Monthly Archives: January 2017

Rose

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Rose

We are all filters of the world,
taking the news in—the happy births 
and inane deaths, the charities and cruelties,
the beauties and the gross ugliness
of nature and of human nature. 
These things pass through us or get stuck,
taking us with them into the poles of our own natures.
Those ills of the world we choose to dwell on
change us if we are not careful to let them go again
or to act in a manner opposite—
which causes us to seed new hope
which just might, just might
catch hold in the sieves
of others
and bloom.

A concrete poem is one that takes the form of what it describes. I could find no photo of a rose in my photo library, so the form of the poem will have to do to illustrate its meaning. 

The prompt today was “filter.”

Simple

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Trying to keep it simple is harder than you think.
Each time I straighten out my life, fate adds another kink.

Today’s prompt was “Simple“.

Jan. 21, 2017: Love, Peace and Solidarity March in La Manzanilla, Mexico

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The march and demonstration in La Manzanilla, Mexico, the day after President Trump’s inauguration was by no means strictly a women’s march, as you will see by these photos.  Inspiring. No violence.  No anger.  Just statements of beliefs and expressions of unity. Men, women, children, Mexicans, Canadians, Americans.  A well-thought-out and positive speech, many hats, many signs, short four block march around the triangle. I love the people who live all or part of the year in this town.

(Click on first photo to enlarge all and see translations of the signs.)

This sign said, “I’m not usually a sign-carrier, but Geeze!” (I would say his first spelling of ‘Jeeze’ was correct, but . . . ))
Respect my existence or expect resistance.

 

Natural Alarm Clock

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Natural Alarm Clock

I’m up before the Daily Prompt,
up before the sun.
Somehow I’ve started my new day
before the night is done.
The world is cloaked in darkness.
It’s too early for me,
yet wake up time’s whenever
Morrie needs to pee!

(Click on first photo to enlarge and see captions.)

 

Morrie’s bathroom with a view
Morrie, inspecting his new domain.

 

May Baskets: Flower of the Day: Jan 25, 2017

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Because my startup disc is nearly full, I don’t have access to any new photos, so I’m reposting some flowers from the past until my problem is fixed. These flowers were made from egg cartons, glue and paint and included in May baskets I took to friends that year. I remember I couldn’t resist eating the caramel in this one, so had to go buy another on the way to my friend’s house to deliver it. The first is a basket made of shredded paper and white glue formed over a custard cup and peeled off when dry. The second is cut out of tissue paper–a pattern shown to me by my mother.

Spot Amnesia

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Spot Amnesia

How can I sort the world out to when I was only ten?
I’ve taken my mind back there and come back here again.
Eleven I remember, and I also recall nine,
Grades one through four and six through twelve, I remember fine.
Why can’t I remember that year when I was ten?
I opened up an album to take me back again.
I see that I was chubby and had unfortunate hair.
Maybe that is reason enough to keep me out of there.
To live just in the present can block a lot of pain.
Sunny days are better without memories of rain.
Perhaps this digging in the past is something to be curbed,
and certain memories are not meant to be disturbed.
Whatever blocked my fifth year out will be allowed to die.
There’s wisdom in the adage to just let sleeping dogs lie.

 

The prompt word today is “ten.“

Devastation Station

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IMG_0223 Devastation Station

Our beautiful world licks her wounds
and limps around us, twirling her skirts
to blow dry dust, then empties her wash water
in deluges that flush away even more.
Not content with the bounty she provides,
they gauge her skin and pick her scabs,
feeding her poison every day.

Rich men lauded for their tax-deductible charity, get richer
by purloining more of the earth’s bounties
that they call their own.
Super yachts and super models  
give testimony to their greatness,
obscuring lurid details
of their journeys to success.

Their trophy wives marry desolation,
then furnish it themselves ever after—
future alimony little enough reward
for the sale of life and dignity.
The social pages full of the same old story—
old men professing their virility
by photos taken with presidents and starlets.

They  reillustrate their own lives with
records of success on study walls,
like rich wallpaper obscuring scars
they’ve left around them in the world.
Hiding stories of devastation
the world keeps choosing
to reward them for.

 

 

The prompt word today was “devastation.”

Oversight

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Oversight

There’s more in life that you can view
than what folks say and what folks do.
Deeper meanings hang in the air.
You can always see them, they’re always there.
More to be learned from what’s not said—
more to the meal than what we’re fed.

I note expressions, nuance, glances.
I’m an early spotter of romances
that others seem oblivious to.
A quick expression can be a clue,
a tone of voice a giveaway
of what a person means to say.

Those who see farther can be a bore.
Always looking and seeing more
than what folks would have them see,
noting life’s disparity
between what is and seems to be—
said behind backs or vis–á-vis.

So though you haven’t told me that
you find me boring, crass or fat,
I know as clearly as though you had.
And when I seem withdrawn or sad,
it’s not that I have ESP
that tells me what you think of me.

It’s simply that I pay attention
to more than what you choose to mention.
Though these extra perceptions take their toll,
they’re nothing that I can control.
I can’t shake them, try as I might.
It seems that I have “oversight.”

 

The prompt word today was “oversight.”

Furled Beauty: Flower of the Day, Jan 22, 2017

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https://ceenphotography.com/2017/01/21/flower-of-the-day-january-22-2017-twin-sisters/https:/

S-U-C-C-E-S-S

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S-U-C-C-E-S-S

“S-U-C-C-E-S-S—that’s the way you spell success!”
These words still rouse me, I confess,
though fifty years now (more or less)
have passed since I last heard the chant
that quickly turned into a rant
when we saw the basketball soar
through the net and become lore.

It was the year they won it all—
those high school kings of basketball,
with last-second ball thrown from mid-hall.
Both those who watched and those who played
cheered  and ranted, chanted, brayed.
The day that ball swished through the net?
It was as good as sports could get.

The prompt today was “successful.”