POETIC BLOOMINGS

POETIC BLOOMINGS is a Phoenix Rising Poetry Guild site established in May 2011 to nurture and inspire the creative spirit.

PROMPT #201 – ALL HALLOWS, SAINTS AND SOULS

First and of most importance, continue to offer thoughts and prayers for our brother Earl Parsons. Conflicting reports have him in precarious straits. He’s always been in God’s hands, but now more than ever! Pray he will be able to join us again and  soon.

***

We’ve reached the end of October and find ourselves at the junction of Halloween, and All Saints Day and All Souls Day (in some religious circles). Your charge is simple. Write a Halloween (and anything that entails) poem, or a saint or soul poem. There are different thoughts for what a saint can be. And we all know certain souls who inspire our muse if they choose (again, thoughts for Earl) Use these terms to whatever they spark in you, and write your poem.

Also thoughts for Sara who is dealing with health issues this week as well.

Finally, please take care of yourselves and stay well!

SARA’S POEM:

Ghost Brings Rotten Teeth

Enters, head hangs under arm, green feet
scrape shrill as whistles. Woman wakes shrieks.
Bad dream? Ghost rattles head and points
to three black teeth placed on bed.
Sins, Sins, he moans. Repent.
First tooth–those you’ve hurt,
second–lies told.
Third tooth stands,
she cries
out
NO!
Tooth climbs
onto neck,
sinks into vein.
Ghost bleats like mad sheep,
you will simply not do.
Not do for what? says she, eyes
closed slits; she still hopes to waken.
Says ghost, alas, no remorse shown here.
Had blood spewed black, you’d be Vampire Queen!

(C) Sara McNulty – 2016

WALT’S POEM:

MY SOUL SHALL BE LIFTED

Lost in this maze of doubt and uncertainty,
you emerge from the shadow of long ago
to take a hold of my precious words and cling
to them as if they were the most important thing,
most cherished in your mind.
How did you find me here?
Why do you raise me up?
How did you bridge this chasm between
thought and word; between heart and mind.
I had become a poet lost in the mire of a dwindling pyre,
left to smolder in the ash heap of emotion.
And yet, you read my words; you devour them,
filling your soul with their beauty, and lifting mine
with your support and encouragement.
My poetic soul has found nourishment in your devotion.
My muse has taken flight as it soars;
to the clouds my soul shall be lifted.
 
(C) Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016

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41 thoughts on “PROMPT #201 – ALL HALLOWS, SAINTS AND SOULS

  1. PASSING THROUGH

    you won’t remember him
    the rise and fall
    of his timbered voice

    you won’t let his face
    flash before you
    in saddest recall

    you say let the dead lie
    resting in sleep
    life’s too short for sorrow

    you say time marches on
    life’s a train ride
    why make so many stops

    you hardly speak of him
    or let tears come
    or memories bring you down

    you say in your defense
    we’re passing through
    life is for the living

    #

  2. WE HEARD HIM CALL OUT NAMES

    On his deathbed Grandpa saw saints assemble
    In the room, all heads in sparkling diadems,
    Their voices sweetly, softly chanting hymns.
    Aunt Rosalia and the rest of us
    Witnessed only Grandpa, eyes twinkling above
    A smile that pain had so long kept hidden.

    We heard him call out the names of these saints,
    But we did not see them nor hear their cheering.
    I was a young man back then in ’65,
    Convinced we live and we die. All that mattered
    Was how far up the ladder of success we climbed.
    An after-life? A heaven? And perish the thought,
    a hell? He lay there clutching his rosary beads,
    looking happy as one invited to a feast.

    Then he called out “Anna!” (my Grandma dead six years),
    “Finalmente tu sei arrivata!”
    “Finally you are here!” and he smiled
    one last time and passed away. We said goodbye.
    He had left, I now believe, with those saints
    God had sent to bring him home forever.
    I pray they come again when my days end.
    I pray I’ll hear their praises to our God.

    #

  3. Walt, a touching that speaks to many of us! Thank-you for telling us about Earl and Sara! I will remember them in my prayers.

  4. William Preston on said:

    ENTERING NOVEMBER

    When the saints and the souls get together,
    it tends to occur in bad weather.
    The saints lead the way
    but the souls have their say;
    in the end they are birds of a feather.

  5. William Preston on said:

    Walt, your piece soars. Superb.

  6. William Preston on said:

    KINDRED SOULS

    Old friends
    are like old wine:
    a joy when they are here;
    a lingering bouquet when gone;
    a longing for the next time.

    NB: Earl developed this form, which he called an “appreciate,”as in “2-4-6-8, who do we appreciate?”, if I recall correctly. To me, though, it’s always been a Parsons Poem.

  7. Best wishes for a speedy recovery for Earl and Sara.

    I’m going a bit spooky with this one. 🎃

    ~

    The Piano Man

    His fingers hammered those keys.
    It was a noise like thin bones rattling,
    that sound of ivory tunes.
    It’s how bitter sorrow might sound,
    and his flour-white skin
    stretched drum-tight on his hand, a doff
    and coughing rhythm,
    his fingers tapping his signature songs.
    He died in a dance-hall,
    had a premonition of his death,
    and it shattered his nerves.
    So he played and he played because music,
    everyone said, was in his soul.
    So he played that piano, obsessed;
    ‘cause to stop, he might be forever possessed.

    .
    . ©️Misky 2016

  8. Halloween or Hello Iain or My gods art better than thy gods because Dylan got a Nobel Prize and I’ve got beautiful blue eyes (A stream of unconsciousness blues in open D tuning)

    The saints are a-marchin’-on in and the rotting corpses rise committing sin, the kids are treating and tricking, too much candy soon be a-sicking, Thor is sore and the media’s a whore, Freya couldn’t give a flying Frig (she could do that you know). Shiva’s rapping like TuPac on crack and jiving to the Late Show; you know it makes no sense, all this booze and incense and by all that’s wholly all the vio-lence. The shooting and the maiming, the naming and the shaming, the rape of Mother Earth and the dearth of species no longer extant giving rise to green-minded rant and Maria says Halloween and I say Hello Maria. What day is it José – Halloween, Hello José. I could go on for hours; what day is it Ignacio: Halloween, Hello Nacho!
    Takes them ages to get the gag. Hello Iain, whatcha seein’? Seeing mayhem and tragedy, seeing too much of everything and wishing it would stop. Seeing the Ice Man. The Ice Man cometh and the Devil’s leaving hell, clutching a bunch of black roses Captain Marvel (how come he never gets a movie?) leaps to the rescue only to be challenged by the bathroom police because, you know, he transitions, transits, trans It; it doesn’t really matter to me where you pee as long as there’s pumpkin pie and someone to die in my stead (you’ll find me in bed with Lennon!) John and Yoko – OH NO! 7ygdinfjdvfno Lifting kittens of keyboards and checking out the outboards, make sure there’s fuel – enough to escape for Yule and don’t forget to log the trip and tar the ship and blip! Blip! Blip! The sonar’s ringing, the angels are singing; it’s time to go, it’s time to run and yet we were all having so much fun and oh so much candy, legs getting bandy, tummy getting queasy, take it easy!! Seems like it’s all over and the fat lady ain’t singing: she’s a-swinging from the chandeliers, swiggin’ beers and calling out the haters, winkin’ at the lovers with quick seeya laters and all the souls need saving this and every night, this and every fight, this and every spite that we spit, and quit griping, quit wiping the tears, they won’t stop till the band won’t rock. And after all is said and done and doomed and groomed ready for the afterlife, the second wife, the new man, the charge of the Vanguard: we only have each other to blame, ourselves to name and yet another tree dies of shame. But wait! What’s that I hear now, a-comin’ in my ears? Is that the cry of freedom calling? Is that the echo of tears a-falling? Is that the butterfly effect? Is that the tree crashing to the ground in tumultuous uproar despite the lack of audience? Is that the fridge light on? Off? Is that the cat in the box? Dead or alive, we battle on and on and on and soldier through what we once knew to be absurd, no other word will do to describe where we are, what we have become and explain why pumpkins and candles give us one last handle on the fantasy that all is not lost and that we still might save the world, the lions, the elephants, the rhinos… and the list goes on. The list lost in mist, bewitched, bothered and bewildered by the bathroom signs and severely put out by the one that says engaged; enraged, exacerbated and ever so slightly, just a tad, a smidge, nothing really in the great scheme of things, but just very mildly miffed – like a Canadian whose bacon is just a little underdone and apologises for not ordering more clearly – the Saints go marching, the ghouls go wailing, the kids go snack-snagging (let’s not call it begging) and Hallmark carries on forever…
    Where was I? Oh yeah! Halloween! Hello Lucia! Hello Iain! Hi Eva! At freakin’ last!

    Iain – 31/10/2016

  9. connielpeters on said:

    Halloween

    H aunting spooks and wandering witches
    A pples to bob and candy to gather
    L eaves crunching under shuffling feet
    L aughter and giggles of little imps
    O wls hooting, bats flying, spiders scurrying
    W ind whistling through barren branches
    E erie sounds and sights, funny ones, too
    E ngaging in high-spirited mischief
    N iggling memories of childhood fun

  10. Ghost Brings Rotten Teeth

    Enters, head hangs under arm, green feet
    scrape shrill as whistles. Woman wakes shrieks.
    Bad dream? Ghost rattles head and points
    to three black teeth placed on bed.
    Sins, Sins, he moans. Repent.
    First tooth–those you’ve hurt,
    second–lies told.
    Third tooth stands,
    she cries
    out
    NO!
    Tooth climbs
    onto neck,
    sinks into vein.
    Ghost bleats like mad sheep,
    you will simply not do.
    Not do for what? says she, eyes
    closed slits; she still hopes to waken.
    Says ghost, alas, no remorse shown here.
    Had blood spewed black, you’d be Vampire Queen!

  11. Healing, reeling, Aunt Hippie raves on!

  12. I’d expect nothing less! Rave on indeed!

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