For those of the Jewish faith, this prompt comes in the midst of the High Holidays celebrations for the year 5774, the Jewish New Year. New Year celebrations tend to be times for reflecting on the past and celebrating what is to come; this is true for those of any faith, or no faith. Write a poem about looking back. Or looking ahead. Or both. For you, the exercise may have a religious connotation, or it may not.
MARIE ELENA LOOKS BACK
Home Again
“May I help you?”
I don’t recognize the stranger addressing me
From the porch
Where I used to color with my cousins
Swing in my pajamas
Play with paper dolls.
I respond with an apology
For walking into the backyard
Where I used to play tag with my cousins
Catch summernight fireflies
Lay in the grass, spotting castles
In the clouds.
I tell her this is my
Used to be
My home.
“Would you like to come in?”
My heart pounds. I decline,
Then quickly change my mind.
Yes. Yes, please.
As I walk in, I’m overcome with emotion.
Much is the same.
Some is different.
Everything seems smaller –
Everything but the love.
The love looms large,
Reaching through the decades
To embrace,
Remind,
Confirm.
© copyright Marie Elena Good – 2013
WILLIAM’S SECOND LOOK:
YOM KIPPUR
In fall,
a kind of hush
flows over all the land
before the onset of winter’s
cleansing.
© copyright 2013, William Preston. Published in Beyond Our Eyes: a Second Look. Norway, Maine: PRGott Books Publishing; 2013, ISBN 978-1490304472.
POETIC BLOOMINGS 
Responses
Bill, let me be the first to tell you your poem is beautiful and telling. Congratulations on your well-deserved publication.
I totally agree with Marie. Wow. Just wow.
And I loved your story too, Marie. Isn’t it odd how things change but also don’t?
Marie and Bill, both your poems resonated with me, reality’s smallness in the face of big memories and the hush accompanying season’s change to newness. I’m glad this one was published, Bill. I’d like to see a collection of your work, frankly.
Jane caught everything about these two poems, and tied it with a red ribbon (or purple). Wonderful work.
Thanks, Marie and RJ. Marie, your poem captures the essence of “home” and ties it up with scarlet ribbons. The picture shows a house that appears to be built in the 1920s; it could be from the street where I grew up. The place looks like love emanates from it still. There is something about one’s first home, I think, that no other house has, and your piece is about that, in my mind.
ME, your poem especially powerful to me. So well written.
One of your best so far that I have read. You touched my heart.
Another agree!
Both are beautiful. I can very well relate to going ‘home’ again – bittersweet joy… and William, I think “a kind of hush” is perfect.
Thanks so much for your kind comments, all! You warm my heart.
The Beginning Of The End (mirror oddquain)
We
Spent ten years
Here in this building;
We were taught, I hope we learnt
Too;
Now,
As our last year approaches,
I think back to when
We started…
Smile…
© Copyright Erin Kay Hope – 2013
My last year of school is starting soon, and I’m looking forward to it with excitement, as well as apprehension. My class has always consisted of two people: myself, and one boy. As you can imagine, we’re good friends, and always will be. So this was about us. 🙂
How lovely.
Best wishes for your school term. In future years, I hope it really is something you can look back on and smile.
Thank you, RJ! 🙂
Have fun this last year but there is so much ahead to look forward to. Hope it is all blessing.
Thanks so much, Debi! 🙂
Smiling with you, Erin Kay! Enjoy your senior year!
I will! Thank you so much, Marie! ❤
I’d like to echo those sentiments. I hope the year turns out to the the end of the beginning, though.
Yes, it’s the beginning of the end and the end of the beginning all at once. 😉 Thanks, Will!
Oh, Erin, that is lovely. I am sure you will be lifelong friends. I have had my best friend since Kindergarten!!
Thanks, Linda! I’m sure we will too.
xoxoxo
So many students are feeling just as you said, excitement and apprehension. Have a spectacular year, chickadee.
Aww, thanks, Jane! It seems to be the normal reaction to the last year. But, if things work out, I won’t be done with school – not by a long shot. Training to be a nurse takes a few years.
Nicely stated, Erin…I love that we both chose the same form today! 🙂 Congrats on your last year. ♥
Thank you, Hannah! I love that we chose the same form too! Hopefully I’ll have pictures of our graduation, when the time comes, to post on my blog. 🙂
Marie, what a sweet story! That must’ve been an odd feeling, walking into your old house and knowing that somebody else lives there now…
William, I love love love LOVE your Cinquain! It definitely deserved to be published. Congrats! 🙂
Erin, I was thinking the exact same thing. Must have been a little eerie to take a peek inside and old home. And to William, I love the images packed inside this little poem.
It’s hard to put into words what I felt. I guess mostly a bittersweet nostalgia mixed with how I describe it in the final lines of my poem:
“The love looms large,
Reaching through the decades
To embrace,
Remind,
Confirm.”
And profound sadness for how quickly life passes I’m thankful the life in this body isn’t the end of it all. At least, that is my unwavering belief.
Two lovely poems – so different from each other, yet encapsulating the same idea. They brought a song into my head – from Salad Days – “If I start looking behind me, and begin retracing my tracks, remind me to remind you, we said we wouldn’t look back.” The trouble is, the older I get, the more I look back. When my daughter was here last week, we went through my over-stuffed music cabinet which she was to take back with her.
Tattered, battered music sheets
nostalgia-fest of long ago,
painfully learned lessons,
memories make the tears flow.
melodies course through my head
in jumbled cacophany
as I let my childhood go.
Viv – I feel like I’m looking at a photograph montage of special family moments, while a haunting piece of music who’s title escapes me plays in the background. Beautiful!
Yes. RJ captured this beautifully with her words and heart.
Viv, this is wonderful. Looking back is one thing; letting go is quite another. I can relate, and your beautifully penned piece has brought me tears.
LOVELY having you back, Viv, blessing us with your words.
Marie Elena
This picture is crystal-clear, and that phrase, “memories make the tears flow,” is striking. Beautiful, indeed.
Well, you had me at music sheets and the images tattered and battered me all along the way. A lovely poem, Viv.
Hauntingly beautiful, Viv. A sepia toned vignette – a bottomless well of emotion.
Wow. Viv, this is so real and beautiful.
amen
Oh Viv…this is so beautiful, and definitely nostalgic. And, being a music lover, this really touched me. ❤
Lovely!
Philosophy
“To be able to look back upon one’s life in satisfaction is to live twice.” ~Kahlil Gabran
I think that way of thinking’s nice
and based on it, I have lived twice.
Looking back’s mostly
been grand. (Or closely
reflected.)
Expected.
###
Oh, great quote (which I have never heard) and accompanying poem. “Or closely reflected” says so much. NICE!!
RJ – does that mean two birthday presents a year?
I LOVE THIS!
Absolutely! And thank you!
Kahlil Gabran is a wonder! I love your reflection on this quote, RJ…it’s thought provoking. 🙂
I received a copy of The Prophet as a favor from a Sweet 16 (about a bazillion years ago!) and I’ve been fascinated by his work ever since. Thank you.
This is great, RJ! I love it!
– ♥ –
The quote is so true… we live many lives in just one lifetime.
Looking Ahead
“Procrastination gives you something to look forward to.” ~Unknown
I put stuff off so I can be
the not-quite-grown up grown-up me.
I procrastinate
so I’m in a state
where (instead)
I look ahead.
###
Rats! The last line is supposed to have only 3 syllables. Okay – here’s the revised version:
Looking Ahead
“Procrastination gives you something to look forward to.” ~Unknown
I put stuff off so I can be
the not-quite-grown up grown-up me.
I procrastinate
so I’m in a state
where (instead)
life’s ahead.
###
I love these, and the form you’re using. The form obviously links the poems, but I am getting another linkage: looking back aids in procrastination and thus gives you more to look forward to. All of which reminds me of Dizzy Dean, the great Cardinal pitcher whom I recall as a TV broadcaster. Diz was calling play-by-play game early in the instant-replay era. It was a long game, and Diz was getting tired of it. Finally he said, “I know why this game is takin’ so long: they’re playing it over all the time.”
LOL!
And another great one! I could delete the “oops,” but I like having both versions, to show how you thoughtfully and seamlessly corrected it. Bravo!
❤
Me too, MEG. I always enjoy the quotations you lead with, RJ, but what you do with them is delightful. Procrastination is an art form, and embroidering the past makes it more, um, livable in review 😉
RJ, do you have a book of these out there? If so, I want to order one. I am in complete love over here.
Another winner. Your quotes and poems always make me smile, RJ. 🙂
Oh, yes, I completely agree with Erin.
Well said!
ROSH HASHANAH
I can see them now.
Our kitchen window looked over
our neighbors’ dining room,
and early every autumn that room
would glow gold:
there would be candles on the table
and bare yellow bulbs in the chandelier
and, on the big table,
a glistening brown loaf of tumbled-rope bread.
And there would be people:
three families gathered around,
all of them laughing
so much that the room bounced
and the golden glow vibrated its way
across to our kitchen window.
That is what I remember most:
all of them laughing.
I can see them now.
copyright 2013, William Preston
And another well-penned piece that captures a time and emotion quite visually. Wow.
I feel so nice and warm reading this, William. I believe this is the spirit of the holiday.
…a brown loaf of tumbling rope bread is probably one of the best descriptions I have have ever heard for ‘challah’. And then…all of them laughing so much the room bounced. Such a wonderful visualization. It makes me a little nostalgic.
ditto other comments. This piece has a golden light to it, like all good gatherings of kindly hearts. That rope of bread was such a good metaphor as well, the cord that binds, the rope to hang onto…
Gatherings and laughter – even when it is not our own, we all take delight in it. I miss those days.
Just vivid and warm descriptions…brings it to life! Well written!
this is a wonderful poem!
This is precious…lovely memory and poem, William… 🙂
This is exactly why Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. No other represents family, love, laughter and reminiscing like this one. Lovely poem, William.
Oh, this brings back so many memories of my family celebrating Jewish holidays. I felt like I was looking at myself as I sat at the table. Thanks, William.
Thanks for the kind comments, folks. Our family is going through some hard closures of late, and I find myself drenched in nostalgia. It is both fulfilling and painful. I completely relate to Viv’s untitled poem.
(((Hugs)))
We love you, Marie.
I echo these sentiments, my friend. ♥ to you.
Marie, I’m sorry to hear that. There is much to mourn as people age.
Sorry to hear that, Marie Elena. Take it easy. Love you! ❤
Although I do not often contribute, I read every prompt that comes through. All you do for this writing group is appreciated. And your writing is fantastic- I have no idea how you keep up with it all. May those things that pull at your heartstrings be covered in a grace that allows for blessing to comfort you. Teri
Thank you so very much, Teri. It is good to have you here.
Oh my goodness … thanks so very much, all! You’re all so kindhearted and thoughtful. ❤
[…] Poetic Bloomings PROMPT #119 – LOOKING BACK, LOOKING FORWARD […]
Woodland’s Wardrobe
~
Leaves-
golden spray,
sunshine amidst gray;
these somber slain skies transform.
Fall
leaves.
Winter replies-cold caress,
kissed of morning mist;
frosty -veiled
leaves.
~
Copyright © Hannah Gosselin 2013
More fun w/RJ’s form…the Mirror Oddquain. 🙂
The form may be fun, but the effect is elegant, in my opinion.
William is so right. Elegant.
Wow! You guys…thank you so much!
I love nature poems and this one ranks among the best for lovely imagery.
Jane!! Thank you…such a nice compliment. 🙂
lovely form; lovely picture…
This is gorgeous, Hannnah! Nature must blush, you always flatter her so. 🙂
“Nature must blush, you always flatter her so.” I LOVE this and add my resounding AMEN.
Fall, my favorite season but you ALMOST make me feel warm toward winter here.
‘somber slain skies’ – so beautiful, it is hard to believe you used a form at all.
Hannah – Breathless -like grasping images flashing by in a car. Such a wonderful capture of the seasons in transition. Teri
FACING THE FUTURE
In autumn,
the leaves leave the trees;
limbs are bared
to winter’s air.
Life seems to be in despair
but buds carry on.
copyright 2013, William Preston
Well, that shadorma is a shade off. Let’s try:
FACING THE FUTURE
In autumn,
the leaves leave the trees;
limbs are bared
to hard air.
Life seems to be in despair
but buds carry on.
I like both versions. It made me think of a phrase I heard earlier today: autumn bridge. It kind of fits.
I agree.
They sure do…nicely done, Bill!
Yes!
Beautiful!
Indeed!
Old Wounds with Fading Scars
He turned around
and watched himself out wandering.
He stood his ground
and spent so much time wondering
who he really is
or
who he’s meant to be.
He turned his head again.
Now, He can finally see.
There was a vision
of the future in the past.
Then a decision
which was surely meant to last.
It was time to change
or
He’d be left behind.
So he got packing
to search and seek and find.
There will be no tears
over spilt milt or burnt toast.
No dwelling on the fears
that can bind him up the most.
Live for this new dream
or
reach for distant stars.
Don’t be focused on
old wounds with fading scars.
By Michael Grove – Copyright 9/8/2013
I think this is magnificent. The imagery in the first stanza is compelling; I immediately thought, “Janus.” The second stanza is an effective transition, and the third, a satisfying resolution. The structure aids the whole, I think, with the little pauses in each stanza. Wonderful. Thanks for posting.
I agree, Mike. This poem is remarkable in both form and content. A real masterpiece.
I love the final two lines: “Don’t be focused on/old wounds with fading scars.” Brilliant!
I too love those lines.
And I three. 😉
Mike, it is absolutely wonderful to see you here again.
Wonderful, Mike. There is a vision of the future in the past. I wish I’d said that, so simple and true and thought-provoking.
Love this, Mike!
Michael… I especially wanted to thank you for this… It’s so Nice to hear from you again!!!
Thank You so much for your kind comments William, Linda, RJ, George, Jane, Erin and Henrietta. It has been a bit since I have taken the opportunity to post here at Poetic Bloomings, but I will try to join in on a more regular basis moving forward.
Perfect ending to a wonderful poem.
NO REGRETS
No one gets to the end of their life
to mutter on their dealthbeds
I wish I had cleaned more,
if only I had worked more,
I should have spent more time alone,
money would have fixed everything.
I want no regrets when I look back.
I will spend more time with friends,
enjoy each moment with family,
make time for things I enjoy,
stop worrying about money,
and live my one and only life!
Hear, hear, here and now! Well penned, indeed.
You’re singing to the choir here!
Amen, sister!
This is inspiring, Linda, and so well written! Love it! ❤
Beautiful. Thank you for the reminder and inspiration, Linda.
[…] for Poetic Bloomings: […]
Small Hours
Behind
Was night, before
Was day, and somewhere in
The middle, she stood uncertain,
Choosing.
© Copyright Erin Kay Hope – 2013
I’m trying to remember this wonderful Middle Eastern quotation I once used in class that spoke of a woman holding hands with the future and the past, she alone being the connecting link, the voice of tradition. Your poem reminds me of this in a sweet but powerful way.
Thank you, Jane! I’d love to hear the quote if you remember it sometime. 🙂
This poem is remarkable to me because of the tension it maintains, even with the Crapsey cinquain, which I think of as a release poem. I think it’s excellent.
Thanks, William! I was trying to portray; you always seem to read my mind. 😉
Lovely Erin, and so fitting to life.
Well thank you, Debi. So glad you like it! ❤
Beautiful writing, Erin.
Thanks, Sara!
Great poems to capture those sleepless moments. The in between is always filled with choosing. Thankfully I am usually sleeping in the small hours. Teri
As am I. But there are times when sleep evades, and when choices are difficult…
Thank you for your feedback, Teri. I really appreciate it! 🙂
😉
Okay now this is a wow. A WOW. The form is perfect … word placement and line breaks absolutely brilliant. I love this read aloud.
WOW.
Oh my goodness…three wows! Thank you, Marie – I am flattered! 🙂
Middling
“The sandwich years,” she’d often heard them called,
herself pulled there and back by parents, kids,
her in the middle, frantic, called and stalled,
caring for both, caught short somewhere amidst.
Her parents, aging into long ago,
take her on travels long before her birth;
her children pitch her vision forward, so
she can imagine futures, join their search.
And she too has a life, a past, a now,
a time she hopes to gracefully embrace,
when this dynamic tension shows her how
to rest, consider, leave this draining race.
But now, she must look forward looking back,
pulled by their need, belabored by her lack.
How well penned! Especially as women, it seems like whatever of
the 100 things we juggle it is never enough. We need to learn to sit down and BREATHE! :0
Oh, Jane, you echo the lives of so many, and so beautifully designed. Thank you.
WOW! Just wow! I am truly in awe of your wisdom and penmanship.
Awe is the right word. This is a superior sonnet, in my view.
Indeed! And your final closing lines … Brilliant.
You’ve captured so well this race…makes one stop to consider…well done, Jane.
nice Shakespearean sonnet form… my favorite
Such kind comments. Thank you all. (I like the Shakespearean best too 😉 )
But now, she must look forward looking back,
pulled by their need, belabored by her lack.
That touches me so!
Jane, this is very well penned and very touching. Smiles to you, friend! 🙂
Loved everyone’s work!! Thank you!!
Momentum
I am the cause and the effect.
I cause my effect.
There could never be
another me
just like this,
or this,
or this.
And although I might
continue to have
the same thought,
it will always be
a different me
having it.
Been ’round the world
and done it all,
but being me
is the most fun of all.
Trust me to be me.
It’s what I do best—
whenever I do it.
Ellen Knight 9.8.13
write a ‘look forward or look backward poem’
for Poetic Bloomings
This is a good attitude poem, Ellen. Nobody does it better than we do–this being oneself thing.
Absolutely!!
This makes me think of the motto of my alma mater: meliora, ever better. Your point isn’t necessarily that, as I read it, but that’s the feeling I get anyway. I enjoyed reading this, several times.
thank you both. 🙂
This is great, Ellen! I admire your positive take on it. 🙂
Positive outlook, yes … but it’s the creativity and playing with words that make it such an enjoyable read for me. Bravo!
Forward and Back
The windows have grown dusty with August,
even fall flowers looking dowdy, tired,
but he is waiting for his visitors—
his Sunday lot, with nothing else in store.
Eyes on the door, he feels anxiety,
so looking forward, eager, has he been,
and thinks of his old bird-dog’s whine and glee
at seeing him when he’d come home at last.
He can’t remember if they came last week—
he knows his short term memory is shot.
Sometimes they have some other things to do,
forget to call and tell him, so he waits.
He’s not a stranger to this loneliness
and he remembers plain when he was young,
so many people claiming him at once
that he gave parents shortest shrift of all.
He thinks of this as disappointment mounts,
believing he deserves to be alone.
He watches dust motes catch a sunbeam’s glare,
imagining they’re in the car somewhere,
that traffic’s backed up on the way to him,
that his grandchildren want to play and swim,
that he’s an obligation, not a joy.
He’s thinking as he once did as a boy.
So poignant, Jane.
yes…
Jane -wonderfully worded your poignant poem captures the perspective of youth and age perfectly. Teri
I also wanted to add- that first line really set ups this poem perfectly!
“The windows have grown dusty with August,
even fall flowers looking dowdy, tired,”
Sometimes the edge is all we think about no matter what age we are. “that he’s an obligation, not a joy.” is a killer line.
This story goes back and forth like, I suspect, this person’s mind does. This is tender and yet has an edge to it. Wonderful work.
Thanks, friends.
Wonderful blank verse. As you reached the end, I note you started rhyming. Did you do this purposely or did the lines just fall that way?
The first couplet fell out that way and when the last two lines arrived rhymed, I went with it. I justified at the time that the final couplet has more rhyme and reason for the character than anything else, in that what goes around comes around sort of way. This may all change in editing.
This is sad… But very well written, Jane…
Painted words with lovely colors.
Oh, Jane … this hits too close to home, and has me in tears …
I’m so sorry, Marie. It’s so hard to watch, isn’t it? Nothing to do but love to the dregs, then love the dregs. My thoughts are with you.
[…] Today, I find myself in a pensive mood. This truly goes hand in hand with the onset of the Fall season. I had originally decided to pen a poem regarding the season on Wednesday only to discover that what I had to offer tied into two writing prompts I typically follow: Free Write Friday and Poetic Blooming. […]
http://2voices1song.com/2013/09/08/falling-into-order-fwf/
Sweater Weather
By: Meena Rose
Falling into order,
An eerie fog
Settles over the street;
A pregnant hush fills
Voids no one had expected;
Crisp Autumn’s morning air,
The greatest tease of all,
Playful and biting all at once;
Catalyst of contemplation –
Transient ethereal anonymity
For a solitude seeking soul;
I, too, must ready for the season ahead.
Times are troubling –
Some would say dire;
Despite man’s uncertainty
There is nature’s certainty.
Hot cocoa in hand,
Warming my fingers as
I lose myself to my
Mind’s travels.
I can’t stop the grin
From spreading as I
Take flight beneath the
Blanket of fog touching
Amber tree tops, playing
Tag with the crow as I
Swoop and swirl about
His nest, dancing upon
Nature’s center stage;
It’s grand celebration
Of a life well lived, of
A purpose fulfilled.
I return from my reverie
Only to recognize a trail
Of cold now replacing the
Warm trail of tears.
I shake and I shudder – careful
Not to upset that cup of cocoa;
Questions swirl adding doubt
To an already uncertain psyche;
Is my life well lived? Purpose,
Yes, purpose, do I even know
What it is? Have I done the
Right thing by my fellow man?
I sniffle, that too is inevitable;
Forcefully lifting myself from the
Realm of uncertainty and depositing
Myself with a resounding thud in the
Land of the certain – immediately,
I remember my one certainty: it is
The way of Love, the way of Compassion,
The way of Peace, the way of Duty.
What a marvelous survey! It interests me that your certainties are not nature’s, but high expressions of civilization and humanity. I think this is superb.
Thanks, Bill. Juxtaposition is a fun thing to play with.
Especially Love your last stanza!!
Thank you, Hen!
This is all amazing, Meena, but especially those last two lines. Wonderful!
Thanks, Erin!
My sweet and wise Meena, you are just amazing. Just amazing.
Thank you, Marie!
You are too kind.
[…] …… Written for Poetic Bloomings. […]
Rearview Mirrors
Look too long,
and your song
will be stilted,
wilted by wish
and wonder
and why. Just fly
forward, cherish
those rough road
-rash places where
wrong turns event
-ually meant
something raw
and rare
and real.
Inhabit
the scars
that got you
here.
Make room for
that old hitchhiker,
Hope,
and other objects
closer than they
appear.
.
De! Love that,
“Make room for
that old hitchhiker,
Hope,
and other objects
closer than they
appear.”
You always have the perfect endings.
Enjoyed your raw/rare and real… 🙂
As is often the case when I read your work, I’m mesmerized by the sounds you string together. And Hannah’s right: you always seem to finish on the upbeat.
We can be a little narcissistic, always studying ourselves, taking our temperature twelve times a day… love this poem… always amazed at your talent.
I Loved: “…Look too long,/and your song/will be stilted…”!!
I love this, De! Those first few lines in particular. 🙂
Love this, De. I like the sound of ‘inhabit the scars that got you here.’
Add me to the love fest, De. Sometimes I feel like my compliments ring hollow, because I can’t find the words to speak your brilliance. You are destined to be read in the coming centuries, I truly do believe.
Goodness. Just seeing this comment. I’m floored. Thank you so much, Marie. Know that your encouraging words mean the world to me.
Marie and Bill, both responses to the prompt are perfect. Bill, that quiet staring stillness before the stark cold winter is a deep look forward full of respect for the ceremony of a season of life; Marie, your look backwards was like the spring warming of earth around a deep-buried seed that grows upward to bloom toward a sky full of memories.
Ooo…I have to agree 100% and perfectly stated SAS!
Oh my goodness, Damon! Your compliment makes me smile huge, both for the positive feedback and for the beautifully poetic way in which you speak it. Thank you so much!
One More Try
For years she has been the only driver for the family.
Because of her increasing age and lack of strength
it has been her last remaining way to help.
Each year she has been nervous about taking the test
but she has passed it without a problem—
not so this year. She has failed it twice in a row.
Her family thinks twice is enough, but if she never
tries again she may never know. They will let her try
again. Their only prayer is safety ahead if she passes.
What does transportation look like in their future?
How will she react if she fails one more time?
Can she trust the Lord to continue to care for her?
No matter what happens, God is the driver of her life.
This is accurate; I’ve known many who faced this dilemma.
Yes…
Very well done, Sheryl. Last line is spot on.
She did try it today, but she failed again. I’m glad she took the test. Otherwise she would have wondered the rest of her life if she could have passed. That is not a great way to spend your 92nd birthday, but she enjoyed her double chocolate fudge cake and so did we.
I’ve been wondering how it came out. It sounds like she’ll be a peace with the outcome now, for having tried her best.
Sheryl, this is such a difficult time in life. You’ve captured it well. God bless you and your mother. 92? Superb. 🙂
For those going back to school or sending little ones (or not so little ones) back and their teachers. Students once commented I had those eyes in the back of my head. They didn’t realize how thoroughly predictable they were. 😉
Useful Information about Teacher
Eyes front and back
and ears so perked and keen,
she knows who’s slack,
for everyone gets seen.
Her glasses may
be something Bond would wear.
Watch what you say—
her smiling teeth can tear.
She’s not human:
homework makes that point clear,
but understand,
if you need her, she’s here.
Bingo! Sounds like you loved your work but could look at it realistically.
True, Bill. I don’t suppose I’ll ever out-grow teaching. Thanks for the Bingo! You know I love that sound 🙂
Last line… Comfort!!
This is so gosh darn true! Especially if your teacher happens to be your mom…mine is. 😉
😀
Oh, how fun! Nicely captured, Jane!
Birthmarks
Silver canister, ringed in rust He plucks it open,
8 mm filmstrip, dewy with a hint of mold. He steps
on a chair with weeblie balance and hangs an old
bed-sheet from the ceiling with a couple of thumb-
tacks, The clue he leaves for the wife The kids that
he wants to be left alone tonight. His glasses glare
in sputtering light as Nighttime reels of him and the
old family of babbling voices flicker across the sheet.
His, the one scrambling between the legs of too many
brothers challenging his little rumply self to wrestling
matches in horse manure and Too many sisters chasing
him with hairbrushes and fat green ties to dance
lessons in school gyms.
I spy a dead uncle I never knew The aunt with the
Arizona nose The twin to grandpa A spinster
A bachelor cousin with a fishing pole in a canoe
And then there He is . . . sporting a beard. Five days
in the boundary waters The bush A canoe hefted
on his shoulders. No one warned him then that
now he’d be the only one left watching family films
in his basement At this hour During this year—
The only one marking deaths in Bibles wondering
who will dab their eyes when his turn comes.
Just a dribble of off-spring and a brain-lazy wife,
not her fault, the fault of the fall and all that.
I see the patience in his eyes. Great patience.
Waiting for it to happen. The hour when we mark
the year in the Bible, next to his date of birth, when
he finally passes the torch and rests inside his faith.
This is beautiful…
That it is, and it leaves me breathless.
Oh, yes.
So powerfully touching…!!
As Hen said, this is powerfully touching. Well done, J!
This gave me pause, and begged a second read. Beautifully done.
There’s too much to love about this–the rhythm and flow, the details that show what is not told, the imagery, the story…it’s a wonderful poem.
The Well Used Heart
Poetic Bloomings September 8, 20123 Prompt 119- “Looking Back- Looking Forward”
Sunday Whirl #125- September 8, 2013
The Well Used Heart by Teri H Hoover ©
One small brush with a stranger, at the magic edge of idleness.
One little push at the top of the curve; there’s no turning back.
Traveling the avenue of thought only to lose my answer.
Stains of intrigue stamped upon my passport.
Approaching the borders without dimension.
Where is my country?
Only a heart full of emptiness can return home.
This is a thoughtful poem, and it invited me to be thoughtful in reply. For me, it confirms, but yet refutes, the adage, “you can’t go home again.” It puts me in mind of John Howard Payne and Home, Sweet Home, a song about home written by a man who didn’t think he had one.
William- Thank you.
Your words prompted me to do a quick search on John Howard Payne. His poem/song. is indeed filled a long backward glance at home. And although I was familiar with the song I had never known its story. It is really quite sad the way Mr Payne seemed quite adrift from home himself. A quote for his diary sums it up for me.”The world has literally sung my song until every heart is familiar with its melody, yet I have been a wanderer from my boyhood.”- From the Diary of John Howard Payne-
Feeling like a bit of a wanderer myself- I indulge my longings when I write, but always try to keep away from being completely melancholy. I added the last line as way to allow myself to return home. For me returning with and empty heart leaves room for what home is now.
I only join the prompts here on occasion so it is very nice to have your thoughtful response. Teri Hoover
An interesting link- http://librivox.org/home-sweet-home-by-john-howard-payne/
I Loved: “…Traveling the avenue of thought only to lose my answer…”
Thank you Henrietta-
Thought provoking. To me this speaks of longing and disappointment. But it speaks so well, how can I not love it?
Erin- thanks so much for your comments. I have a special love for the longing in any poem. Though a hope filled person, I sometimes cannot help the words that come up when I write. Well I suppose I could but I like them for allowing feelings a place to breathe. Teri
Thought-provoking, indeed. “Magic edge of idleness,’ Traveling the avenue of thought, only to lose my answer,” “border without dimension,” “full of emptiness” … all give me pause and make me take time to reflect on the very phrases themselves.
Excellent.
Looking Back; Looking Forward theme:
“This Day”
I sit in spaces that I call my Now
yet know there was a past. I lived there, too.
I’ve photos of the longings and the vows;
I’ve closed that book and start each day, anew.
“You must go on when all your love is lost”
so say life’s tomes; some shrewd philosophers.
But I reply: “I’ll not be journey tossed;
I’ll stay right here and be adventurer.”
I’ve been there and done all that once before
And, grateful for the presence I now live,
Though past is gone and future not implored.
I am that lark that simply, rising, gives.
I’ll sing, remaining in this moment’s play
accept whatever life will give today.
Bingo! Simply and elegantly superb.
Oh, Jacqueline, it is not easy… you have made it Lovely, though!!
Thanks, William and Hen, appreciate your feedback…
So painfully beautiful, Jackie! ((Hugs))
I love this, Jacqueline. We should all be larks!
Another elegant and thought-provoking sonnet. I don’t know how you pump out so many.
Turn
Only when
I stopped
looking back
over my shoulder,
stewing in regret,
that bitter brew,
did I see
what lay ahead,
this life
this love
I share
with you.
I think this is a spot-on little gem, full of wisdom as well as elegant expression. I was struck by the feeling that the poem has but one caesura, in the second stanza only. The whole thing is intriguing because the “looking ahead” part is also in the past, and the focus is really on the present. Or so it seemed to me. I loved reading and re-reading this; thanks for posting.
and so full of truth.
Lovely!!
Yes! A spot on little gem, as William so aptly described it. Lovely, Nancy!
Lots of heart and charm, as always. I’m not avoiding you; I’m swamped. Call me when you have time to talk and let’s compare calendars and events.
Awww! Such a sweet write. So good to see you here, Nancy!!
I haven’t meant to be out of sight for awhile. The first of the semester–especially this year as we are “doing more with less” (i.e., teaching more classes, more students, more essays)–has arrived and hit me with a wallop.
Yikes. Hang in there! And believe me, we’ll take you whenever we can get you. 😉
“It’s no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.”
― Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland
The past is behind they say
but they are wrong;
it is with me every day.
What began a larval stage
time and circumstance
shaped a thousand careless ways.
I make no apology
that imperfect past
is just my ontology.
I love this, and how well it fits the opening quote.For me, this has a strong Zen feel to it.
Thanks William – btw, I am using a new blog but it is still me Debi Swim.
… imperfectly perfect, we all are… Love this, Debi!!
Debi! I knew this had to be you. Very well done, my friend! 🙂
Thank you for recognizing me, Erin. Did I ever tell you that my youngest is named Erin? Erin Faithe… I think Erin Faithe and Erin Hope have a lot in common – I know they both have a deep, abiding faith!
Thanks, Debi. Erin Faithe is a gorgeous name! With a name like that, how could she not have faith? 🙂
a smart poem, wise and fun.
Hear, hear!
Looking Back, Looking Forward
I
look
forward
to a time
when I can look back
on troubled times, and wounds won’t bleed.
What a wonderful little Fibonacci poem! The feeling is somber, but the surge at the end feels hopeful. I think this is an excellent example of form and function (so to speak) working well together.
Thanks, William!
Oh, Sara, I Hear you!!!
Thanks, Hen!
So do I… Nice one, Sara!
Thanks, Erin!
Thanks so much, William, Hen, and Erin. I appreciate your comments.
Sara- you write for all of us. Nice.
Thanks, Teri. So good to see you back!
it is good to be back-
Thanks, Teri. So good to see you back again!
Wow. So very much said in so few words. BRILLIANT, Sara.
Thanks, Marie.
Lesson Learned
He
said to me,
You should never back
someone into a corner,
Be-
Cause
like a wounded animal,
you never know what
strength he then
has.
The oddquain has staying power, I see. I thought your splitting of a word to form the mirror was especially effective; it slowed down the recitation, almost like someone saying beCAUSE.
Spot on, my friend… (you cannot force someone to stop drinking…) 😦 !!
This is so powerfully, so truthfully, so gracefully stated. Love it, Hen!
And you and Hannah and I all used the same form! ❤
Thank you, Erin… what I remember most was the tone of his voice… 😦 …
I Love how we three used the same form !! ❤
Yes, sometimes the way a thing is said is what drives it home.
I love that too! ❤
Oh, so true!! Thank you, friend!!
“Lesson Learned” … I have a feeling there is more in that title than we can possibly envision. Hugs to you, Hen.
Meg
!! ❤ !!
I REMEMBER …
… dodgeball, and those
first few days of school –
a metal lunchbox,
red plaid,
matching thermos,
not a scratch.
And I remember dodgeball,
and new shoes,
black, they always hurt,
new socks,
soaked pink when blisters broke,
a new dress,
not as good as Sunday best
but good enough for school.
And I remember dodgeball,
and that long walk, every day,
step on a crack and break
your mother’s back,
leaves dried brown,
crisped like bacon,
horse chestnuts,
and scents of autumn,
clouds of mouldy dew.
And I remember dodgeball,
and old school friends,
off we’d run,
and new kids,
we’d stand and stare,
and milk money spent
on cinnamon sweets.
And I remember dodgeball.
Balls bouncing, singing echoes,
hallow and heartless,
springing and stinging
the back of my legs
like sunburn.
And I still remember …
even now …
never ever
take your eyes off the ball.
This is so wonderful and nostalgic, and your repeated line has the effect of bringing me back for another go-around, reminding me of the Marx Bros.’ “hard-boiled eggs” refrain from A Night at the Opera.
Thank, William. Glad you liked t.
very lyrical, the repetition…the refrain
This is great, Misky! We used to play dodgeball when I first started school…until some of the older kids started getting a little too out there… 😉
Misky -So much of childhood is captured in the rhythms of routine. Your use of dodge ball to make that connection is superb. Teri
Absolutely! Brilliant write, Misk!
Oh that stinging ball!!
Love the feel of this poem. I could smell the crisped leaves
I remember, too. Thanks for the trip down memory lane. Love it.
Thank you everyone!!
[…] Written for dVerse “Remember” and Poetic Bloomings “Looking Back and Forward” […]
What We Know Now
Skeletons of ash trees, stark and bare
Interrupt the canopy of green
After the frost, men will travel there
With axes, power saws and a machine
To harvest all the trees that man has aided
their death from ash borers and disease,
We are beginning to understand the mess we made
how precious nature’s bounty , herbs and trees
A land abundant, prairies, rivers, soil
Never touched by plow or even hoe
Ready for cultivation with a little toil amber waves of grain would sprout and grow
We thought that nature ‘s favor would be ours
that everything we touched would grow and bloom
Carelessly we spread our mighty powers
Until we realized we also carry doom.
Spot on! Well stated with, I suspect, more than a touch of sadness.
Yes…
I always feel so sorry for fallen trees – all that wisdom and beauty lost with a stroke of an ax… 😦
Me too…
There is a sign of hope here, a good thing.
Marian, this is so well penned. You’ve captured the nature of nature, the nature of man, and the sadness of loss.
Looking Back
Still
in love with
the oddquain format,
she writes an oddquain ode right
here.
Odds are, this isn’t the last….
Ha ha ha! I’d take those odds. 🙂
Nice! I too am in love with this form. 🙂
Oh, how fun! LOVE it right here! 😀
“I try to avoid looking forward or backward, and try to keep looking upward.” – Charlotte Bronte
Looking
I seldom look forward
nor do I look back
but constantly up
and to the side
to see what made that song
winding through my ears
and around my heart.
What caused the rustle
which caused my heart
to pick up the pace
and my feet to jig
across the ground.
A stumble
will cause me to look forward and down
for just a moment,
to catch my balance
and then I resume
my love affair
with the world around me.
With my eyes open,
looking…
I’m constantly going forward.
Oh, this is precious! It makes me think of being out in the wild, but the sentiment could apply to a neighborhood or even downtown, with tall buildings and people all over the place. The love affair with the world isn’t qualified in your words but rather is open and accepting. Or so it seems to me. I love this.
Thank you William. I often write my poems so they mean something to me but also so they could mean something else to everyone else and you just confirmed that I am being successful. I am constantly outside, usually with a camera in my hand, enjoying being in the ‘wild’ – which is of course the inspiration behind my poem. The song is a bird, the rustle is an animal but the song to someone else could be the hum of city life and the rustle could be an out of place sound within the city or the honking of the horn. Thanks again and I’m so glad you love it. 🙂
I relate to the wild and rural, too, but grew up in a city; I can relate to sentiments such as those Hammerstein wrote about in The Last Time I Saw Paris.
Michelle, this is wonderful!!
Beautiful!!
Michelle, stumble is a good word for a momentary slip in moving forward .
Love this. So different from anything else I’ve read. Keep that head up, those eyes open, and that heart gleaning it all!
Well, as the fellow said, let there be light! I presume that Marie and/or Walt are behind what appears to be a new format. I like it; it’s brighter and more open (on my computer at least), and it looks like it will accommodate longer lines than the old one did.
Yay! I liked the older format very much for certain reasons, but it wasted a great deal of space. Hoping this one works well for us.
Thanks for the feedback, Bill!
Well, the one thing I don’t like is that the menu is blurry and small. That is the default for this particular “theme,” and I can’t figure out how to change it … or even if it is even possible to change. Hmmm…
Yes, I noticed that. It doesn’t bother me much because clicking on a menu item brings one to a new page with larger typeface. If this is the default for the theme, you probably can’t change it because the size probably is conditioned by the number of items that need to be displayed on one line. If the template for the menu allows more than one menu line, you might try that. (I am fishing here; I’ve never used any such templates personally.)
Yes!! Love the new format!
Oh, kind of freaky to have the webpage change it’s look when you are in the middle of posting…but how lovely and fresh the PB page looks! 🙂
Thanks much, Michelle! 🙂
I love the new look, too. Is that one of Keith’s pictures?
Hi Sheryl! No, it isn’t one of Keith’s. It’s just one wordpress offered, and I like it very much. I might use one of Keith’s though sometime.
MIRROR MIRROR ON THE WALL
This old mirror has seen better days.
The frame is aged and rough.
Thin cracks run through its glass in spots.
The same cracks run through me.
I don’t recognize the woman I see.
The auburn hair went gray, then white.
Green eyes that used to glimmer
are dimmed behind spectacles.
The dimple that only appeared when I smiled
fell into the crevice of a wrinkle.
But wisdom has no room for vanity.
Superficial changes do not obscure dreams,
smother passions, poison hope,
or define the person looking back at me.
I may not recognize the woman in the mirror,
but the cloak of age fits her well.
© Susan Schoeffield
Susan, this is delightful! I really love those last two lines!
Me, too, and the dimple that fell into a wrinkle. I like the calm acceptance of this piece.
Thank you, William. Perhaps it’s the calm before the storm!
Thank you so much, Erin. I love those lines, too. They make me smile!
🙂 !!
Erin, I seem to have posted my “thank you” in the wrong place. It must that “age” thing.
I love the attitude behind this poem!
I’m so glad the attitude came through. Thank you so much!!
Oh, yes! The attitude bubbles and foams and sprays throughout. One of my favorites of the day, Susan. Bless your heart!
Lovely realization…
That is so nice of you to say, Henrietta. Thank you!!
Spoken with the wisdom of a true Crone.
I’ll have to think about that. Not sure I see myself as a crone. But I guess we are what we write!
I love the face lift applied to the blog, ME. No bruising or scarring. Could you do me sometime really soon? 😉
Apparently, the face-lift is continuing. I am now seeing a more-legible menu and a serif font instead of what looked like a Helvetica face. Those are fine with me (the menu is a big improvement), but I notice a lingering link to the blooms for prompt 118 and the oddquain, above and below the heading for this page.
Are you still seeing the link to the blooms for prompt 118 and the oddquain above an below the heading for Prompt #119?
Please refresh your page, and let me know. Thanks!
Yup; still there.
How about now?
Sorry, Marie; I still see both iterations.
I tried the link. It worked (sent me to the blooms page for prompt 118 and the oddquain). Further, now I am seeing a link to RJ’s oddquain page AND a link to prompt 119. It looks to me like the template is designed to work this way: that is, links you to the previous and next page in the blog except for when you’re on the latest page.
OH! I see where you are now. I was looking at the Home page. You are actually on the Prompt #119 page. Yes … it will give you links to the previous and following pages.
HA! Now I feel better. 😀 !
LOL! Why thank you, Jane! 😀
“The dimple that only appeared when I smiled
fell into the crevice of a wrinkle.”
This is clever. Those wrinkles can do funny things to your face…
Tell me about it!! Thanks for your nice comment, Jacqueline!
Life of Grace
By David De Jong
Carefree, sultry summer nights
Fireflies, mosquito bites
Hide-n-seek in fields of corn
Sunday’s trousers barbwire torn
Front porch swings and lofts of hay
Sunday evenin’ country play
Cold lemonade, rhubarb pie
Watchin’ stars fall from the sky
Moon beams held between the clouds
Peakin’ through cottonwood shrouds
Ridin’ bare back, saddle free
Holdin’ tight while you hold me
Broken songs from wounded chimes
Dusty trails and storm swept climbs
Nights of anguish, days of death
Fightin’ for a reason for breath
Tired of life, hope out of reach
Sifted sand washed off the beach
Whispers of God heal the heart
One brave message, brave new start
Five simple words changin’ fate
Love rekindled state to state
Mercy bought hope saving face
Life renewed in saving grace
Love on sultry summer nights
Fireflies, mosquito bites
Evening walks in pastures green
Celebrations unforeseen
Front porch swings and lofts of gray
Daily bowed in thanks we’ll pray
David- This is truly captures the the ebb and flow of summer and gratefulness; but does not overlook the losses. I love the line- “Broken songs from wounded chimes”.
Oh, I loved that line also… as well as the entire poem!!
I am attaching myself to this comment.
This is another beautiful job, and again feels like a song to me.
Love the rhythm to this one, David, and especially love those last three stanzas. The transition from pain to hope is so seamless and beautiful! 🙂
Oh, I love this! And you know what? It reads like some of my own! 😀
Took a moment in between trips to enter this little ditty:
Time Travel
When I was a child
The excitement
The anticipation
The thrill of it all
Just to travel 28 miles
To grandma and grandpa’s house
For the afternoon
Or the summer vacation
What grand memories
I miss them
As a teen I stepped out
Traveled my home state
The beautiful state of Maine
And the Maritime Provinces
Once made it to Boston
Spent a night in New Hampshire
Felt like a man of the world
Made more memories
I would do it all over again
After high school
Without a plan for life
The travel plans changed
Controlled by Big Blue
For over twenty years
I saw the world
Germany, Japan, Okinawa
Hawaii, Alaska and 44 other states
From a military perspective
Memories that will never die
I should write a book
I long to retrace many of my steps
Now retired once
But still working to survive
Travel is a luxury
Cherished whenever it occurs
Disney World now my favorite
A place to revert to my childhood
With family and friends in tow
All enjoying the ride
All reverting to childhood
All wishing we could stay
To make more memories
Another book of memories
To be written
After the next visit
One more trip left to make
The last and final destination
A land of forever
A land of joy and peace
A land with my Savior
Where all the good memories
Will come rushing back
Like the books not written
This is all so wonderfully written! Memories and anticipation of the future combined to marvelous effect.
What an excellent progression! I think the title is especially evocative.
Oh, I agree with Erin and William!!
Excellent, Earl. I can relate, and the final stanza makes me smile and nod in agreement.
When
I was born,
God put me where
He wanted me to grow, to
Be;
When
I was small,
I learnt to love Him
With a child’s frank, trusting
Love;
When
I was young,
Death made its coldness
Felt, took away the simple-
Ness;
Now,
Almost a
Woman, I see God’s
Hand in every turn that earth
Makes;
I
Won’t always
Understand, but I’ll
Always trust completely in
Him.
© Copyright Erin Kay Hope – 2013
Forgot to put the title, “God’s Hand”
Oh! Lovely!!
Thanks, Hen! 🙂
Awww, sweet Erin Kay … as always, your heart and faith shine. Thank you for this.
Thanks so much, Marie! You are always so kind and encouraging. ❤
xoxoxo
Love the new format – William is right it does feel bright
Thanks much, Debi!
I like the new look. Thanks for all your well wishes for my trip. I had a great time. Now I need to play catchup.
You’ll have more fun playing catchup if you add some mustard.
Oh, I’ve got the mustard! 🙂
Thanks Connie! Welcome home!!
Looking Back on Looking Forward
Looking back
on looking forward
I didn’t know what to expect.
I was a little nervous,
a lot excited.
Planned for adventure
and got plenty.
If I knew how it would unfold
would I choose it?
I don’t know,
but I’m glad I didn’t know.
Nice one, Connie! Sometimes it is best not to know beforehand.
My mother used to say, “It’s a good thing we don;t know what’s going to happen.” Your poem echoes that. The first two lines caught my attention immediately, and the rest flowed from there. Wonderful.
I think many of us can relate, Connie. Good to have you back!
[…] Written for Poetic Bloomings #119: Looking Back, Looking Forward […]
TAKE A LOOK AROUND
Today
is not a day
to be lived
in isolation.
We cannot forget
yesterday.
We cannot forget
tomorrow.
2013-09-11
P. Wanken
Here is another short, simple, and profound piece. For all the remembrance of 11 September, I think the essence is, what can we do now? Hence the power of the final lines. Wonderful.
“Today is not a day to be lived in isolation.” Although this seems it should be obvious, it is a thought that never entered my mind in quite that way. Wow. Thank you, Paula.