Category Archives: Poem

Quilting Bee

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Mask quilt by Deanna Taylor
The good, the bad and the ugly. All part of life’s crazy quilt.
Pieces ready to be joined
Broken thoughts
African motif quilt by Deanna Taylor
Detail from mask quilt
This is a lovely poem written by my friend Isidro and painted on my wall. It is his version of a story I’d earlier written entitled “In Mexico There is Always Music.” We all keep contributing to each others’ stories.

(Click on photos to enlarge and to read the rest of the story.)

Quilting Bee

I chop my life up into bits, incongruous and varied:
struggles, victories, tragic loves, the day that I got married.
Clashes create beauty as pains mix up with cheers,
making a lovely pattern as each new piece appears.

In stories as in patchwork quilts, all bits are not roses.
Part of the beauty comes from the pain that it exposes.
We put our art together, fragment after patch
and no pattern emerges if all the pieces match.

A convenient truth of works of art as well as that of life:
beauty’s found in perfection, but also found in strife.
Sweet berries come with brambles and each rose has its thorn.
Both great passion and great pain predate the time we’re born.

Perhaps pain is the awful price that we have to pay
to experience the pleasure of when it goes away.
So with the ugly fabric that finds a place to fit
when contrasting beauty is stitched in next to it.

Life is a lovely story, but not all of it is writ.
Why were we created if not to add to it?
In taking all the pieces we’re provided with,
We take part in creation by adding to the myth.

 

 

Prompts today are patterns, chop, clashes, cheer, incongruous, convenient and brambles.

Family Secrets

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Family Secrets

The mayor’s precious daughter has that certain glow,
but why the groom is deadpan, no one will ever know.
That he prefers the maid of honor is the murky truth,
but to show his real emotions he knows would be uncouth.

Hand-picked by her father to assure his re-election,
this young man of fine lineage was an obvious selection.
He should have put his foot down, but their fathers were best friends
and his marriage to another would not meet those families’ ends.

So when future generations question Grandpa’s look
as they rifle through the pages of the family photo book,
they’ll guess the bachelor party had gone on for too long,
affecting the groom’s fitness and his wedding get-along.

Only two will ever know the real truth of the tale.
First, the maid of honor who smoothed her best friend’s veil,
and secondly the groom, who when he kissed the bride
imagined he was kissing the one who stood beside.

 

Prompt words today are glow, deadpan, election, murky, mayor, prefer and precious. Image from Pinterest.

Doorways

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Doorways

Dreams do not circumscribe, but let us wander forth and back,
defying time to travel through memory’s broad crack.

The profile of the present vanishes in rapid transit
without asking us if we are in the shape to chance it.

Our minds’ stately mansions turn to crackerboxes when
that unconscious part of us has a wild yen

to plunge us back into the past to deal with problems there
for which our earlier life gave us scant time to prepare.

Time and again we have the chance to live our lives in dreams,
resolving problems in a manner our subconscious deems

to be healthy solutions to what didn’t work before.
It is as though the elements opened up a door

and let us wander back again through time and distance vast
to give us all a second chance to rectify the past.

Reminding us that our old sorrows were not meant to last,
revising slightly all those roles to which we have been cast.

Time that once sifted slowly rushes through the hourglass,
assuring us of that set truth: that this, too, shall pass.

 

Prompts today are time travel, transit, profile, circumscribe, healthy, crackerbox and element. First photo by jdb, hourglass by Aron Visuals on Unsplash.

Homecoming

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Homecoming

All rivers led away from home, each highway, path and plane,
but little did I know that I would be led back again.
Memories pressed upon the page like flowers in a book.
Every story, every poem records a backwards look.

 

The prompt by dVerse Poets is to write a poem based on this amazing painting by  Lee Madgwick. See her other paintings here: leemadgwick.co.uk.
See other poems written to this promt HERE.

Traviesa

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Traviesa

My dog just ate my wood carving and that is why I need to vent.
Although I have looked everywhere, I can’t find its equivalent.
Sometimes she’s angelic, but at other times a pest.
I’ll leave it up to you which version I like best.

When she’s hushed and loving I fear that I’m forgetful
of all the other times when she’s mischievous and fitful.
I get up and go over to give her a fond pet,
but when I do I step upon a spot that’s slick and wet

and realize that once again she’s had a little pee
in a spot here in the living room she knows that I can’t see
when seated at my writing desk. My back to where she’s been,
I cannot be a witness to her most recent sin.

I know her name is Zoe, but too often I forget
the name that has been given to my most recent pet.
So I call her “Traviesa,” which pops into memory
for  “naughty girl” is what she is most frequently.

 

Prompts today are wet, fitful, angelic, equivalent, quotation, wood carving and hush.

 

Breakup Breakdown, for Wordle 569

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Breakup Breakdown

My tenacious efforts to climb that hard rock face
of the tower of your indifference has brought me great disgrace.

I regret my wasted journey  to regain your love.
What can’t be saved below can’t be re-won above.

My thoughts are swarming wildly like bees around their hive.
They crack my shell of reason. I’ve no wish to be alive.

Though I present a normal face, I’m not sane at all.
I grit my teeth and curl my broken body in a ball.

And though this seems to demonstrate that I am quite agile,
actually, it protects a heart that is most fragile.

For the Sunday Whirl Wordle 569 prompt words are: regret wasted journey tenacious bees agile rocking climb crack teeth present face. Photo and brooch by jdb.

And…it’s fiction, Dolly!!!!

Luminous

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Luminous

He surely struck the bullseye when he razed his squalid hovel
and starting out with little else than hammer, saw and shovel,
he raised a lovely edifice seven stories high,
an apartment building most pleasing to the eye.

Making not a single blunder, all the work that he put in
transformed a former eyesore into a brilliant win.
Luminous and shining, this glorious property
became a local landmark that people came to see.

Those who sought to live there were multiform and varied,
for folks of every background loved the energy it carried.
It was a living monument to industry and wit,
qualities reflected in the folks who lived in it.

 

The prompts today are luminous, bullseye, win, blunder, multiform, apartment building and hovel.

The hand-forged hammer in the illustration was my father’s. Its handle is covered in leather rings. It is one of my most treasured objects.

Wind

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Windmills
Kites
Creating electricity
and sneezes.
and drying sheets in the wind

Wind

The breath of the world blows tendrils of hair,
turns windmills and dries white sheets upon a line.
It  twists into a tornado
and lifts a house off its foundations,
sets it down in a mountain meadow
where zephyrs stir the trees.

The breath of the world blows a bee from its branch,
inhales its pollen and puffs it into nostril hairs
that launch a hurricane of sneezes,
sending a whirlwind of powder
from a powdered sugar donut out the window
onto the shoulder of a passing immaculate black tuxedo.

The breath of the world launches sailboats,
   then sends them into safe harbors as it swells into a typhoon.
     As it exhales, it lifts kites high into the air
              and as it inhales, sends them plummeting to earth.
                   It fuels our lungs to blast a wind of words: expletives or adamant prayers,
                              anthems or a tyrant’s raves, benedictions or cheers for a favorite football team.

Windy cities draw their nicknames from the breath of the world.
Wind in the Willows names our books.
Woodwinds breathe out melodies
Wind gives a name to our direction as we struggle windward.
Hurricanes quench our thirst in airless bars.
Breezes give monikers to our dispositions.

Whirlwind, breeze, zephyr,
hurricane, gale, draft, blow,
tornado, crosswind, cyclone—
from gentle puff to wild tornado,
it is  the world’s breath 
that sets everything into motion.

 

 

For the Fake Flamingo September Poetry Challenge  hosted by Rebecca, which was to write a poem about the wind making use of anaphora (a repetition of lines.) Image of sheets in the wind by Jason Briscoe on Unsplash. All other images by me.

The Answer (For Name Scavenger Hunt)

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                                                 The Answer

Another night, another day
Meanders in, then fades away
And still you do not come or call.
No news from you at all, at all.
Do you realize my heart is waiting
As your heart keeps on debating?

 

 

For Looking At Names prompt, we were to write an Acrostic poem using the name Amanda

Lalibela: For Sunday Whirl’s Wordle 568

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Lalibela

I kiss the map where memories lie in the vast stillness of the past.
Your broad laugh silenced so long ago that no remnants of it last.
What I had felt and hoped to see mirrored on your joyful face
was demonstrated as you drew me into our first long embrace.

Sparrows swoop those ancient halls where we loved and laughed and talked,
but only whispers of our love echo the chambers where we walked.
That holy place where we first kissed—the ancient pulpit that we found
buried deep within the earth—religious zeal gone underground.

Corridors carved from living stone that could not check the carver’s zeal
foretold my resolution to resist denying what I feel
so many long years afterwards, when lacking sense and reason,
I remember those short months when love bloomed out of season.

 

Prompt words for Sunday Whirl’s Wordle 568 are: sparrows vast stillness hope face silent check pulpit lack whisper kiss map