GRANADA CAMP FOR WAYWARD POETS – I DON’T WANT TO GO HOME
July 29 – Now that we’ve spent nearly a month at camp, we found many things to appreciate here to have the thought of not wanting to head home just yet. Even if you’re not usually a “camper” there must have been something you’ve likes about the experience. Revisit that one thing that made you a “Happy Camper”. Give the connotation a good light for a change.
STAYING ON THE TRAIL
A SONG AT TWILIGHT
A catbird skulked
and sang at me
when I had sulked
beneath a tree.
I still can hear
its echoing mew;
it brings ever near
a day I won’t rue.
copyright 2014, William Preston
apologies to Robert Frost and his Dust of Snow
It sounds as though you’re appy camp is over!
Meow!
That beginning is great!
Excellent, William…I love that zoomed in feeling of beneath a tree and the sound is ever real…we have so many cat-birds in the backyard! Enjoyed this!
SUMMER CAMP BROUGHT DELIGHTS
To appreciate home
now and then we need to leave it,
step outside what we’ve known
and live without the familiar.
It’s true that we can’t see
all we have until we lose it,
until we step outside
and spend some time without it.
Summer camp brought delights
I could never have had at home.
We hiked, sang, worked at crafts.
We city kids learned of nature,
made memories to last,
But home was where we hung our hearts,
the place that we called our own.
#
This is tender, but also makes me think of kids who don’t have homes like that.
That is lovely, and so true. I always love arriving home after a holiday.
Me, too, Viv!
The Last Son Rise
The cool morning air begins to warm
As the sun breaks over the horizon
Illuminating the rippling lake
Like a field of sparkling diamonds
Another of God’s perfect scenes
My thoughts drift back over time
Of family and friends that I love so
The good times day in and day out
Even some of the not-so-good times
All things considered, I am blessed
Blessed with more than I deserved
More than I ever asked for
At times I’ve even wondered why
God would think so highly of me
To keep me around for oh-so-long
For I have failed Him so many times
On a daily basis I have fallen short
Yet He realized my faithfulness
And the weakness of my humanness
He helped me win the battle within
Why was my mind in retro mode
This was my morning devotion time
Yet I could not reroute my thoughts
My brain bombarded by the past
Controlled by something beyond me
As I gaze over the morning lake
A wave of feelings comes over me
Engulfing my soul with peaceful calm
As if to say that this rising sun
Will be the last that I witness here
Then I see Him in the distance
Walking slowly along the shore
The sun surrounds Him mystically
Or is it just His majestic aura
Such love washes over my soul
He walks up to me without a word
His smile is unlike any other
Pure love glows through His eyes
He reaches His hand out to me
And I rise to face my King
My soul is purged of all regrets
My sins forgotten in that moment
My only thoughts of what’s ahead
For what’s behind is what’s behind
My family knows where I will be
My family knows where I will be
© 2014 Earl Parsons
My family knows where I will be – I love that repeated.
All Mingled into One
“On such a night,’ I thought, ‘were ill and good,
Bright and unlovely; precious, tawdry,
All mingled into one
And pressed against my heart.” ~Irene Hunt, Up a Road Slowly
To say goodbye…this breaks my heart.
Emotions? Mixed. So ‘a la carte.’
I know it’s time; oh yes, I know.
I am not ready to let go.
Our time was precious, bright, and I
know once alone, I’ll surely try
to smile. Right now, it’s all for show.
I am not ready to let go
And yet, all things must find their end.
The memories, just like a friend,
will comfort bittersweetly, ‘though
I am not ready to let go.
###
My great aunt passed away this past weekend. The prompt today, while I realize is for the ‘Camp’ theme, also lends itself in a way for me to express the mixed feelings I feel about saying a final goodbye to her later today. I suppose either scenario can apply.
Sorry for the personal indulgence, since it is something I seldom do (at least, online) but I also want thank you, too.
Sorry for your loss RJ.
Sorry for your loss as well, RJ. Your “indulgence” is just a day early, since tomorrow we’re saying good bye to this theme. Geez, a poet writing personal things? Who WOOD think of such things?
I’m so sorry for your loss, RJ, but it did bring a beautiful poem to light. I particularly love the refrain line.
I am so sorry to hear of your loss, RJ, Hugs to you!!
So sorry to hear this, RJ. You’ll be in my thoughts. You’ve written a beautiful tribute.
The refrain makes this poem all the more tender and sad. It is lovely. Hope you feel the love coming to you.
Yes, the refrain is lovely as is the poem. Sorry for your loss, RJ
The Harmonious Symphony of Camp (Ottava Rima)
The peace which seeped into my weary bones
every time the loon trilled his summer song
and the way time melted, and all time zones
became the same – just camp zone, with one long
time keeper – the sun – and the only tones
you hear are those of kids, getting along.
This month long adventure has smote my fears
and the memories have absorbed my tears.
This is beautiful.
A lovely concept.
The poem is peaceful.
Yes
READY OR NOT
I had my reservations
when I first came to this place,
consumed by hesitations
from a fear I’d meet disgrace.
With challenges abundant
on this single, outdoor theme,
I thought I ‘d be redundant,
which brought down my self-esteem.
And so, I plodded warily
(at least, on days I could)
and wrote, not always merrily
and sometimes not so good.
I poemed about rainy days,
the food, romance and fears,
and in this campground poem maze
learned much from poet peers.
Now looking back, I understand
it’s not about the theme
but following a daily plan
to form a writing scheme.
Some prompts I’ll be forgetting
from our host, that wily scamp,
but much I’ll be regretting
when I leave Granada Camp.
© Susan Schoeffield
I’m wondering if, henceforth, Walt will be known as Wiley Scamp. I enjoyed this thoroughly.
This is a wonderful poem to round up the challenge month. Your poem brought a lump to my throat.
Should be our theme poem for this month!
WELCOMED SOLITUDE
I hear it clearly. For nearly
a month now the sound of silence
has become a trusted friend. My head
clears when I near its fringe. Any hinge
unlatched becomes attached in this peace.
A place where space is abundant,
and a writer can be inspired,
synapses fired and reloaded
and goaded into action. The attraction
is most wanted, a welcomed invitation
to find the inspiration I seek.
As others begin to stray, I will stay.
The sound of silence.
The trusted friend.
My words never end in this place.
and I find my peace in solitude.
The beauty of silence speaks loudly in this piece, Walt. Beautifully done.
Indeed so.
That’s lovely, Walt.
Thank you, all! We need that quiet time occasionally!
Some of us more than occasionally… very nice Walt.
Camp Ends
The river gurgles its goodbyes.
The pine trees sadly wave farewell.
The empty campsites look forlorn,
and, oh, what stories they could tell!
The rafts look lonely tucked on shore.
The dinner bell no longer rings.
The game equipment hides away.
The crows fly off on wistful wings.
The campers vow they’ll keep in touch,
with shouts of, “I’ll see you next year!”
As soon as the bus goes ‘round the bend,
the counselors begin to cheer!
Spot on! This reminds me of commencements, too.
Beautiful. poem.
Are the counselors cheering because they’re glad to see the back of everyone?
I know I would,hehe
Yep, that’s the idea.
We don’t want to go home
Posted on July 29, 2014 by http://vivinfrance.wordpress.com
Where are you hiding? The parents called.
Come out this minute, it’s time to go home.
They searched the camp,
they searched the woods,
they shouted hither and yon
until at last from the old oak tree
a giggle met their ears.
We don’t want to go home,
they shouted
as their hiding place was revealed.
Hard-fought negotiation ensued
with promises to return next year
before at last they slid down to the ground
and sulked all the way to the car.
Truth is ringing loud and clear here.
I like this. Glad they had so much fun they don’t want to leave.
Love the action in this, Viv!! I can see all of the movement especially those last two lines! 🙂
There’s Always Next Summer
I won’t miss damp morning air
or mumbles of “that isn’t fair”
when Mira loses yet again
Lumpy oatmeal I’ll gladly leave
and tepid showers will be a breeze
to say goodbye to
screen doors that squeak
and roofs that leak
will not be missed by me
But I hate to think of my new friends
I may never see again
and the fun we had.
I miss my Mom, my Dad, my cat
they’ll have out the welcome mat
but, boy, I’m gonna miss this camp.
Me too.
and me. It’s been a lovely cheerful challenge.
You capture the essence well, Debi…I” miss it too! 🙂
Pingback: Ready Or Not | Words With Sooze
The Gift of Camp
The art of feeling
the power that is breathing
connecting all dots
Yes, to all and especially the middle line, for me. 🙂
(Poem w/image: http://lettheballoonssailmeaway.wordpress.com)
(Fresh Perspective: Rainy Day, Indoors)
Camp Songs
I usually run to imagi(n)-
ation, But I will cease this run for once
Sit near enough to hear, to share, a song
of others’ cares. Rehearse and practice there
That once at home, these tunes with me, I’ll wear.
Love the idea of wearing the tune, Hen and your clever line break in imagination! 🙂
😀 Thank you, Hannah!!
Pingback: Keepin’ Her Real | Metaphors and Smiles
Keepin’ Her Real
That soft moss
a simple stone
this leaf-rustle-breeze
these tall-tall trees –
the way they repeatedly breathe,
yes, this forested forever breath;
I’ll never tire of that,
every single pine-needle scented whiff is a gift.
When I’m far from these Woods
I place myself in their gem-green center,
I bring awareness to their presence –
when I’m away from Mother Nature
it’s then that I realize I’m never too far removed,
I’m just an inhale-exhale – a peaceful-thought away.
I’ve saved sun’s rays for grayer days,
memorized sunrise
pocketed purple hues
and lined the locket of my heart
with a soft pink-velvet-sky.
I’ve learned to whisper her into existence,
rally her beauty into being
and shape a sanctuary of her spirit within –
a piece of Gaia’s wild lives inside me,
that soft moss, simple stone
and leaf-rustle-breeze.
Copyright © Hannah Gosselin 2014
This paints a beautiful, fragrant picture.
Pingback: Campcide Tales, Day 29: Homecide | The Chalk Hills Journal
Campcide Tales, Day 29: Homecide
Homecide
The bees, the ants,
the dirt-stiff pants, the wind,
the rain, we all complain,
the food, oh ick,
and bugs in shoes, the rocks,
no sleep, clothes in a heap,
the songs, the laughs,
The hugs, play slaps, here
by the firecide, rivercide,
lakecide, tentcide.
I really don’t wanna to go
home’cide. I just wanna
to stay here a while more.
Here at this Campcide.