Okay, I cheated a bit. Just no real doves or darters in my photo files. I made these detritus birds out of shells and a fruit crate that washed ashore during past years at the beach. Keeps me out of trouble.
For the Bird Weekly Challenge
Stories Told by Silence
Silence has a language unique to every ear.
Anyone can hear it if they choose to hear.
Do you listen to your silences? The various tales they tell?
I’ve listened to them my whole life. I know them very well.
Their insistent voices burrow through my thoughts,
trail their separate stories and tie them into knots.
Some seek out yarns in chaos: carnivals and bars,
rodeos and festivals, parades and speeding cars.
But there’s drama in the silence as it gathers round—
stories waiting patiently for you to hear the sound
of voices in the quiet. Hush now. Do you hear?
They’ll settle on your shoulder and whisper in your ear.
Silence owns no copyrights. It’s there for you to steal.
Unsort its separate strands and then spin them on your wheel.
The fiber of your silence can be woven into tomes.
Weave them into novels, storybooks and poems.
Stories are out there waiting. Hush and you might hear them.
Reach out and grab one for yourself when you venture near them.
We Cannot Surrender Her
Try as I might to urge her on, 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 go down, I beg her.
I will always bring 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.
How many of us, children of the fifties,
find ourselves on this seesaw, wanting to control the ride?
Relax, I tell her, but she can’t relax––fearing what relaxation brings.
She cannot surrender herself. I cannot be content until she does.
Two-in-one, we rail against each other, then hold hands.
Comforting. This is enough, she tells me.
Nothing is ever enough, I tell her.
This is my third major rewrite of this poem originally written in 1976. Only three lines still remain from that poem. It is perhaps finished now.
Here is the link if you’d like to participate in dVerse Poet’s Open Link night and here is the link to read other poems for dVerse Poets Open Link Night
Click on photos to enlarge and view as slideshow.
Stasis and Flux
Laughter is the flux of life, aiding in the flow
as we face gloomy prospects everywhere we go.
Better just to stay at home and enjoy what we’re given
It does no good to cry about the way our life’s been riven
into “then” and “now.” Whereas the world was once a race,
now we walk on tiptoe, remaining in our place,
observing what is close at hand—the blessings that surround us—
looking for the beauty in the space that lies around us.
Flowers, birds and family. Sunset skies, the trees.
Life may end where it began, here with the birds and bees.
The whole world is a miracle, and we are just a part of it.
Remember, there was no mankind way back at the start of it.
If we pass to oblivion and all our buildings crumble,
nature will go on again, our history just a mumble
that beings of the future will stumble on and wonder
why we chose to pillage and why we chose to plunder
when we could have just sat back to wonder at this world
where everything we ever needed lay securely curled.
Breathe her air, enjoy her fruits, enjoy simple things.
Open your eyes and ears and heart to all that nature brings.
Click on photos to enlarge.
Click photos for enlarged views of the flower.
Yolanda drew me down to the garden to witness the recent appearance of this gorgeous huge hibiscus.
For Cee’s Flower of the Day prompt
Exculpatory Failure: The Cookie Caper
My sister can’t explain the fate
of cookies missing from the plate.
A generous portion merely vanished
to unknown realms furtively banished.
Here, for instance is an example
of why she couldn’t take a sample:
she couldn’t reach the cookies there
so high above her tangled hair—
an argument I must impeach,
for they are not beyond her reach.
And so I cannot exculpate
her innocence in this debate.
The cookies have indeed gone missing.
The coffee pot is gently hissing
and I can’t accept her bluff
of why there are not cookies enough
for all my mother’s friends to chew
even one, let alone two!
My mother baked hour after hour
so they’d have plenty to devour,
yet now there are a paltry few.
I guess they’ll have to just make do
with a cookie each or less.
Good for their dieting, I guess.
Who can the guilty culprit be?
My sister hopes they’ll think it’s me
who stole said cookies from the plate
and not that tiny reprobate
with chocolate crumbles on her lips
and frosting on her fingertips.
My little sis, so innocent,
admits not where those cookies went.
Yet that bonanza clearly resides
somewhere within her own insides.
Today’s prompt words are bonanza, example, generous and exculpate.
I am so happy to get to see both Big and Little Duck again!!! And so glad they’re staying safe, although I must say they look like they are closer to each other than six feet!!! (Click “View original post” to see the photos.)
Judy/Remi/LifeLessons cajoled me into taking a couple updated photos of Little Duck & Big Duck after she posted some of LD’s past adventures tonight. She further cajoled me into posting them on my blog here rather than on hers. Ok, I’ve had just enough rum to accommodate. We’re being safe. Wash yer hands, wear a mask, avoid crowds, love a duck, vote liberal. (Click the thumbnails below to enlarge, if you dare.)
