Category Archives: Poetry

Poems in many categories: Loss, NaPoWriMo

Reflecting Pool: (Sanctuary)

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Reflecting Pool

Sacred refuge and snug haven.
A safe shelter from the swarm.
Not a temple or an altar.
Comfortable, snug and warm.
Temple to deep relaxation,
Underpinning of my dreams.
A down comforter to soothe my
Rattled nerves and ripping seams.
You may guess that I’m a loner, but

Yo
u would be just halfway right.

Refuges would have no meaning without
A journey to feel life’s bite.
Under covers is a safe world,
Total living through the mind,
Cushioning the greater pleasures
Nurtured when our pathways wind
Around problems to be conquered in the outer world we roam,
Safely leading us in a circle back to the refuge that we call home.

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/sanctuary/

True or False?

True or False?

If every question had an answer clear as yes or no,
and we could more easily know the status quo,
life would not be so puzzling. The answers would be clear
about how we should run our lives. There would be less to fear.

In matters of importance, like college choice or major,
there would be less pondering and mistakes made, I’ll wager.
Our choice of whom to marry and everything we do
could be laid out on paper, put clearly in our view.

No more “to be or not to be.” No more mental maybes
when it comes to our decisions over houses, pets or babies.
Life would be just a check list labeled ” false or true”
with no equivocating over what to do.

The infinite variety of choices we now face
that have us always questioning at a faster pace
would be a simple matter—clear cut with no debate—
an indisputable right or wrong about whom we should date.

The lines would grow much longer for every “true” or “yes”
with all the “nos” and “falses”  left lonely, I would guess.
With all things predetermined and all things black and white,
there would be just two choices over what was wrong or right.

No more essay questions. Each decision plain and clear.
At every choice we’d know exactly which way we should steer.
No doubt life would be simpler and easier in its scoring,
but I am also pretty sure that it would be more boring!

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/false/

Eminent Domains

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Eminent* Domains

As a new wife I chose mountains, made a home of them and that’s
where we were surrounded by potted plants and cats.
Perched amid the redwoods, my art studio in their shade,
I looked out across the mountains as I made and made and made.

I was happy in the mountains, but the incline and the trees
made living somewhat harder as I began to wheeze.
The pollen took my breath away and walking was a labor––
the trees impeding access to and vision of each neighbor.

daily life color165

So I moved to the desert, with openness my quarry.
I loved its subtle beauties and the sparseness of its glory.
All the arms of cacti reaching to the sky,
the faded pastel sunsets as starry nights drew nigh.

But, although good for walking at a faster pace,
the desert, lacking moisture, dried my hands and face.
It dusted all my furniture and opened cracks in wood,
carved other furrows in my face, where they remain for good.

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The ocean spreads before me, a different watery land––
all her morning treasures displayed across the sand.
I examine coral and the fragile bones of fish,
surveying and collecting everything I wish

But the ocean is bipolar—sometimes she’s a bitch.
Perspiration trickles, causing me to itch.
I love the beach in wintertime and love it in the fall,
but beachside in the summer is no fun at all.

daily life color164

I have lived in mountains, the desert and the sea
and all these special places still have a place in me.
But if you ever ask me which place I’d like to be,
I fear I’d have to answer that I think I need all three.

The mountains in the summer loom up and beckon me.
The desert in the winter, balanced by the sea.
It seems there is no place on earth where I will just remain.
I claim mountains, sea and desert as my regions of domain.

*Note:  Although “eminent domain” is a familiar phrase, I am speaking of eminent in its other connotation, namely:
  1. used to emphasize the presence of a positive quality.

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/mountain/

Old Flame (A Maiden Aunt’s Testimony of Survival)

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Old Flame

“I stood and craned my neck to C
if I could make out the ID
of the one my parents chose for me.

He’d courted them from A to Z
and then proposed on bended knee,
but even though I knew that he

suited my father to a T,
I said that it was not to B.
He did not set my spirit free

nor make me want to be a “we,”
so I’m afraid that his suttee
was never fueled by such as me.”

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/survival/

Clarity: Words After an Armistice

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Words After an Armistice

I want to make this perfectly clear.
We are not close just because we are near.
There has to be more than proximity for
my heart to open its almost closed door.

Say something sweet to me. Say something rare.
I do not feel loved just because you are there
across a room that is filled up with things.
You must think of something and give your thoughts wings.

Speak playful words that will prompt words from me.
Then volley them back to me. Don’t let thoughts “be”
without giving them air to live in and grow
so they banish these shadows and fan fire’s glow.

Passion’s not something for us to remember.
It’s better a constantly glowing live ember.
Get up from your chair. Give that remote a miss
and speak to me now with a word or a kiss.

Remove my hands from the keyboard and say,
“Let’s give the internet rest for a day.”
Take me to water and take me to sand.
Take off my shoes and take hold of my hand.

Walk me to tide swell and gull cry and light.
Say you’ve forgotten our last brittle fight.
Banish bad thoughts in the now and the here
so I can feel close just because you are near.

https://fivedotoh.com/2018/06/20/fowc-with-fandango-almost/

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/clarity/

“The World Swings Towards its Opposite”

“The World Swings Towards its Opposite”

Often we’re made by what we lack.
White stands out better against black.
A child’s hand against your hand
often helps you understand
how prepared the human zoo
is to go on without you.

The world keeps balancing its act,
although we often rue the fact.
A child is born? Another must
make room by turning back to dust.
And every time we try to change this,
nature steps in to rearrange us.

Pestilence, earthquake and flood
offset new birth by spilling blood.
Ebola, aids, dengue, the flu
are, alas, only a few
of nature’s horrors that balance joys.
Cold and hot and girls and boys,

feast and famine, rain and shine,
mountain, valley, fresh water, brine––
contrast is what defines our world.
Every “knit one” must be pearled.
The truth in this election year
is one that I have come to fear,

for just as prejudice seemed cured,
our world has turned back to absurd.
Obamacare may be replaced
with a plan that’s more debased.
Hatred and misogyny
may be the next thing that will be

inflicted upon our brave world
that reels under each new ill hurled
before cycling back to light,
healing from each horrid blight.
Who seeks to “Trump” our earthly hand,
is one hand closer to being canned!


“. . . when anything reaches its maximum potential, it turns toward its opposite.”
–(translation of a principle stated in the i ching.)

If you want tohttps://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/contrast/

Accident

The Prompt: Tell us about a time you should have stopped and helped someone but didn’t.

DSC07911Accident

When I rise at seven to let her out,
she’s in a hurry, without a doubt,
for I see only a streaking blur––
a tip of tail and whirr of fur.
As she rushes out to pee,
the shame is not on her, but me.
I heard her bark an hour ago,
but it was only seven and so
I thought I’d just go back to sleep
and she made no further peep.

Now I see the pile upon the floor
just inside the open door
held as long as she was able,
then hidden underneath the table.
Not the first time in twelve years
that she’s caught me in arrears
in opening doors to let her out,
yet it is true without a doubt
that she has never erred before
and made a mess upon the floor.

I know that she is feeling shame,
even though she’s not to blame.
For once she is not under feet
as I prepare something to eat;
and when I call, she does not come.
She’s in the garden, feeling glum.
She feels she’s done a shameful act
devoid of training, breeding, tact.
She does not know that I’m the one
standing here with smoking gun.

Every bit of blame is mine,
for Frida’s former record is fine.
For twelve long years, she never peed
upon the roof in time of need
even when we didn’t know
she was locked up there and so
there is no need to hang her head
in shame of what she’s done, and dread
of being scolded or being blamed.
I am the one who should be shamed!

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/sorry-im-busy/

We Cannot Surrender Her

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We Cannot Surrender Her

 Try as I might, she will not go.
She sends me on to test the water
but remains on the shore.
Ankle deep and then no more.
Fingers trailing and then no more.
Having once found a false bottom,
she trusts no foothold.

The falling is the thing, I tell her,
yet she holds back from the fall.
Let me always be the one going down, I tell her.
I will always be the one bringing you up, she answers.
This is the role we alternate being the stand-in for.
What I want she keeps me from.
What she fears I pull her toward.

 Relax, I tell her,
but she fears what relaxation brings.
She cannot surrender herself.
I cannot be content until she does.
Twin sisters, we rail against each other, then hold hands.
Comforting. This is enough, she tells me.
Nothing is ever enough, I tell her.

This poem, written in yesterday’s session, loosely meets the prompt. It is about going places––that part of one’s self that wants to let go and that part that fears risk and needs to maintain safe control.

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/the-wanderer/

Internet Infraction: Bogged Down in Blog

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Internet Infraction: Bogged Down in Blog

The only way I’d ever stop
is flagged down by a cyber cop
who says my blogging cannot last
if I continue to go so fast.
He’d give a lecture and a ticket
and then he’d actually stick it
across my screen with strict instruction
to cease this method of destruction.

If life had meant us to go on line
hour after hour––eight or nine
hours or more day after day,
with always one more thing to say,
why would it give us legs to go
and feet to walk on, heel to toe?

Day after day, it’s grown obscene––
my eyes plastered upon my screen,
my fingers stiff with my attention
over what I might next mention––
fingers drumming, tapping, bending
all the while sending sending––
typing out, first fast then slow
my life as a reality show.

Until I wonder if I log
its details daily on my blog
because I want to recall life––
its joys and sorrows, pleasures, strife––
or do I only move about
to give me something to write about???

My friends all say this can’t go on.
I’m growing flaccid, weak and wan.
I need some exercise and sun––
some movies, dancing or other fun
aside from snapping pictures of
each bougainvillea or mourning dove.

Life’s meant to live, not to record.
It should be shouted, screamed or roared––
not typed out softly on the keys
of a laptop spread out on my knees!
The truth of this I’ve clearly seen
now that this sticker obscures my screen.
“Do not remove” it clearly reads,
“Go live your life! Go do some deeds!”

I’ll put on sneakers and do some laps.
I’ll exercise ‘til I collapse,
then do more laps around the pool
‘til I’m an exercising fool.
I’ll call twelve friends up on the phone.
I’ll never ever be alone.
I’ll live my life until its end
without a single blogging friend!

My dedication will never lapse;
and yet, how temptingly it gaps–
that sticker, unstuck at its edge
so easy now to pick and wedge
my fingernail beneath and tug,
to drop its shreds upon the rug
and free my screen of its obstruction––
this taboo not of my construction.

To push the button, light up the screen––
to see its colors from red to green.
Black words on white, Cee’s daily flower––
no longer do I pine and cower.
I peck the keys, upload some pics––
once more getting my daily fix.
The truth of modern life leaks in.
To blog is not a major sin!
I’ll give up blogging, become a rover
precisely when Hell freezes over!!!

 

The Prompt––Bloggers, Unplugged: Sometimes, we all need a break from these little glowing boxes. How do you know when it’s time to unplug? What do you do to make it happen?

Humble is Sweeter Served Between Two Crusts!

Humble is Sweeter Served Between Two Crusts!
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The Indigestibles

No room for mushrooms, can’t live with liver.
The thought of brains just makes me shiver.
Though I like pizza, my other law
is I don’t eat tomatoes raw!

Drinking milk’s against my wishes.
Fish is simply for the fishes.
I eat no veal or other baby,
and steak for me is simply “maybe.”

So if it’s your plan to invest
in things that I like to ingest,
I won’t make it any harder
for you to come and stock my larder.

All else you want to bring to feed me—
what edibles you wish to cede me:
Injera, curries, Thai, Chinese—
all are sure to tempt and please.

Except for one thing I just thought of
that in the past I’ve had a lot of.
There’s one more mouthful I won’t try.
I have no taste for humble pie!

(Yes, ’tis true.  You’ve seen this before.  Not enough hours in the day lately, and if the prompt fits, reblog it, I say!!!!)

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/humble-pie/