I was reminded during the millionth (it’s seemed like it) broadcast of Forrest Gump when the T-Shirt designer steps in IT and an unflappable Gump comes forth with the line “It Happens.” We all encounter things that “happen” in our lives, both good and not quite so.
What’s happening? Or better yet what has happened in your realm of influence? What would you like to happen? Be it personal, local, or wider spread than that, let us know through your poetic heart. It happens to all of us. We’ll help you step around it.
MARIE’S HAPPENING:
JUST YESTERDAY
I loved gardening
beneath sun and deep blue sky
in sensible shoes.
I loved Keith as he
painted old cheap plastic pots
‘seventies Corvettes.
I loved filling them
with flamboyant petunias,
modest marigolds.
I loved settling in,
sipping black coffee, watching
red robins rummage.
© Marie Elena Good, 2021
WALT’S HAPPENSTANCE:
HAPPENSTANCE
“Experience is not what happens to a man. It is what a man does with what happens to him.” ~Aldous Huxley
You live and learn,
earning your respect
and stumbling your way
through this world. You hope to build
strength and character and
strength of character
to anchor you. Feet firmly planted,
convicted to depict a man
who makes his mistakes better
each next time he makes them.
Never curse the sins visited upon the son
for they were merely lessons the father
never got around to teaching.
Nothing wrong with reaching for the stars,
venturing far from home base,
yet keeping our heart close to the place
that bears your footprint.
Not all missteps are mistakes,
every deviation takes you to a new location.
For generations this had been your station.
But your errors are the foundation upon which
your life was built. Becoming sturdy
and strong, ending up where you belong.
Remember it happens to all of us.
Learn from it and move on!
Mornin guys. I loved both of your bright poems today, Walt and Marie. 👏👌
Thank you, Benjamin! Took me way too long to get back here to read! 😀
And me, even longer! To flattering. I don’t know how bright I was when I wrote that! But thanks
Agreed. Both wonderful!
CRIME HAPPENS
They say crime doesn’t pay,
but it certainly takes its toll on society.
Men have the full capacity to love,
Yet on the opposite side of the coin
he commits the most heinous atrocities.
The staggering level of darkness
emanating from within him is devastating.
Whether it’s partially cloudy or sunshine,
he brings along the nighttime’s reign of terror
with him in the midst of any summer day.
He can be a Dr. Jekyll or Mr. Hyde;
a wound up jack-in-the-box, waiting patiently
for the perfect opportunity, or innocent victim
like a Lappet-faced vulture or Andean Condor.
They say crime doesn’t pay,
but more often than not; society pays the price
with her own blood, kin, precious loved ones—
all because men don’t pay attention, or take heed
to their conscience.
Benjamin Thomas
So it pays off , one way or another. Thoughtful piece, this.
Very true. Thanks William.
good poem, and it does pay… in so many negative ways…
Thanks 🙏🏽
This poem grabs me. I think an interchange of masculine and feminine within the piece might make it stronger.
Thank you.
Oooo … that’s a good idea, Maria!
This one grabs me, too. My goodness.
Hey, hey, we’ll have none of that! Benjamin, your poems need to keep their hands to themselves! 😉 More excellence from your brilliant mind. I’ve met my match.
HA!!!
😂 🙏🏽
Thought-provoking poem!
😊
What’s Happening?
I have reached the age
when friends and family
are becoming disabled.
Will our next reunion
be at a resort
or a nursing home?
Lots of impact in this one.
Been wondering that too.
wow… I hear of people going down, and this hits home…
Oh my.
Believe me when I say, I hear you loud and clear, Connie! But, I’d choose either opposed to in a cemetery.
I was thinking that too. A lot of family reunions are at funerals.
Ooh!
HOW COMFORT HAPPENS
I stand beneath eternal starry skies
that sail above the softly crashing sea.
The stars bring to my eyes a host of free
delights: the whites and blues of massive size;
a global cluster whose collection lies
beyond the Milky Way; the orange glee
of Betelgeuse; the greens content to be
reflections in the ocean’s midnight guise.
Collectively the sense they form is awe,
a feeling that inspires a hint of might
but does not warm when nights are stark and cold;
instead, I seek the heavens’ nearest draw:
the ever-fresh and ever-cycling sight
of the new moon in the arms of the old.
Very beautiful! 👏👏👏
Thanks, despite the wayward and extraneous “they” in the ninth line. Sloppy typing strikes again.
So gorgeous, and I am there looking at that sky…..
Gorgeous writing, Bill. That last line especially, IMHO.
Superb, my friend! So expressive and visual! Love. This.
I have sent the wayward “they” packing!
Thanks much for your comment and the edit, Walt.
This is gorgeous, William!
Marie and Walt, I’m entranced by the sheer volume of memorable lines in your offerings, especially “red robins rummage” and “not all missteps are mistakes.”
Thank you!
Thanks Bill. We learn by doing. Good or bad there’s a lesson embedded. So not every error is wrong. It just teaches a different lesson.
IF I COULD
If I could…
I’d heal the world
with marigolds
Tame and replace
the seas
with magnolia trees
cure disease
with perpetual
lilac blossom
make the earth
awesome
in elegant
pure white orchid
teases
If I could…
I’d rule the world
with endless
arrays of
mahogany
dapper dahlias
deliver world peace
in countless
displays of
flaming red roses
calm the stricken
with colors
of green
courtly poses
If I could…
I’d have legions
of purple haze
armies
slender lavender
standing at attention
Not to mention
fierce knights
of Peruvian
lilies
making the masses
silly with
pink carnations
and gerbera
daisies
If I could…
there’d be entire cities
of pretty
wise hibiscus
in the absence
of natural
disasters
the
beauty
and awe of
asters
Let the fragrance
of azaleas
blaze the
countryside
and a pleasing
tide of chrysanthemums
to run for
miles and miles
Benjamin Thomas
This wonderful piece reminds me of Bricusse and Ornadel’s great song, “If I Ruled the World.”
Fierce knights of Peruvian lilies… Ohhhhh!!!
This is wonderful, the cadence, the urgency, the need!
I’ll have to look this one up.
YOu wowed me today… love love love this
Thanks Mary.
smile
Love this.
Thanks Connie.
Oh, this is lovely! The visuals, the healing of sorts …
Thanks
If you could, I wish you would. Your healing is much needed these days. Quite magnanimous.
Thanks Walt. 🙏🏽
I’m voting for you!
Thanks Sara!
IT HAPPENS EVERY NIGHT
It happens.
Every night I dream.
From a distance I feel you, every night,
the nearness is stirring.
It is blurring my vision,
I can see you through closed eyes,
you permeate the misty midnight,
beneath the moon, and stars, and Venus and Mars.
Hands reaching to hold, to caress and possess
every part of you. From the end to the very start of you.
I come to be beside you, conforming to you,
a matched set burning from ignition
to full flame. It’s the same every night
It happens. I dream.
This is so beautiful, and reminds me of dreams I have been having about someone… sadly he lived a couple of hours away… so we just talk.
Thanks Mary. I know those dreams very well. We talk. We text. We stay connected. We dream.
For me, this has a Cole Porter feel to it. Wonderful.
Didn’t think of that until you pointed it out. It really does.
Stunning work, Walt. Stunning.
Thanks Bill. Love Porter. And you are an encyclopedia of those references, and I’m so glad you are. They point to our common grounding from which we’ve somehow become disconnected
“you permeate the misty midnight,
beneath the moon, and stars, and Venus and Mars.”
Stunning!
Blind Spot
Nothing of import happened yesterday.
Oh, newly named babies were born somewhere, far away,
and many more unnamed people died in distant lands,
mostly naturally, none directly at my hands.
Some remarkable events occurred, so they say.
Might have been a haboob, a fire, or a monsoon flood,
but nothing happened to me, my friends, my blood.
No matter to me, you see, as in bed I lay,
no matter to me, other peoples’ joy or woe.
All that mattered were my plans for the day,
areas to clean, a garden to hoe.
Might have been a new war started, so I heard,
but distant sirens don’t affect me, too busy watching birds.
Nothing of import happened yesterday.
This reminds me of a song by Jimmy webb… the yard went on forever….we live such peaceful lives…. most of the time, without hearing the joys and the losses of others…
I don’t know that on, will have to look it up
I suspect a tongue in cheek here.
A dab of sarcasm, a dollop of irony, a measure of Borowitz
Daniel, this one has me fighting tears. Oh my. Too much truth in this for far too many of us. Sometimes. Too often. I’m guilty of this without even realizing it. We are all one. Bless your kind, generous heart, my friend.
And that’s not important, Daniel? If it matters to you, it’s a happening. You’ve earned that.
Good one, Daniel!
Oh Walt– absolutely love // a man
who makes his mistakes better
each next time he makes them.// Terrific & such a great reminder of how to handle those mistakes we seem to keep repeating!!
Thank you, Pat. If we don’t learn from mistakes, we’re just wasting time. Who can afford that?
Current Events
Honoring the day, hoping
to bring light to the darkness,
maybe create something to
cherish, or at least, remember.
Respecting the day, thinking
it’s a good time for
random acts
of joyful beneficence.
Appreciating the day, reminded
to not try too hard to
do big, showy things.
Many little acts of good will do.
Working the garden this day, mindfully,
I’ll go slow, pause, breathe, observe.
Quite Zen.
Of course, I am also quite old.
I have woken this day, gratefully.
What the heck,
I might as well
choose to be happy and love.
I love the ending especially, and yes I choose to be happy and love also/// and am quiet old maybe
I love this, particularly the penultimate stanza.
And again, I see the gentleness of you.
This is the day the Lord has made. Excellent offering, Daniel!
Perfect ending!
IT’S A MYSTERY
How it happens,
May be born of the mystery,
An unknown feature,
Not at all expected,
Perhaps anticipated,
Without a known timeline,
Maybe just a wish,
A deeply buried hope,
A profound longing,
An undeniable dream,
Yet unrealized,
Until the day,
The time,
The moment
It happens,
Seemingly out of the blue,
But is it?
Or do we know,
It will appear,
It will manifest,
It will show up,
It is just how it will,
When it will,
Remaining the mystery,
Until it is here,
Until it is real,
Until we can feel it,
Until we can say,
Yes, it really happened,
And I knew it would,
All along.
(c) Janet Rice Carnahan 2021
I need to ponder this one….
which is really a compliment… there is much to this poem…
Indeed so……
Feel like this is really witness/testimony to Faith! A question of when/not if!
Brilliantly chosen cadence to this, and love the final thought!
No mystery here. This is truly from the heart and mind of JRC! Beautifully rendered.
Intriguing!
WHEN A CALL GOES OUT
When a subtle signal is heard,
Does it generate a response?
Making something happen,
Or is it all just random chance,
Or is there a design,
Beyond our comprehension,
Creating what needs to happen,
Without our conscious knowledge,
Maybe we are,
Conscious creators, collaborators,
Of everything that happens,
Why it happens,
When it happens,
As it happens,
Promoting it happening,
Perhaps we just face it as it comes,
Trusting that it is happening,
For some unknown reason,
At some unknown time,
As a trigger of something else to come,
When we least expect it,
Maybe we’ll never know,
Why something happened,
Or be able to predict what will happen,
Maybe it comes down to faith,
That what happens,
Was supposed to happen,
And what is going to happen,
Will happen,
And when it does,
It just so happens,
We will be ready for it!
And as it happens,
We were!
(c) Janet Rice Carnahan 2021
truth
For me, this recalls those little butterfly moments, when a slight shift in air pressure can grow to something big.
Again, your use of cadence is not lost on me. Wonderfully penned!
Even the whispered call in the silent night generates a response, even if only a thought in a telepathic moment! So true. What is supposed to, going to, will. Staying vigilant!
For All That Happens
the sun’s awakening grasses near fields wave cars stop at an intersection then pass
coincidental friends made at a convenience store where I buy my paper cost of gasoline rises stories told wars and murders on the first page fine arts buried behind the opinion page
there’s even a kidnapping on the comic page children feed ducks on a pond in a city park
traffic rushes past my friend in a coffee shop is taking leave to have a baby in passage I learn to see the world in new ways populations signs at the edge of town stay the same as if
someone dies for each who is born to the sun’s westward passage the moon waits
ah life as it is mundane and yet not…
Cycles ever circling; this poem draws me lm..
Hmmmm…. had a bigger effect than I realized.
This begs a second read, Mike. Perhaps a third. Excellent response to the prompt.
Brilliant narrative and commentary, Mike! Well done!
I love the circling of this. and your ending is beautiful!
On an Ordinary Friday
Somehow a heavy boot
wedges its heel onto the shovel
and trying to shake it fee
down I tumble again
the kind of fall where
you know you’re going
and you cannot break/brake
yourself so you meet the rocks
gingerly wriggling legs inside
boots not breaking anything
but my pride once again
taking the heat although fear
surges afresh the way it did
when I broke my knee
slipping on the ice burning brush
and no way to unbreak it
so that each unbalancing
makes me want to run and hide
away while simultaneously stirring
pure daredevil risktaker that shouts
I won’t quit and you can’t make me
I dare you nah nah nah seeing again
that painted white line on the playground
supposedly dividing boys from girls
in elementary that we stepped over
and over kicking dancing daring
after the nuns slipped inside
to grade a few more papers
thumb beads in desperation
at our ‘boldness and audacity’
use their words again to address rocks
digging into my side even as I use
the shovel to right the mast
attacks the hole for the Bee Balm
yet again trying to reclaim this soil
hoping Blackeyed Susan’s
will multiply like coneflowers
watch the enormous spider disappear
into its hole in the lintel stone left
mid-pasture no reason except to anchor
me as I joust only to fall on my shovel.
What a wonderful whiplash effect this poem has!
Pat, you once again leave me shaking my head in awe. I agree with William’s assessment. Wow!
Enjoyed this so much, Pat. Such a vignette!
Love this, Pat!
AS THE NIGHT HAPPENS
The reality of day,
Shifts to a dream state,
Too subtle to say,
But never too late,
Where there is desire,
It appears to come through,
Like a fully flamed fire,
A good dream will do,
Our clear imagination,
Can completely ignite,
Nothing to shun,
In the hope of the night,
What happens in our dreams,
Can fuel our reality,
Lovely as it seems,
In its own way, it can be.
In our creative mind,
Go beyond the night sky,
Where love is easy to find,
No need to question why.
Only limitation happens to us,
When we forget to imagine,
Thinking we need a car or bus,
Instead of our vision to begin,
A truly good intention,
Capable of firing up the night,
Creating magic enough to stun,
With fireworks, it might!
There’s nothing we can’t create,
Make happen on any night,
Making it meaningful and great!
Truly touching and memorable, quite!
(c) Janet Rice Carnahan 2021
This rings for me, especially the image of dreams fuelling reality.
Wonderful!
For me, especially:
“Thinking we need a car or bus,
Instead of our vision to begin”
stirs the imagination, it does!
But never too late,
A good dream will do,
In the hope of the night,
In its own way, it can be.
No need to question why.
Instead of our vision to begin,
With fireworks, it might!
Truly touching and memorable, quite!
A poem embedded in your last lines! Reads like a hand-in-hand stroll on a starlit shore, hoping for more than a dream. And this… “There’s nothing we can’t create,” Truth in your words.
Oh yes!
I loved both of your poems, but Marie’s cheered me up… Family situation has got me worried…
So sorry for your worries, Mary. Thankful my little poem could bring some cheer.
Like there was any doubt? Your words remain joyful!
Aww, thanks!
I chose to write a poem based on this nursery rhyme. I have recited it often over the years…
“For want of a nail the shoe was lost.
For want of a shoe the horse was lost.
For want of a horse the rider was lost.
For want of a rider the message was lost.
For want of a message the battle was lost.
For want of a battle the kingdom was lost.
And all for the want of a horseshoe nail.”
For the Want of a Nail
Somewhere back there
Was a man in charge of making nails…
A blacksmith, and maybe
He was careless or in a hurry,
And did not get that nail made.
But
Maybe he did, and the farrier
Was busy looking at the ladies,
And didn’t have time to take that nail
and shod that shoe.
But,
Maybe he was ready to shoe that horse,
And the rider was impatient, and
Said he had to go, and
Hopped on that horse and road off
With that message,
But without the nail,
The shoe got loose,
And the horse tumbled,
And the rider with that important message,
Was stuck by the side of the road…
The battle went wrong,
It was lost.
The king was captured, and
The people had a new ruler.
The people grumbled,
And the blacksmith said,
“I had other things to do.”
The farrier said,
“It was just one nail in the shoe.”
The rider said,
“It was fate, and things just happen.”
The king wondered,
“Why this happened to him.”
No one saw they made a choice,
A seemingly minor choice,
It should not have caused a kingdom to fall,
But each choice is connected…
To other choices, and
There is strength in the right choices,
But collapse in the wrong ones.
It is an old tale to be sure,
And it doesn’t really matter these days,
Or does it…
Mary Elizabeth Todd
May 16, 2021
You might like to see what Wallace Tripp did with that poem:
Thank you…how cool…
Indeed.
smile
Well done, Mary!
thanks
Impressive expressions, Mary!
thanks….
I love the idea of connections.
Not Happening
Consistency continues
day after day. In
my gut, I feel like
I am stuck in a rut.
Oh, to be at a beach, away
from thoughts that linger
in the forefront of my brain.
Afternoons lolling on sand,
evenings dining on seafood. No
appointments, temporarily sane.
I need no European vacation,
nor formal clothes of any kind.
A mere change of scenery
would be refreshing with soaring
birds, and scent of ocean brine.
This is an interesting twist on the prompt, rendered skillfully. Love it.
I agree completely!
Thanks, William!
Understand about needing a change of scenery. For the past year that amounted to going into a different room and string at those four walls for a while. Love your escapism here, Sara!
Escape is my forte! Thanks, Walt.
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I was working on a different poem when . . . something happened 🙂
Thanks to your prompt, I not only sprinted to the rescue, but saw every bit of it as a poem. 🙂
You never can tell about those flying leaps. Wonderful.
Well would you look at that! 😀 Loved them both, Maria! I’m glad you shared both of them.
Thank you.
These are both wonderful poems, Maria!
Thank you.
Growth
While I slumbered in the night,
The tiny seeds I planted did grow.
They raised their leaves to the morning light.
While I slumbered in the night,
Those seeds that were planted in the light,
Waiting for me to rest, in their deftly planned row,
While I slumbered in the night,
The tiny seeds I planted did grow.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
May 17, 2021
Great use of form for this one, Mary. A lovely thought, too!
thank you….my life right now is full of my garden…I am loving those moments in the sun and listening to the birds and sometimes singing with them
Such a lovely thought!
Perfect use of a triolet, methinks.
thank you… and I am getting there slowly on the form poems
I planted one seed of corn…
“One for the blackbird, one for the crow,
One for the soil and one to grow.”*
As I dropped each shriveled seed of corn…
I smiled at the old farmer’s tale,
And thought what foolishness this was,
For surely all the seeds would grow.
“One for the blackbird, one for the crow,
One for the soil and one to grow.”*
The days past I watched for them to grow,
And wondered if those words were wise,
While I was the foolish one.
“One for the blackbird, one for the crow,
One for the soil and one to grow.”*
The crows did chatter up in the trees,
And the jays cried out, “Oh, more please.”
My brow was furrowed as I heard them sing.
“One for the blackbird, one for the crow,
One for the soil and one to grow.”*
As the tiny stalks of green rose
I counted one, two, three, four,
And thought maybe they still will rise.
“One for the blackbird, one for the crow,
One for the soil and one to grow.”*
A week has passed, and a few more stalks
Came out of the ground, but
I knew the old farmers were right….
And I had been outsmarted by a crow…
“One for the blackbird, one for the crow,
One for the soil and one to grow.”*
Mary Elizabeth Todd
May 17, 2021
* This is a traditional saying
Mary, with just a bit of tweaking, this would make a great children’s poem! LOVE IT!
Thank you and Do go back and tweak some of mine… others I pull out a line here or there and write a new poem…
I do the same.
Huge smile here
and that made me smile
To those cats I have loved…. Who also loved poetry….
Dezia died on this day,
The fiery furball,
Who ruled her world,
And loved the poetry,
I read to her.
She thought T.S. Elliot
Wrote the line “Oh, Cat,”
Just for her.
Today also is the day
Biddie the oldest of the Inheritance left.
She would sit on the table outside
As I read her poetry.
She liked T.S. Elliot
Because she was a Jellicle cat.
I suspect she preferred the poems of Shelley
For she understood how moonbeams kissed.
Jellicle and her sister Eliza Jane
Would stop and listen to me read
A poem or two to Biddie,
Before they bounded out into the night.
Zelda came from an abuse situation,
A delightful kind creature she was,
Loved the poems that my father wrote
Because of the rhythm and the rhyme.
She would wait patiently for me to read
Elliot, Shelley and the rest of the boys in the band,
And would give me a Cheshire smile
When I began to tell a mountain tale
Written by my father’s hand….
Gus and June were too busy for poetry,
But Gus did morn his sister,
And my words of her made him stop and listen.
He did this after Pearl left,
And when Cassie got into her black carriage
With pink ribbons hanging down
Drawn by four black horses,
His heart broke again.
He never was much for poetry,
but preferred me telling him stories,
It was this day that Dezia died,
That I deemed to be June and Gus birthday.
Today I celebrate the lives of cats
Who like me loved poetry
Or at least storytellers, and
I know somewhere out there
They have joined the ranks
Of other cats who like poetry
Somewhere down on wild cat road.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
May 17, 2021
I enjoy your stories about The Inheritance. And again, I think these stories and memories would make a lovely book for children. It could be titled The Inheritance, and could be rich with illustrations. Just a thought.
Thanks and Marie, I would love to do a book of poems to the cats I have known…I miss the inheritance all the time… in the years after Ma died, and I wanted to give up… these cats that I made a promise to my mother to keep them and care for them… actually kept me alive.
❤
Utterly charming and moving.
thank you… I was charmed by cats when I was a girl of nine
FAIR WEATHER FRIEND
It just so happened
you came to mind today ~
the sky had blackened
it just so happened,
but my hat was fastened
so as not to blow away.
It just so happened
you came to mind today.
Those thoughts are a Godsend , aren’t they? Especially on such a gloomy day. Love the triolet. And all ways hold onto your hat! 😉 Nicely done, Paula!
I think this is a little gem, especially as grounded in the image of the fastened hat.
Like this triolet, Paula.
Thanks!
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JOIN ME
You will find me beneath a tree,
pen in hand and a grand smile
all the while writing poetry.
It’s paradise in Poetry,
when words inspired by your fire
light my world to full pyre,
poetic desire in rhyme and reason
tossed to the wind. I begin with an image
of your face, beauty and grace
and a trace of love left to smolder.
A spot on the blanket with your name
ingrained in the stitching.
I was wishing you’d join me
when the words come flowing
and you knowing my heart and soul
are in each word and in you.
It is true. I’d wait for you until
the cows come home.
Dreams come true when
they’re based on me and you.
Come join me anytime you feel the need,
Beneath the shade of our tree
in the Land of Poetry.
Wow, talk about a “gotcha” first line. Superb.
And the fourth line too……
Walt I Love this poem and that line- “A spot on the blanket with your name ingrained in the stitching” was one of the most perfect images of love I have ever read… thank you for this beauty…
My Possum Hank is dead….
On my long winding driveway,
Hank met his demise…
Felled by another creature of the night.
I have known him many years,
Or at least one of the Hanks,
For I call all my possums Hank.
Such odd creatures possums are,
They waddle as they walk, and
There is a joke in the south,
The reason the chicken
Crossed that road
Was to show the possum,
It could be done.
He belonged to the forest
In which I lived, and
Though he was a lowly creature…
Not beautiful like a deer,
Or noisy like a crow
With their jet-black plumes.
His hair always had
That I-just-got-of-bed look,
Still, he was lovely as possum go.
Curious as to why he died,
But knowing I would never know.
Things happen in the forest.
The life that goes on,
And ends without me noticing,
Unless like Hank they die
Where I can find them.
I will never know,
If he was a hermit
Among the possums
Or if he had friends
Who would make a toast-
And say, “Has anyone seen Hank?”
I wonder what stories they will tell,
Embellished stories of his bravery
Or how he like to ramble, and
Always had a “Howdy” to say,
When he was passing by.
If I was there, I would join in with them,
And tell them of our first meeting,
How he and the cats that used to be
Gathered in evening to eat, and swap tales.
Instead, I said quietly goodbye
To the possum I called Hank
Knowing his passing
Would mean little,
And that fact alone
Made me sad.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
May 19, 2021