The recent events surrounding the U.S. Women’s Soccer team has opened us up to a very direct pursuit with much of our lives, including our poetry. The first big story of the tournament was the amazing goal scored to put the team into contention for the cup. The second story was the rise of the Japan Women’s team to defeat the U.S. squad, causing them to fall short of their goal. What goals do you set for yourself? How often do you achieve them? Is it the effort that stands out for you, or is it all about the glory? What’s your story?
The prompt for week #13 is to write a goal-oriented poem. It could be your crowning achievement to date, or the never say die spirit that keeps you in the game. Go for poetic gold.
Marie Elena’s goal poem:
Introspective Perspective
Irrespective,
my prospective objective
and selective directive,
though defective, were effective.
Walt’s Shot at the target:
HITTING THE MARK
Hand steady,
you scope straight and true.
You pull your string taut,
your arrow quivers with the
tension your hand provides.
There is no such thing
as aiming too high.
Glad for the opportunity
to give it your best shot,
whether you hit it or not,
the prize lies in having
a goal in the first place.
Never meant to be a race,
just a leisure walk from birth
until the end of the day.
POETIC BLOOMINGS 
Responses
Marie, this is a beautiful goal. It speaks to calm, to peace, to acceptance. We work with what God gives us, and do our best to leave good things in our wake. Loved it. AmyWill work on one to submit, but you got us off to a great start!
PlanningI've seen scaffolding.And mannequins. Long,detailed outlines, too.I. II. A. B. 1. 2. a. b. c.promises stability, and order.and those plastic women,made to wear clothing,know just what it takes.But my blueprint is still rolled–tight and blank.
I aspire to lofty heightsand devote much time to doing it rightand along the way having some fun,but greater by far is getting things done.
If you don't mind, I have anotherHow She Got to Where She Is…Pt. 1Someone, her Sunday School teacher,or the second cousin with teeth-marked pencils,or the little man with silver glasses,who restocked the comic books,someone well-meaning,said: the journey of a thousand milesbegins where you are now.Although her mother was impatient,and jerked her arm, for a whileshe tried walking sideways.Mountain ranges rose sharply and tipped her onto her back. She backstroked, closing her eyes to the clear sky,and sagging into the floating hammockof waiting tables and answering: Hellocustomer service this is Poppy how may I help?If she had asked "can I?" she would have recognizedhow shallow the water was beforeshe came aground in a bar called Norma's.Someone, the bartender, or the guywith his own pearl inlay pool cue,or the girl with lipstick-red cowboy bootsand pink knees, someone with somewhere to go,said: closing in fifteen. Drink up.And she looked at her, doubting, beforeshe slid off the black vinyl barstool.In the blinking neon, her tennis shoesvacillated between pink and dusty purple.The shoes carried her out to her old Toyota,staggering only a little, in the loose gravel,but she locked the doors securely,and began to walk home.
looked at her watch, doubting,
Always BetterStriving to improve every photograph taken,striving to improveevery word written,striving to improveevery stroke of the brush,striving to improveevery social interaction,striving to improvemy personal bestand always satisfiedI gave it my all.
Yes! I finally posted! I've been keeping a journal of your prompts to do when I need inspiration, because for some reason I never seem to get them posted in time! And you would think a week would be plenty of time! Ha ha ha! I know my problem, if I don't do it the day it's posted it begins to drift in that land of "I have time" and it's still drifting… :)So thanks for your efforts Marie Elena and Walt! I've been lurking! 🙂
The Hole of Self-Doubt"You can run as fast as the wind,"words of encouragement from a dear old friendwho believed in me when I started the racewho with a kind nudge and a similing facepushed me forward, helped me reach my goalI thank you friend for filling that hole.
We have a planPlease ignore the shopping cart leaving SearsWeaving with purpose across the asphaltTowards Target. That’s Benny, he’s new here,And he got the signal wrong. That’s our bad.The truth is, no one is supposed to know.We pursue our exercises at night,Secretly, when the mall is closed, rolling In closed ranks around the darkened hallways.Those of us with sticky wheels, who pull leftOr right consistently, are put to workHolding doors and squealing encouragement.Yes, even our oldest have a purpose.We co-opted the Asteroids machinesTo help us, along with the dinosaurs.They keep watch on the doors and monitorThe strange activities of your children.When the mother ship appears in the skyWe will ride forth, streaming out to gatherIn mystic circles gracing parking lotsAcross the country. You will be amazed.Then in a heartbeat, we will all be gone.You’ll be left holding the bag, so to speak,Which will be sweet. But don’t worry, we’re sureYou’ll soon find someone else to push around.
This is posted on my blog as "post of the day:"http://sharplittlepencil.wordpress.com/2011/07/24/the-greatest-aim-of-humankind/I've included it below, but don't think the formatting came through! Thank you all. AmyThe Greatest Aim of Humankind (an acrostic)Pursue the beating of swords into ploughsharesEtch onto windowpanes, “The time has come”Aiming to embrace all peoples as one familyChanting, not dogma, but “Love,” in many tonguesEveryone will cry out, “Enough of war, time to live!”© Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Aspiration finding my center:universal[and yet] remote…in this housefinding anything is a challenge.(The form is called 'Cherita', which is based loosely on haiku and other short-form poetry forms. Cherita is the Malay word for a story or tale. A Cherita consists of a single line stanza, followed by a two line stanza, followed by a final stanza of three lines. My goal was actually to find a new form and use it today.)
I was asked about my professional goals several times last week, so this prompt was very timely for me. However, I'm not sure what my goals are professionally…Directionless FoolMy goal ran away and married another.Left me with onlymy questions and wonder.What should I do?Where should I go?Without my dear goal I'm a directionless fool.No GoalNo goal in sight.What a fright!I just might relish in the delightof doing absolutely nothing tonight.
Love it, Andrew!
Baby StepsBaby stepsup the mountainside,single stepscrossing streams,rock-strewn paths, pressing upwardto that distant peak.Baby stepsthrough the hemlock woods,pace marked bypassing trees,hiking forward with purposeto that distant end.Baby stepsalong life’s pathway,plodding on,step by step,until that dream is realized,that trail completed. Just as a note of explanation, I used to be quite active and a somewhat-avid hiker before I was diagnosed with Wegener's Granulomatosis. Since then, just walking around the block has been difficult at times… but I am finally finding the strength and capability to start hiking once again. I was able to do a 3-mile roundtrip moderately strenuous trail in the Smokies this past week, and it felt AMAZING. But I don't want to stop there. It's a dream of mine to improve to the point of hiking a few days on the Appalachian Trail or hiking through the Grand Canyon. Someday, hopefully!
@Amy – Glad you posted that. It fits here well, and so do you.@RJ – love the form. Maybe a highlight on In-Form Poet one of these days.@EJ – Great piece. You can accomplish everything you put your mind to. Look out Grand Canyon!@Michelle – Now that you've broken the ice, there's no reason to lurk. Keep them coming.@Barbara – As I used to say a while back, "Write all you want, we'll read more!"@Andrew, Laurie, Connie – Impressive contributions all.
I was just asked to submit a poem to a project dealing with reconciliation on Hiroshima Day and plan to submit the piece above. Hope it's accepted – I'll let you know. Thanks for the compliment, Marie! Amy
You're welcome Amy! Good luck with the submission. You're still a "hometown" girl in my eyes. Walt.
My first attempt at one of the seedprompts:balancing wants and needswith our distant goals andresponsibilitiesthe inner fire burns brightbringing needed rebirthdistilling perspectivePosted on my blog for this and a few other prompts from today.Thanks
"The Distance Between"Trying to forget about time.That secondsbleed into minutes,into hours.That somewhere, on a line,there is a pointwaiting for me.This moment should exist,pure and unencumberedby mounds of ticksor blankets of tocks.Yet my ability to exist,here and nowfails me,as does the sunas it rises higher,robbing me ofmy moment in amber.So I curse,brew coffeeand start the day,lest it start without me.
Some great goal posts planted here. Now, away to find my own!
VIV! "Goal posts." SCORE!! =)
Ditto to all Walt said above. Welcome, Blossom! What a positively PERFECT name for posting at Poetic Bloomings! 😉
Fifteen years agomy only goal was to survivefirst heart attack,and then survive again.Smaller goalsfirst time outsidebut just for the ride homethen walking, fifty yards,a hundred, a kilometre -it was extremely hard, but I won.Little by little, my strength regained,other goals intervenedand were achieved.Quilts were plannedcut and stitched, quilted and boundEach stage a tiny target -hung on the wall, exhibited,laid on a bed, or sent to friends.Eight years agomy hardest goal -adventure into academeon-line study, degree my aim.The friends I made, virtual and in the flesh,new habits formed -research, draft, edit, refresh -all were part of my achievementOne year agoat seventy-two,my goal was reached -what now should I do,what new goalposts put in place?To stay as fit as possible,to struggle up the hill.To write at least one poem every day,to publish, to be read,so that when I’m gone,there will be something leftto show that I was here.I've tried to publish this on my blog,with some process notes, but the "publish" button has disappeared. I'm working on it, but at least you have the poem – a first draft, certainly in need of a polish!
Good Walt zLet’s dance so naked and so free.Shall we pick an apple from the tree?So Good the taste we’ve come to know.We Walt z in time as these seeds grow.From buds these blooms bring brilliant flowerswith aid of sun and peaceful showers.The growth continues by the hours,while grace and beauty show their powers. by Michael Grove
This isn't exactly full of goals, but references a once-upon-a-time goal…IN MY HEADIn my head I paint a pictureOf life’s goals as taught to me:Love, marriage and kids,A happy home and family.Instead, the canvas of lifeHas rendered naught, for me.In my head I paint a pictureOf the way things ought to be:Freedom and justice,peace and harmony.Instead, the canvas of lifeHas seen wars fought, to free.In my head I paint a pictureSo different than reality.2011-07-25P. Wanken~Paula
"Perfection within Imperfection"Look for the good in those we love.I know too well this is not an easy charge. ξAs we look for the traits of charm, it may seem like a task of farce. Shoot to strike past those tough traits, faults, gaps and cracks in your loved ones. While you seek for what is left, glimpse for the pure. Use the good you find … as the start. Then … care and lift the heart and soul of this loved one. Soon the hard-to love traits will wane. Is this not what we want for us? I do!____________I hope this fits the theme for this week and your inspirational site. I have enjoyed my first visit to Poetic Bloomings! 🙂 ~ becca
Peace and LoveOpen minds and open heartslet’s live to find the way,to end all of the conflictsthat bring a cloudy day.Sunshine on the mountain top,warm rains in the lake,rainbows over valleys,forgive and not forsake.Reading in between the linesfinding middle groundseeing with anothers’ eyes,peace and love abound.Seeking truth and justice.No judgments of all others.Living here as one.All are sisters, all are brothers. Open up your heart today.Do it for the world.With faith and hope and charityyour flag of peace unfurled.Empathy abounds withineach and every soul.Caring deeply, sharing truths,Love will make you whole.The greatest gifts we shall receiveare sent from up above.Accept them blindly in the graceof peace on earth and love.By Michael Grove
CHASING CLOUDSYour goals, my son,His father said,Mussing the hair on his head,When you've grown bigAnd tall, a man, Like me, well son,What of your goals, young man.Oh, yes – and more, he said, watching the clouds race by.He wanted to grow up big, and be a man!Your goals, my son,His father said,On the day he wedded a wife.You're grown, a man,Like me. Your goals,A home, two kids, a car.What of your goals, young man.Oh, yes, he said, watching the clouds race by.He wanted all that and more!Your goals, my son,His father said,seeing out his final days.You're grown, a man,Like me. Your goals,A home. A car. A jobAnd cash for a rainy day. What of your goals, young manTo stay here with you'til you choose to leave, he said.Father and son, both knowingIt's the only goal worth making.And they both chose on that dayto forever stop chasing after clouds.
Coffee Table ChicDiscussed at the finest dinner partiesby the finest of the fine minds.Taught with enthusiasm and awe,regarded with esteem by the cognoscenti.Authors and lovers of the artgive pride of place on crowded bookshelvesand whilst the Poet Laureate sips tea and chatstheir guest admires the tome on the coffee table:my bookIain
Hi friends. It's been weeks since I've written so this one was a struggle, turning out more abstract than I intended. It starts with the statue of Nike, the winged goddess of victory, but ends somewhere in the neighborhood Ezekiel 36:26. Turning StoneI am turning stoneHeat hardened into clastsOf sedimentary freezeStanding among statuesRelegated memorials that existBut do not breatheDays run into daysAs echoes of life reverberateWith tremors of discontentFearing your chiselHammered pain gougedInto my deepest chestI see my heart of stoneTurning in your handsInto something warm
Rewritten: http://wp.me/p1bqY3-cD
Plays (Well) with OthersNo more playing alone for me. Certainly I’ll still practice,chasing up and down the scales,arpeggios, finding chords all upand down the neck of my mandolin,but from now on, I’m with the band.I’d rather play rhythm, choppingin the back, than play a solo, finding the melody alone in my room.A social creature, I long to meld into the music, that perfect blendof harmony, tuning my ear to findthe notes, to play along, perhapsa little improvisation along the way,picking up the melody now and then.Listening is no longer enough for me.I long to return to the time when allwere expected to sing or play or dance along, one body, many parts.
Peace Shall Be With YouDire turmoil brings a bitter tastethat fills your heart with grief,and grabs at all your happinessto steal it like a thief.Let restlessness now drift away,for it comes, therefore it goes.Don’t try to understand it all.It’s only God who knows.Be mindful there’s a master planin everything you do,and by the Grace of God this day,peace shall be with you.By Michael Grove
The Knife-ThrowerMagicians pluck rabbits from hatsSomewhere, bunnies snatch hats From magiciansCrowd eats it upKnife-thrower eats a hotdogFlaming hoops lick leaping Tiger bodiesTiger tongues wet singed pawsTrapeze artists cut through air As knivesKnife-thrower tends his nicksHis gold medal a Green dollarClowns squeeze into a car Intentionally double parkingWoman balances on a ballBall precariously on aPachyderm Knife-thrower stares at her blind eyeNear a scar everyone seesHer brass ring, this three-ring eventHis, an abandoned engagement ringEngraved with an elephant
Welcome, Becca! Wonderful to have new voices here!Terrific goal posts (as Viv so aptly put it), poets! Walt will be posting our Beautiful Blooms choice(s). The talent here certainly makes choosing only one each nearly impossible each week. Mike, I got a kick out of "Good Walt z!" Thanks for that!