July 5th – There are many sounds associated with Summer and camping, good and bad. Find one that stirs your muse and share your joy or quell your fears with your poetic words.
STAYING ON THE TRAIL
July 4 – NIGHT LIGHTS OVER THE LAKE
July 3 – IN THE SUMMERTIME (MUSIC)
POETIC BLOOMINGS 
Responses
[…] true childhood memory for The Granada Camp for Wayward Poets, prompt for the prompt “Did you hear that?” […]
http://vivinfrance.wordpress.com/2014/07/05/sleeping-out/ with picture
Sleeping Out
Head to toe on veranda hammock
under phoney bearskin rug
sisters chatter loudly long into the night.
Little by little spreads the silence of sleep
or does it?
Ripples from river slurp softly on the bank
crow of wayward cockerel
causes murmurs from sleepers
rustles in the flower bed
as hedgehog creeps along
beat of wings from hunting owl
summer crickets’ creaky song
but little by little spreads the silence of sleep
darn it the layout’s gone here!
No matter, I think; the effect of your words remains. This is close to a lullaby, in my view. Love it.
This is quite lovely Viv! Excellent.
lovely sounds of the night!
it never gets silent but we silence our ears. . .I love this
Delight, Viv.
This is beautiful, Viv. Yep, I can relate, though not with the quirky hedgehog. We do’t have those here, but most of the rest, oh heah. Front porch rocker in the dead of night when summer heat won’t let a person sleep. Close the eyes and just listen. It’s very soothing.
the cricket beats
it jumps at exquisite moments
i lay awake in my tent and its twittering takes the black out of my soul
it cries and it keeps on ticking
i feel the ladybug moving along my hand
she flies away into gentle skies
and her eyes awaken my essence
perplexed by what goes bump in the night
i perspire and i stand still waiting
trans(form) nation
expelled wind explains
what on Earth disdains
but a notion of stranded remains
an angel ready to lift me up
to hold me by the fire
and to sing into the gracious night lare
For me, this is a charming poem, as in entranced. Beautiful.
thank you William, I kind of felt somthing came over me in the writing 🙂 I wish you a lovely day
i lay awake in my tent and its twittering takes the black out of my soul… soothing, sweet thought.
thank you Georgeplace- i am feeling the neeed to be cleansed spiritually and the crickets seeem to take me there
amen!
Such a visual poem, yet one that soothes and flows as a slow-moving river. Good one, Hala.
thank you Claudsy, I really felt this one deeply
You’re welcome.
take care of you Claudsy and thanks for always brightening my day, i hope to return the favor smiles
I look at friendship as its own reward and thank you. I’m glad to give it freely and happy that I could brighten your day.
thank you Claudsy i am proud to call you a friend 🙂
Blessings. 🙂
same to you Claudsy
What a delightful poem!
thanks so much purple in portland, have a lovely day
Forest Alarm Clock
Laying in my tent,
I woke up in the early morning
hearing a strange sound—
something like shaking a can of spray paint,
when the metal ball rattles around inside.
Who would be painting anything just past dawn
amongst tall timber by a mountain lake?
Carefully I undid the ties
and looked out the screen window.
Two gray squirrels chased each other in the trees.
They seemed to be enjoying themselves,
as much as I enjoyed watching them scampering about,
their claws on the bark making the noise.
Who would have thought it sounded like that?
Very pleasant tone to this Connie
This is such a vivid picture you drew. Wonderful.
Oops it should be lying
Better than late night TV anytime.
so descriptive, to capture a drop of memory and bring it to life
Really nice, Connie. I never really thought about that sound and what it compared to. Now I’ll have to really think back and see if I can hear the spray can, too. Smiled through this one, my friend.
Voices still rise from girls’ cabin
I saw them!
:You did not!”
Counselor flashing her ring
Waves it in air as she talks
“Local sheriff if anything goes wrong.!”
Girls watching ring. Too cheap.
Prize from carnival game?
“No one leaves cabin without an escort!”
Girls rattle off names of dream escorts.
Counselor making plans to sneak out by latrines.
All phones have been confiscated.
He will think of something, she thinks, but she hasn’t heard a
Word,
One word pervades the little cabin. “Out!: Got to get out of here!”
Sounds like a fond (?) memory. This is fun to read.
Summer camp antics – funny
Exactly what I was thinking.
The phrases here welcome a nice camping story.
I really want to know what started this story, Marian. Come on. Give. 🙂 I could so see this happening. Laughing out loud.
Good one, Marian!
GRATING
In wintertime I am content
to hear my old cat purring,
but summer causes me to vent
because the frogs are whirring.
It is the most annoying sound,
one that I can’t abide;
if it keeps up I think I’m bound
to commit frogicide.
copyright 2014, William Preston
That’s cute. Nice read. By the way, congrats on the repeat!!
Thanks, much.
frogicide – chuckle
Better my cat than a frog any day . .. except my roommate Bingo prize, a frog she named Ribbit
LOL!!
Sometimes I feel that way about them as well…depends. I enjoy the humor and play on words in your closing, William!
That’s funny, William. Please don’t do it in front of my sis. She loves frogs. 🙂
BTW, congratulations on being chosen Poet Laureate.
Oh no!
ORCHESTRAL ATTRACTION
The cricket’s synchronized symphony,
is natures nocturnal orchestra.
A sensational winged performance for all to see.
Simplistic winds shoulders song of the wooing male. In the sound of their music, a courting love shimmers, happily sets sail.
The flight of orchestral attraction flies blind, unto the wilderness, to woo a bounding female.
Benjamin Thomas
Lovely. Makes me wish I could hear it.
I like to hear a chorus of them in a (distant) field but one in my bedroom and I’m on the hunt!
I hear you on that note. Thx!
Would have loved lessons like this in school, Ben. Love it. Kids would never forget these tidbits of biology. 🙂
What better description than, ‘nocturnal orchestra’. Lovely!
THE SOUNDS OF NIGHT
I love the sounds of night:
the wind that sets the branch against my pane,
a gentle tapping –– gnarled and bony –– right
before I sleep, or rain,
a pitter-patter song
to lull a weary body needing rest
from labors lasting hours much too long,
to sleep as if one blessed.
I love the sounds out there:
the crickets’ symphony gives night a voice
so sweet and solemn it could pass for prayer.
No wonder I rejoice!
An alley cat screeches,
a trash can falls to the concrete sidewalk,
more sounds from night’s creatures.
Some irate neighbors squawk.
I love the sounds that sweep
aside the hectic rush and race of day,
not a heavy silence but a segue
To lead me into sleep.
#
This is such a satisfying piece on several levels: the rhyming is pleasing; the pacing is varied; the pictures are clear; there’s even some change of emphasis in the third stanza. I thoroughly enjoyed it. Thanks.
Exactly what William said and this “to sleep as if one blessed.” A good night’s sleep is a blessing.
To include the difficult night sounds as something that sweep away day’s hectic rush . . .
Really nice, Sal. Such sounds have a magic of their own, don’t you think?
I love the sounds of the night as you describe them. Wonderful poem, Sal.
THINGS THAT GO BUMP
An announcement loud and clear,
it says “we are here” whatever
we are. Far along the horizon
eyes have been watching
catching glimpses of this scene.
Footsteps, rustling branches…
chances are it’s coming toward you.
Can you afford to just stand there?
Hear it? Over there? Or there?
Or… from where the hell is that coming.
A growl. A crunching. A distinct thump.
In the darkness, things surely go bump.
(C) Walter J Wojtanik, 2014
This has me looking around, and I’m deaf!
Oh yes, that describes a night in the woods exactly.
This works well with my woodsy paranoia. So many things to go thump…
Eeeek!
Yikes! Walt I love your title, but not the things that go bump in the night. I’m not a big fan of camping. Too many bumping things I suppose.
Indeed they do, Walt. And around here during camping season, it could be nigh on to anything including king griz or ticked off mama black bear. Why does night hold such terrors for us? Are they holdovers from our primal days when things that made sounds could eat you? Like this a lot.
Shell Shocked
The distant boom of thunder
grumbles across the summer sky
pellets of rain ping on the awning
as the sheers billow and fly
at the windows on currents high.
After the scorching heat this relief
is welcomed soothing frayed nerves
cooling the torpid air
though it is brief it shores up reserves
and I can face the day with verve.
Then my calm is shattered
this egg shell veneer battered
by a irritating insect whine
sending sparks along my spine
that increase exponentially,
quite unacceptably
into an ear numbing roar
I abhor…
crotch rockets –
riders in a zigzag pattern
bikes leaning dangerously
streaking past my place
on their deadly chase
of thrills.
They feel exhilarated
I feel obliterated.
I love the sounds you put in here, even “crotch rockets” and the whine. This is so good, in my view.
Oh yes, you’ve captured so well some of the noises that are just that flat out noise. Especially motorcycles – can’t stand em!!
I agree!
YES! I abhor those blasted things, Debi. Glad to know I’m not the only one. I can’t abide their nerve-grating sound, especially when riders choose to race on the highway outside my bedroom window at 1 in the morning.
You had the reader fooled until that last stanza. I was sure you were going for skeeters and then–ta-da!–bikes. Absolutely loved this.
Thank you, Claudsy. We have three or four teens who ride them on our road and I cringe every time they roar by.
Curl the spine, they do. And you’re welcome.
I love this, Debi. I am particularly taken with, ‘pellets of rain ping on the awning.’
Battle of the Bands
The couple in the townhouse, just retired
and moved down South, play “God Bless America”
and “Stars and Stripes Forever”
through their new outdoor patio speakers
while their neighbors whose daughter
just graduated eighth grade host a pool party
with hip-hop pumping the bass,
punctuated by splashes and squeals.
With a patio full of boys and girls at thirteen,
they know to fear silence more than rap.
Down on the dock, the boomers
are cranking up James Taylor, the Beatles,
Jimi’s “Star Spangled Banner,” to the rhythm
of choppers’ whop whop whop, nostalgic
for all those other summer parties.
Their grown kids, home for the weekend,
their own children slathered with sunscreen
and strapped into life jackets, their earbuds
in place, streaming music through smartphones
while they check their messages, barely present.
No one admits to making the calls to the cops—
Make ‘em turn that racket down—
who ride by, turn down the offers of beer,
but accept a plate of burgers, fries, cobbler,
before heading to the next complaint—
fireworks too loud, teenagers roaming loose.
The mash-up of music creates an odd harmony,
not discord, not Babel. Each circle of friends
has tuned in to theme music, a soundtrack,
SurroundSound of summer celebration.
This poem must be highly effective: I have a headache now. The descriptions are spot on.
Oh, the modern cacophony of ” summer SurroundSound” just like at the beach. Seems no one is comfortable with quiet. Spot on as William says.
Love this, Nancy. Cacophony is not phony. 😉
Nancy, you’ve nailed the American Fourth of July experience during the day. Now for the nighttime cascade of booms, whistles and screamers. I know you can add another couple of stanzas to bring in those sounds too.
Wonderful job here, Nancy.
[…] Creative Bloomings- GRANADA CAMP FOR WAYWARD POETS – “DID YOU HEAR THAT?” […]
A Simple Smidgen of Salted Sound
Sincere secret of sapphire
stirs inside sun stunned surf,
salty shallows surge in
as soft sips, swift on sand.
They slip succinctly to sea
in satisfying swallows,
satiating sounds sink in
safely secured in soul.
Shore shushes
a simple serenade…
Shadows sneaking in?
Searching for stillness?
Save this single secret
this sacred-serenity,
submerge into soothing –
sound of sapphire-sweet,
store it’s smooth surface
and silently swirl to sea.
Copyright © Hannah Gosselin 2014
Oh hmm…the italics don’t translate here…the second stanza after those two mid-lines are supposed to be in italics. 🙂 Ya’ll are poets with wonderful imaginations though so I know you can imagine it! 😉
Happy Saturday poetical peeps!
I love this; it sssssss’s like the sea.
I’m so satisfied that you found the s’s to be so sea-like…thank you, William!
Beautiful sounds… and this is lovely “Shore shushes
a simple serenade…”
Thank you, Debi!!
alliteration without being forced, I wish I was there by the sea
Oh, well that’s lovely…I was hoping it didn’t sound to forced, it was tricky…thank you!
Great title for a great poem.
Thank you, Jane!!
You’ve got the “s’s” going here, girl. Good for you. You did this so well, so that the tongue-tied quality barely touches the progression of words, but lingers instead in the back of the mind with the susurration of the surf to sooth.
Nicely done.
I cannot imagine how you created this, but it is a masterpiece of sound.
Camp Sounds
The Klaxtons come to life
O-six-hundred is O-so-early
The sound of the record needle
Lands loudly on the record groove
Snap, crackle, pop, and the band plays
One verse of “The Star Spangled Banner”
As Old Glory is raised up the pole
Another day starts at summer camp
Feet shuffle and drag to the mess hall
Dishes and silverware stir the eardrums
The chatter of waking voices fills the room
Until the counselor’s whistle blows twice
Snapping us out of our breakfast doldrums
Chairs and benches chatter the floor in unison
And we all shuffle to our pre-assigned classes
Time to yawn and blink through Bible study
And on the sounds of summer camp march
Whistles to begin and end classes and events
Announcements and music over the Klaxtons
The voices of others in the mess hall and cabins
At the lake, and singing around the campfire
The sounds march on throughout the day
Into the evening, and until lights out
Finally, when taps are played to end the day
And the idle chatter subsides in the cabin
Silence makes its way back into my ears
And I roll over for a restful night’s sleep
That is, until the snoring starts
© 2014 Earl Parsons
This is exactly as I remember camp (even girls snore) 😉
I was never at a summer camp, but your poem provides fertile ground for imagination.
Ah, such a jam-packed day of sounds. Maybe it was good that I never went to camp. I wouldn’t have tolerated it very well, I’m afraid. Great job here, Earl, marching us through a single day–like every day–at sumber camp. 🙂
Within we will stay
Safely inside the cabin
Until the bear leaves
Good idea!
🙂 We do this often around here as a rule. Good rule, too. 🙂
This is a special but private memory for me. . .so I trust you with my heart (again)
THE CALL
Camping rookie when I was ten
Sleeping on bunks and not in tents
Four girls synchronized brushing teeth
Recited God’s Word, swords unsheathed
Campfire ceremony, lives spilled, sit knee-to-knee
Oft returned but never so new, camping rookie
How will they hear without preachers?
Paul’s words in Romans my heart stirs
I will go, my answer, but where
Silent voice speaks to me—there
Vaya con Dios a México, mi hija
Daughter, go to Mexico, else how will they hear?
Many share this memory with you. I remember those campfire devotions.
Thanks, the memory stays with me all these years later
This paints the picture well.
Thanks, William. It means a lot.
I agree…vivid and special.
So many poems here use all the senses to such terrific effect. . .and I rarely do . . . so I appreciate your describing it as vivid. (and special, of course)
You’re welcome, Darlene…absolutely, the scenes were set so well…I especially could see the girls lined up brushing teeth! So fun. 🙂
Ah, Darlene. Such a call comes to few in the overall scheme of daily life. That you heard and recognized at such an early age is something else. Thank you for sharing this most personal poem. And for trusting.
There is a lifetime story following the poem. . .but this isn’t really the place (no, I haven’t spent a lifetime in Mexico)
The amount of time doesn’t always matter, Darlene, but I don’t pry; merely comment. Lessons, like callings, come in their own time, for their own purposes. For all of us.
The Sound of Stupid in the Night
If common sense remains aloof,
You learn to heed park rangers’ words:
Tie food in trees, bury garbage,
Don’t give wild things any excuse.
But Rick gets munchy after dark
And runs to camp stores as they close.
He grabs two pints of ice cream, spoons,
And runs back whooping like a loon.
“Butter pecan was all they had,”
He chuckles, crawling in the tent.
It is his favorite; though small,
we cannot seem to eat it all.
“I’ll bury it when I go out
To brush my teeth and mark a tree,”
He says, well sated, craving naps.
We drowse until we hear loud snaps.
At first, we think it’s in our dreams,
And then, alarmed, inside the tent,
But flashlights show a raccoon pair,
Their masks intact, are thieving there.
Such well-marked animals, so cute,
But have you seen their ripping claws?
They hiss and dare us interfere,
Popping pecans, no sign of fear…
Until they hear rumble and puff
Of snuffing bear lumbering near.
They grab their cartons, run from sight,
saving our stupid necks that night.
The bear follows them, takes their loot,
Eviscerating evidence.
We rise quite early, pack and close
Our campsite in the Poconos.
Sounds like someone smarted up. Fun story
Delightful, starting with the title!
Wow, wow…scary even though told in a humorous way! Excellent, Jane!
Oh, good one, Jane. Love this. It sounds so much like something that would happen here. Rather raccoons than bears, although the little bandits can do some hefty damage, too. Had fun reading this.
Oh, Jane… this one did it… 😀 !! Between yours, Misky’s and Ben’s… I was laughing so hard, my puppy just stared up at me… (Think I need to get out more… 😀 !!)
This was a true campfire tale!
After Dark
The horses whinny giving rides
to children who hang on for life.
The horse shoes clank, the players roar
each time a ringer lifts a score.
We eat what everybody brings
and favor shots and beers and wines,
a neighborhood at liberty
to celebrate and wait for signs
of darkness bringing down its shade
when Donnie stands and calls his son.
“Come on,” he says, “it’s almost time
to blow thangs up. Fireworks is fun!”
You have to worry for the wild
who wonder what in hell is wrought
when sparks burst loud and drizzle down
the darkness like a melted crown.
We sing our patriotic songs,
thinking each minute it will end,
but Donnie’s saved his favorites
for last, whenever that might be.
Slowly, the crowd meanders home
to calm their pets and watch TV.
The silence has a static sound
white noise made possible by Donnie.
Hi Jane, my favorite line was, “of darkness bringing down its shade”.
“Come on,” he says, “it’s almost time
to blow thangs up. Fireworks is fun!”
I know this Donny of whom you speak… great fun and true life here, Jane.
An acoustic kaleidoscope. I enjoyed this very much.
Oh, my, your Donnie seems determined to light up the world, doesn’t he? This is fun, Jane–a look into neighborhoods everywhere this week, I have no doubt. 😀
This is another poem that I love for the sounds and images it proffers. Even if the rest of it were garbage, though, I’d love it for this line: “….sparks burst loud and drizzle down / the darkness like a melted crown.” Wonderful.
Campcide Tales, Day 5: Jabbercide
Rocks talk, you know.
Not in so many words,
But if you’re trying to sleep,
And there’s one near your ear,
Or your chin, or your hip,
Or your knee,
It will keep you awake all night.
It’s a yammery-silent treatment,
And you can turn and squirm,
And try to hide, but that rock
Will jabber you awake till dawn.
It’s jabbercide.
It’s yammercide.
Talking rockacide.
And yes, I truly hate camping.
Lol! I can picture you squirming.
Heavens! Misky. You managed three “cides” in this one. Amazing. LOVE IT! You’re doing good. Gosh, I hope you can keep this up all month. It’s worth the price of admission just to see what you come up with each day. 😀
I love the pun in jab-berside
…cide
Your “acides” get better and better. Love it.
This series is working wonderfully well, Misk!
DETESTABLE BUZZ
I loathe the whizzing buzz
of mosquitoes stammering about….
Hunting….
Seeking….
Waiting….
Like miniature vampires with wings,
and hypodermic weaponry protuding
from it’s face (those bloodsucking bastards).
They’re probably ecstatic as they slurp down multiple super-sized blood smoothies with their pals over the summer.
Benjamin Thomas
Ben, you really don’t like the little beasties, do you? Well, you aren’t alone in that. Good rant here, too. I was with you throughout this one. 😀 Enjoyed it immensely.
I loathe them, too. The whiny buzz right in the ear, the itchy welts, there’s nothing redeeming about the dratted things.
For me, “whizzing buzz” is a delicious way to describe the sound these insects make close to the ear. “Blood smoothies” is a fascinating way to humanize them, too. Well done.
Back later to do comments. Hope everyone had a good holiday. This is what came to mind when reading today’s prompt; from last year’s final camping days in Glacier Park.
Tell-Tales
Summer’s end and camping’s too,
Culminating in a last few days.
Pre-dawn wakens with slow,
Deliberate breaths that invigorate,
For that moment of silence,
Broken by tell-tale signs
Of life’s movements beyond
The tent’s flimsy flap.
A loon’s chirling call across
Still water meets in seconds
Wolf’s answering reminder
Of a pack’s traveling ways,
And bull elk begins his
Mating ritual with his bugle,
informing the forest of his
striking supremacy and strength.
Nature signals a closing of
Wandering days of woodsy
Ways and brings one back to
Prepare for a time of snow white.
Oh, Claudsy, you used the “s” word in the middle of summer, otherwise this is lovely : )
Ah, you mean that fluffy white stuff. Well, Debi, it’s been less than a month since the last time we had it falling here. Let’s see. It was the week of June 15th. And they just got Going to the Sun road open. They’ve been plowing that road since May 1. 🙂 You see, we never doubt the possibility, even in July.
We were there two years ago. Beautiful country. We spent one night at a lovely old lodge at Glacier Lake. You have some inspiring views to compensate for the hard winters.
Oh, yeah. Magnificent, sometimes treacherous, and always inspiring. Maybe that’s why our creative community is so large. You can’t swing a cat around here without hitting a writer, artist, or musician. 🙂
I love this, partly for the descriptions signalling the end of summer (which I look forward to) but mainly for the images it evokes.
Bless you, William. I’m glad you could see and feel some of what it’s like at some of our lakes and parks. It’s a special experience to lie in your sleeping bag and listen to the calls across the water; ones not expected, but richly enjoyed.
This is beautiful, Claudsy! Your images are descriptive and alive.
Oh, thank you so much, Sara. I’m so happy you enjoyed it.
Those Dratted Things That Go Bump in the Night
You’re in your tent
all snug in bed
and suddenly you hear
a snuffling beside your head.
You scrunch down
and hold your breath
as your eyes dart
the length and width.
You listen closely
as he scratches,
snuffles and snorts –
you’re clutching…matches?
For goodness sake
get a grip!
The noises wander off,
just a distant blip.
You relax your grip
and shut your eyes
but you’re alert
as the sun wakes the skies.
BTW – If you are interested you can click on my name and it will take you to my blog where I often put my words with a picture. 🙂 Today there is a picture.
Oh yeah, I can relate. Years ago I was camping in Yellowstone with a group of students. I woke at dawn to the sound of snuffling and steps, When I unzipped the flap enough to put out my head, I saw the reason I woken. A herd of elk had decided to take breakfast in the spaces between our tents in the dim light of early morn. Fortunately, none of us were silly enough to stampede the herd.
Nicely done, Michelle.
… and that is why I hate camping.
The short lines recall the short breathes likely at such times. I enjoyed this, and the photo too.
Captured
Storms from deep within
Captured in the melody
Of cricket ink chimes
I like this. It captures the imagination, too. Terrific.
I agree
(Poem w/image: http://lettheballoonssailmeaway.wordpress.com)
Pathway
Whip-poor-will music
Mesmerizing, magical
Moving me in dreams.
Oh, yes; this is spot on.
Thank you, William! 🙂 !!
A winner, Hen!
🙂 , Thank you, Sara!!
I haven’t heard a whip-poor-will since I was a kid. They were mesmerizing and magical – like your poem.
🙂 Thank you, Debi !!
Uh Oh!
Uh oh! Didn’t you read
that sign – the one that says,
Beware Poison Ivy?
Scratch, scratch, scratch
Shake up that bottle
of calamine lotion.
Sizzle, crack, sizzle
Just a bit more, I love
when the whole marshmallow
is black and crispy!
Rustle, clank, rustle
What is that sound?
Did you remember
to bring all the food in?
I love this one for the way it joins sounds to events or the threat thereof, including the scratching.
Thanks, William!
NACHTMUSIK
A nylon tent
can keep out
skunks and bears
can keep in
the warmth of
two intermingled bodies
let in the
smell of wet
pine and trap
the smell of
damp socks and
musty sleeping bags
but our flimsy
fabric walls cannot
keep out the
surrounding symphony of
crickets and creeks
that ring in
our ears as
we fall asleep
to at night