There are things we can be relatively certain of in this life. Tomorrow, the sun will rise in the east and set in the west. Yet, that of which we may be certain is limited. On the other hand, the questions in life seem inexhaustible.
Write about something you can’t grasp, or that you wish you knew more about.
MARIE ELENA’S CONCERN
DEMENTIA
Words and meanings smear like watercolor on slanted mirror.
Her ‘reasoner,’ broken.
Her fear, unspoken.
Her sense of self, lost on a shelf of saved-for-sometime dreams.
Seems little ‘clicks.’ There must be a fix – a pill that would fill her seeping soul, and bring her back,
whole.
© Marie Elena Good – 2012
WALT’S UNCERTAINTY:
OF DEATH AND TAXES
They claim two certainties in this life;
death and taxes. But the fact is,
they breed confusion and you can bet,
the surety ends when they start to tax death.
© Walt Wojtanik – 2012
POETIC BLOOMINGS 
Responses
This one is supposed to be indented each line one space more, centered around the Red Sox line, and then reversing back to the left for the second half. I have a feeling when I hit send it’s going to end up flat against the left margin…
Still no rain
Still no rain
I keep checking the weather
For news of a cloud, any cloud
I answer the door hoping for lightning
I am obsessed, half crazy with this craving
After dark, I go to the grocery.
People walk its wide aisles slowly
I see a bug struggling to carry a piece of food,
I wonder if that is how I look tonight.
I cannot think straight. I buy ice.
Back home again I go to bed.
We do not touch, my lover and I.
The Red Sox are on the radio. I listen, breathless.
I try not to touch the sheets
I am hardly at home in this bed.
I get up, thinking tangents about ice.
I catch sight of my matted hair in a mirror
I should eat, but it’s too much effort.
Instead, I wander the house aimlessly
I cut slow, wide swaths across the dusty hardwood.
I crave anything but this obsessive crazy circling.
Outside our door, there are fireworks.
There are no clouds in the night sky
I check the weather again.
Still no rain.
Poignant, Andrew, thank you.
‘I cut slow, wide swaths across the dusty hardwood.’ SO much in that line…Superb writing, Andrew.
Really enjoyed this, especially since it centers around “The Red Sox are on the radio. I listen, breathless.” Truly something I can picture as I read it.
Oh, best (if uncomfortable for you) “Weather Report” I have heard from the East. My you have that cooling weather and rain soon.
Powerfully vivid.
Andrew, you penned our lives here as well, cheerleading the slightest cloud to drop a little moisture. Great job!
I can feel the stickiness of this between every stultifying line … just wonderful Andrew … truly
I should like to see this poem as you laid it out. Could you post a link so that we can see it properly?
The oppressive weight of weather you portray so colourfully makes me realiseI should be grateful instead of grumbling about this chilly wet summer we are having.
I can feel the pacing in this, Andrew. Great poem.
In The Dark
I have no idea
where you are
I have no idea
if you will read this
I have no idea if
you will care if you do
I have no idea what really happened
I have no idea
why you had to go
I have no idea
what to do now
I have no idea
how to say the words you need to hear
I have no idea
if you are listening
I have no idea
why I searched for so long
I have no idea where to look now
I have no idea
why I still love you
Iain
… and… that is a mystery in life… Beautiful, Iain.
Thanks Hen
You’re welcome, Iain.
Hauntingly beautiful, Iain! Yes, I know! Why do we?
The uncertainity (and reality) of many….
This touched me deeply. Why? I have no idea! It is just beautiful.
Thank you very much Janet, Marjory & Linda 🙂
For sure 🙂
Good one, Iain. Very touching.
Sad.
Thanks Linda 🙂
Such plaintive yearning here Iain and all the more so because you make it clear there are no answers coming … very heart-breakingly beautiful
Thanks Sharon 🙂
I’m filling up! The despair in this is palpable.
Cheer up Viv! Fortunately it’s only a poem – although once upon a time it would have been a true story
One of life’s great mysteries, so well written.
Thanks!! 🙂
I wonder if you two (Andrew and Iain) have any idea how excited I am to see you lined up as the first two poets to respond to this prompt. POWERFUL pieces, gentlemen!!
Marie Elena
It’s a pleasure to be here Marie 🙂
Thanks, Marie. Nice to actually get here on a Sunday for a change!
Before I go rumbling off and forgetting again – wanted to say how much “Dementia” and “Of Death and Taxes” touched me … some uncertain certainties are indeed universal … you both have written to them … good to see you around the playground Mr.W
LIFE
“The only thing cer-
tain, is the uncertainty” *
Can I flow gently?
*author unknown
I have received your wonderful prompts via email for quite some time. I kept hoping to get around to contributing. On the heals of a sleepless night I wrote a piece about time. The idea of time versus timelessness always leaves a bit uncertain.
Here is a link directly to my writing-http://smallstonegatherer.blogspot.com/2012/07/timeless.html
So glad to see you dip your toe in the waters, Teri! I left a comment at your site. LOVELY writing, and we sure hope to hear more of your voice here!
Marie Elena
Thank you Marie for the warm welcome. I see that many people post their poems here…next time!
A frightened child
Wondering what will become of her now
He was everything
Strength, protection, love, security, everything
Daddy
Gone, not coming back
All that was left was a broken family
Floundering,
Searching the eyes of a woman
Who was broken herself
Looking for reassurance and
Only seeing emptiness
Pain, loss, fear
Years go by…
She found her own strength
Always that fear in the back of her mind
Never fully able to trust…
Nothing lasts forever
Wow! I know a few too many like this…you pen it vividly and with aching thought! These lines jolted my heart ‘Floundering,
Searching the eyes of a woman
Who was broken herself’ and this,
‘Always that fear in the back of her mind
Never fully able to trust…’ painful uncertainties indeed!
Ya, so ral for so many. Well written.
Jackson!!!!!!!!! MY Jackson! So good to see you here!
All, “Jackson” is one of my very dearest and best friends. She is very talented in the arts, and teaches at Bowling Green State, near us.
I’m so glad to see you expressing yourself in this way, Jackie. I know yesterday was super hard on you. I can only imagine. 😦
Beautiful poem, beautiful voice, beautiful friend.
You know I love you deeply.
Marie
Marie,
You know I love you too. Dear friend… Closer than any sister could ever be.
Jackson
Amen. ❤
This could so easily be about me. Wow. I’m sitting here crying in the ache of it all.
Walt and Marie, this is going inspire great reading….your poems are proof of that as are those already written!
Thank you Janet! 🙂
That Wasn’t My Intention
I talk.
Okay. I talk and talk and talk.
But my real friends and family
know what I mean to say.
Don’t they?
What it they don’t?
What if they misunderstand me?
What if they twist what I say,
my genuine,
thoughtful,
insightful words
into something dark,
more sinisterly malicious?
What if they think
I have evil intentions?
So just to be sure,
I talk.
Okay. I talk and talk and talk.
Patricia, a wise person once told me that interpretation of our words says more about the reader/listener than about the writer/speaker…. 🙂
Yes, I am sure we all, at times, ‘talk to much’ out of uncertainity,
Fabulous, Patricia. Maybe that is why I talk and talk and talk?
Insightful! The circle back to “I talk and talk and talk” is true and true and true!
The more nervous I am, the more I talk, and talk, and talk. So true.
A Mother’s Uncertainties…
Over the years
I am certain you’ve heard me
Easing my fears
In last minute reminders…
“Use your manners now
Don’t talk with your mouth full
Be gentle, be kind and be careful
Respect your teachers
And your classmates too
When someone offers you a ride
Please say thank-you
Let others go first
Don’t push and shove
Say excuse me when you want someone to move
Walk, don’t run in church or school halls
Don’t spend money carelessly
If you go to the mall
Don’t drive too fast
Give the teacher that note
The permission slips
And the thank-you I wrote
Don’t waste your food
Do what is good
Someone is watching when you think you’re alone
So do as you know you should
Mind your ‘pleases’
And your ‘thank-yous’
It’s okay to say no
When it’s the wrong you refuse
Play the game fairly
Obey the Golden Rule
Drugs are poison
And they are not cool
Oh, and don’t drive too fast
Did I already say that?
Be careful…oh,
I’ve said that too
Many, many times, it’s true
Yes, I’m certain you’ve heard me
Over and over
But I am still quite uncertain
As to what you remember…
WONDERFUL!!!
So true… 🙂
Kids, do they ever learn??? Not that I’ve ever been one . . . or birthed one . . . or needed to learn the same lessons. Well said.
Every mother goes “am I really like that?” but we are, still, even though our offspring are old enough to be grandparents themselves!
Uncertainty Ode
How can I write a poem about uncertainty
when uncertainty is the pen?
Or maybe the keyboard, as it were, or maybe is.
Despite all our best efforts, here we are with another circle.
I can never remember my dreams
and so I can’t figure out what you will say
when I tell you about how you
unknowingly turned the cobblestone path through the park
into a metaphor for yourself.
I almost showed you the picture once.
There it is again, the Le Cirque des Rêves,
and I can’t tell which parts are real.
The jacket turns into a raven
and the fortune teller says “I don’t know,”
and so clearly we have come to the wrong place for definiteness.
I have been slacking at being here.
For some reason, the more you think the blurrier it gets.
This is giving me a headache. You?
The plan is to jump off the cliff, to fall down the stairs without stopping
but I have to admit I take breaks to stare at the screen,
to wonder how this will all be perceived.
Hello, city breeze,
how would you like to become a metaphor too?
The summer is already half over
and although you’re appreciated more this time of year,
we still have no fucking clue how this will all play out.
Astonishing
how a broken Red Sox wristband can send you back
eight years.
Incredible
how we can get all the way through to the other side
and still we’re sure of nothing.
Ya, that (to me) is a good display of uncertainty.
Mike, you always keep me skipping around inside my head wondering, with uncertainty, where you are taking this or that poem? And I do love it so. . . the uncertainty of it all.
Hear, hear!
meg
Thanks!
“…and still we’re sure of nothing.” — yes– great line!
PLANS…
I plan a course,
and run with the wind,
but my efforts to set my sails
do not always work.
The wind moves not at my bidding,
it flows per the hand of God…
who may stay the wind.
Becalmed –
to stop my frantic headlong thrust.
Paused…
to see what is about me.
See…
beyond myself, my plans,
beyond me.
Time…
to be quiet…
to pray and listen.
Seek…
the source of certainty
in a world of uncertainties.
Seek…
not my will,
but the will of God.
…yes… these words bring calm… thank you, MMT!
I am glad. 🙂 Thank You
!!! 🙂
Precious Time
Beyond the golden meadow
where an old oak tree is growing,
casting shadows in the breeze,
there’s a reddish river flowing.
Immerse yourself in waters.
Sense a pleasant warming light.
Slow your heartbeat to a rhythm.
Separate, then reunite.
Hear the whisper of the wind
sing sweet melodies of love.
Feel the trembling down below.
Witness visions up above.
Touch the hearts of those endeared.
Share the passion of their cries.
Hear the message of the word.
See the world thru open eyes.
Will it be a downhill slide
or a lengthy upward climb
as the ticking of the clocks
steal away your precious time?
By Michael Grove
Your poem totally touched me. This is THE big uncertainty. I do not fear death and I have a full life, but I fear the loss of dignity that aging may bring.
Lovely thoughts, Michael…
I Love that Michael, I could (and am sure I will) read that over and over.
Very encouraging. Thank You. 🙂
Certainty
Grass wilts, leaves fade, creation is unsound
Cars rust, men die, buildings fall to the ground
Ah, but look to His blessings from above
Mountains of mercy and oceans of love
We can never know what the day will bring
Or even if dawn will ever take wing
Ah, but with the Lord, we can be sure of
Mountains of mercy and oceans of love
Our days are numbered, many or a few
It’s out of our control, what others do
He sent His Son and Spirit like a dove
Mountains of mercy and oceans of love
“….He gives and takes away,
Still my heart will say…Blessed is the name of the Lord.”
Part of a song that keeps running throught my mind.
“…Ah, but look to His blessings…” !!!
IF I WERE YOU
If I were you
I would write down how I am feeling today:
The anger and fear of knowing
that the end is so certain and near.
If I were you
I might keep writing every day
So that others who must travel the same path
will know that they do not walk alone.
If I were you
I would hold a magnifying glass to my faith
Finding and taking every comfort
that it was designed to give.
If I were you
I would find joy in each task I undertake,
Because if I am taking the time to do it, it must be worthwhile.
If I were you
I would spend hours every day doing the things I have always wanted to do.
I would lunch with friends, sit in the park,
read fabulous books, and take long fragrant baths.
If I were you
I would find something small to do that I know would make a difference,
So I would be sure that the world is a better place
because I was here than it would have been without me.
If I were you
I would burn the concept of a Bucket List.
Joy is found, not in the huge events,
but in the very small ones.
If I were you
I would go to sleep each night recalling my accomplishments,
Since I have never had time
to consider them as they occurred.
If I were you
I would remind my loved ones that I will always be with them.
My actions, words, and thoughts will come back to them
unbidden whenever they are needed.
If I were you
I would not spend one second thinking about what I will miss or regret,
But instead spend every minute embracing the wonderful things
I experienced and enjoyed.
But I am you.
My journey is growing shorter every day with certainty,
Though I have not yet been notified
of my final flight or destination.
Because of you
I am going to change the journey I take
And do these things
that I should have done my whole life.
Wonderfully Put.
How lovely! The “If I were you” repetition led inevitably to “I am you” and to change.
“…Joy is found, not in the huge events, but in the very small ones…”
I Love this entire poem so much!!!
Cooking with Uncertainty
2 lbs Risk
1 lb Fortune-telling
1 lb Estimated Prophet
1 lb Inspiration
.5 lb Probability
.5 lb Skepticism
1 pinch of Good Luck
Bake risk, generously topped with fresh ground rosemary 40-45 min
then transfer to larger pot, add 2 pears (cleaned and quartered)
some fresh or dried figs (6-8 cut in half if dried)
6 garlic cloves plus one onion quartered ( optional )
2 cups Tawny Port wine or enough to almost cover risk
add remaining ingredients, bring to slow boil
and then cook on low, a little over an hour total time
(in lieu of uncertainty, substitute turkey thighs for risk)
~ Randy Bell ~
Beautiful, well put. and fun!
Thank You Marjory
Fun. Can we add some fun and responsibility?
Done !!
Ha, life in a stew pot, I love rosemary.
As someone who loves to cook, I enjoyed your recipe, cloud… thank you!
Thank You Hen, and that recipe does not disappoint !!
:)!
Randy, you always make me laugh.
Thank You Sara, I find a little humor goes a long way !
It’s time I tried posting here, still uncertain whether or not this is “publishing.” In the past I’ve just guided you to the specific poem on my poetry blog. Here’s the cut and paste, which I suspect will lose its concrete design, but which I think will still work:
Diving In
The plank looms before me
and the pirate, with hook,
wooden leg and eye patch
nudges me forward
I dare not look back.
It’s a sweet strong
college-age teen who
wills me to glide forward.
Best to look straight out
with no bobble or bounce
Can I leantotouch my ankles,
touch my hands together
And lean over the edge
–no need to hop–
just fall?
fall
fall
fall
in water,
in love
fall
into the job,
into the fortune,
into the future.
As a senior in High School
I passed on my ability
to leap into everything
blindly
with my eyes wide open
which is something
once you give it away once you give it away
you keep on having more.
(My totem is the pelican, who dives for food, so there will be more to this poem someday. Today’s theme is uncertainty (Posted for “Theme Thursday.” on 6/5/12)–but I’m feeling good; today is good.
Copyright © 2012 S.L.Chast
Susan, I’m sorry that I don’t know quite how to answer the “published” question. It truly depends on the publisher. Some consider even posting to your own blog as “published” work. I’m hoping someday there will be an across-the-board standard.
I do know that Walt and I are immensely pleased to see your work here. I hope you feel welcome and at home.
meg
I love the snippets that you and Walt tempted us with above! I am also feeling love for the two of you who provided this day.
This will link with my thinking blog–not my poetry one–
Love your totem, and where you went with it…!
Thank you, Henrietta!
Speaking Chinese
I ask a linguist I know
if there is such a thing
as multi-lingual dyslexia,
when a person launches
into a sentence involving
every language but
the native one. He says,
Sure. Why not.
When people ask me
which languages I
speak other than English,
I don’t tell them I speak
alphabet soup, a couple
of words of everything
I ever heard, sliced thin
and stirred over a low
heat of frustration.
I tell them that when
I speak Chinese, I know
exactly what I mean
to say; I’m just never
certain what I said.
Hee, hee… loved “alphabet soup”
Living in an Uncertain World
Uncertainty has crept into our lives
Uninvited but it’s made itself at home.
A regular paycheck is an honored guest
That might decide to cut back on its visits
Is there anything that continues to be certain?
Even the weather is no longer reliable
Hurricane, flood, drought, disaster all
Line up on the evening news, We still
Are overwhelmed with all our self-made
problems – what to do? What can we do
A factory closes its doors. Forever. Bittersweet
Vines climb over its doors and windows. How
Beautiful the flowers-. A tribute to the workers
Who work no more. They move to other towns
Where uncertainty has settled in before them.
A bad joke. A nightmare. The food stamps
Help but will they continue forever? Nothing
Is forever has been rammed down our throats.
A bitter herb that flavors every promise.
One true certainty remains. Death, our shadow
Self. Whose only uncertainty is when.
Painful truths…
This is the Poster Poem for uncertainty. Well done, Marian.
[…] UNCERTAINTY – PROMPT #63 Share this:TwitterFacebookLike this:LikeBe the first to like this. […]
Before and After
A local minister come to save his soul
before cancer can claim his breath
tells him he will certainly go to hell
if he doesn’t go to heaven, that he has
a choice, a decision to make, but quickly.
How do you know that? he asks.
How can you be so sure, faith and
knowledge at odds, but the minister quotes
scriptures without answering his question
and prays for his sad uncertain soul.
I believe but I don’t know, he tells the minister,
suddenly angry that Lazarus had not disclosed
what lies beyond, knowing full well it mattered
to all flesh. Why didn’t anyone ask him and lay
the matter to rest? Describe the hereafter, brother!
The minister leaves shaking his head.
The sick man breathes deeply and holds fast
to hope that there is a knowing, an intelligence
beyond the brain, a faith greater than love,
a mercy majestic and fathomless, a surety
more sacred than self, and no throw-aways.
This is very good, Jane. The last five lines provide the perfect ending.
Bravo! Because, in the end, the Minister, like Lazarus, is just a man!
“What is enough?”
An owl laments
the lack of mice under the naked
shagbark hickory
in the yard; I take
its morose tune and simmer it
rousing a blood boil
from my steaming
kettle of words for the bull-thistle
knotted to the keening
primrose on my sofa.
She is beautiful, gazelle-heart beautiful,
honey-voiced pure,
I stir her chamomile,
spoon the sugar, offer buttermilk scones
she picks, sips, grips
a pink tissue in her
palm asking why she isn’t enough
for him, why his eyes
desire exquisite orchids
painted for an illusory paradise,
untouchable, enchanting,
when did she become
a curled rag-thistle in his eyes?
She twirls her ring made
from fool’s gold, the
owl seizes a limp mouse, screeches, then
drops it in the slough.
What a piece of beauty! I can see a triptych from it–the middle one in action as one plant and being leads to another, a world of mixing and loving and yearning, and the Owl drops the Mouse.
That’s the word I was looking for. Thank you. I knew there was a name for it. And what a kind comment.
Wonderful imagery here, jlynn.
thank you.
I Saw Him…Or So I Thought
I glimpsed a man with a tattered gray beard
one tan arm, peppered with hair
hanging from his car window,
a cigarette perched in his fingers
as he maneuvered with one hand on the wheel.
For a moment all the air left my lungs
my hand hovered above the car horn
I almost turned to follow him,
but the cruel certainty crept in
my father wasn’t out driving around anymore.
I gulped for air and dabbed the tears from my eyes
faced with the uncertainty of whether or not
I would be able to make it through the rest of my day
without breaking down for another good cry.
Shannon, this is gripping. What a capture. I’ve done the same more than once with my Godfather, who is also no longer with us.
Hugs!
meg
These days will come … and go…. I send you my empathy…
I too hover to call out whenever I see my lost ones in front of me in a characteristic pose. You paint a vivid picture of the moment we teeter on the edge of dysfunction–but I tell you that as time moves on the visits can feel more gentle and welcome. Hug 2.
Marie Elena, your poem is wonderful. My father-in-law has dementia, so this one hits home for me.
Thank you, Linda. I’m so sorry about your father-in-law. It’s such an awful thing, isn’t it?
Warm smiles and blessings to you.
meg
As does mine, although he celebrated his 79th today. He recognized some faces and joined conversations from the past remembered./ It was a good day fot John!
So good to hear that, Walt. 79 seems so young to be dealing with that. I’m glad he can still enjoy good days.
Marie
[…] Poetic Bloomings-Uncertainty Prompt #63 Rate this:Please feel free to circulate.TwitterFacebookLike this:LikeBe the first to like this. […]
The Lottery
On
the days
that I’m wary,
weary of decision
I’ll gather my gravity,
garment myself in gray.
I’m not certain of worth
the weight of my words,
I’m not sure that I can fall
birthed to your open arms.
This milkweed plant is precarious
surrounded by much pavement;
I’m not absolutely positive of safety
or chance for complete change,
this mystical metamorphosis
Monarch’s meaning hidden
purposed promise neath leaf;
one spherical pearl of hope.
She swoops and flits on wind
checking in, heart in throat
her surety’s sorely broken
till she captures the glimpse
tell-tale holes in broad leaf.
I’m not positive this poem will stick,
sure pure words wishing to be heard may slip
or silvery-slate-silks may very well split;
words may emerge glistening with meaning.
A sense of deep relief runs through my being,
anxiety breaks away as gossamer wings lift.
A creative soul exposed to the elements
trusting that verses will
not vanish
to thin
air.
©Hannah Gosselin 7/8/12
Poetic Bloomings-Uncertainty
When this poem is centered it looks like a chrysalis …mostly!! 😉
Sorry for the late-on-Sunday- post and run (busy for a bit but…)!! So glad to see so many uncertain poem here already!! Sunday smiles to all poetical peeps!
Oh, Hannah… such beauty… !
Hen!! Thank you!
!! 🙂 🙂 !!
Yes, the day, the moment, the poem–what a lottery of being and becoming. I would like to copy this poem and put it somewhere where I can look read it again and again. Permission?
Absolutely…for your personal reflection 🙂 I’m humbled and honored. Thank you!
The shape is good, centred or not. It shows the wavering of our personal doubts and certainties.
Thank you, Viv!!! I love that interpretation.
So beautiful, Hannah.
Thank you, SO much, Sara. 🙂
“garment myself in gray” love that line Hannah.
🙂
[…] Today, Poetic Bloomings wants us to examine uncertainty. It is amazing how the prompt itself has me in a place of doubt as to which words to respond with. The muse is most certainly undecided and most decidedly uncertain about which angle to take. […]
Within and Beyond My Grasp
I love the beauty, the balance,
the certainty of grammar,
even the quirkiness of the exceptions.
Commas don’t scare me.
But after college-level physics,
I still don’t understand why
a butterfly floating aloft inside a car
doing seventy, don’t end up
smashed against the back windshield.
Shakespeare doesn’t scare me,
and I prefer to learn by heart
verses from the King James Version.
I understand the thee’s and thou’s,
puns, allusions, proverbs.
But I can’t understand how golfers
read a green, putting uphill,
making the dimpled ball curve
when the line looks straight to me.
I can recognize anapestic meter,
distinguish synecdoche from metonymy,
Yorks from Lancasters, prose from poetry
and I can practically smell plagiarism.
But I’m comfortable with all that lies
beyond my grasp—math and physics,
depth and distance, omnipotence
and grace, unfathomable love.
Eeek! butterfly…doesn’t
I changed from plural to singular without adjusting my verb. How ironic.
Awww! How ironic indeed, Nancy! In spite of that, your poem is fabulous and speaks what I feel.
meg
a butterfly floating “don’t end up”. Strange, that made me sit up and listen, it was so jarring. I was born in Montgomery, but I don’t talk “alabaman” like that, lol.
I don’t either! I hit “Post Comment” then saw the error!
🙂
That is generally when I see mine!
http://2voices1song.com/2012/07/08/cloudy-with-a-chance-of-uncertainty/
Two offerings today:
A Promise
By: Meena Rose
I cradled her against my heart;
Tears flowed forth showering
Her with love.
I inhaled her precious scent;
A silent oath of devotion
Sprang forth.
Blood of my blood,
Flesh of my flesh,
I give you my all.
I looked into her bottomless eyes;
A hardened resolve was born to
See her through the Night.
###
Uncertain Times
By: Meena Rose
An ever changing world;
A fast moving landscape;
A steady tug to conform.
A charged climate;
A precipice of change;
A delicate balance shifts.
Racism, sexism and ageism
Abound while more isms surface;
My favorite: Superegotism.
The following antidote
Must be enough – adaptability
Anchored by common sense.
Not sure about you,
I have to make a societal
Antidote for my kids.
Especially loved, “A Promise”, thank you, Meena Rose.
Thank you very much Henrietta!
Both beautiful poems, Meena. My favorite is, The Promise.
Thank you!
First, I have to say that I really love your name. “Meena Rose”. Dazzling. Second, I loved the first poem the best. You painted a very nice picture that was full of hope and bright future. The second was definitely more complex with a sad tone losing the simplicity of the prior experience. Nice contrast!
🙂
Hi Benjamin: Nice to meet you.
Thank you! Those poems were two sides of the parenthood coin. A journey that began 10 years ago for me. The uncertain potential of then and the current challenges of now.
Week after week after week, you all amaze me with your responses to the prompts. Incredible …
meg
I Don’t Know What Drives Me (double shadorma)
I don’t drive a car.
Took lessons,
hated each
one; cannot pursue challenge,
yet loathe reliance
on other people.
Crave freedom,
total self-
sufficiency, while I dread
causing someone’s death.
🙂 I agree.
Oh good!
Yikes! Sounds like a double-edged sword.
You nailed it!
Uncertainty Overcome
Kiki the cat paused, suspicious of all
Having just watched his keeper die last night.
Traumatized, he agreed to stay with me.
Uncertain, he eyed me curiously.
Purred I soothing words as he paced my rooms,
Reassured my hands as they stroked his back.
Viewed he, me, as somewhat distasteful
so he bit my hand with a certainty.
Spent specific hours in Emergency
Sustained Tetanus shot most certainly!
Lucky KiKi to find a new home. 🙂
UNCERTAINTY
The bridal car has arrived for you , decorated and grand.
You know you’re heading for happiness …..but……on the other hand……
You’re standing on the diving-board; you know you’ve got the skill
But……..on the other hand……..a wrong move could even kill!
Tomorrow you see the doctor; what is the prognosis.
You’re almost certain you’re O.K. but………you dread the diagnosis!
Uncertainty’s a devil; it wakes you in the night.
Optimism is on the left; pessimism on the right.
‘Everything will turn out well!’ You prepare yourself for sleep!
No! No! You’re wide awake again! Your flesh has begun to creep.
‘Everything will NOT go well!’ You’re marked for a dreadful fate!
Death is preferable! No it’s not! Don’t be an idiot! Wait!
And so it goes; first up, then down. It’s better far to KNOW.
For good or bad, the future, a definite Yes or No,
Is far, far easier to deal with than uncertainty’s teasing dread.
‘Better the devil you know’ they say. Very wisely said!
*
* I’ve suffered from uncertainty for the last few months. Read all about it on my Skin Graft Blog
http://breabry.blogspot.com.au/
Very cleverly said and I agree with all the “pros and cons” here … headed over to check out your blog now …
the posting is Soooooooooooo Sloooooooow tonight!
BreBry – Enjoyed the fun and interesting trip down memory lane. 🙂
This is so true.
nigh time
the clock in the piazza is fixed
at the same hour it was when
last I saw it
as I pulled away
from the train station
bound for Roma …
almost one year ago
puzzled, I spend long moments
many – watching time,
waiting futilely for a change,
a sign
and in my mind I hear
a voice –
Ferlinghetti’s insolent
chattering gets louder
his has been in the background
of all the voices for months
maybe longer
he orders up insurgency
without which he
warns, the end of things
is nigh –
he points to the clock
stopped long ago;
one more example
of certainty
in an uncertain world
you wanted to bear witness?
he is mocking me, I know…
bear this
S.E.Ingraham©
Sharon, this is a jewel. I love the way you weave Ferlinghetti into the uncertainty, the end of the world, the chattering. Just really, really strong.
[…] in response to Sunday’s prompt ‘uncertainty’ at Poetic Bloomings. Share this:FacebookTwitterLike this:LikeBe the first to like […]
Love
Words spoken often
Felt deeply
Perhaps too much of a good thing
Is indeed too much
The mind tangles and twists
Upon thoughts and fears
The heart leaps and stills alternately
Wondering on the truth
There is no escape
And would it be desired if there were?
[…] photo © 2012 by Magical Mystical Teacher More Straight Out of the Camera Sunday More Poetic Bloomings: “Uncertainty” More Ruby Tuesday 2 More Blue Monday Share this:EmailFacebookTwitterPrintLike […]
My haiku: Uncertainty
[…] for Poetic Bloomings. Share this:EmailFacebookLinkedInTwitterLike this:LikeBe the first to like this. This entry was […]
Etymology
When the words slip free
rain through fingers
sunlight pouring loose,
lost
and tossed to wind’s whim,
refuse to assemble
along ivory battle lines,
I long to study their foreign roots
utter origins of Latin, Arabic
command them with proper accent
and woo their road-weary hearts
into submission.
These uncertain syllables
bob and sway
squeak out their hesitant
“quoi?” and “que?”
and wander about in the streets
left to their own recognizance;
collect ammo of my ignorance,
plan their final ineloquent mutiny.
Marie, your poem is just beautiful, and so sad. Prayers, my friend, for your beautiful daughter.
You guys definitely have a way with words. Everyone has been busy, and that is a certainty. Glad to see you up and around, Walt. And Marie, you amaze me, my friend.
I didn’t have the strength to post this here last night. Hope you enjoy.
Decisional Effort
Shall I take this path?
Perhaps that one’s better.
Is anyone waiting for me
When I reach the other end?
How can I remain myself
In the face of so many other
Definitions of who I am,
When clues to identity elude me?
Will any miss me at day’s end?
Have any noticed my silence
When normal chatter is absent
From channels that lately flourished?
Oh, to say yay or nay
And be done with indecision
Forever at this late stage of
Questioning life and its meaning.
Claudsy, this is poignant and beautiful…and I deeply pray, not autobiographical. You are a cherished poetic voice in many channels of my life, and of course you would be profoundly missed. The meaning of life is love, and laughter and good words exchanged. I pray those things for you today.
Thank you so much, my friend. I’m glad you liked it. It was written in remembrance of all those times in my life, and I’m sure in the lives of others, when such doubts and speculations arise to keep us awake at bedtime or watching faces while at funerals.
I have to say that I’ve found so many among the poetic voices out here whose presence I’ve come to expect each day in my wanderings. I’m usually aware when they are absent for more than a day or so, and whether I query aloud or not, I’m always relieved when they return to my daily circles.
I’m not always visible or verbal, but I tend to keep watch, as a sentry checking off those who’re on my list of daily notables.
“…How can I remain myself In the face of so many other Definitions of who I am…” Wow, you have captured it, Clauds…. ! I have Finally learned, to just BE… Folks will either respect that, or move along their path…
It takes people a long time to overcome outside influences and become themselves, if they ever do.
I’m glad you liked this poem. And I’m glad that you’re you. You’re a very calming, thoughtful person and we need more of those.
… What a sweet thing to say… thank you, Clauds… :)!
You’re more than welcome, Hen. I report what I see.
I am Honored, Clauds… A warm hug to you… :)!
Cloudsy – I appreciate what you wrote – well done. Reminds me too of when I became a part of – a family – how much I was expected to do all the changing – good or bad – Luckly, I found help and was able to re-find the me I had always been. ‘That me’ was not all that bad! 🙂 Ok, always some room for improvement 🙂 🙂 🙂
We all adjust to others’ expectations. That’s part of being human, I know. It’s when we allow others to dictate who we are that a problem arises. Or, at least that’s what I’ve come to know. I’m still trying to undo all of the “corrections” made to me.
A Sticky Triolet
Why does glue never ever stick
on the inside of the bottle?
No matter if the glue is thick
why does glue never ever stick
or harden/set when labeled ‘Quick
Dry Glue’? It won’t even mottle
on the inside of the bottle.
Why does glue never ever stick?
###
:Jock asks if you could get “dottle” in somewhere. Not quite sure why!
Hee, hee… fun thought… I must ask my Grandchildren to think about this :)!
Hi all. It’s been way too long!
Here’s mine for the week.
Your mean-ing
I just don’t know what
you mean when
you say you’re a follower
of a religion whose deity
clearly stated that
the greatest spiritual law is
to love one another as
you love god;
to judge not; to forgive.
And yet, you judge. Harshly.
You call it god as you
judge true followers
who know to love you
despite the self-righteous wrath
you spew at
people whose lives, decisions, and
agony you could never imagine.
They will never
forget your judgment. Your mean-ing.
“.. mean -ing” brings such sadness…
Even the ‘best’ of mankind is still human – sadly we get caught up in self and ‘my way” and forget His way. Yes, He is Love. We need to look to the sourse of that love and not get sidetracked by people and their hang-ups. He is Love….help me demonstrate that love today.
… yes…
Cascade – UNCERTAIN
Uncertain – will I hear from you?
I stand by the box and wait,
Wanting assurance that you are there.
Wondering, do you care enough to write?
Uncertain.
Letters seem so few
Is their absence a clue?
Uncertain – will I hear from you?
Still I stand and wait,
Daily as I contemplate,
I stand by the box and wait,
The unknowing is hard to bear,
Wondering if you care,
Wanting assurance you are there.
Hoping each day that a letter might…
Might answer my dilemma, my plight.
Wondering, do you care enough to write?
What will I learn?
Are feelings certain?
Or….Uncertain?
Do you Know?
“… Wanting assurance that you are there…” Most times that is all that I need to brighten my day… :)!
Yes, That’s the key. My day has been brightened today…
🙂
!!!! 🙂 !!!!
Sorry I’m late – a very busy weekend. But like a bad penny, I always turn up – eventually!
CREDO
I used to know what I believed.
Scepticism crept in,
stole the comfort blanket
which had kept me safe.
Doubt, to which I cling,
at least is not denial,
not antonym of certainty,
merely mistrust of
dogmatism.
… More like a bright, shining penny, Viv; I miss your voice when you are absent! Loved: “…stole the comfort blanket which had kept me safe…”
“…what I believed…” I think it is a life-long quest to find that which pulls at our hearts.
Every penny is a “Keeper” 🙂
I am looking for my own comfort blanket. Let me know if you find it.
Smiles Viv…
[…] for the prompt at Poetic Bloomings “uncertainty” Rate this:Share this:FacebookLike this:LikeBe the first to like […]
CASCADE FOR YOU…
Uncertain if you
Will ever know, that one month
ago, my words fell…
[…] hurts sometimes…”; 100 Days of Summer Prompt: “Short End of the Stick”; Poetic Bloomings Prompt #63: Uncertainty (to write about something you can’t grasp, or that you wish you knew more […]
SHORT END OF THE STICK
(a shadorma)
The kids lose.
Buffer them in the
transition?
Can’t be done…
everybody hurts sometimes.
Must unity fail?
2012-07-10
P. Wanken
“…Must unity fail?…” No, But, sometimes what seems the worst can be the best.
[…] Poetic Bloomings Prompt #63: Uncertaintyhttp://poeticbloomings.com/2012/07/08/uncertainty-prompt-63/ […]
This is quite long. I thank anyone willing to spend the time to read it. I think this is prose … or else it’s just a really long thingie…
NOTHING STOPS THE YOUNG
“Yes, that’s right but, please, my friends call me Mac,”
he said, “and I reckon you’re right; the best place to start,
is to start from the start.” He settled into the hard
plastic chair that was moulded for everyone’s back
but his own, and scooted the shrieking metal legs
along the floor to give his legs a bit more room.
“For generations this house was a home;
this farm was a family. Six children were born
on to this land, and all six survived. Not everyone
had the Lord’s luck like we did. The children, well,
they had lots of friends: lambs and a calf or two,
cats and dogs, pet spiders that lived in the barn.
We cared for each other, we tended each other.
Fields to sow, acres to plough, first-cut hay
for the animals, second-cut dried and baled,
alfalfa and grass for the cows who gave us
their sweet, richness a demand, bees that cooled
themselves with busy wings as summer heat
fell across us like a woollen blanket. We drank
sweet tea from jam jars on the shaded porch
when the sun warned us off the fields. There
were days when an old hat didn’t give the shade
you’d needed on a crispy hot afternoon. It could
get so hot on the fields that you could hear
the air snap. I actually dream about the scent
of baked dust now and then. Those were good days.
They were happy days when we were all young.”
Nothing stops the young.
Mac took a sip of water, and shifted his discomfort
from this preposterous excuse for a chair.
“And then the children grew up. Year by year each
one made their excuses and left home,” he said.
“None of them wanted a future with callused hands,
knotted muscles, and a lifetime of uncertain weather.
They’d toil their brain elsewhere, they said. Each one
tidied their rooms up nice and then moved to the city.
They’d come back for Christmas, but in truth,
when children leave home they take a part of your
heart and soul with them. I’d lost my children.”
Nothing stops the young.
“The woman and I – she actually hates that I call
her ‘the woman’ – but there’s no doubt that she
was one hell of woman. The best woman for me,
that’s for sure, and I thank the good Lord for her.
Anyway, the woman and I tended and cared
for the farm for a good few more years. We had
some good years together, and I’m grateful.
The woman used to say that too much
of a good thing would kill your spirit. The woman
had a heart attack on one of those hot, baked dusty
days. Right there in the alfalfa field. It killed her.
Maybe I was just too much a good thing for her.
That’s a joke, by the way. I miss her. I really miss her.
She was too young to leave me but…” he shrugged.
Nothing stops the young.
Mac shifted uncomfortably in the chair.
“So, you see things are very uncertain for me.
Don’t know what the future holds.
I lost the children to the city.
I lost my wife to a heart attack.
And last month I lost my hand to baling wire.”
Mac blinked away a puddle of tears.
“So here are the keys to the barn, the house,
the tools storage and front gate.”
The bank manager nodded, “Thank you, Mac.
So what are your plans now?”
“I’m not entirely certain,” Mac said. He extended
his left hand to bid the bank manager goodbye.
I took the time – It was well worth each second. So REAL. It leaves me with nothing more to say. Thank You.
I am so pleased that you read it, Marjory. Thank you, and I’m glad that you liked it.
😉
Oh, Misky…. my heart just broke….. Such powerful words…. thank you.
No, thank YOU! 🙂
🙂 !!!!!
Well worth the time, Misky. Don’t categorize it. It’s perfect.
Thank you. 🙂
[…] Poetry Mixtape to personify a serious subject, Poetic Bloomings to write about something I don’t understand/can’t grasp, and Poets United Vice Versa. […]
Here’s mine: http://hoofprintsinmygarden.wordpress.com/2012/07/10/anxiety/
Greetings fellow poets.
This poem is dedicated to my Step mother who just had a massive heart attack, to my Uncle (prostate cancer), and my sweet granny Florida (this is her actual name).
Benjamin Thomas
… yes, such a puzzle…
OF THIS I AM CERTAIN
You
remain
here with me
tho you don’t know
me.
UNCERTAINTY TO CERTAINTY
Can
we spend
time talking
on the phone at
first?
(Both poems are Japanese Lantern form)
SOME THINGS ARE JUST NOT…..UNCERTAIN
It’s that
KNOWING
in an instant,
that WE will be…
[…] Poetic Bloomings asks us to consider uncertainty. Visit to read what our hosts say and to read their poems in response to the prompt. You might look around and check out their latest in-form prompt, skeltonic poetry, and their interview with Daniel Paicopulos. […]
Lost Words (Uncertainty of poetry)
The words escape my tongue
rolled slightly off the tip–
of the iceberg
Kaplunk!
tiptoed
out the door
into arctic coolant deep
slipped, into ice cold
dimming waters
creep-
-ing
down
my words frozen
weighted, sinking
bearing load
dwindling
my heart doesn’t float…
…too well
to the bottom
sunk
like lead
at the end of
journey well traveled
piled
sleep
Benjamin Thomas
The Problem
Bellies swollen,
Stick-thin arms
Reaching in desperation,
They starve.
And You love them.
Intricate and delicate,
Enclosed miraculously
In another’s body,
They die.
And You love them.
Minds cunning,
Stealing life
And daily bread,
You abhor them.
And they prosper.
[…] (*the title is taken from the closing line of an untitled poem by Jackson) […]