Tag Archives: The Sunday Whirl

School Reunion for The Sunday Whirl

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Back row: Patti Dykstra Arnieri, Val Lecke Halla, Ed Jackson
Front row: Mick Penticoff, Judy Dykstra-Brown and Mick’s granddaughter Melissa

School Reunion

Wind strums the grass
around the Dakota town
where we gather under a prairie sky.

Back home again after sixty years
all the world  constricted to this gymnasium––
forgotten friends are again remembered,
denied loves again brought to mind.

Folklore of the past is stirred up to reveal new truths
as facts and rumors buzz around our heads
like bees that store old stories like honey,
then lie fallow to be stirred up again in 5 years.

We leave each other again, then,
for one more time,
wondering with departing sighs
whether pleas to keep in touch
will be remembered.

For The Sunday Whirl, the prompt words are: home world denied bees pleas forgotten folklore wonder fallow sigh sky strum

I am riding home from my 2-day school reunion in South Dakota as I write this poem wherein I’ve added the restriction of making use of the twelve prompt words above. It was the best reunion ever–the 61st year after my high school graduation, but since the all-school reunions (meaning they are for every class who ever graduated from the school)  for the tiny high school I attended are staged only every 5 years, it was only my 12th reunion, not all of which I’ve been able to attend. It was, however, the best one to date.  (But then my sister says I say that every time.) This time there were lots of children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren of schoolmates who attended and it was wonderful to see these additions to their lives and continuations of their stories.

More Photos: Reunion Parade combined with 250 year celebration..Horsemen with flags of all 50 states. Photo by Patti Arnieri.

“Whirlwind” For The Sunday Whirl Wordle, 765

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Whirlwind

The voicemails that the wind exhales could terrify a ghost.
Wailed as stories in the storm, they are the Devil’s post.
Scared mortals wander unaware, their journeys to begin,
Caught in the glow of lightning, they struggle and they spin.
Tossed helpless in the tempest, they must wonder why,
like the fragile lotus, flung high  up in the sky,
the breath of air that gave them life is now how they will die.

been din grin kin men pin sin tin then vin win

For The Sunday Whirl Wordle 765, the prompt words are: voicemails high exhale wind begin unaware scared glows ghost storm story lotus

Creature Discomforts, For Sunday Whirl Wordle 764

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Yikes! is that a scorpion? Actually, this is a bottle of mescal my student Eduardo gave me last year for my birthday. Inside were three giant scorpions and a coral snake. So far everyone who has visited me has given it a miss, as have I. It is rumored that a sip of it will bolster a man’s virility.

Creature Discomforts

Lest you suffer a hot foot in the darkness of the night
as you journey to the bathroom and feel a sting or bite,
best slip into your shoes first before you journey there
lest a scorpion or spider gives a wound that you can’t bear.

Then in the brightness of the day, out in the prairie grass,
God grant that you’re not bitten in the ankle or the ass
by a coral snake who wounds you and is off, then, in a shot,
leaving you with ashen face, intestines in a knot.

Wishing you were dead,  perhaps, instead of in such pain
that you vow that you will never walk in waist-high grass again
lest it lead to the resurgence of encounters with that snake
who surely you could fight off with a pistol or a rake

Better that you face it in bottle of mescal
than bushwhacking through the grasslands or walking down the hall.
if only you had seen it, but now that subject’s moot.
If you ever walk this way again, you’ll bring a gun–and shoot!

The words for Sunday Whirl this week are: shot foot dark bright prairie grass hot ash dead resurgence fight god

 

Love Poem to Poets

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Love Poem to Poets

Who am I to judge you as you tinker with words…
reveal their bounce and loop de loop
from Heaven to brutal Hell?
May your poetry never end,
but instead stream in strings of metaphors ,
down that track from up to down
from brain to welcoming heart,
driving the truth to every corner of the world.

For the Sunday Whirl, prompt words are: judge tinker bounce loop heaven brutal end stream string track welcome drive

And also, for dVerse Poets, because these prompt words seemed to lead me back to your prompt as well.

“The Toast” for The Sunday Whirl

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The Toast

He never lost his swagger, even toward the end.
As life tried to break him, the most he did was bend.
When death twisted its cruel blade and his life met its turning,
unholy thoughts consumed me and set my mind to churning.

Will the dead rise up again in search of former love,
or do our dear departeds find more holy lips above?
Does past love wave its banners and proclaim itself in spite
of the fact that one love stays below, completely out of sight?

Love’s table where we feasted has found another host,
and though I hover ’round its edges and listen to the toast
of another bride and bridegroom celebrating love that’s new,
instead, my lover who once was, I lift this glass to you.

For the Sunday Whirl 762 the words are: wave turning unholy lips swagger lost dead rise twist blade feast edges

“Gasping for Air” For The Sunday Whirl

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Gasping for Air

No small potatoes are these dreams
that serve to rip apart the seams
of blessed sleep that drifts my mind
down roadways of a gentler kind.
Dread closes off my throat in fright
that I will not survive this night.
Prickles of fear cause neck to seize.
I run outside, seeking a breeze
to fill my lungs pinched off by fear
that my death is growing near,
shifting those stories in my head
to twisted tales of breathless dread.
I shift to hammock and cooler air,
breath coming easier out there,
my glassy eyes opening to
that stillness that comes into view.
Black night replacing former views
that now my memory eschews.

For The Sunday Whirl 761 the word prompts are:
runner potatoes road drifting twisted pinch glassy prickled neck shifted still

“Capitol Hill” for The Sunday Whirl

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Capitol Hill

He tolls the bell, this liar son
saying that the war he’s won.
He casts his spell, pretending that
the tricks he pulls out of his hat
are gospel truth as he finds fault
with saner men who try to halt
his lies and tricks and machinations
with news reports and protestations
that find him guilty of heinous acts
while he hits back with money’s power
as all around him succumb and cower
fearing their own loss of station,
fortune, job, or reputation.
“It’s fine,” they sigh, “and meant to be
so long as it advances me!”

For The Sunday Whirl #760 the prompt words are:
tolls spell inclined mind find sigh hit guilty fine fault liar 

“Guardians” For The Sunday Whirl

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Guardians

I spin the stick to kindle fire to dispel the chill,
risking the displeasure of that ghost who’s silent ’til
It feels the differing temperature with the waning cold
and moves down from the window ledge, wanting to behold
this human who alone would risk the ire of a ghost
without protection of a cross or a holy host.
I  softly hum a tune that the spirit doesn’t know,
then dig my fingers in the ground in an attempt to sow
new life within that sterile earth–softly dropping seed
to see what vegetative wonders earthly hands can breed.
I feel the spirit hovering and sense his threatening stare
until warm currents lift him up into the cooler air
above the room, above the town, to where more spirits dwell
who have been patiently waiting to send him back to Hell.

For The Sunday Whirl. This week’s given words are – kindle risk dig until differing chill spin waning ghost softly alone know.

Nightmares and Dreams for The Sunday Whirl

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Nightmares and Dreams

Sighs like sirens in the night come knocking on my dreams,
centered in those lost places that slip between my screams.
Curses from the gods, perhaps, that seep in beneath doors
to still true thoughts of peacefulness  and fill our dreams with roars
of lions and of cougars and other preying things
and all those fears of danger that each daily newscast brings.
Let our dreams instead be filled with thoughtful acts of friends,
that fill our lives with loving thoughts until this trial ends.
Our votes might end the terror, but what else is there to do
until true national sanity is restored anew. 

 

For the Sunday Whirl Wordle, the prompt words are: sighs siren knocking still centered lost slip doors true screams beneath curse

“You” for The Sunday Whirl

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You

We could share a lifetime in some connected place
and I would never lose my awe of your familiar face.
Years relaxing into it will seem a weekend trip:
mere hours to memorize your mouth––that classic upper lip.
Then when at last we’re in our home, I’ll have the whole of you
emblazoned in my memory with nothing left to do
but to enjoy the “all” of you, not  just your face and form––
that heart and soul and seed of you that creates your corm.

For The Sunday Whirl the prompt words are: lifetime share relax connect place last class awe home will years trip. (A corm is a short, thickened underground plant stem that stores starches and nutrients to fuel the plant’s growth.)