SAVED BY THE BELL

Haibun Monday, and winter is bringing snow and frigid weather to many of us.  I am reminded of the story of an old cemetery on what was known as Dead Man's Hill.  Submitted to dVerse on 1/31/22.  

SAVED BY THE BELL

A winter wind blows across the deserted cemetery on the hill.  The headstones are from the 1890s, and legend has it the cemetery is from the days when, for reasons unknown, people believed occasional burials were pre-humously and some were buried in haste.  In order to prevent this dreadful demise, the solution was to tie a string around a finger of the dear departed that led up to a bell attached to the end.  Should there be any movement, the bell would ring and they would be rescued.  Hence the term “dead ringer” and “saved by the bell”. Occasionally, a person would be employed to watch the cemetery at night and listen for bells, hence the term “graveyard shift”.  These days, young lovers like to park near the cemetery on dark and wintry nights.  Some say they’ve heard the distant ringing of a bell.   

while on watch in the graveyard

a faint ring is heard

is it for whom the bell tolls

 

WISDOM OF AGES

THE SUNDAY MUSE 196

Cat wisdom of 10,000 years

(according to Wikipedia)

Man with laugh crinkles

is one who can be trusted

(according to cat)

                                    ****

Wikipedia says cats have been around for 10,000 to 12,000 years.  I believe it.  Ours seem to feel they have the key to all knowledge!

FOG

 GOGYOSHI  -- A Japanese form of brief poetry in which there are 5 lines and title, introduced by Rosemary Nissen-Wade.   Photo taken by my daughter at Basket Slough in Salem, Oregon.

 FOG

Reluctant to release the night

fog wrapped the trees

who stood silently

waiting for sunshine 

to set them free.

WORD SOUP

FRIDAY WRITINGS ... I indulged in word soup for fun,   I love the magic of words, dribbling from fingers to keyboard in an endless stream of pleasantries, mysteries,  subtleties,  vignettes, and curiosities.  The songwriter, Willie Nelson, says the air is full of melodies, just reach out and grab one.   Same is true of stories …..   the words are all there, just reach out and grab some.  If you ever feel like you were in the wrong place at the wrong time, this poem may be for you.  You just may be unlikely enough to qualify…..or not.   I just reached out and grabbed some words!   Submitted to Poets & Storytellers Friday Writing, January 28, 2122

                                                                   WORD SOUP

                                                        Common sense, good sense, nonsense, 

                                                        And those who have no sense at all

                                                        Well dressed, Sunday best, over-stressed

                                                        And those who are late for the ball

                                                        High heeled, well heeled, ears peeled

                                                        Listening for the final call

                                                        Bellicose, verbose, grandiose

                                                        And those who are exceedingly small

                                                        Not here, wrong door, my dear

                                                         It’s the first door down the hall. 

                                            

SHIVERING MEMORIES

Monday Quadrille at dVerse, and the word is “shivers”.  Brrr.  In the little house on the prairie of my childhood, there was no heat in the upstairs.  Our word today --“shivers” -- reminds me of those nightly scurries from the downstairs by the pot-bellied stove up the stairs to bed on a cold winter night.  The memory inspires a poem of shivers in exactly 44 words. Submitted to dVerse 1/24/22

Remembering the shivers,

running up the stairs

to my bed, diving under 

the covers and putting

my feet on the warmed    

brick mother had put

at the foot of my bed

between  flannel sheets

under the quilts and comforters

made from worn-out coats.

CANDLEOLOGY

THE SUNDAY MUSE

 

CANDLEOLOGY

Funny thing about a candle……

When burning, it emits a warm glow

saying “all is well” and creating 

an atmosphere of content

When snuffed out, as if sending

its  resentment into the atmosphere,

 it emits an acrid scent

And those who’d basked in its warm glow

are left bereft and lost in limbo

wondering where its flame went.

ESCAPE

It's the dreary days of winter.  No snow to pretty it up, but the sun is shining and the days are growing longer!  Odd things come to mind.  If my husband were living, this would be his 102nd birthday!   My mind wanders to mystical places and magical climes, so I'll take you along.  Submitted to Poets and Storytellers United, January 21, 2022.   

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there’s a Spring called Weekiwachee

 a spiral called Fibonacci

and a mysterious land called Xanadu

there are verdant hills in Shangri-La

dramas and mysteries in Camelot

and behind the mists is Brigadoon

I want to escape the pandemic

visit these lands euphemic

and become carefree once more

in the healing world of Avalon

with Eldorado’s golden aisles to walk upon

come along, let’s escape and explore.

FORSOOTH

Alas, my acronym left me with a single line, tantamount to a dangling participle. What to do with a line which has nothing with which to rhyme.  Forsooth!  This never would have happened to the bard!  Submitted to dVerse Poetics Tuesday,  Januiary 19, 2022

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                FORSOOTH

Titillating acronyms capture the mind

Hopscotching from word to word

Each is carefully considered

Savoured, repeated and heard

Aliterations, activations, and such

Undertaken to coin the exact choice

Rendering the ditty so pretty

Upstarting until poets rejoice….

Stunned!  Satisfied!  Scintillated! 

NEW BEGINNINGS

 THE SUNDAY MUSE ... and I try to wean myself away from rhyme ...

she hung her spectacles on a branch

and lifted her face to the mist…..

a cool cleansing of  worries 

sheltered by the tall trees

as if carefree and born anew

a new year, a new beginning

RICHES UNTOLD

 FRIDAY WRITINGS  and idle thoughts.  I borrowed from Colleen's wardrobe, Magaly's word, and followed my muse.  I hope they don't mind!  Submaitted January 14, 2122

RICHES UNTOLD

drooping sox and unmatched mittens

scraped knees and weathered denims

enkindled childhood memories

toasty kitchen, smells of cookies

daddy's chuckles, momma's hugs

battered table speaks of love

brothers, sisters, no matter which

it's our secret we are rich 

HORIZONS UNEXPLORED

 THE SUNDAY MUSE 

some seem to speed through life like a shooting star

a brilliant light, reckless and driven,

savoring adventure, speed, and chance, 

wild and daring, taking life to the very edge …….

some meet the edge all too soon

and, like the shooting star, fade into infinity.

leaving their horizons unexplored.  

CHRISTMAS ODDESSY

 FRIDAY WRITINGS  and here we are in 2122.  I had a rather rocky ride, which I've tried to put in humorous rhyme.  Submitted to Poets & Storytellers United, January 7, 2122

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MY CHRISTMAS/NEW YEAR ODDESSY

2021 is finally over, how do I begin

to explain the trouble I was in?

Painful as it is to write it down,

my ‘22 ball-wear was a hospital gown!

Seemed they drew blood a million tests about

Thank heaven they finished before I ran out! 

Four days then home, goodbye with a grin

Two days hello, I was back in again

Seemed to me my worst fears now became whole

I’d fallen down the dreaded medical rathole

"Try these meds", they suggested, which didn’t thrill me

I thought to my soul they were trying to kill me.

At last we’ve adjusted, and I’m still alive

My resolution for 2022?  I just hope to survive!

And to my dear friends, all gathered here

I wish you the happiest, happiest new year!

THOSE WERE THE TIMES

 THE SUNDAY MUSE, submitted 1/1/22

THOSE WERE THE DAYS

I  remember once upon a time

(and even then I wrote in rhyme)

the side pocket on my 2001 Buick

LaSabre spoke for places I’d been and

places I planned to go.  It was packed

with memories of good friends and

good times, and plans for further

journeys.  We were trusty traveling

companions, my Buick, my friends 

and I,  until I  finally sold it in 2020 

for a smaller model that would take 

less room in the garage. Thhe years

had passed and I remained the only

traveler.   I sold it to a deaf young 

man who needed a reliable car, and 

reliable my Buick was!  He won’t hear 

the echoes of raucous  laughter, the secrets 

told of our husbands' escapades won't shock 

him…..and he won't hear the dreams we had 

that stayed forever dreams.