Poetry Project, V. 9.0, Days 28, 29, and 30!!!!

Well, here we are, another year in the books!  Not bad.  As per usual, I think there are a few decent ones in this year's crop, and quite a number of "mediocre-at-best" ones, too.  That is to be expected, I think, with improv poetry - that these are all first-draft kinds of things with no editing yields pretty good results, I think.

Anyway, I wanted to take a just a moment to thank you for following along this year's month-long journey.  Maybe it inspired you, maybe it turned you off poetry for good - who knows.  The important part is that you were here for it.  I appreciate the company!  It's nice to know that someone out there is reading my stuff.

Today's inspirations: a beautiful spring day, the smell of smoke from a barbeque,

Cloudless

i love a cloudless day,
when, at the top of the mountains,
you see the white-grey that looks like clouds,
but isn't
and it fades to the palest blue,
a gradual ombre that bends darker,
until you look up directly overhead at the azure blanket,
perfectly serene,
still and quiet,
away from the bustling world below.


Smoke

curling in the faintest breeze,
surrounding me,
bathing in the fire-birthed fragrance,
an unseen velvety cloak
that steels the nerves,
protects
blesses
clears the mind,
agent of creation for some,
this warrior's spiritual armor.
the heady flavors envelop the senses,
heighten and sharpen them,
bring me to that point where
i can feel everything around me at once,
i am connected,
my feet to the ground
and my head in the clouds.


and miles to go

i'm tired, now,
and though my body is fatigued,
and each step is painful to take,
there is, yet,
something driving me forth,
compelling me to continue,
daring me,
spurring me,
pushing me,
demanding of me that i still persist.
so on i go,
through every step and painful plod
through sore muscles and tired mind,
for as long as i may -
because i must.
there are many miles more to go,
many paths that must be taken,
many unknowns longing to discovered -
and i am not yet asleep.


Well, that's it - all done.  Thanks again for going with me this year.  Happy writing!!

Thanks for reading,
Me

Poetry Project, V. 9.0, Days 26 and 27

Wooo - in the closing stretch!

It is a gorgeous day out there, the birds are singing, squirrels are jumping around, it is a beautiful day.  That also makes it a beautiful day to read - and write - some poetry, and I have a special treat for you today:  A guest poster!!!!

OK, it's my mom.  She's awesome, and you know what?  I don't tell her that often enough, but it's true.  She also had a birthday this month, and since I did a poem for my dad near his birthday, I should do one for her!  But first, here are her offerings on poetry!

Light Play

Dark hides our yard,

Oak and pine shadows

Stand dimly quiet

While baby birds settle.

Dawn speaks shards of light,

Shadows crawl through,

Inching bright inkblots

On decaying leaves.

Light dances with breezes 

as spring dapples green polka dots 

among branches.

Late afternoon quiets amid humid heat

while shadows provide respite.

Darkness, light, darkness 

The dance of spring and summer.

Autumn leaves will carpet soon 

Leaving rusty decay to feed the ground.

Cycle completed.

Backyard

An alphabet of avians attends us:

Colors, vivid and dull, flit about feeders,

Voicing unsingable notes,

Chasing would-be predators,

Guarding nest--tenacity at its best!

Lessons? - many; Determination? - rampant;

Constancy? -incredible!

Watching, watching --always alert!

Thanks, Mom, for sharing your words with me, and for having the guts to put it out there!

OK, now time for some originals of my own!

Mom

i knew you first

as a gentle voice,

warmth,compassion,

kindness and love,

the safety of the world in your arms,

my guide and teacher,

my ever-present friend.

i grew,

you became more -

discipline, authority,

provider and caregiver,

nursing skinned knees,

and planner of birthday parties

my chauffeur and

encouragement.

now grown,

you are my friend,

at times, a colleague,

fellow artist and advisor,

one whom i work to not disappoint,

and a woman i admire for

strength, tenacity, truth in being.

i could give a thousand titles,

and all would be true -

for there are many hats you wear - 

but for this we have a word:

you are simply,

Mother.

Tulips on a Spring Day

their stems look weak,

too tall and flimsy,

like they should all the sooner be 

trampled under their own eight,

until they open,

the reds and whites of petals

offering shelter for the first of the spring bees

as they collect their precious nectar.

theirs is a short life,

soon they will leave and other flowers will arise in their place,

but for a moment, 

theirs is the beauty of this time,

theirs the unique glory,

the heralds of sunshine,

bringers of summer.

Thanks for reading!

Me

Poetry Project, V.9.0, Day 25

Today's inspiration comes from a conversation in which a coworker was lamenting how she could no longer climb trees at her age.  It seems she quite enjoyed them growing up, and misses just climbing and sitting in a tree.  I know that feeling.  There have been several renditions of "The fort" in my lifetime.  I remember my father built a platform in one tree - my siblings and I entertained visions of it being a full tree house, but those plans were never realized.  It remained just a platform.  There were other trees, of course, but there was one in particular that served as many things over many years for me.  Today's offering is about that tree.

Everything You Were

in the spring,
you were the spire of a wizard's keep,
tall and foreboding and i didn't dare
approach but for the days when weather was calmer.
that changed in summer,
and you were the lookout tower of my fort
when my cousin came,
and we often were found in your branches.
sometimes, you were the enemy fortress,
and we were secret agents, averting your gaze,
but you saw us anyway,
and then became the guard tower of our prison.
you were a hideaway,
an escape place,
where i could go and spend an afternoon and never once be disturbed.
it was a place to think, to dream,
to be someone else for a little while,
and it was all mine.
you were always, "home."

Thanks for reading,

Me.

Poetry Project, V. 9.0, Days 23 and 24

ok, so by all accounts, we're in the home stretch!  Yep, the last week of this year's edition of the Poetry Project.  I have to admit there have been some eggs laid so far this year, but that's sort of what this is all about: to lay a few eggs, maybe get one or two right, and learn along the way.  Speaking of learning, there's nothing like watching new life learn its way.  See, I have kittens on my front porch.  I keep a box out there for the winter months, a place for the stray kitties of the neighborhood to have a home somewhere safe and out of the elements all winter.  Last year, and now this year, a cat has decided that box is the perfect nesting ground.  So, there are four little kittens on my front porch.  They are just now opening their eyes, and they are starting to roam about a little, though they have yet to leave the confines of the box in which they were born.  They're adorable, as all newborns are, and it's fun to watch them learn and grow.  As much as I would love to pick them up and snuggle them, I can't - their mother is feral, so too much "human smell" on them, and she will abandon the kits.  But I can still watch and be amazed.  So, today's offerings are about that: watching life unfold around me.


All Greens are Different

it's strange,
this forest of concrete and glass,
of steel and brick and rust -
that becomes a sea of green with just a little rain
and a day of sunshine.
the new buds are light,
the red carapace-like coverings shed
and fall on the ground,
mixing with the yellow-green pollen.
the brown grasses fade to the shiny new green carpet
and the wild grasses are darker yet,
the green of the daffodils,
is darker than the tulips,
but lighter than the evergreens
found here and there,
my favorites are the cherries,
at that moment when the blossoms
just start to give way to the darker leaves,
and the unknowable green hue - for it has no name -
shines through,
browns and greens and pinks all together,
new and changing all at once.


Four

black, white, grey, pink,
four little ones in a blue box,
their only experience is what little they've seen
through the small window to the outside,
their eyes are new,
and their innocence that of life
that hasn't yet learned that some people are mean
and that cars are fast.
they only know their mother's love and care,
and maybe that sometimes i put out fresh water.
when will they learn to be afraid?
when to fight?
when to hiss and run away?
or maybe when to love in return?
when to show someone or something they care?
how will they learn it,
if not for those of us who show them kindness?
will they learn it at all?
that is the challenge they set forth:
show us a world we want to be in.


The fun part of this challenge is that I never really know what I am going to end up with, and these are some prime examples of that.  Still, it's fun for me, and it's my hope that you are getting some enjoyment, too.

Thanks for reading,

Me

Poetry Project, V.9.0, Days 19, 20, 21, 22

Oy I have to catch up!!  It's been a busy few days, and now that the spring weather has started to turn....again...it's gotten even busier!

Of course, I love to ride my bike, and getting out for some much needed wind in my face has been great.  The theme today is about the things I see and feel while on my ride.

Prison

rust and rot,
hollow places where windows used to be,
wrought iron held together
with the thick scales of time,
a stone mansion,
imposing,
fearful,
high walls holding in secrets,
like the inmates they used to keep.
i wonder what they think and see,
those spirits i can feel as i go by,
looking out,
screaming at me
to not be forgotten.



Smell  of the Wind

the wind smells fresh today,
strong,
it's a good spring wind,
cold, but sure,
alive.
it's looking for something -
and it hits my face,
questioning me,
wondering if i am it,
it fills my lungs and stings my eyes,
the sweetest inquisition.



Miles

they tick away,
one after the other,
as the wheels roll onward,
rhythm and momentum,
a cadence beating out in my mind,
an easy pace,
to hold all day,
ensure my exhaustion,
to sleep well,
after all the miles have been counted.


Sunshine

the warmth on my face
soothes me,
heals me,
empowers me,
spurs me onward,
trying to chase it,
catch it,
attain what i knew to be impossible once,
suddenly within my grasp,
even though i get burned,
i will chase it anyway,
until there is at last no strength
left in my bones.


OK, so after a couple days on the bike, this is kind of what it feels like to me to be on two wheels.  It's a little tough to get if it's not something you know or enjoy, but hey, that's me.  As always,

Thanks for reading,

Me

Poetry Project, V.9.0, Days 17 and 18

There's something about writing - and it doesn't matter what you're writing - that always seems to take me by surprise: it's that moment just before you either submit something to a contest, or just before you hit "publish" here on this site - because then, it's real.  People are going to see it.  They will read it, they will judge you on what you wrote, they will validate you...or invalidate you.  It can't be helped, and it's also not a bad thing.  But it does require something in that moment - it requires you to take a chance on yourself.  There are other places in life where this happens, too - a job interview, performing on a stage, giving a toast at a special event, for example.  It still requires the same thing: to put yourself out there.  It's not always an easy thing to do.  It's not always fun.  But, I find I always learn something from it.  Today's first work is about taking that risk.

Actor's Solo

the solo is the part
that no one ever sees,
behind the curtain,
when the lights are out
and the house is full
and there,
in that sublime moment,
footsteps
to the mark,
a deep breath,
a quiet assurance
that practice will have made perfection,
that everything will go
as planned -
a lie told to put aside the fear,
harness the energy and transform it into
what the audience gets to see.
once the curtain rises,
the show is over
a brief scene,
done in secret,
in silence,
knowing that surrendering to it
is the only way
to achieve greatness.


As long as we're talking about creative efforts, let's stay on that theme!  Recently, I discovered a writing contest that I actually have the time to do.  Normally, I only discover these things when there is no time to do the work necessary, and so i don't do them.  But, for once, I actually came upon one that I would have the time to complete, and even do a respectable job - who knows, it's possible I might even get chosen.  That would be cool!  Regardless of the outcome, though, there's always something of a fun part to starting a new writing project, and it's coming up with the story.  Adam, this one is for you!

Listing

it begins with questions -
the basic ones like who or what,
and try something
anything
change the spelling
change the accent
try this name
now that one
not good enough
you have a hundred chances
one
two
three
four - and almost there,
just have to hone it a little,
it's almost right,
there!
gold.
that's the one.
now for the next -
and it starts all over again,
each and every time
it's new,
the character reveals themselves,
the plot the same way,
the names,
the places,
the word for this or that,
it all comes down to the lists.


Thanks for reading,

Me

Poetry Project, V. 9.0, Day 16

So I guess it's kind of a three-fer day, but I'm going to count it as an entirely new post on a new day. Why?  Because it makes me seem less lazy and like I'm really trying to do this, rather than like I remember it every couple of days and get to it when I can.  I mean, sure, I'm not getting paid to do this, but it is a challenge - it's not supposed to be easy, necessarily!

I've been doing a lot more working out, lately, trying to get in shape so that when summer does come - which may or may not happen sometime before November at this rate - i won't be trying to get in shape then, I will already mostly be there, and I can simply enjoy going out and doing the things.  Of course, this involves biking - it's me, after all - but also running, yoga, and a new one, a little bit of "barre."  Yup, some of that stuff dancers do.  No, it does not have me dressed in point shoes - it's kind of like yoga, really, with a slightly different focus.  It's a tough workout, for surprisingly simple moves.  But what makes it (and everything else, really) worth it is when you have a team or a partner with which to do it.  When you have that kind of a team - whether it's a best friend, a partner, a spouse, a parent, a coach - it's a special thing.  So, this one is about that kind of teamwork.

How to Spell

You hear it all the time -
"there's no 'i' in 'team'"
but that's wrong.
i don't want to run
i don't want to eat healthy
i don't want to yoga today,
i want to sleep
be lazy,
watch a movie,
anything but doing the work.
and that is where i need you -
to help me run,
get me to move,
wake me up
keep me pressing forward.
So there's an 'i' -
but there's a 'you' too.
and because of that,
the team is stronger.


Thanks for reading,

Me

Poetry Project, V. 9.0, days 14 and 15

The only problem I have when the weather finally turns nice (and for the record, it's taken its sweet time in getting here) is that it makes me forget to do things like write poetry.  I wish I could say that it's because I am out there, LIVING poetry, but that's pretty pretentious-sounding, and the truth of it is that I am usually just busy doing other things in the nice weather, and I forget.  Or, I remember....at 2 0'clock in the morning.  Either way, it's not conducive to getting poetry out on time.

But, here we are, halfway through the month, and still going pretty strong.  Well, at least I am enjoying it.  What a better way to enjoy than by writing and reading more poetry???  The first comes from an experience I had last Friday that was unremarkable, and yet, important.  It did not change my life, but it did renew some of my faith in humanity.

A Simple Act

it cost me nothing,
and i gained the world,
an appreciation of a culture older than my own,
a language different
but valued more,
where the script itself is valued as art.
and a man only wanted to
write the name of his son.
i helped him,
showed him the tool,
and watched an unpracticed hand turn
a simple board to beauty,
just by writing a name.
how important,
the name of the son -
family, life, the future -
how beautifully simple,
the love of a father.


Smoke

elemental,
a trusting embrace of the air
acrid smell,
something is burning,
to be feared,
wondered at,
enjoyed,
explored.
it empowers me,
clothes me in a velvet protectorate
where i feel no pain
and see all,
an elusive trance
where my movements seem far away from my body -
i am born anew today,
though i lived long ago.

That's all for now!

Thanks for reading,

Me

Poetry Project, V. 9.0, Days 12 and 13

Egads, I did it again!

Well, so much for hopping on it and getting back on track, yes?  It's a beautiful spring day here, today, and yesterday was very nice as well.  It's about darned time!!!!!  With that being said, spring - and poetry - is in the air!!!!

Rain Smell

i love the smell of
a fresh rain
in the spring
when you can smell
the dirt
the rot
decay
and know it's all
about to be
washed
away -
gone.



Horrible Amusement

it's that day
unlucky 13 -
and there will be viewing of horror films
and people thinking about
the countless deaths
that add up to atrocities
we could never before imagine.
nor want to.
but someone's twisted mind
came up with these stories,
these twists and turns that shouldn't be,
but we rest easy,
because it's fiction,
it's not real,
it doesn't affect us - not really -
except -
this is the newscast.


A little juxtaposed, I guess, and not exactly where I thought I would end up today, but not exactly upset with that, either!

Thanks for reading,

Me

Poetry Project, V.9.0, Days 10 and 11

And here we go - it seems once the two-fer thing starts, it's hard to get back on track with getting back to every day!  Well, here's hoping this might be the last two-fer!

What gets me going today is "perspective."  You know, that whole "it's how you look at it" thing, like answering the question, "Is the glass half-full or half- empty?"  In this ever-more turbulent time, it's easy to get lost in perspective, and forget that simply because we look at things one way, that way is a) not necessarily correct and b) not necessarily shared by others.  There's a tricky option, too: c) others who express opinions differing from ours are not necessarily wrong.  It's a tough line to find, let alone hold to, sometimes.   In this electronic age, it's sometimes even more difficult. Where do we draw the line?  How do discuss a point effectively without getting absorbed in the passions of ideological differences?  More than that, how do we do it without angering people to the point where relationships suffer?

The Cool Kids

the cool kids used to say
it was ok to call people
whatever you wanted.
if they could handle it,
they would be fine,
it would make them tough.
parents told kids to keep
the stiff upper lip
and let it all wash off you
it didn't matter
it was only a phase.
let it go.
i told myself,
never let them see they
got to you,
hurt you,
scarred you,
tore you down,
beat you up,
using fists they could not see
and did not know they had.

but the cool kids grew up,
and now they say
words hurt.
they're still the bullies,
but now they're trying to do it by being nice.
it's pretend,
false,
fake and pretentious,
they don't really care,
as long as you do what they say,
because they're the cool kids.


Words We Can't Say

don't say the r-word
don't call him the p-word
the s-word
the f-word (no, not that one, the other)
she's not the b-word,
and if she is, you can't call her that,
they aren't "special"
or "slow"
or "differently-abled"
they are now a diagnosis from the DSM,
don't put a label on others,
don't put anyone down,
no one is better,
no one is worse.

and it would sound good,
and make sense,
if it were not for the warning
about what happens when
your words are taken from you
and you're forced to live by
a set of rules
you don't understand,
that make no sense,
except to those who make the rules.



A little heavier today, almost some slam-style poetry, I guess.  Wasn't sure what I would get, but then, there we are!!

As always,

Thanks for reading,

Me

Poetry Project, V. 9.0, Day 9

Ahhh, there is very little that inspires like the addition of a new horse in the stable.  yeah, for all of those who remember, I really enjoy riding a bike.  Virtually any bike, really, and I have been wanting to try getting out of my normal realm of road biking and get into a little bit of the off-road stuff.  It will be nice to get into a new discipline, and I find myself much more excited for it than even I originally anticipated.  Naturally, I tried it out immediately, and wow, how different!  It's been a while since I have had that much fun on a bike, and still got a good little workout.  Let the fun begin!!

Re-Training

you think you have it,

the way you have to move, 

the fit is dialed in just right

and you've adjusted -

it's like coming home.

then you make a change - 

something new, 

a twist in the pattern,

move your hands apart, 

sit up,

the geometry is wrong, 

different,

it doesn't rock the same way, 

the balance is different,

the response is challenging.

suddenly, there is new life - 

everything feels just a bit strange,

but it feels good, too -

it feels - 

like living again.

Thanks for reading,

Me

Poetry Project, V. 9.0, Days 7 and 8

Well, it took a week before it happened, but I missed the first day.  When this happens, for those of you who have been playing along, you, the readers, get a TWO-FER day!!!  Sometimes, you even get a three-fer, because stuff happens, but hey, there we are!  So today, there are a couple of things of note that sort of inspired me:  The first is my dad's birthday.  He's a fantastic gent, who's taught me a lot over the years, and I'm sure he's got a lot more to teach me, yet, and I am looking forward to it all.  So if you know him, feel free to give him a shout-out.  He needs it.  Anyway, he inspires me - so it's only fitting that a poem comes from him.

Looking Through Your Eyes

it was a long time ago
when i looked through years of photos
to put them together
as a present.
the hardest part was finding pictures of you,
because you were always the one behind the camera,
but i saw the life you built,
through the eyes of your camera lens,
and saw the way you looked at family,
at life,
at God,
at all things on this earth,
and through it,
came to know the man
i looked up to then
and still do today.


The next one is a bit strange.  In truth, I don't know what's behind it.  I can't point to a thing and say, "yup, that's it."  Some poems are like that in this challenge - they get written because that's the challenge - to write every day.  There's no inspiration in particular, but then, when I sit down to write, suddenly there's something.  Sometimes, it's a good something, and sometimes, it's just words on a page.  For me, these are sometimes the most fun, because I do not know what I'm going to get at any time.

Late Nights

sometimes,
i like to stay up late and
listen to the quiet,
the gentle breathing of the world as it sleeps.
i wonder what it dreams,
what hopes and fears it has,
and if, in the silence of those nights,
it talks to the few
who are awake enough to listen.

Thanks for reading,

Me

Poetry Project, V. 9.0, Day 6

OK, so if you like Victorian macabre, then I suggest the show on Netflix called "Penny Dreadful."  Without going into too much detail, it's a delightful mixture of all your old favorites, from vampires, to werewolves, demonic possession, and of course, the Frankenstein Monster.  Watching an episode tonight, I heard what is perhaps the best screenwriting moment I have seen in a long time.  Victor Frankenstein has his creation, and is ready to kill the monster.  The monster, though, who has become quite civilized, says the following:

"What dreams I had of my mate. Of another being, looking into these eyes, upon this face, and recoiling not. But how could that happen? For the monster is not in my face, but in my soul. I once thought that if I was like other men, I would be happy and loved. The malignance has grown, you see, from the outside in, and this shattered visage merely reflects the abomination that is my heart. Oh, my creator, why... Why did you not make me of steel and stone? Why did you allow me to feel? I would rather be the corpse I was than the man I am."

It was simply beautiful to watch.  Sure, it was meant to evoke emotion and sympathy for the monster, and of course, begs the question of who the real monster is.  You could "AP English Class" this to death, and you would still only scratch the surface of the scene, let alone the entire Frankenstein story.  That all said and done - it was all too brief a moment, and yet, in its short length, was absolutely perfect.

It made me think, though, how often we have found ourselves hurting, and how often we have wished that we simply could not feel.  How many times have we said, 'Why me?"  When all we wanted to do was just to not feel.  It's that thought that brings about today's offering.

I Wished a Heart
i wished a heart, once,
that could not feel
nor cry,
that functioned only as a heart should,
its purpose clear and direct,
to pump only blood,
and be naught used for else.

i wished a heart, once,
as cold as steel,
and as sharp,
the could be strong
when facing all things,
and would possess a clarity of purpose.

i wished a heart, once,
that buried pain away
and lock it up,
chained in place,
never to go out and risk the pain,
to be content with being alone.

all these i wished into the heart i sought,
and thought God mean for not providing them,
until i realized the mercy
of not being given the heart i wished.


Thanks for reading,

Me

Poetry Project, V.9.0, Day 5

Inspiration - it's a funny thing.  It can come at odd times, and in odd ways.  I've always loved that scene in "Dead Poets' Society" where Robin Williams character, John Keating, is trying to get the shy kid, Todd Anderson, to look inside himself and find the words there.  He teaches him by putting questions to him, in a rapid-fire way, and gets an image from the boy, of - and this has always been a favorite description - a "sweaty-toothed madman."  What an image that portrays!  The lesson was about asking those questions and going from that inner place, learning to trust it, learning to believe in it, and letting it run a little free, on occasion.  That is the essence of inspiration.  Learning to trust that deep-seeded drive, the secret longing of expression that we all have inside us - that is what takes us from simple words to the art and soul of poetry.  So, where does your inspiration come from?  What pulls it from you, and when are you most alive?  What will each of us find when we explore it?
It's something to think about.

Today's inspiration is from an incident I was able to bear witness to, and it was at once both mundane and extraordinary.  I won't go into details, but it stayed with me.


The Crying Girl

she doesn't understand, yet,
that it doesn't matter,
that it's all just preparation for the things to come,
it's not worth the energy,
the tears,
the fighting against the pressure.

she's been taught to stand proud,
be strong,
be better,
be faster,
be more,
to not let the world touch her.

but there she is,
her face a mess,
feeling low,
weak,
unsure,
unable,
a ruined thing.

she cannot see the lesson, yet,
but she will, one day,
when she is facing the same thing through older eyes,
and there is another,
fraught with stress,
feeling out-of-place.

then she'll see
and understand,
as i have today,
when i am reminded of
a phone call i once made
and someone else
did the same for me.




Thanks for reading,

Me

Poetry Project, V. 9.0, Day 4

Sometimes, poetry can be serious and heavy stuff.  Everyone who creates poetry in some fashion or other wants to be remembered as having made an impact on the cultural landscape of their generation, to be known as having made a literary contribution towards a greater sense of being, to convey the gut-felt emotions that accompany the social and political climate in which we live.  I am no different - it would be great to be thought of as having that impact, to be known for the words I write.

But that's not all life has to offer.  Life is silly, and funny, and full of strange phrases that hit you in a way you weren't expecting.  It's misheard song lyrics and things that came out wrong - but sounded so right in our heads.

It's with this in mind that today's offering comes.  Oddly, it was during the planning for the next road trip of the year, that one of those silly moments decided to strike, and it was too much fun a phrase to not use it here - so here goes!!!



The Phrase

it started right,
a simple thing,
that came out wrong
and led to laughter,
mild hysteria, and the shared moment -
where we two could laugh and grow and play
as we planned,
a perfect brilliance of the fumbled word,
forschmuckled in an instant,
etched in fond memory then,
and spurring on the imagination to create
a permanence.
we both knew the aim,
and what happened wasn't close,
but a simple phrase let me grow to love you more,
and in these few words,
the hopes that it echoes true again,
and you can have the same experience as i,
for "bobbie socks and baby sloths"
and the glint of laughter playing on your lips
will be with me till time runs out,
a simple phrase
meaningless to others,
cherished together.




Also, for those playing along, feel free to send me challenges - meter, rhyme, subject areas - you name it!!  It's always fun to plan poetry as well as to write off the cuff!!

Thanks for reading,

Me

Poetry Project, V.9.0, Day 3

Well, here we go again - a bit late today, but you know what?  Stuff happens.  That's part of the point of this project - I find that I have to slow down and think a little more about what's going on, the things I see and hear, etc.  All too often, we find ourselves hurrying through our days.  We have to get to work on time, we have to do this, get there, be on time for this, that, or the next thing.  We are always doing something, rather than simply, "being."  Doing this project each year has enabled me to slow down a little.  While I still have to be places and do things, I find it's more of a slowing of my mind - in a positive way - to take the time to notice the littler things that maybe I don't appreciate as often as I might.  Perhaps "slowing" is the right word - "quieting" might be better.  When is the last time you quieted your mind?  Was it in prayer, or meditation?  Yoga, or other exercise?  Maybe it was just to go fishing, or to sit quietly and read a good book?  Maybe you don't get a lot of time to do it, but I highly recommend giving it a whirl - you might be surprised by what you find!

In the Quiet Moments

there is a breath i take,
just before the first stroke of the keyboard,
before the first sip of a morning coffee,
the fleeting seconds before opening the door as i head out for work.

it's just the briefest of moments,
i hardly notice it sometimes,
a preparatory pause,
issued forth each time,
in which i become silent,
still and quiet,
readying for the next step.

i added them up today -
those small times,
and empty spaces,
and found myself with more time than i thought i had,
and i spent it simply breathing,
secretly reveling in the basic joy of living -
in those small spaces between the cracks in the schedule,
in those little moments,
i find the base of self.

Thanks for reading,

Me

Poetry Project V 9.0, Day 2

Hello, kids!  For those of you playing along at home, it's day 2 of the Poetry Project!  What does that mean?  It means that it's really easy to keep going strong!

Today's piece comes from a recent walk in a cemetery in which I was able to see some really wonderful art.  I know, it's not where a lot of people go to see art, and honestly, I was incredibly surprised to find the kind of art I saw.  There was, for one thing, a lot of bronze statues.  One caught me in particular, and so, it's that one I write about today.

Woman in Bronze

there she stands,
her constant vigil
of arms outstretched,
a bird sculpted on her left,
and her right hand holding a single red rose.
it's fresh, as though she plucked it from the chilled ground -
an offering to passers-by,
or a reminder of life's too-fleeting pace?
frozen in stride,
forever chasing the next step,
she is excited,
alive,
peaceful,
happy,
content to be simply "here."

as am i.


Thanks for reading,

Me

Poetry Project, V 9.0, Day 1

Wow - ok, so it's been about a year since I have posted on here.  And wow, what a great year it's been.  I should really get on here and write more, in general, and do you know what?  There's very little way better to get back into it than to start with the poetry project.

What is the poetry project, you wonder?  I am so glad you asked!!  It's simple, really: April is National Poetry Month, and so, nine years ago, I started a challenge to myself to write a brand new poem each and every day of April.  I skip some days, and have to do the occasional two-fer, and some years, events conspire against me and occupy my time and I don't finish.  It sounds easy, right?  Not so much.  But wait - there's more!!!  See, YOU - yes you - are all invited to join me.  Write your own stuff.  Share it with me (or don't) and if you like, I'll share it with the rest of my readers (whomever they might actually be) if you so desire.  There's no pressure whatsoever - because poetry shouldn't be about forcing anything.  It's an invitation to participate, and nothing more.  BUT - it's a really cool invitation.

Some of my poetry is bad.  Some of it is REALLY bad.  Occasionally, I even hit on a good one.  I really like those moments - they're fun.  I think in the climate in which we find ourselves today, it's more important than ever to explore creative writing, to teach ourselves and each other, and to express oneself meaningfully.  Or, if you're me, you TRY and get to "meaningful expression."  I like to think I'm making progress.

Anyway, here we go!  The following came about from a conversation I had recently involving, of all things, the wind.


New Wind

this morning brought a new wind,
with a fresh-smell and a clean-smell,
without worry or weight,
not like the old wind that left.

that was stale and tired,
its freshness gone,
dirty, known, offering nothing to explore,
sapping energy from wherever it could.

this was excitement,
life and adventure,
an exploring wind
that hunted the now for the sake of hunting it,
never quite catching up, nor falling behind,
but snapping at the heels of the moment.
and, wrapping me in its gossamer arms,
became my winged chariot,
carrying me on to tomorrow.



So, there we are, day one in the books.  And, as it happens to be Easter - may the grace and peace of the Risen Christ be with you and yours today and throughout this Easter season.

Thanks for reading,

Me