Today, we are addressing the idea of sense. There are the five senses and the organs that put them to work. There is dollars and “cents.” There are different scents in our daily lives, We can also address a sense of humor, a sense of decency, common sense, a sense for business, a sense of closeness and loss … or any other sense you know or make up. All these can be put into play in your poem. Put your poetic skills to work and let us sense your muse!
MARIE’S SENSE:
UNTITLED
“No more pennies,” we
were informed, and we could make
no cents of this change.
© Marie Elena Good, 2021
(Hardly a poem, but it was fun to write!)
WALT’S SENSE:
I SENSE I FOUND MY MOJO
I sense I found my mojo
And things are fine
my confidence is soaring.
There’s still a way to go
but it’s mine
so I won’t let life get boring.
I sense I found my humor.
And I just laugh.
It seems I find everything funny.
There’s this vicious rumor
that I’m daft,
but it rarely makes me money!
I sense I found my style.
People think
it must be easy to be me.
But I sit and smile,
and I wink,
it is much harder than they see!
© Walter J Wojtanik – 2021
Responses
Way to get us out of the gate Walt and Marie!
I agree!
👍
Thanks, you guys!
I completely agree…. Love both poems
Agreed. Love that sensible poem!
This poem is dedicated to Walt & Marie
A SCENT OF AWESOME
It exudes out from
the pores, releasing a scent
of fumed awesomeness.
Benjamin Thomas
“fumed awesomeness.” 😀
Thanks, Benjamin!
You bet. 👌
smile and I agree…
IF I WERE A SCENT
If I were a scent,
I’d be misted lavender,
weightless, floral, and relaxing.
I’d relish—in being
an irresistible calming effect
on the senses.
Easily disarm,
even the best of defenses,
as an approachable therapeutic gas.
Benjamin Thomas
:Love this, especially the last line.
Thanks William.
Well done. I thought of lavender too.
“Misted lavender” sounds particularly soothing.
My wife just got lavender essential oil from her aunt in India. 👌
what a clever idea and I love it….I would be the smell of marigolds…
Awesome! Thanks.
As a lavender fan, I love this!
Thanks! 🙏🏽
ONE HEART ONE LOVE
I can
sense…
the strength.
of.
this.
heart.
beat.
You
beat.
I beat.
You
beat.
I beat.
Together.
As one.
I can
sense,
the energy.
The feat—
of love.
The
effort—
less work.
That is,
never
done.
You
beat.
I beat.
You
beat.
I beat.
I take,
great
pleasure…
in its
flowing.
The myo—
cardial
force…
Of
knowing—
Your
other
half.
Benjamin Thomas
Inspired use of a long, skinny form.
Thank you kind sir.
Masterful Ben, your spacing shaped to the rhythm of the thought.
Thanks Damon! Good to see you.
So perfectly structured, it drew me along to a fitting conclusion
Thanks Daniel. 👍
Really like the “beat” of this as well as the content!
exactly!
🙏🏽
Thanks Pat. 😊
Nicely done. Great use of extended form!
😊
Smile, and I love your love poems also….
Thanks, and likewise! 👏
Love the format on this, Benjamin!
Thanks. It was fun to write.
THE SCENT OF TRUE HAPPINESS
If I were a comedian,
I’d be a gas.
Impale your heart—
with magic laughter,
and make it last.
Clear out clogged
arteries and make
it flow.
Chip away at charred,
scarred tissue.
That you would know,
true happiness.
Benjamin Thomas
This is so sweet
Indeed.
Thanks Candace!
I so understand this one…. because the scars and arteries clogged by pain make it difficult to be happy for there is a sense of sadness in everything… you love shows in this because you know this…
😊🙏🏽
IF I COULD CHANGE THE WORLD
If I could change the world
I’d offer my two cents.
But I do sense, the world
is changing me.
But if the change of the world
is at my expense—
well then, ladies and gents,
the world will get a scent
of change.
Benjamin Thomas
Big smile here
😁😁
Yes, I agree with a sensible grin.
Thank you sir. 👊🏽
Broad grins over here, Benjamin!
😁😁😃😊😃
this made me giggle
😂😂 Good! We need more laughs.
Ah! Very clever.
😊
LOGICAL WHEN YOU THINK ON IT
Poets
use sound and sense
to create messages,
even when sounds make scents that bring
no cents.
😂😂 Good one!
Ooh, your mind is a fun place to visit
So true!
So true. Love it William.
clap, clap, clap
HA! Don’t know whether to laugh or cry. 😉 Cleverly expressed!
Excellent!
hah
Excellent, William!
Marie, love your little rib-tickler.
Thank you!
Walt, your lines and rhymes combine just fine to shine in this mind of mine.
Smile
Adding my “hear, hear,” and warm smiles.
LOVE MAKES SENSE
It’s the thought that counts;
actions speak louder than words,
is what people say.
It’s fiery love—
burns, resistant to decay,
that multiplies.
It’s melding of will,
synergy of intention,
keeps us til this day.
Consider, do the math;
actions speak louder than words,
—always been this way.
Benjamin Thomas
I sense a compatriot here, in the belief that one must put more on the table than merely their elbows
Uh-huh
Yes, indeed.
A loud AMEN
Thank you. 🙏🏽
So true!
A Sense of Humor
(A decuain)
A sense of humor lifts emotions high.
It even helps when things go horribly wrong.
A hot-air balloon takes the heat to fly.
A troubled heart beats rhythmically to song.
And laughter lifts you up to make you strong.
To see the funny side sometimes is hard.
It may appear as years will drift along.
A lightened heart heals though it may be scarred.
A sense of humor lifts you to the sky.
It even helps when searching for the why.
Nicely said…yes, humor is a big aid in the search for the why
Like your idea of keeping it “light” and especially the visual of a hot air balloon, so gorgeous, but only after taking the heat!
I think this is well-nigh perfect.
Connie, sensible philosophy, to be poised on the verge of a smile, a laugh, a chuckle or grin. Well phrased.
Well done Connie! Not familiar with this form.
wise words, Connie
Oh my. This is excellently done, Connie! None of this is forced. The visual captures the intent. GREAT job!
ah yes, and you portrayed it wonderfully… and it does help when things become a comedy of errors that make you want to cry until you laugh….
I don’t know how I’d make it without my sense of humor!
Soul
She has a perfect
sense of style,
lifting me and my
faded pants and
tee-shirts up
from blandness.
She has an acute
sense of taste,
precise and never faulty,
keeping me and my
cooking mistakes away
from matricide.
She has a demanding
sense of honesty,
for others, for herself,
keeping me and my fears
in check, moving ever bravely
toward the truth.
What a lovely mix of humor, reality, and awe.
Loved this Daniel. An endearing love in this.
😂 Made me smile Daniel. Well done. I get a good sense of appreciation here.
perfect love poem
I agree with our friends here, Daniel. And your love will always being a smile to my lips. You are lucky to have each other, my friend. ❤
Ah the other poet I call my three romantics…Benjamin and Walt being the other two…Your love flows in this poem… and how wonderful to find someone who keeps you honest.
👌
This is wonderful, Daniel. I love that first stanza.
Just for a Moment
Mother called them hummingbird moths
those sphinx spinners drawn to the scent
of petunias that reseeded every year
banks of purple and white now and then
some mutated stripes all sprawled
like loose ladies across the front walk
arms flailing in the evening breeze
their aromatic perfume so deep and mysterious
after a day of summer heat and those moths
darting deep into fluted throats stealing
nectar leaving in their wake bruised petals
releasing even more fragrance so that now
in a place far away I plant tubs full
of their gaudy sisters spatter-painted
deep purples and rosy pinks and deep reds
tiny whorls of salmon and lemon yellow
not really admitting my feeble attempts
to return to that tiny house with bleached siding
where a crooked sidewalk angled to the front door
only to vanish in grass no connection
just some state of being so that in a sense
I’m at a loss, as well, meandering, senseless
not really missing the old place with its bundles
of dark memories but salvaging like how you sift
through attic junk for just one thing to keep
like those late evenings when blooms blurred
in the dusk and the road dust and
just for a moment all of it was sweet.
—
Happy Father’s Day to all the Dad’s and Mentors out there who father kids everywhere and in all circumstances whether related or not. Great coaches, educators, service workers and on and on….
You make a Difference! thank you.
The visual power of this piece is stunning, in my opinion.
Like William, the visuals are so stunning to me, the depth at which you laid them into our minds gave the meanings such value. I am awed at the sidewalk, “angled to the front door / only to vanish in the grass no connection” and how you so visibly stated the place your soul was at here. Wow.
bravo!
First, I wholly echo your Father’s Day sentiment.
Second, you’ve once again written with such elegance, creativity, meaning, beauty … your work just leaves me in awe every single time, Pat. Every. Single. Time.
WOW …
This has a scent of awesome! Good one pat!
you are a master of visuals… over and over again I am there seeing things…and plus I love the ending…
Love the descriptiveness in this, Pat!
Walt, your self sensing was perfect identity, made all kinds of sense to me. Loved it.
Marie, I always wondered too at the drive thru…huh? Who in the world was hoarding coins?
Right?! 😀
John 3:8
There’s a sense of
intent within a breeze,
the way it moves deliberately
through the air.
Or is it rather
Another who has intent,
a purpose that becomes direction
in pursuit
of some unknown mysterious cause
which mortals cannot
see,
or hear,
but feel;
a silent caress of
purposed molecules
rolling on our faces,
dancing in our hair,
across our skin?
Why would we want to know,
why would we wonder where,
why even care,
but that we feel it on us,
in us, too?
It seems we
love and long for breezes,
at least until they are gales.
I think deep down within
our sense of their intent,
there is a core
of awe,
and maybe,
fear.
© Damon Dean, 2021
I find this fascinating, especially “purposed molecules.”
William, glad you enjoyed it. Yeah, I like to think about things at the molecular level….I was a high school chemistry nerd.
Damon, I have read this several times now. You’ve left me in awe. Gorgeously poetic writing inspired by an already-gorgeous and inspiring scripture passage.
Thank you for this. I know I will return to it again.
Glad you like it Marie.
Wow, this is awesome, Damon! This poem and content itself is kind of like a wind.
Thank you Benjamin
You bet.
I so get this…and the wind speaks to me and has since I was four years old…I know in my soul that the wind is powerful even in the breezes… this poem moved me…deeply..
I’m glad my words meant something for you Mary. Thanks.
Nice one, Damon!
Thank you Sara…
Scent of a Poet
When poets take census of five human senses
their artifice pilfers the prosaically senseless.
Tasting hard sounds and hearing soft scents as
Poetic adroitness to wonderland sends us.
this is joyful!
BIG smile here
This prompt “makes Sense” reminds me of the poem “The Testament of Beauty” by Robert Bridges; a poem I came across recently, prompted by C.S. Lewis. Here is the first few lines, but the entire poem is worth the read.:
Man’s Reason is in such deep insolvency to sense,
that tho’ she guide his highest flight heav’nward, and teach him
dignity morals manners and human comfort,
she can delicatly and dangerously bedizen
the rioting joys that fringe the sad pathways of Hell.
Not without alliance of the animal senses
hath she any miracle: Lov’st thou in the blithe hour
of April dawns—nay marvelest thou not—to hear
the ravishing music that the small birdës make
in garden or woodland, rapturously heralding
the break of day; when the first lark on high hath warn’d
the vigilant robin already of the sun’s approach,
and he on slender pipe calleth the nesting tribes
to awake and fill and thrill their myriad-warbling throats
praising life’s God, untill the blisful revel grow
in wild profusion unfeign’d to such a hymn as man
hath never in temple or grove pour’d to the Lord of heav’n?
“… and he on slender pipe calleth the nesting tribes
to awake and fill and thrill their myriad-warbling throats
praising life’s God, untill the blisful revel grow
in wild profusion unfeign’d to such a hymn as man
hath never in temple or grove pour’d to the Lord of heav’n?”
Be still my heart …
I Love the first line:
“Man’s Reason is in such deep insolvency to sense,”
Oh my. What a treasure…
Amazing.
Thank I will have to seek out this poem and read the entire poem…
You, sir, ARE a poet. It is clear that you have read and have a grasp on what makes a poem, a poem. Not only that, but the composing of a poem seems a very natural flow of who you are and how you express yourself.
This one is fun, a great take on the prompt, and begs to be voiced. I’m soooooooooo glad to have you out here, Kevin! You make me smile!
P.S. On a completely personal note: Oh did I love getting to hug Lin this morning!!!!!!!!!
Smile 😉
Right on the money. 👌
this is a giggle worthy poem…
Excellent!
I love this!
We’ve Gone Senseless
Common sense has exited the house
What used to be just ain’t no more
To tell the truth we’ve lost our way
It seems we’ve lost our ability
To think with the most simplicity
We used to have a sense of humor
It brought us laughter, not offense
Now it seem whatever’s said
Is taken far too personally
Doesn’t make any sense to me
We used to stand on common ground
Now we all want our own little piece
We’re so busy being individuals
That we’re missing the joy of unity
It just doesn’t make any sense to me
And where’s our sense of decency?
Our quest for pride eliminated that
Where once we kept sins out of sight
Seems now they’re out for all to see
Bet God’s not happy with you and me
We need to bring back common sense
And laugh at each other’s sense of humor
Get back to occupying common ground
And resurrect a sense of decency
And hopefully get back our dignity
HEAR here!
Amen
Especially like that final stanza. My humble amen, and great writing, Earl!
Yessssss! Great jjob!
Excellent Earl! Well done. This is spot on for the prompt.
Amen and amen… a friend who does not have any said that common sense was a religious conspiracy… I was shocked by his comment and wondered who robbed him of his.
The Scent of Peace
she picks some lavender sprigs
a small bouquet of purple
the calming scent wafts softly
through the little room
soothing her tired soul
her breathing mellows and her
heart beat returns to normal
finding peace
—
I’m trying out Walt’s form – the Boketto – that was featured on Poetic Asides on Friday
This piece is peaceful. Love it.
I agree completely… and love it also
Our poet of peace has done it again. WONDERFUL Boketto, Candy!
Thanks, Marie 😊
So beautiful Candace. It flows so well you can’t tell it has structured form.
Absolutely lovely, Candace!
Thanks!
The Cents of Huckleberry
Huckleberry Hound Dog
‘Bout a foot-and-a-half tall
Sits on my office floor
Up against the wall
His red & white paint faded
Black missing from his nose
He looks good for his age
‘Cause he’s 60 years old
My grandpa gave me Huckle
My plastic Hound Dog bank
He told me save my pennies
I told him I would, thanks
I started saving right away
Putting copper in the slot
Temptation said to spend them
But will power shouted “NOT”
So as the years progressed
My Hound Dog bank got heavy
But I had to put it away
When I joined the military
Around the world I served
While Huckle stayed in place
For more than 20 years
I went from base to base
I forgot about the Hound Dog
‘Till visiting Gram one day
Gram said he missed me lots
And then sent us on our way
Now we’ve been reunited
Huck is up against the wall
Happy in his old friend’s home
Now he waits for cents to fall
I checked his slot the other day
Seems he’s just about full up
But I don’t want to empty him
Those pennies love their pup
I think it might be possible
Those pennies bring me luck
So all those cents are gonna’ stay
Inside my plastic Huck
Still I am very curious
My Hound Dog bank’s so old
What if Huck began to talk
What stories could be told
Such a delight!
How fun is this! As always, your cadence and rhyme are spot on. Your rhyming poems march right along, flawlessly. This subject matter is simply delightful!
Ditto. This is rather delightful. I love the voice of this.
Made me smile big… I have a bank my father gave me when I was twelve… he also gave me Kennedy Half dollars newly minted, and they are still in bank that sits in my office… such sweet memories… glad I am not the only nerd
So much fun to read, Earl!
OSB
(a rhyming boketto)
Overly sensitive bunk
Our minds full of worthless junk
We act like renegade punks
I feel we’ve sunk
In a pool of gunk
How can we escape the funk
Free of gunk in which we’ve sunk
We need spunk
Ain;t no lunkhead wrote that
😀 !
😂 👌
Smile
Wow!
Off balance
(Another Boketto)
Overly stimulated
Nonsensically offended
Pure irrationality
Emotional
Instability
Only God can rescue us
Set all things where they belong
In balance
Great Bokettos, Earl!
truth
Sensory Musing
It is hard to write this and not feel
ungrateful with all my senses intact
ready for the most part to do what
i ask i told my wife recently that
i wish i needed a cochlear implant so
i could take it off sometimes for a
hearing break or that i could stop
my skin from feeling quite so much
all the time it feels ungrateful
but what do you do when your senses
are perhaps a little too intact
when noise is processed as pain and
sometimes touch feels like needles
sharp knives fire crawling down my spine
is that an autistic trait? they never
are ever quite fully able to explain
do you just…cower in a corner forever?
too afraid sometimes to leave the house
the sudden onslaught of sound and
light and perception of existence too
frightening real imagined looming large
sometimes i text my wife while we’re
sitting together on the couch with
headphones in my ears shades over
my eyes curtains pulled closed
sensory processing on hyperactive mode
i text her things like
how was your day
i love you
what do you want for dinner
can i have a hug
am i too much
thank you
i love you
she gets it..me..she texts back hearts
and flowers and tender devotion
i scramble to pick up the pieces of me
and try to put them together in some
kind of order that would maybe make
sense to the world but i usually fail
i am trying to learn to let the pieces lie
sometimes and maybe just rearrange
them in ways that are comfortable
and make sense to me and maybe
the world’s perception shouldn’t matter
it shouldn’t
but it mostly does
– Erin Kay, 2021
As a side note, it feels important to mention with this one that I am autistic and that’s why i mention it in this way. It isn’t just some neurotypical wondering about autistic traits lol it tends to be a part of how i perceive anything/everything
Thanks for sharing.
Thank YOU for reading 🙂
Oh sweet Erin ….
There is so much packed into this small space. All of it makes me “feel.” But, “am I too much” was my undoing. 😦
I read your poem, your explanation, and Pat’s response. Please be sure to read Pat’s response carefully. Let her message sink in.
Hugs and prayers ….
and please keep writing. ❤
I will absolutely keep writing, although I do at times feel that these poems are maybe too overwhelming for sharing with others lol thank you as always for your sweetness, Marie ❤️❤️
Not at all. Keep ’em coming. ❤
For me, this poem makes eminent sense.
I am glad the meaning was felt! thank you for reading
Erin, this was a beautiful rendering of what most will not conceive….After I was sexually assaulted from about the age of 10 until I was 15 and then years of being stalked by my abuser… I stopped being able to see colors from the age of twelve until I was 15 when I escaped the last time he attacked me…One day the world was flooded with color, and I treasure it ever since… but touch… I hated to be touched… even a hug from someone I trusted burned on my skin as if they had burned a blister on me… some smells made me vomit…slowly I forced myself to desensitize myself…until the touch of others stopped burning. some smells I don’t like but they don’t make me vomit, art helped me also…Writing poetry helped, and step by step… I regained me…It was not easy and exhausted me, but I wanted me back… there are small pieces left and they worry me that I will not conquer all of it. I also learned to cover up things…because I did not want pity for when I am pitied I am seen as damaged… Keep on keeping on and may you find your own way to deal with it…I understand this kind of struggle.
Mary, thank you so much for this thoughtful response. I’m really sorry to hear about those early experiences, I can relate on a certain level. The physical/sensory reactions that humans have to trauma sometimes are so weird and remarkable. What you said about not being able to see color for a while reminds me of what it physically feels like after I have been masking and pretending to be just fine for too long (something that kinda has to happen in order to go to work and function in this world unfortunately). Touch will always be difficult for me, I think. It has been since I was a kid, I had zero physical boundaries respected by any of the adults in my life, and I think my brain eventually just decided that I just can’t handle touch from anyone other than a very very select few.
Poetry and writing in general have also been such a comfort and channel of healing for me, I am glad to hear that it has helped you! We are resilient. Thank you again for taking the time to respond to me, Mary. Sending lots of positive thoughts and energy your way.
thank you Erin… Being a child protect services worker helped me just to know I was not the only one… IN recent years I have found out my abuser also abused about 8 other young women… and I suspect there are more… He died in december of Covid… and on the day he died I wrote this poem
I Am Free…
I am free in a way
Most of you will never understand.
I am free from the darkness
That huddled in my heart.
I am free from the fear
That lurked in my mind.
I am free from the prison
That kept me chained to darkness.
I am free as the wind
That blows through my forest.
I am free as the stars
That dance on clear nights.
I am free to sing
Those songs of joy I tucked away.
I am free
Unbound
Unfettered
Unchained
And my life
Is no longer owned
By another.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
December 9, 2020
Very beautiful. I can sense the release in this poem.
It was a release
Good. 👍
I can relate to this. Especially the sense of touch.
Thank you for sharing this, Erin.
Thank you for reading, Sara!
Thanks for sharing a view of your world with us. Love your poems. I don’t have sensory overload, but I have a hyperactive startle reflex that makes me jump a loud, or sudden noises. The only other thing that probably comes close is my brain being stuck in overdrive from PTSD. It’s like being stuck fight/flight/freeze/fawn mode all the time. Or the entire stress response is raging with your foot stuck on the gas pedal.
Thank you, Benjamin! I love reading your poems also, I have lacked energy to be on here very often commenting lately, but I am always struck by your words and the sheer quantity in which you are able to write. And I can definitely relate to the very sensitive startle reflex. I think it’s something that is very common in people who are neurodivergent and/or who have PTSD. My major in school is psychology, and I am just so fascinated by the way the brain and body work together to respond to stimuli like this. It’s interesting to be able to understand a little better from a psychological perspective, but it is still difficult and somewhat stressful
Erin, so glad to read you today–and love your sitting calmly with headphones on and texting so the senory processing piece doesn’t overwhelm… with my students, the “needles” on skin could be a simple piece of clothing, a tag, a sweater…. it’s real, but let the world perceive the beautiful woman with all her distinguishing qualities… Bi-polar me wants sometimes to try and explain it all, but I too, “fail” and yet we SUCCEED because we are! //she texts back hearts…and tender devotion// Great Line!! //do you just cower in a corner forever//: NO! You let your light shine as you did in this poem… thanks for sharing and virtual hugs, albeit without touching:))
I always appreciate your comments, Pat, thank you for this. It is sometimes very overwhelming to feel such a huge lack of “normalcy,” relative to how most other people perceive things. The sensory stuff seems to get worse and not better, but I am at least finding better ways to manage it. But I am doing my best and that’s what matters! Hugs from a distance to you as well, my very encouraging friend ❤️
Sweetness
sent through summer breeze
the scent of perfumed jasmine
symbol of sweetness
Even the thought brings a peaceful, calm evening. Lovely!
Thanks, Marie!
Amen, especially at night.
That is the truth!
Beautiful Sara.
Thanks, Benjamin!
👍
ah yes the smells of summer… are so sweet…
Certain flower scents sing to me.
IF I WERE A SCENT (Take 2)
If I were a scent,
I’d be misted lavender,
weightless, floral, relaxant.
I’d relish—in the fact
of being invisible, irresistible,
on the senses.
Easily disarm,
even the best of defenses,
—Immerse opponents in therapeutic gas.
Benjamin Thomas
smile
😁
THE SENSE OF LOVE
You make my heart—
beat raspberry flames of passioned fruit.
You make my lips—
sing things absurd, unheard, ultrasonic.
You make my eyes—
see wild stars, through your countenance, hung
in nature’s sky.
You make my skin—
burn like sizzling, strewn embers, blown
like dissipated golden shards.
You make my taste—
explode; with hunger like a beast, craving for the feast
of exotic romance.
You make me hear—
the deadly, whistling, whooshing sound,
of Cupid’s sure-fire arrow.
Benjamin Thomas
this made me smile especially the last verse…in one of Louisa May Alcott’s books Rose in Bloom… she tells the story of Cupid and Psyche which is a cool myth…
😁 Oh nice.
THE DYNAMIC SENSE OF TOUCH
The sense of touch
Is dynamic.
It is the bridge
between the internal
and external worlds.
The inner is balanced,
routine, tightly bound,
homeostatic.
The outer is unpredictable,
chaotic, and wildly erratic.
The sense of touch
is dynamic.
It allows us to make
sense of all objects
great and small.
It conveys to us
the manner of size,
shape and form.
The sense of touch
is dynamic.
It is the bridge
between the internal
and external worlds.
It is the magical portal—
between the physical,
and psychological realms.
It allows us to substantiate
a torrent of love—at the helm,
from one soul to another.
It allow us to spread the cozy warmth
of affection—on special delivery,
from one person to the next.
It is deeply personal,
intimate, and much, much
better than any text.
It allows us to perceive
the daily ill-will intent,
down to the very minute detail.
It preys upon us
the siren-song of searing pain,
wounds, and anger inflicted.
Then it substantiates the healing rain,
love and care—that’s only gifted,
through touch.
Benjamin Thomas
I had not thought of this… I must ponder this idea
😊🤔
THE SCENT OF ASHES
I am air—
weightless, without mass,
essential.
You are solid,
weighty, flammable,
we have—potential.
To be combustible.
We are a match, ignited
through phosphoric friction.
You are red,
fluorescent flames—
thorough, merciless.
I am spent embers.
Hot, pitiful ashes.
Love—
is matter
that cannot be
destroyed.
Our love is
Phoenix.
Buoyant.
Rising.
Benjamin Thomas
Love the intensity of this.
Thanks. I really enjoyed writing this one.
WOW
Thx 😊
THE COMMON SENSE OF POVERTY
If a rich man is measured
not by what is taken, or obtained,
but by what is given;
Then we are poverty stricken,
wholly given to the beast of greed,
mules—a beast of burden.
It is better to be an emptied vessel,
than a pot rich in flavor and not
lacking content.
It is better to be spent, rather than full,
or rot and not be content.
Benjamin Thomas
After my mother died, I fell into poverty… I remember one day, I had to make a choice to buy the herd of cat food or me…I prayed really hard that I made the right choice… or that it would be resolved somehow. I went to check the mail and someone sent me enough money for both… Soon after two people gave me money each month. One of those people died and I am paying the money she gave forward to others…. thanks for this poem
Oh wow. That’s very sweet. You’re welcome. 🙏🏽
SENSES TAKE FLIGHT
When the lights go out
all the senses are restricted
by the suffocation of darkness.
When the sun goes down
all the senses lose their fight
for roaming freedom.
At the rising of the sun
the star-baked awakening
of the senses take flight.
Benjamin Thomas
It is funny that when it is dark I begin to see more clearly things I only glimpsed in the light
A SENSE OF WAR
There’s no introduction
for silent wings
perching atop
anxious fears.
Shadows spring silent
appear to fly to bright born
places.
Attempt to pluck out eyes
wonder-struck with jealousy
pull a permanent curtain
Disgrace the face of the dawn
wrestling the emergence
of bustling war rays.
To slow the imminent decay
and cadence of the black vulture
evil twin of the day.
Benjamin Thomas
Wow, what a line-up of poetry. My senses are overwhelmed.
Thanks William.
Wow is right
Waking up to a sense this is weird….
My cordless phone didn’t ring.
I was asleep and the phone by my bed
Didn’t ring either…the land line
I keep because it is a co-op.
But there is the speaker on the phone
Telling me that my power
Went off at almost nine in the evening,
And came one right before my phone
Rattled me awake saying over and over
My power had been restored…
I fell asleep at midnight
With the power working…
Only to this body less voice
Saying I had no power for three hours
Before I fell asleep.
And why was the cordless phone
Announcing loudly that it was back on
When it had not been out to my knowledge…
I felt I had woken like Alice in that weird dream
With white rabbits and mad hatters, and Cheshire cats
And Red Queens running as fast as they can
Just to stay in one place…
I shook my head, and said after writing this…
“I hope this does not mean a day
Full strange things. Not sure if I am up to dealing
With a day full of weird ways.”
Mary Elizabeth Todd
June 22, 2021
To let you know that I often quoted when I worked social work that you had to run as fast as you can to stay in the same place…which it often seemed like the day was like that from the time I got there until I got home only to be called out again.
Almost a reverie, this. Wonderful.
Thanks life threw me a curve ball last night…
It does seem like an eerie dream.
thanks… it sort of felt like a dream….Hearing a voice say
, “Hello, this is….” certainly woke me up…
Love this, Mary!
thanks it was totally a weird experience…
A Sense of Beauty…
I heard it said
That beauty is in the eye of the beholder…
I disagree… for beauty is there
Even when our eyes do not behold it.
There is beauty in the fingers
Of a newborn curling its fingers
Around its father’s finger…
And we often see that as beautiful,
But we do not see the beauty-
Of those fingers, when they are wrinkled with age,
And scared and gnarled by life,
As they clasp the hand of a loved one
In that last minute of life.
It is there in the hearts of those two hands
Who have shared a life of love.
The beauty in those two hands
Is more beautiful than those of the infant
Who latches onto his father’s hand.
For the father loves the infant, but
The infant does not yet know love.
It is the father’s love that makes
This a moment of beauty…
For love is what makes us notice beauty
In things and people, we did not see…
And in that spark of a moment…
Our eyes see what was always beautiful
Once love has opened our eyes…
It maybe true, that beauty is in the eye of the beholder…
But it does not mean that the beauty
Wasn’t always there.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
June 22, 2021
Fascinating; reminds me of the tree falling in the forest.
thanks
Finally had a chance to come back and read these. This is simply marvelous. And I think you’ve painted it very well!
thank you….I have learned to see beauty in odd places… I just wanted to honor it…
You make a good point here.
THANKS….
THE TRAIL LIES AHEAD
The morning mist surrounds her
and vast open land awaits.
Nothing stands in her way ~ yet,
she hesitates,
waiting in silence.
Sensing her world will soon change,
she pauses to soak in this
place of peace.
**photo to accompany will be posted later on my blog
This calls to my mind the road less travelled.
Excellent! I love the scenery and potential you’ve painted here.
So many ways this could go. Wonderful poem, Paula.
A sense of belonging….
We all want to belong-
This longing within us
Makes us reach out to others
Maybe like ourselves…
Who have felt similar pains.
Maybe those to which we connect…
Who have felt similar joys.
I was part of a family
Who loved me, and
I loved them.
My Grannie told me…
I did not belong
That they had to keep
And love me.
I was only a toddler…
Learning I was separate…
And alone broke me
More than once.
Until it was what
I thought I was…
A person who never belonged.
Yet I loved them, and
They loved me.
The shaking, the slapping,
And the gritting of her teeth
When she saw me, never hurt
As much as her words.
I made places for myself
To belong to others,
But never have belonged
To anyone but myself.
I loved them,
And they loved me,
But they have died,
And I am alone.
I was fine with being alone
Until recently…
The little girl who didn’t belong…
Isn’t the woman that I am.
I want a sense of belonging…
Of being more than myself.
I want the lies that guided me
To be hammered out of my thinking…
I want what we all want
A place of belonging.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
June 22, 2021
Almost hurts to read this.
thanks try living it…
This is a beautiful, although painful, window portraying a particular experience in life. Captured like a still photograph. Thanks for sharing. 🙏🏽
Thank you and I know there are others out there that can learn from experiences and maybe find a path to their own healing.
[…] for Poetic Bloomings Prompt 339 – Makes […]
The Scent of Joy
I usually wake up,
When I take my first sip of coffee…
What joy it brings to me…
Bringing me out of my morning stupor.
This morning I chose tea…
Not any tea but one
Laced with lavender,
That hints of satin nightgowns,
And lace and a lazy day.
What secret passions
Hide in that whiff of lavender,
What dreams I hide, within whiffs
Of lavender bringing a secret joy…
I am not willing to share.
This afternoon I will visit my garden.
I will work with tilling and hoeing,
And fixing the tomato stakes, and
Visit the marigolds who throw out joy
From their leaves to their petals.
They keep bugs at bay.
It is the reason I tell people
To the why I plant marigolds,
But the truth is
Roses may smell romantic,
Iris smell exotic,
Gardenias leave me breathless,
Geraniums smell of the earth,
But
Marigolds bring me joy.
Their flowers bright, but
With their perfume they throw joy
Out randomly, and that always makes me smile.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
June 22, 2021
Marie, I loved your poem about Marigolds last week which a line from Benjamin’s poem… because I love them so much…so partially inspired by both of you and the marigolds of course…
Beautiful isn’t it? Inspiration seems to be contagious. From marigolds to poet to poet. I think I need to plant more marigolds.
they even serve a purpose… they keep bugs out of my veggie garden
Wow. That’s amazing. 😮😮
it is actually working… the bees come in and the dragonfly but bad bugs don’t
👍👏
This is mesmerizing. Almost has a sense, or hint of fantasy to it.
Thank you… of the poems I wrote…this is my favorite one on this prompt…
To Pingback… I Loved the photo… I loved your poem but I am a sucker for mists… growing up in the mountains they were my comfort…but despite my being a sucker for mists… your poem makes me ponder…which is a compliment.
Thanks, Mary! 🙂
Please forgive me for this poem….It just had to come out….
My sense of humor gets me into trouble….
I have had a wicked sense of humor
For many years now,
And it goes at sharp curves, and quick stops,
Before it races away….
Working in child protective services
Gave me a gallows twist on it…
In a job which can get so dark…
Relief can only be found in humor,
At the weirdest and most impractical moments…
I was not alone… it was the way we front liners survive.
But this world we live in, shouts hurts and woes,
And blames others for their strange choices in life.
To make a good choice I have learned
Takes considering how it will affect others,
And if it is going to affect others badly.
Then I tell you don’t do it…
It never works out well.
But still I had to laugh at my bad choice,
Of sitting on a sofa in a house…
That smelled of urine,
Only to have my clothes soaked in it also.
I stood up rather abrupt, and said,
I think you need a new couch, and
Maybe grandma should wear diapers.
They looked rather stunned at my declaration.
I drove home and began to laugh…
It had been a horrid day…
Cussed out more than once,
Told the hearing was moved
And I would be in court tomorrow
For an emergency hearing, and
My night would be studying notes,
But not until I stripped down naked.
And cleansed every inch of me,
And threw my clothes away…
I asked God again,
When are you going to give me lice,
So, I can quit this job…
We made a pack God and me…
If I get lice… I get to quit.
Never got them.
The next day my coworkers laughed at me…
And I could tell they were glad it was not them…
They understood my humor…
They had the same kind…
I had to learn to tone it down,
When I was out in public…
But sometimes I want to shake my head…
How can people be so crazy…
Oh, I am not supposed to say that.
Forgive my little josh,
I will try to be more careful…
Mary Elizabeth Todd
June 22, 2021
I love it. Laughter can be a balm of medicine in the worst of times. 👌
thanks… it sure helped me survive such a horrid job that I loved really…
THE SENSE OF INSPIRATION:
(Marry The Gold)
The beauty of inspiration is hardly inimical.
The might of its contagion spreads like the wildfire
of French marigolds.
It seeks to hold the retina captive—taken hostage,
with its awestruck glamour, like a tenfold hammer,
sizzling optic nerves piped to the brain.
It seeks to remain, replicate its burning sunset flames
spewed out to whimsical petals—
edged and tamed by the guardrails of amber yellow.
True healing seems to be its abiding fellow;
burning away the dross of pain, anger, and torment
of hidden sorrows.
The true rapture of inspiration knows no tomorrow,
for the skilled nature of its artistry demands the here—
and now.
It is an alluring shield against the precise arrows of anxiety,
deflecting the anguish of a perilous state of mind.
If we would only labor to find, dig, for its glittering treasure,
marry the dimension of its true measure, and seek the gold—
of inspiration.
Benjamin Thomas
I was captivated at the first stanza
love this tribute to Marigolds….thank you
THE SCENT OF SENSE
If I were a scent, I’d be echinacea
purpurea, or better yet, the common
sense of hydrangea.
No wait, if it’s not too late…
Perhaps, an Oxalis purple clover—
tell all the others to move over.
Well, come to think of it…
I’d much rather be the intelli—
gence of royal yellow roses,
yes, now that’s what I meant.
Hence, the hesitation.
Makes scents doesn’t it?
You feel me? Or, smell me?
Well—you know what I mean.
And don’t say it’s nonsense,
because I just made sense of it.
Benjamin Thomas
Amen
It is difficult to chose isn’t it… big smile at your trying to do so
SENSIBLE
If I could choose to be a scent,
I’d be elegant Velvet Rose—your perfume.
Sensible. Mist. Perceptible,
to you and me. No one could stop,
our inextricable chemistry.
To be your skin’s fragrance.
To be outpoured from your pores.
To be oh so close, only to know more—
of you.
To know the sweet tone of your skin.
To be on again, off again, on again—
Only to be alone, with you.
To know the sweet brushes of your hair.
To know it’s simple touch.
To breath, and know your air
And to know much—more, of you.
Benjamin Thomas
Love the old-fashioned romanticism of this piece.
👌
simply lovely
Thanks it was fun. 😁
The scents I miss…
I have a yellow plaid shirt of Da’s.
He loved to wear loud non-matching clothes.
He wore rainbow suspenders,
With his plaid shirts
And plaid jacket and plaid cap…
Totally clashing, but he didn’t care…
He wore paisley in the mix,
And thus the reason Ma picked out
What he wore to work.
The yellow shirt has lost his scent,
But I remember when it still clung
To the clothes he wore those last days.
I pass others onto nieces who wanted them.
I will cut up this garish shirt,
And work it into a quilt one day, I say.
My cat Dezia loved his left sock and
Got drunk off the smell.
I miss her too.
Ma’s gowns I hugged close
To smell her once more.
I cut those up for throws,
To give to her granddaughters
And great granddaughters…
A memory of her for them to hold close.
I kept her blue sweater and for a long
Time I would pull it close
Just to have a bit of her left.
The scent of someone you love
Who has passed (and in the southern tradition
You must lower your eyes, and look sad,
When that word is mentioned)
Is a perfume that cannot be made…
It is a scent uniquely their own.
You will cling to that smell
Just to feel them close again.
I think of people like me,
Who live alone, and how sad
No one will ever cling to a shirt,
A gown or socks just to hang onto their perfume
Once they are gone for a moment
Just to know part of them is still there.
Just for a moment not to grieve.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
June 23, 2021
Well captured reminiscence. 👌
thanks
The memories of the sense of smell, it seems to me, are the most enduring.
thanks, I have read that and in my case they are…
A SENSE OF THE SEA
In a seashell, movement began in reverberation,
circling in echoes round about its orifice.
Until the sound escaped on skittering coattails of
summer’s breezes—tickling and caressing ocean’s epic waves.
Drunken by saltwater sea’s symphonic ways,
wholly lost in its enmity—mesmerized in its
violent blue sways.
Benjamin Thomas
I think this is inspired, especially “skittering coattails.”
Thank you kind sir.
wow and you amaze me
☺️
A sense of being tired and weary…
My body does not absorb iron from food…
And when it begins its downward spiral…
I begin to feel weary and weak,
And there is a tiredness that will not let go…
I know I am at the beginning of the spiral…
There is a chance I can stop it
Before it races down that hill like a bolder
Crushing all in front of it…
I have to nap… I have to take breaks…
I don’t want this…
As I lay down to sleep,
I feel my tears falling
Silently for no one is here to hear…
I know soon if I do not stop it…
Dark thoughts will invade my brain,
And my friends will call me daily…
Just to check on me.
I have told them… to watch over me…
I wear at night on my behind
A patch of iron…
Praying my hope that
This one will work,
For I don’t want this race to the bottom.
My mind sensed
How my body is shifting-
Getting ready to spiral out of its control.
I used to deny it was happening
Until I was nearing the bottom
Towards my end…
I am not ready to end.
I do not like this weary feeling…
For I am a warrior born, and
I want to defeat its hold on me.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
June 24, 2021
Wow. Very touching and moving piece. I understand this completely. I am already there mentally and emotionally. Thanks for sharing.
thanks I had my last iron infusion in November…I am beginning to sleep a lot which is one of the first signs…. and I get tired easily… I am hoping the iron patch pulls me back up… I see my blood doctor in August…
I come to the garden alone…
There is a song I love that starts
With those words…
As I walk into my little garden,
I often feel a breeze blow,
And cascade of different greens
Glowing in the sunlight
From the trees, and veggies
And wild flowers
Transports me to a different place…
A place of stillness
That is difficult to find,
And as the light glows on me…
It is then that I feel a wave of peace
Like a river flowing over me,
And I know I am loved,
That my life matters,
And I know I will go forward…
The sense of well-being
Takes hold and guides me
On this quiet journey
To where I am connected
To the Creator who has blessed me
With these moments of quiet joy…
Each time I go to my garden alone,
There comes a minute like this…
I am blessed as the wind passes me
To go forward to another…
I wish I could explain…
This moment of peace,
And the sense that it gives me
Is also a sense of love.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
June 24, 2021
Very nice and peaceful.
it is peaceful and thanks
[…] for Poetic Bloomings Prompt 341 – Home Is Where the Heart […]
[…] for Poetic Bloomings Prompt 344 – Neither a Borrower Nor a Lender […]
put them to work