Amid fresh young dreams.

The child swings

From sturdy limb

Happy and secure

In soft rustles of night

A quiet “who who”

Of resident owl

Taller still, rooted deep

Scarred by time

Cloaked in history.

Dressed in colors

Glorious red

Russet and gold

Now naked in winter winds

Limbs akimbo

Colors pooled below

Stark shadows on snow

Like tentacles

Seeking warmth

Tinged with green

Bursting with life anew

The cycle continues .

BLACK

Poetics at dVerse and HA asks us to
write what we think when we hear the word
BLACK.   Hmmm.  Here’s what I thought.
Submitted to dVerse Poetics
November 7, 2019

I think black gets a bad rap. 
It’s  associated with
…death
…a final ride in the big black hearse
…with the bogey man
… things that go bump in the night
…black-hearted
…black widow
…black magic
…black Friday
…black sheep
…black flagged
…black market
…black hole
and Poe didn’t help it any
with his  raven quoting
Nevermore

    BUT

without night,
life would be just
one interminable day

think about that!

THE THINGS WE KEEP

Quadrille Monday, and Kim has
asked us to feature the word KEEP
in our poem of exactly 44 words.
It was hard to keep it under
several hundred words!
Submitted to dVerse
November 4, 2019

a pocket watch
my father tied
through a buttonhole
in his bib overalls
by an old shoe lace
I keep within a
  glass dome

        

my mother’s collection
of small glass birds
I keep in a bird cage,
bright-colored bits
that pleased her...

now me