SHANAHAN'S COVE

It's Tuesday Poetics and we're asked to
head for the sea and write a mer-poem.
I headed for my favorite spot, but my
mer-poem ended in a mer-prose.
Submitted to dVerse
June 23, 2020
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It was twilight as I walked along the beach, loving the feel of warm sand beneath my toes, heading toward Shanahan’s Cove, my secret place to decompress when life seemed complicated and burdensome.  There was a light mist, and the shoreline was shrouded, with waves lapping lazily against the rocks, and the smooth, flat stone where I often sat.  It was an isolated and secluded little cove, away from it all, where I was always sure to be alone, so it was with surprise I heard the murmur of soft female voices.  The shimmering mists revealed the forms of mermaids engaged in quiet conversation, their voices lyrical and mysterious.  I was unable to understand the words, and as I neared they rose with surprise and slid silently into the waves, disappearing before my eyes with a final flip of their mermaid tails.  I thought perhaps I dreamed it in some sort of seaborne illusion, but there on my stone were strands of seaweed, and a lingering echo seemed to ride the mists.  You may think me fey, and so I may be, but I know what I saw that night at Shanahan’s Cove.

ONE SHINING MOMENT

Haibun Mnday, and we are challenged to
feature  “one shining moment““ in our
lives. 
Submitted to dVerse
June 22, 2020
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My one shining moment occurred in March of 1958 when my first born child, a son,  was placed in my arms.  Unwrapping the blanket, I examined  each small, perfect part.  Ten fingers, ten  toes (two joined to the first joint exactly as his father’s). Two bright eyes peered at me above a button nose.  My eyes filled with tears of joy and amazement at this miraculous gift of life with which I’d been entrusted.  I prayed for the wisdom to guide him wisely to manhood.  I prayed he’d learn real jewels are in sunsets, that riches are found in the loving of souls touched along life’s way, and I was profoundly grateful for this wondrous gift..... this one shining moment.

the earth springs to life
I am gifted with a son
God grant me wisdom

THE DRUM

Word Pantry #25
I often have a problem making my poems
fit challenge guidelines.  Such was the case
with the dVerse quadrille challenge for DRUM,
which is to be limited to exactly 44 words.
I began the poem and my muse carried me away,
ending with 7 stanzas!.  I never did
accomplish a quadrille, but here's my
drum-inspired poem!
Submitted to Poets & Storytellers United
June 21, 2020
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              THE DRUM

The old oak sprawled by the tumbling stream
Stories wrapped within each  bough
Of times gone by and lives once lived
Through the years from then to now

Once long ago an Indian brave
Courted his maiden fair
And, oh the promises he made
As he ran his hands through her hair

He said, “Come to the oak at twilight
And listen for my drum
I’ll know you’re waiting here for me
And when darkness falls I’ll come”

The old oak knows their story
And whispered it to the wind
Of the brave and his fair maiden
And how it came to an end.

For the brave had gone to do battle
Promising he’d be back but didn’t know when
“Just listen at the oak at twilight“, he said
“You’ll hear my drum again”

The brave never returned from battle
His drum forever stilled
Heartbroken, the maiden accepted
Her brave warrior had been killed.

But if  you visit the oak at twilight
So the story is told by some
You’ll hear in the whispering silence
The sound of a distant drum.

Sunday Muse #113

Sunday Muse #113 and I’m
Inspired by the second photo.
Submitted to the Sunday Muse
June 20, 2020
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It’s me, Lord, can we talk?
Things are an awful mess
We can’t tell truth from fiction
Anymore, we have to guess

He whom we call our leader
Speaks with fork-ed tongue
We need a unifying voice
Instead he’s flinging dung

Please send us a man of honor
Someone who really cares
About the country’s people
And not just stocks and shares

Seems we’ve strayed far afield
Your commandments have been forgotten
We’re a bushel of shiny red apples
Give us wisdom to weed out the rotten

WHEN ALL ELSE FAILS

Wednesday Scribblings, and Magaly asks us
to consider the phrase “If all else fails” and
share our solution in our Wednesday poem.
Submitted to Poets & Storytellers United
June 17, 2020
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when all else fails and disaster is all I hear
I get in the car and put it in gear
travel down a peaceful meandering road
where mile by mile, my cares unload
the smog of the city and it’s murder a day
soon seem at a distance and fall away
the grass is green, the trees are tall
the peaceful scene seems away from it all
crops in the field, basking in sun
farmer’s on the porch, day’s work done
gives a friendly wave to each passerby
expecting (and getting) a friendly reply
soon my faith is restored, my kinks are unfurled
I’m feeling some hope for this troubled old world..

SEMANTICS

Anmol is hosting Tuesday Poetics at dVerse
and has suggested we speak on the subject
of Pride.  I've chosen to relate a personal
experience, which addresses the issue quite
well, I think.
Submitted to dVerse
June 17, 2020
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I’m reminded of an event long, long ago.  An employee had asked me to join her for dinner.  It was obvious she was in quite an emotional state.  I knew she had just lost a dear friend, and I thought that to be the cause of her tumultuous emotions.   After idle conversation, with trembling voice, at last with great effort she said “I have to tell you something.  I am gay”.  I looked at this intelligent, caring woman with a wonderful spirit and sense of humor, and admirable work ethic, whom I‘d come to genuinely like and treasure as an employee.  I was moved that sharing that information was obviously so traumatic for her.  I reached across the table, took her hand, and replied,  “Well, I’m Methodist.  If that doesn’t bother you, your being gay doesn’t bother me!”  She later moved to another state, but we remained friends, and in contact for the next 45 years until her death last year.  She never did mind that I was a Methodist!

REMEMBER WHO YOU ARE

Open Link Night at dVerse. I’ve penned
a recount of advice I was given as a child.
“Don’t get above your raisin’”(raising) of course
means not to become over-impressed with
one’s self or lose sight of basic moral standards.
Those standards, it seems, have fallen by the
wayside with far too many in today’s world.
(Image compliments of Pinterest)
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Today is yesterday’s tomorrow, child,
and tomorrow’s yesterday, don’t forget
this morning is yesterday morning’s hope
and could be tomorrow morning’s regret
tonight is last night’s dream
make it special, don’t you see
in the flicker of an eyelash
it’becomes tomorrow night’s memory
time is always happenin’
it’s best you use it well
you’ll run out of it all too soon
and it’ll be gone, truth to tell.

Don’t get above your raisin’, child
remember who you are
keep your feet firmly grounded,
but hitch your wagon to a star
and when you reach your end of time
look back filled with pride
having savored the journey
and enjoyed an incredible ride.