On Wednesday, during our exploration of Wallace Stevens’ work through his “Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird”, I instructed you to be mindful of this piece of poetics. Stevens observed his subject from many different angles, yet staying true to his subject, blackbirds.
I ask that you choose a subject, be it something in your travels or something in your realm of influence, and write your observations in as many parts as you see fit. The point of view is all yours. There is more than one way to skin a cat, so they say. There are many views of your chosen subject. Write them!
MARIE’S OBSERVATION:
GOLDEN DOOR 1. Statue of Liberty Mother of Exiles: the unofficial greeter who lights the entry. 2. E pluribus unum (from many, one) Though it may sing, the human voice can’t, on its own, create harmony. 3. Breathe Free Asphyxiated, come! Inhale liberty, and exhale oppression. 4. Golden Door Inexpensively opening up a child’s world: Little Golden Books. 5. Rings True You opened my heart and sealed life-long allegiance with just a gold band. 6. Treasure Box To the hungry child, the dream door to open is a fridge full of food. © Marie Elena Good, 2021
WALT’S WIDE VIEW:
THE CHRISTMAS STAR I It shines in the night To the children’s delight, Clear and bright It makes the world seem alright! II They came from afar At the behest of this star. Leading them to the place Where the Child born of grace lays. Above Him it stays. III Twinkle, twinkle Christmas star High in the sky is where you are. IV In the silence of night The shepherds take comfort By your fervent glow. Angels call and the keepers know That they need not be afraid. V Multitude of stars shine But their combined light Is not as bright as the one star, A constellation of itself. VI Christmas comes Not in foil wrapped boxes, Not with ribbons and bows. God knows where the Son rises And there are no surprises to find. For where the star glows Can salvation be far behind? VII Polish tradition states That the meatless meal on your plate is not consumed before the star’s first light is seen. A familial scene of togetherness. The adults prepare their Christmas eve fare, While the children keep watch in the skies. Soon the starlight will come. Star light, star bright, first star we see tonight! VIII My eyes don’t deceive, For every time I leave for my flight On that special night, the Star of Christmas shows its bright light. Christmas has come once again, and I and my reindeer friends embark into the dark night with only that star to lead. Everywhere the starlight touches Does as much to announce the day. And I in my sleigh bow my head at that blessed sight, I am Santa Claus, and all is right. It is Christmas! © Walter J Wojtanik - 2021
POETIC BLOOMINGS 
Responses
What a dazzling prompt! And your poems, Walt and Marie are on the money!! Perfection. 👌
I agree with Benjamin, love both your poems which are unique to who each of you are…
Agreed. Unique to each, and excellent writing!
I also agree. Marie, your piece creates many visuals and memories, especially the second verse, which calls to mins a song called :One Man’s Hands.” Walt, I could feel the last verse coming; it;s that time of year.
Thank you all! I embarked on the third year of my 100 Day Countdown to Christmas exercise which began on September 16. This was one of my entries.
I guess the Grinch in me will survive…. I love that you are Santa… we have a man in our church who is Santa also…
POETRY
I.
It is a whirlwind
of words.
At blazing speeds,
never still.
It is a graceful bird,
peeking—
Seeking seeds, placed
on the windowsill.
II.
A digestion, of thought
and will, freed from the deep bowels
of affection—vomitory.
A classical vignette, served
on a silver platter; of one’s state
of mind.
III.
It is a smooth comforter,
full of warmth, shielding
from the heinous elements
of the world.
A weaved quilt of words,
a covering meant for beauty
and intrigue.
Benjamin Thomas
I especially like the last stanza- maybe because I quilt…
Nice. Sounds like fun.
Poetry is a myriad of things and you picked out some beauties.
Thanks Debi! Love writing about poetry.
I love seeing someone picking up the slack in the name of poetry. I haven’t been as driven to that extent, Benjamin. Glad you are on point! Walt.
Thanks buddy! Love writing about it. 😁
Beautiful, Benjamin. Woven together with real class.
Thanks Sara!
THAT is Poetry. Well penned.
Thanks Earl.
POETRY PART 2
I.
An inspiration, taken heed.
A small September voice.
The flavor of autumn’s deeds.
Slender reeds blowing in the wind.
A presence from the shadow.
Gems surfacing from the bottom.
II.
A kinetic train of extracted ore,
an emotive locomotive;
a light, a mirror—a door,
into the mine of the conductor.
III.
A splash of delicate salmon
on the palate.
A vicious taste of herb
igniting the senses.
A slip of ruby Pinot noir,
to lower the defenses.
Benjamin Thomas
I love how this poem moves and seduces the reader.
Thanks 🙏🏽
POETRY PART 3
I.
The damp recesses of the mind.
Dark, hidden rooms confiscated in the cellar.
The subconscious, the muse’s written letter.
II.
Words chosen, pre-selected art,
to best represent the constitution
of the sculptor.
The ambassadorial agent of choice,
The poetical voice of the artist.
III.
An eloquent script.
A therapeutic touch.
A topical analgesic.
Medicine of the muses.
Benjamin Thomas
I get this one … poetry is like an archeologist digging for that which is hidden…
Yes it is! It’s pretty fascinating. 👌
Love the last stanza!
😁😊
POETRY PART 4
I.
On the tip,
of the tongue.
Drips of mystery.
Salivant gifts—
Sifted, sprung,
from mists
of history.
II.
A baseball drifting in the wind.
Spending speed.
Toward its target.
A thwack—
Then it comes back…
Roars from a crowd.
Cheers from a friend.
III.
Timeless stones,
that will stand
the test of time.
Floating through
era and age,
by form or rhyme.
Benjamin Thomas
Thanks for I would like my stories to become timeless… for I know other poetry that tells a story resonates within me even though it is not my life.
Timeless are the best.
For me, these four parts are one. Marvellous.
Thank you kindly.
Bill is so right! Great work!
[…] reading Poetic Bloomings Reading Room […]
This is AMAZING. I got lost in every line like being at a all-you-eat buffet. Excellent.
Superbly rendered, Debi!
Indeed so.
Thanks Walt
Trees
I.
At the end of winter
I look out my winter
I look out my window
Trying to seize
The pink of budding
Mouse ear leaves.
I have watched
Those tiny leaves
Grow as I watch,
Turn a light spring green,
And I hear the birds chattering…
As they celebrate
It is spring.
II
As spring rides away,
The heat of summer
Comes and the trees
Throw their shadows
Cooling the air, and
When the breeze rides
Through their leaves
Music is made,
And I hear the tat-tat-tat
Of woodpeckers
Beating them like a drum,
And the shrill call
Of the hawk on the edge
Claiming its kingdom
Until the night and the owl is out,
But it is when the lightening bugs
Dance in the shadow of the trees
That I know summer is here.
III
As fog floats upon the earth,
Summer takes it cue, and
Evaporates with it.
The trees begin to dress
Themselves
In brilliant colors
Dark red comes
First from the black gum tree…
It always rushes to party,
Slowly the forest is glowing
As golds, pinks, reds, and oranges
Ignite it with a cold fire.
As the air becomes brisk,
The skies are crisp blue
With cotton white clouds,
In celebration of the trees
In their finest hour
And I celebrate the fall
For it tells me life
Is not just for the youth,
But those who have aged
Sometimes blaze
With the passion of fire.
IV
As the frost
Covers the trees,
Autumn drops her dress, and
Goes to sleep…
The trees stand naked
Except the prudish evergreens,
And the beech and the white oaks
Who prefer to wear brown in winter.
The shades of grey
Go from mouse brown grey to black,
And as the days of grey descend
They seem to be an army
Marching towards the lights of houses.
They seem to know the beat
Of three four time
As to those who do not listen to them
Think they slumber through the long winter…
Waiting, waiting, waiting-
But instead, their grey uniforms
Belie their sleeping
And at night their forked limbs
Reach into the velvet sky,
Dancing to the rhythm
Of the earth and making lace
Of black against the sky
While the moon glows
Gives them ghostly shadows,
And the stars dance
For only them to see…
Until the crocus
Raise their tiny heads,
And bloom in purples, blues,
Yellows and whites…
Whispering spring wake up.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
September 19, 2021
This is wonderful and, because of the trees, reminds me of a cartoon IO saw once:
thank you and What a sad cartoon but so true… So many places of the earth has been battlefields…In trying to find a battlefield in Europe for a character in my novel series I read about several battlefields and the battles that had been fought on these peaceful fields… and now peaceful again, but sad for crops do not grow.. . and only headstones stand. I chose one connected with the battle of the bulge in Belgium…
Wow. One of your best, Mary. Your love of nature really shines in this one.
thanks … and the first love of my life was trees…
By the way, you inspired me to write about trees too!
wonderful….
And the second half of our ambitious poets comes out to play. Mary, you, like Benjamin< have taken your poetry to such high levels. It is so wonderful to read you works. Your story is endless!
I am always ready to come out to play and thank you…and my imagination is endless which some teachers and my mother did not appreciate…
Love this, Mary!
thank you
(I can’t get the last two lines to behave, seems they want to be set apart.)
Marie – #2 is amazing
Walt – I love this look at Christmas, esp. #5
I think that is masterful work
Thank you, William. Stevens is not an easy read but if for nothing else but the turn of phrases he is wonderful.
Indeed.
I enjoyed your poem and I agree it was masterful…. just lovely…
Thank you, Mary. I appreciate your reading.
It’s still wonderful in form and content. Exceptional.
Thanks Benjamin
Thank you, Debi! Left a comment on your piece under your pingback above!
AVICTIONARY
What’s in a name? This verse’s task
is asking what you did not ask:
are blue jays blue because their blue
is bluer than the bluebird’s blue;
do turnstones really nudge at stones;
do killdeer peck at Bambi’s bones;
do spoonbills spoon, or do they bill
the lark for songs they can’t fulfill;
do robins steal and take to flight;
are nighthawks birds who sell at night;
and are, perchance, the hummingbirds
the songsters who forgot the words;
do peregrines, as they fly south,
grin from both sides of the mouth,
and do you think of muscovies
as ducks that jog olfactories?
Do warblers warble or do they wheeze
as they fly off on southward breeze?
Do catbirds mewl? Do cowbirds milk?
Are harlequin ducks the jester’s ilk?
Do marsh wrens ever nest in sedges
and sedge wrens visit marshes’ edges?
You think, perhaps, this is absurd
but when I bedded a bower bird
I learned the truth whereof I speak
straight from the busy bower’s beak.
Lovely
What a wonderful imagination you have. Love these questions.
This is a wonderfully worded poem. Love it.
So William Preston here! Your vision, imagination and mirth always rise like bread dough. And are as delicious!
Love the questions and your excellent rhyming as well.
THE FLOWERY
(apologies to Charles H. Hoyt and Percy Gaunt)
One day I was walking along,
mindlessly humming a song
when I passed by a flower shop;
the place made me gasp and then stop,
for the odors that poured out the door
made my nose get all reddened and sore
till I turned on my heel and I swore
at the roses and lilies galore.
I’ll never go there anymore.
The flow’ry! The flow’ry!
I snort and sneeze and I hack and wheeze
at the flow’ry! The flow’ry!
I’ll never go there anymore.
I decided to write a petition
to consign the old place to perdition,
but most folks seemed to like it;
they just wouldn’t spike it
and they laughed at my semaphore.
So hence, as my nose turns to gore
near the shop with the tulip-shaped door,
I’ll never go there anymore.
The flow’ry! The flow’ry
I snort and sneeze and I hack and wheeze
at the flow’ry! The flow’ry!
I’ll never go there anymore.
If interested:
this made me smile
The nose knows… I am sorry for people with allergies not to be able to enjoy all the fragrances of flowers.
I enjoy them but have to limit my time with them… and right now the ragweed is blooming and I am suffering though its flower is not impressive…
Well done William. 👏
We hit on a great prompt this week. Such good work! Well done, William!
Funny, but not so much, I guess, if you are an allergic person.
Questions
I
The three-year-old
Asks questions
Just to talk…
And the most
Pervasive question
Is
Why?
To which
Answering it
Always
Leads to
Why?
II
The eight-year-old
Asks questions
And gives
Themselves
Wrong answers,
But
Sometimes
Answers
The tough
Question
In
Innocence
That makes
The adult
Stop to wonder
What was I thinking?
III
The teen
Screams,
Stomps,
Yells,
And begs
Why Me?
They never
Listen
To the reason
For
Reasoning
Is beyond
Them…
It is better
To listen
With your heart
To their heart
And hug
Their question
With no answer
But love.
IV
The young adult
Is asked
Where are you going?
What do you plan to do?
Who do you love?
When all they
Have planned
Is to enjoy their days,
And going where
They want
Until love catches
Them and makes
Them think of more
Than themselves.
V
The middle years
Have few questions
Except for those
Like me
Who questions everything.
They answer questions
Of three-year-olds,
And are woke up
By eight-year-olds,
And teens frustrate
Them because
Deep in the
Recesses of their mind
They are asking
The question
Why me?
But no one hears them,
And no one answers them
Or cares
That they wonder
About the life
They are living.
VI
The aged are forgotten,
Often put away
And visited on Sunday
Like they are a prize
Piece of art
That they should
Play homage
To at least once a week…
For some those
Grey headed people
Wonder who are these people
Who take me from my memories?
Others just ask,
Why are we forgotten and left to exist
In a place that is not home?
Still others live
In their homes,
And know who comes
To see them,
And plan to be cantankerous-
Live a long life
Hearing whispers
Of when is she going to die?
I smile for that is me,
And I tell them
I plan to live a long life,
And what are you thinking
Am I not still alive?
Mary Elizabeth Todd
September 19, 2021
You nailed it with these questions. I’ve been through most of them and plan to “keep them guessing” when I am truly old.
Thanks— working with kids really help… and three years old just want to have a conversation with you…and so nonsense answers work sometimes. I loved the way six to eleven years old figure out the world… sometimes they were right and sometimes their ideas were way off… I will be 70 next February I am planning on reaching 90… My mother could still dance the Charleston in her 80s and I plan to dance as long as I can.
You go for it!
Reminds me of Shakespeare’s ages of man, this does.
Thank you
Seasonal Notebook Thoughts, 17 x 17
Summer’s final breath,
ravens scouting this year’s nests,
monks still pray for peace.
Autumn’s first breezes,
humans spy as we build homes,
wrens find peace mid-air.
Days of thanksgiving
abound with friendship and joy.
There is bliss in peace.
Seeking awareness
before winter’s arrival.
Peace may still flow in.
As winter draws near,
perhaps we’ll tread consciously.
Peace is every step.
Clouds of December,
painting paths and rooftops white.
Peace in the village.
Frosted serenades
accent winter’s frozen sleeps.
Dawn’s peace comes slowly.
Living mindfully
in the holiday bedlam.
Peace is a challenge.
Winter’s fire is banked,
air dancing above hard coals
At peace in my bed.
Spring is not summer.
Pickles aren’t yet cucumbers.
Peace is who one is.
Soft blue, like the sky
in the first kiss of summer.
Peace, carried by doves.
One sings of summer,
winter’s grip soon forgotten.
Peace always trumps fear.
Life is as it is.
No need to create anew.
Peace is snow and sun.
Elders learn by fall
that summer’s crises soon end.
Peace will come with calm.
All of man’s seasons
bring natural inventions,
peace the best of them.
One is not separate
from the earth at any time.
With peace, all are one.
There’s but one question,
summer, winter, spring and fall.
Will one work for peace?
“Peace is who one is.” I think that encapsulates the answer well.
I think this is masterful work. Another one tat reminds me of Thomas Merton.
To be in the same breath as Father Louis is an exceptional honor. One of his observations… “Instead of hating the people you think are war-makers, hate the appetites and disorder in your own soul, which are the causes of war. If you love peace, then hate injustice, hate tyranny, hate greed – but hate those things in yourself, not in another.”
So true, Daniel. Great string of poetics, 17 x 17
“All of Man’s Seasons bring natural inventions peace the best o them” wow to this one one line and wow to the rest
Wonderful, Daniel! I love your use of the seasons.
Very nice poems, Walt and Marie.
Thanks Mike!
Hummingbirds Dance and Play
the sound of a buzz
flurry of wings
nature’s awakening
hummingbird hovers
inches away from me
nature’s enticement
forest by my side
shadows of secrets kept
depths of amazement
minute presence
green and ruby breast
rapid beat of heart and wings
hummingbird sweeps air
cathedral of trees
angel wings glisten
hummingbird in hand broken wing
an unspoken request for help
touches a mortal heart
leaves rustle
a gust of wind
a story told to those who listen
a look out the restaurant window
a feeder with nectar of the gods
hummingbirds dance and play
from a lush cover of forest
feathered bodies rise
into gold-colored skies
There is something magical about hummingbirds. You ways at looking at them are sweet.
Beautiful depiction of hummingbirds. We had so many around in Portland. I miss them.
Miss them when they’re gone, as they are in this pat of the country. Wonderful.
I love hummingbirds and how they seem to dance around… and you captured them completely
Smiles for the imagery in this, Mike! Beautiful!
Gorgeous, Mike! We had so many hummingbirds around when we lived in Portland. I miss them.
Funny you should say that about skinning cats, Walt…here’s my “Wallace-esque” attempt from 10 years ago! …and yes, it’s about cats.
I love your poems about cats…. and you know your cats….
I can really relate to number 9. No, I don’t think you are a crazy cat lady (unless you have over 25 cats at one time)
The cats’ meows, these are….
Nicely done, Paula! So vivid, I feel like I’ve known your cats. Their memory lives in your words!
Sunflowers
ubiquitous
unctuous
undulating
*
September’s surprise
sprawling sprangly
sly silphids
*
ray flowers in the teens
central burnished brown disks
sturdy if slender sandpaper stems
*
traveling nomads
roadside congregants
praising in their own church
*
Asteraceae Compositae
Helianthus annuus Linnaeus
70 species endless morphings
*
all eartly language elusive
as their turning toward sun
to capture their yellow shifting light
*
in the low water plain
aging rancher dozes brush
plants 27 rows of sunflowers
*
Kansas homage in backwoods
beauty its only reason
Kingfisher’s barking witness
*
Arles, France 1888
16 sunflowers gathered
in fat cream and yellow vase
*
captured first by eye’s lens
fisted and carried to studios
sketched painted immortalized
*
Linnaeus
Van Gogh
Ginsberg
*
Botanist/botany
Painter/art
poet/sutra
*
undulating
ubiquitous
unctuous
Testing
Sunflowers
ubiquitous
unctuous
undulating
*
September’s surprise
sprawling sprangly
sly silphids
*
ray flowers in the teens
central burnished brown disks
sturdy if slender sandpaper stems
*
traveling nomads
roadside congregants
praising in their own church
*
Asteraceae Compositae
Helianthus annuus Linnaeus
70 species endless morphings
*
all eartly language elusive
as their turning toward sun
to capture their yellow shifting light
*
in the low water plain
aging rancher dozes brush
plants 27 rows of sunflowers
*
Kansas homage in backwoods
beauty its only reason
Kingfisher’s barking witness
*
Arles, France 1888
16 sunflowers gathered
in fat cream and yellow vase
*
captured first by eye’s lens
fisted and carried to studios
sketched painted immortalized
*
Linnaeus
Van Gogh
Ginsberg
*
Botanist/botany
Painter/art
poet/sutra
*
undulating
ubiquitous
unctuous
Love the play in these snippets, Pat. Well done!
Nice collection here, Pat!
Humor
1.
I laughed at myself
For no apparent reason
Sometimes that happens
2.
The joke was funny
Even though it was on me
I’m not offended
3.
Blazing Saddles rocks
In its original form
Everyone gets punked
4.
Time to take a breath
Laughter is great medicine
We all need a dose
5.
Dry Bar Comedy
The laughs without bad language
Like it used to be
6.
Life without humor
That would be a disaster
Not the life for me
7.
If you don’t believe
God has a sense of humor
Look in the mirror
Reminds me of a t-shirt I saw, which said, “Sometimes I sit down and talk with myself and we laugh and laugh.”
Love them all but the last verse made me laugh… God has shown me His sense of humor and yes it made me laugh at myself…
Funny bits here, Earl! Nice!
Looks like we were on the same page here, Earl. Love this!
The Perspectives of God
I
Greedy
Oppressing
Demanding
II
Glorious
Omniscient
Dependable
III
Grumpy
Old
Depressing
IV
Gracious
Overwhelming
Divine
V
Generic
Ordinary
Drab
VI
Giving
Obliging
Delighting
VII
Godhead
Omnipresent
Deity
Marvellous word-play.
Love this
And again, very Earl!
Amen Earl. 👌
Thoughts On Sunflowers
i
petals open
turning toward the light
sun salutation
–
ii
leaning on each other
swaying in the wind
drunken sailors
–
iii
heavy with seeds
flower heads droop to earth
easy feast for squirrels
–
iv
round flat center
filled with the promise of nectar
landing pad for bees
–
v
standing tall
against a blue sky
many suns
Sunflowers
ubiquitous
unctuous
undulating
*
September’s surprise
sprawling sprangly
sly silphids
*
ray flowers in the teens
central burnished brown disks
sturdy if slender sandpaper stems
*
traveling nomads
roadside congregants
praising in their own church
*
Asteraceae Compositae
Helianthus annuus Linnaeus
70 species endless morphings
*
all eartly language elusive
as their turning toward sun
to capture their yellow shifting light
*
in the low water plain
aging rancher dozes brush
plants 27 rows of sunflowers
*
Kansas homage in backwoods
beauty its only reason
Kingfisher’s barking witness
*
Arles, France 1888
16 sunflowers gathered
in fat cream and yellow vase
*
captured first by eye’s lens
fisted and carried to studios
sketched painted immortalized
*
Linnaeus
Van Gogh
Ginsberg
*
Botanist/botany
Painter/art
poet/sutra
*
undulating
ubiquitous
unctuous
I love the fifth one! Wonderful phrase
Staying in Kansas (I just read the succeeding poem). Marvellous.
the first verse got me, and carried me thru… big smile
Beautiful, Candace!
Beautiful, Candy!
Love that first stanza!
Sunflowers
ubiquitous
unctuous
undulating
*
September’s surprise
sprawling sprangly
sly silphids
*
ray flowers in the teens
central burnished brown disks
sturdy if slender sandpaper stems
*
traveling nomads
roadside congregants
praising in their own church
*
Asteraceae Compositae
Helianthus annuus Linnaeus
70 species endless morphings
*
all eartly language elusive
as their turning toward sun
to capture their yellow shifting light
*
in the low water plain
aging rancher dozes brush
plants 27 rows of sunflowers
*
Kansas homage in backwoods
beauty its only reason
Kingfisher’s barking witness
*
Arles, France 1888
16 sunflowers gathered
in fat cream and yellow vase
*
captured first by eye’s lens
fisted and carried to studios
sketched painted immortalized
*
Linnaeus
Van Gogh
Ginsberg
*
Botanist/botany
Painter/art
poet/sutra
*
undulating
ubiquitous
unctuous
Pat Anthony
(can’t post regular way)
Wonderful, and mysteriously intriguing.
Sunflowers are everything you say.
Took me to Kansas, this did.
so lovely and wonderous…
OH, TO SEE THE SEA
i.
Your surface is deceptive
So much hidden beneath it
Cascading down into depths
What lurks down there
What will show itself
One can only wonder where
How to discover secrets
Ebb and flow
ii.
Please wash over me, dear wave
Let your salty air flow past
Let me trust your wild current
Sweep me away
With gentle movement
Until I can breathe your breeze
Without falling to my knees
Now works, please
iii.
I only wish to hear you
As you, sooth my soul to sleep
As if I’m now floating free
Adrift on you
A sweet unbound sea
Carry me towards your shore, please
In liquid rock a bye form
I am home
iv.
I’m a pebble at your feet
As your water trickles down
The eternal song plays on
Timelessness comes
The sands of time sing
We are now the chimes all hear
Our synergy moves the world
Harmony
v.
Flying as high as seabirds
I gaze down to your strong waves
Impressed by your subtle force
The breeze can tease
And yet ease tension
Your beautiful motions cry
As they race to the finish
Muffled sand
vi.
On a beach within my reach
Watching you approach slowly
My toes begin to wiggle
I bet you’re cold
And wet, so soothing
I am so willing to play
Going back and forth with froth
Splash you back
vii.
Will you hide my love and I
Keep our love secrets hidden
Covering our tracks by night
Not revealing
Only concealing
Loving each other and you
Deep in your sands of embrace
Fresh moonlight
(c) Janet Rice Carnahan 2021
This is incredible in content, emotion, form and structure!!! I read it as both tribute and grief song… I am both touched and in awe!!
Thank you for sharing such beauty
Amen
sigh so much loveliness and sorrow in this… bless you
Seven views in Boketto! Very alluring and inviting, Janet. Thank God for this and the fresh moonlight!
Love this, Janet. Beautiful imagery!
This prompt has so many places to go. Such a wonderful idea! Your two poems today, Walt and Marie, were inspirational and wonderfully fitting tp both the prompt and each of you.
On a personal note, thank you, dear poets, for all for your supportive and comforting comments while I process the recent death of my husband, Bruce. I know this experience will inspire many poems to come. I want to read more of your excellent work but my time has been limited with so much to do during this time. I know you all understand. I am grateful for your kindness. Thank you all so much!
Keeping you and yours in my prayers.
Thanks Janet. And know our love and support does not falter. Or my name isn’t Walter.
Experiences of Love or Otherwise
i.
A mewling
clinging dependency
from conception
painful attachment
skin to skin bonding
a fierce pulsating love
that should be pure
but is often
otherwise
conditions of acceptance
corrupting
she lost me in the moment she compared
me leaving her abuse to her child dying
ii.
fatherly love
is remarkable here
only by its absence
iii.
great love defined by loss
this one is carried with me always
reminiscent of yellow sunflowers
called into mind by certain scents
certain flowers, songs, sights in nature
the fullness of this absence
is the most bittersweet love
at times a soft caress of summer
other times a stormy stone cold winter
my heart lives with me and in the ground
tender and strengthened
iv.
lust disguised as care
an unwillingness to listen to the word
no
not fully spoken but expressed
in discomfort, head turned away, tears
no
a very young thing overwhelmed
the way he preferred it
v.
gentleness
soft caressing whispers
domesticated bliss
this love is pure
wholesome
growing constant
healing green
vines and leaves
planted and cared for
in the cerebral decay
of trauma and loss
each helping each
in the quietness of home
this love is a soft meadow
and a raging river
and a starry night sky
and the purple blush
of twilight magic
vi.
this love is not yet come into being
created of my love and my love’s love
the love for my still unknowing child is fierce
and pure as my own mother’s should have been
Erin Kay, 2021
“this love is a soft meadow
and a raging river
and a starry night sky
and the purple blush
of twilight magic” This is worth waiting for, hope you find it.
So much food for thought and reflection is contained here. Magnificent.
Such a deep and deliciously satisfying study. Nuanced & gorgeous. Beautiful
wow such sadness and despair but such amazing hope at the end… just lovely…
Touching and well expressed, Erin!
Powerful, Erin. This will be one lucky child.
Power of Humor
I.
Saying something funny,
making people laugh
in direst of times.
II.
Her sense of humor
was based on
other’s misfortunes.
III.
Humors of the boss
affected employees.
They waited on tiptoes.
IV.
It was easier to agree
with her, than argue
about everything.
V.
An author whose
books might be
opened to any page,
and produce laughter.
VI.
We lined up, coins
pressed in sweaty
fists, in front of
the Good Humor truck.
https://poeticbloomings2.wordpress.com/
#6 is one that brings back good memories.
I love this and number six resonates with me also
Thanks, Mary!
For me as well. Thanks, Debi!
I like how this piece touches on shades of humor. The gentle asides here remind me a bit of Sam Levinson’s humor.
Thanks, William!
Love this, Sara. Those were the days!
They were indeed!
Love that last stanza Sara. 👍
Thanks, Benjamin!
The Eleven stages of this quilt…
*The eleventh stage is unfinished.
I
I chose wool to make a quilt…
And decided to embroider on each square…
A crazy quilt it is called…
II
The wool came from clothes
I wore…
The red from a jacket,
The blue from an Easter suit
When I was twelve, and
Also, one made of teal
When I was fourteen.
One from a maxi coat
That I wore in college
The color of evergreens it was.
I loved that coat,
And wish I still had it,
But only memories and
Scrapes are all I have of it.
III
There were pieces
From a coat Ma wore,
And shirts that belonged
To Da…
He loved plaid shirts,
And the one
In the quilt is one
I gave him.
IV
One square has a red chair
Another has a cabin
With tall evergreens
And still another
Was a ship
Sailing across the ocean.
There is one that is a wrench,
And another with the mountains
And a lake,
But the last one completed
Has a M for my name.
V
I embroidered a red rose,
And a harp and a thistle.
I did French knots for tiny flowers
Like those that grow in the mountains.
I embroidered the date I finished
Each square, and the date I finished the last one.
I let my imagination
Work through the use of my needle.
I embroidered around
Each scrap of cloth
In a chain stitch
In colors bright and fanciful.
VI
For years I moved the squares around…
Ma liked to show people
The quilt I was making
And never got finished…
The truth is
I liked to move the squares around.
VII
I bought some paisley velvet
To lay between the squares.
I need to take it apart,
And fix a mess
I made before
I got ill.
It is a minor mistake…
But this quilt
Carries my memories,
In each stitch…
I want to do it right.
VII
I will hand tie
Tufting at each corner
Of each square…
I bought a quilting frame…
Got it at a bargain…
But it isn’t a bargain
If I never get around to using it.
I drove to the mountains
To get that frame
In a car with bad brakes,
And decided to drive
The dragon’s tale,
What a ride that was.
VIII
I thought I would line
It with satin,
But choosing the color
Is the problem.
I first thought of red,
And then purple, but
Now I think
I may use a bright blue.
IX
As soon as frost has come,
I will pull out that quilt,
And fix the mistake
That I made years before
I got ill,
And once that is done…
X
And I don’t know when…
I need to make myself
Promise
I will get it finished
Before another year passes…
Because if I make a promise…
I never break it…
It is something that those who know me
Understand my promises are few.
This poem will remain
Unfinished
Until I put the last stitch
In that quilt, and then I will
Write one last verse.
XI
To be continued…
Mary Elizabeth Todd
September 19, 2021
Wonderful, and well-ended
thank you…
Beautiful quilt and worded representation. Saw the quilt on FB. So creative.
thank you and I consider what they call an art quilt…
THE CATERPILLAR AND THE TREE
Pitty-pat.
As the caterpillar goes.
Pitty-pat.
He rises high upon his toes.
Ruminates, contemplates—
Nope. I am not taller than this tree.
Nope. It’s as high as the sky can see.
Nope. I’m still just little ol’ me.
He sighed, then tipped his hat.
Smiled, went about his way.
Pitty-pat….
Benjamin Thomas
Broad smile here
😁
love this one also…. this made me giggle this could be in a children’s book
Glad I could induce a giggle.
smile
This is so sweet.
THE BUTTERFLY AND THE TREE
You can only fly,
once you have wings.
Beautiful, basted
buttercup wings.
Tinged with a touch
of black.
By the hand
of Mother Nature.
You can defy—
gravity, once you have wings.
Only limited,
by the power of the wind.
Alight a branch, breath
and take off again.
Take fearless flight above
the height of trees.
Like a hawk, feasting
upon a deep green sea.
Reminiscing,
when I was little ol’ me.
Benjamin Thomas
Smiling and nodding here
😁😁
this is so beautiful and for a moment I was that butterfly…. though I think of myself as the hawk…
Thanks. Hawks are pretty fascinating. There seems to be a lot in our county.
LIFE’S A STITCH
Sometimes,
life’s a stitch.
You feel,
the cold, hard steel.
The subtle puncture
of the needle.
The sharp pains
of circumstance.
To become garment,
a work of art.
Sometimes,
life’s a stitch.
But we miss
the bigger picture.
Benjamin Thomas
New perspective for me. Wonderful.
Thanks William.
Wow and it is like that saying – can’t see the forest for the trees…
👌😊
Thirteen Cats I have Loved….
I
He didn’t really belong to us…
The black and white Persian
With the normal kitty face
Before the breeders
Ruined their faces…
He was a tuxedo cat,
But he chose us
And didn’t like those
Who bought him.
I have to apologize for his name
For I named for the cat
In Cinderella…
I named him Lucifer…
Da laughed because
He had a cat named Dam it,
We moved and we had no trees,
And Lucifer returned
To the trees,
And my beautiful boy was gone.
II
Da named him Blackberry,
But I called him CAT.
Sleek black and beautiful.
Sweet cat listened to my dreams,
And my broken heart…
Some men broke his leg,
And it healed.
They poisoned him,
And Ma fed him
Raw egg and tequila,
And he survived.
They shot him,
And he died.
III
Kris came
As a rambling boy,
And decided he wanted to stay.
Big Yellow and white boy.
He and our dog played a game…
Greta dropped him off the deck;
He came back, and
She would do it again.
I cried when he died.
IV
Tiny yellow and white kitten
Made up of Persian,
Siamese and alley cat,
And had the worst qualities
Of each of them…
Hissed as she clung to the rail
With three tiny paws,
And reached to slap me.
Fearless she was…
I named her for a character
In a book…
Dezia and added a name
For each year…
She had twenty-one names,
And my heart broke
As I held her as she died.
V
Ruby was a possessed tuxedo cat,
Of this I had no doubt…
One minute sweet,
The next minute a tyrant
Except to Ma…
She loved Ma.
Cancer took her early…
And I missed the she-devil.
VI
June came next
With her brother Gus…
She was so beautiful
With her ostrich tail
She loved to swish
Things from the coffee table
To get my attention,
She carried her baby
With her every where
A bit of sheep skin.
She was bit by a tick,
That I carried
Into our home,
And it ate her blood,
And I was left
With a hole
In my heart
For she was my favorite cat,
And guilt that took years to forgive.
VII
Cassie came to me
For Gus was grieving…
A beauty of a cat
Who rarely meowed,
And was smart and talented
In her tricks,
And her love of playing fetch the ball.
The tuxedo queen…
But cancer came calling,
And took her fast…
I was too ill to notice,
Until it was too late.
In the grey shadows of my life
And the long hours sleeping,
I dreamed of her riding
On a black carriage
Pulled by black horses
With pink ribbon streamers.
VIII
Pearl came next
And she was briefly with us…
A flame point girl
But with Persian in her…
But those breeders
That bred that face
Of the Persians today…
Also brought along
Polycystic Kidney Disease,
And that disease
That killed my father
And brothers
Took her life, too.
IX
King Louis
Of the Inheritance
Was born to live outside…
He ruled his kingdom and wisdom,
With his wise gold eyes,
And his gold tabby robe…
He was a sight to behold.
X
BlackFace was queen,
And though I have apologized
For her name…
It was given because her face
Was polished shiny like a black onyx stone,
And she loved me.
She was scary and tough,
But she loved me,
And that is all that mattered.
XI
Stripe my gangsta kitty.
A real tough scrapper,
But like BlackFace she loved me;
I loved her back.
I asked her more than once
To move into the house with me,
But she liked her wandering ways.
One day she went a wandering
And never came home.
XII
Gus, I loved
With all my heart,
And the day he died
I was lost.
He was a healer, and comforter,
And a talker.
The day his voice was silenced
The house was deathly quiet…
He is a character in a book,
A friend placed him there for me…
It has been hard for me to write
For he slept under my desk,
And chatted with me all day.
Oh, Gus, a thousand
Reasons I can give
Of why loved and miss you.
XIII
The last cat is actually two…
The ones that live with me…
They squabble and fight,
And I play referee
When they get too rough…
“Binkey and Tillie,”
I yell, “stop it!”
It does no good
For they ignore me,
But when I am sad,
They cuddle with me
Till I fall asleep…
So, they are keepers.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
September 20, 2021
Superb. Utterly so.
Thank you… one day I will do a book on just cats…. I had over 46 in the inheritance… I had them ten years and then their purpose had ended which was to keep me going and they were gone.
This is wonderful, Mary!
Thank you and I love my cats even the possessed Ruby…
My Faith was Built
1
From fire and brimstone
I was pulled
One weekend
When I saw how dead my soul was.
I crumbled
When He called to me…
I said I could not go alone…
He sent someone
To walk with me.
2
I lost my way,
When love had failed.
I asked why was
I following this Man called Jesus.
He waited for me to find my way…
A man was sent
Who let me search…
And when I had found my way
Our road together had ended.
God gave me back my life
In those he sent to me.
3
I was bruised and angry
Why did I have break again…
I saw the valley of the dry bones
And saw my bones laying there…
A hand unseen touched my bones,
And they rattled and shook
As the joints clicked together…
I said they are just bones…
Dead white bones…
There was a whisper,
And muscles, organs, skin covered the bones…
But I am not breathing, said I.
I felt a gentle breeze and the lungs
Began to breath and the heart I could hear beat…
I whispered; I am not yet alive…
There in the dry bones,
I felt the breath of God
Breathe into my soul,
I was born anew.
Troubles may come;
Troubles will go,
But
The I will remain living.
4
Losses carved into my soul
A canyon of many colors…
There is where I was harmed
It is the color of purple,
There is the blue of the eyes
Of my family that I can no longer see.
There is red the color of my blood,
Washed clean by the Blood of Another.
Green is the color of the lives
That have touched me and left.
But as the Light shines down
Upon all those losses
I see them sparkle and gleam, and
Know I am blessed.
5
I never had to worry about a meal,
Or how I would pay my bills
Until I fell into a place
Where there was more than
I could pay, and I felt
Lost and asked for aid,
And two women gave to me
Money that kept me going.
I remember the day
With tears running down
As I stood in the rain trying
To save the gravel
I had bought to mend my road.
It washed away beyond my reach,
And my heart was breaking.
I cried to the darkest of nights
Lord help me survive.
I learned in those days
That I am given what I need,
And sometimes what I want,
Trusting was a lesson I learned.
6
My purpose was lost, and
A warrior I am
Needs a purpose to keep going…
My health seemed broken,
And I wanted to give up,
Through things
That turned upside down,
And when I seemed my most lost
The purpose I was given
Was the one that I wanted,
And so, I write each day to keep going.
7
Today I know that my faith
Began with that first answered prayer,
And the people He has sent me since
That moment.
I know my foundation is strong
Built upon the rocks
But to get there…
Those rocks had to be toted,
Hauled, dug up, dragged, wielded
And lugged…but I am here
Having been changed
With my chains broken
For this faith I have been given
Came with hard work and
His loving aid.
I know whatever may come
We will face it together.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
September 20, 2021
I can tell I am too much in Sardis and Renald’s story- forgive me this one…
Memories
Memories are created without us knowing.
Life goes on day by day.
Each day we wake and keep on going.
Memories are created without us knowing.
Planting seeds that one day will be growing
In our hearts and there they stay.
Memories are created without us knowing.
Life goes on day by day.
Memories are a lost key to be found
Waiting for us to unlock a forgotten door…
The sound of tap, tap tapping does resound.
Memories are a lost key to be found
And wakes the heart to a familiar sound
A voice of someone once did adore
Memories are a lost key to be found
Waiting for us to unlock a forgotten door…
Memories are yet to be made
With the past a mist, and the future to own.
Speak the words so my heart will be swayed.
Memories are yet to be made
In this place yet unsurveyed-
Make me smile, groan, laugh, and make me moan.
Memories are yet to be made
With the past a mist, and the future to own.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
September 20, 2021
I think this is marvellous in construction and execution.
thank you
OUR LOVE IS MUSIC
Our lips were music.
Classical.
Rhythm and blues.
Harmonious.
A melodious tap dance.
A clickety-clack.
From Oxford shoes.
Our love.
Is the style
and sound of music.
Sumptuous opera.
Well timed tones.
Canon in D.
Wedding bells
and xylophones.
Our kiss.
Is solid brass.
Like the arrival
of eager French horns.
Unpetulant.
But an unfurled
rose—
Accompanied
by thorns.
Benjamin Thomas
Love every word of this especially those last two lines… perfect
Thank you.
Agree with Mary on this one, Benjamin.
Me too
THE MATHEMATICS OF LOVE
Love is infinite.
An immeasurable quantity.
A count of eternity.
1 + 1 = 1
For the two,
shall become—
one flesh.
Incalculable.
Palpable.
Illogical
mathematics.
Benjamin Thomas
amen
Infinite
LOVES’S JOURNEY
If love is in the air, grant my wish,
grant me wings.
Let us ride nature’s interminable wave;
whispers in open ears, the immaterial things.
If love is in the ocean, drop me in the open sea;
until dissolved completely, then let me be.
If love is on the mountaintop, grant me strength, and let me scale the upmost height.
Embark on one’s perilous journey, and see
the sights—of love.
Benjamin Thomas
smile
This deserves a melody.
THE QUESTION OF LOVE
Can a man rightly define love,
if it came out from heaven, descended down
from above?
Can a man truly comprehend—
that which has no beginning, or that which
has no end?
Benjamin Thomas
amen and amen
TIMELESS PAGES
Timeless stories
never stand still.
They move seamlessly
throughout the ages.
Yet ageless,
they land in the hearts
of many.
There they stand
alive, alert, anew;
Where timeless pages—
become a part of you.
Benjamin Thomas
Wow to all of these and what an amazing heart you have
😊
I found myself humming this one. Love it.
Novel Writing vs. Poetry Writing
(Odd verses novel; even verses Poetry)
Each day I am at war with myself…
I am editing; it takes time;
It takes guts cutting lines,
Changing words, correcting mistakes.
Will it ever be finished?
Every day I am war with myself…
There is an idea that has popped up,
And it must be explored…
Once written it must be edited-
Does this work here or better there?
Novels take time to explore the soul
Of a character that does not exist.
Depth doesn’t come in the first paragraph
That is the hook, not the story.
A hook is a hint of what is to come… but not yet.
Writing poetry is concise.
The depth of a poem
Is held within a few words.
It is an eye-opening exposure
Processed in few words.
Novels have plots, a path,
The characters must take…
To reveal who they are, and
What is their mettle.
Poetry has ideas, and visions
Made of colors, and words, and
They don’t take a path.
They are the path
That leads the reader to an idea.
Novels tell stories
Involving characters,
And takes you on their journey,
And keeps you guessing
At how this story will end.
Poetry tells stories
Walking in the forest with the poet,
Sitting with the author as she grieves,
Standing on the edge of the sea as he dreams,
For stories do not die till the teller does.
Characters are complex
And you want them to win,
Or you want them to end…
Depends on if they are good
Or if they are evil.
The poet is the character
Exposing their inner soul…
Telling you the journey
They are on,
And it will end when they have died.
The ending should have the answers.
No doubt of what has happened,
It should satisfy the reader.
They should want to smile
That everything feels that it is as it should be.
The ending should leave questions…
Is this who I am…
Is this how I live…
Everything seems right
Do I want to be this way?
Novels writing takes time.
Some poems take time and remain unfinished.
Editing is a pain.
On this I will agree.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
September 21, 2021
This should be staggered but never can post it as that… but this is one of my dueling poems… fit together and yet separate…
Wonderful contrast here.
These I go back and forth between the two forms…and thank you…
I’ve never attempted a novel, but this sounds familiar.
it is a learning
Mr. Bear
When it sat on a shelf
in a department store,
it was a cute, fluffy
Teddy bear. I bought it.
I gave it to my great niece.
She gave it a hug
and called him Mr. Bear.
It was a friend.
She threw it up in the air.
Over and over.
High and low. Catch!
Mr. Bear was a ball.
She swung it back and forth,
hitting couches and chairs
and Dad and Mom.
Mr. Bear was a bat.
She whirled it around
by its fuzzy arms
until she was out of breath.
Mr. Bear was a dancing partner.
She raced back and forth
holding him high
through the air.
Mr. Bear was an airplane.
She grew tired
lay her head on its tummy
and fell asleep.
Mr. Bear was a pillow.
The cute fuzzy bear
had transformed
to a multi-purpose toy
in the hands of a child.
This brings back such lovely memories… and made me smile and giggle…
Purely a heart-felt memory, Connie!
Love this, Connie!
What a wonderful Shel Silverstein feel this piece has!
PAGES OF MEMORY
Pages of memory turn,
in dreams spun in the mist of sleep.
While the brain edits the day’s events,
it selects with care, which stories to keep.
Benjamin Thomas
lovely and how our brains edits memories… is a mystery to me… Back in 1970 I met a young man and we were friends… we did not date… we often shot pool together, fast forward 50 years and on facebook we started chatting, and it seems we both kept memories of each other when knew each other in college… I was surprised he is an AME minister…He was a bad boy back then… I talked about him over those 50 years and wondered what had happened to him…But in my brain are these crisp and clear memories of him… snippets really… but why were they kept… is one of those God questions that I keep in an invisible box.
A VISIONARY HEART
The heart, can be
a mirror or a window.
The difference between
the two…
Is that a window—
Can see beyond itself
To worlds afar…
Benjamin Thomas
yes and I love to understand the perspectives of others.
Hmmmmm…. thoughtful.
🤔
The Invisible Boxes
I have multiple invisible boxes
That have kept me safe,
Kept my dreams,
Harbored my imagination,
And stored my questions …
The first one is built of iron,
And black and rusty.
There I kept those things
That hurt me hid
For me to live my life.
There were chains around
The outer box
With a rusty lock…
It took me years
To open that box
With my battle axe,
And I found steel box within
With chains and locks
But here in a dusty corner
Was the key to unlock the locks,
And each box opened unto another box
Until all was revealed…
For me to forgive
Those that forged
Those boxes.
The second box
Held the dreams
I wanted for my life…
Often, I open it, and
Often do I close it…
Daring not to let those dreams live.
It is made of the gossamer wings
Of Luna Moths… delicate and beautiful…
Do I dare release those dreams?
The third box is made of leaves from trees,
And the wind that blows…
Ideas come in strange places, and
I house them here…
It has no locks and easily opened…
My favorite box to open
When I want to play…
It is like that junk drawer
Filled with things we might need…
The pieces of twine, and the yo-yo
I never could get to work,
But one day I know I will need it
Into this invisible box
Only I can see
Those magical things
I will one day release.
The fourth box
Is my favorite box…
It is where I keep my God Questions…
The ones I have no answers,
And one day will place
This box of colors
And simmering glass
Crystal with golden hinges,
Before God,
And know I will get the answers…
Some are small like
How did you decide
To place the planets
On their particular road
Around the sun…
Some are tough questions
About why I was placed
Here in this specific time.
I place the questions
There knowing
There is no answer
That seems to work
And when I see His face,
Those questions will dissolve.
These four boxes
I created when I was small.
The first was created by
Fear, anger, and hate.
The second was created
When I had my first dream
To be an opera singer, then a dancer
And finally decided upon writer.
The last was to be loved…
But disappoints keep me
Locking that box
Placing it back on te shelf.
The third one began
That day I met my imaginary friends
Who took me on wonderful adventures.
The last box is the most valuable,
And most of those questions
I keep between me and God…
For there is no satisfactory answer
As to why some chose to hurt,
And others don’t.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
September 22, 2021
Love this!
Thank you Connie… and I do have those boxes in my quirky brain…
Marvelous. 👌
thank you
THE MATERIAL OF DREAMS
I.
Glass dreams
are
Broken dreams.
Golden dreams
are
Priceless.
II.
Hope like shattered
glass.
Shards sick, splayed,
scattered.
Dreams can break,
completely collapse.
If they truly never
mattered.
III.
Things of gold have
true value.
Preciousness is worth
its weight.
Lustrous yellow aspirations
shine.
Superior quality,
has no expiration date.
Benjamin Thomas
I love this…
Thanks.
“Glass dreams.” Superb.
Thanks.
INCORRUPTIBLE KISSES
I.
True love is never
misplaced.
Its golden kisses
are incorruptible.
They never tarnish,
they never corrode.
Once you get a
lover’s taste.
II.
Kisses can be like
sandpaper.
Stripping the opponent
of affection.
When the languorous
heart is led astray.
The lips can be
misdirection.
Kisses formulaic,
stoic in nature.
Are ice cold and
devoid of life.
Night of the living
dead—“Til death do us part”
Corpses, are
man and wife.
Benjamin Thomas
true…. and the first brought to mine a Jimmy Webb song… He was a composer… wrote MacArthur ‘s Park… one there is one that is about losing a lover and the line was,,, “Somewhere in my mouth there will always be the taste of you.”
That’s a great look line. 👌
I posted several of Jimmy Webb’s songs on FB including that line… The words to THe Moon is a harsh mistress are too beautiful…
Such stark pictures; such economy of expression.
Livin’ on Antihistamine…
I wake up with a headache
From the antihistamines I take…
But when they wear off…
My coughing begins, and
I curse being born
Allergic to the world…
Got my Benadryl, my Zyrtec
And my epi-pen,
I am ready to face the world…
Seafood I remember I loved…
Popcorn shrimp, deviled crab
Were my delights…
For years I played a game of roulette…
Took Benadryl and ate me some
To keep the hives at bay,
Until I couldn’t any more…
Got my Benadryl, my Zyrtec
And my epi-pen,
I am ready to face the world…
Peanut butter and banana sandwiches
Were a favorite of mine…
Then one day I started itching,
And the hives appeared.
Now I dream of my last meal
Being made up of peanut and banana sandwiches,
And maybe popcorn shrimp.
They will take me out,
But I will die happy.
Got my Benadryl, my Zyrtec
And my epi-pen,
I am ready to face the world…
Bee stings are dangerous for me…
It is why I keep an epi-pen handy.
I swell up and itch and burn.
My feet so swollen, it hurts to take a step.
Deer flies gives me hives,
And mosquitoes itch for hours…
Even Benadryl cannot relieve.
Got my Benadryl, my Zyrtec
And my epi-pen,
I am ready to face the world…
Sodium laurate sulfate
Is in many things…
Shampoos make my scalp bleed,
Toothpaste makes my gums bleed,
Soaps that make my skin itch…
The list goes on…
And those without cost a bunch…
Got my Benadryl, my Zyrtec
And my epi-pen,
I am ready to face the world…
Sometimes I get hives
When I drink hot tea, coffee
Or hot chocolate…
Whelps the size of my hand
Dance across my body…
I had a dream.
Vitamin E for some reason
Makes these reactions stop.
Got my Benadryl, my Zyrtec
And my epi-pen,
I am ready to face the world…
I loved turnip greens in winter
With cornbread and chow-chow…
Those I can no longer eat…
The same is for collards.
My skin turns red and burns like fire…
Strawberries sometimes does the same,
But not all the time.
It is will it do it this time or will it not.
I can eat black walnuts in moderation
But cannot each English walnuts…
Wonder what the difference is…
And I could go on,
But this list is getting tiresome
So, I won’t.
Got my Benadryl, my Zyrtec
And my epi-pen,
I am ready to face the world…
Yes, I can go anywhere
As long as I have my pills
And my epi-pen.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
September 23, 2021
a friend on Facebook said I should write a country song and the title for this was her suggestion… not exactly a song… may come back to the idea later and work out a song…
I miss one big section of my allergies…
But how could I forget…
I am allergic to Penicillin,
For I break out when I handle a pill.
Sulfur drugs ruined a Thanksgiving.
Antibiotics… if there are five side effects
I will have four,
Anti-viral drugs give me hallucinations…
I saw heads on spikes melting
(I was watching the Tudors) and
Bats by the hundreds flying forth
From my fireplace.
Not taking that again…
After the migraine medication
Gave three days of hives…
My doctor said…
No new medications.
This left me scratching.
Hah so did writing it
Soybeans yellow by the hour
Acres holding their own eerie light
While Hawks careen and scream overhead
Smile…
Sounds so soothing. 👌
That first line alone…..
this is just for fun…
If I was a rich woman…
1
I would have ten pair of glasses
To wear when a particular mood
Struck my fancy…
The first pair would be
The glasses I wore in my garden…
Sturdy strong and do the trick
Kind of ordinary wire-rimmed glasses…
2
I would have a pair of sunglasses
With a touch of art deco,
And rhinestones on the side…
They would give me a mysterious allure.
I would give a slow smile,
Keep them wondering.
3
I would have a pair of electric blue frames
To enhance my blue eyes.
Maybe these would not be wire-rims,
And maybe they would.
4
Of course, I would have red…
They would match my red shoes
That I wear with my black dress,
And ruby earrings
Which I don’t have,
But if I can have ten pairs of glasses,
I think I can have those.
5
I would have black wire-rims
When I am being studious.
People will think I am all business,
But you and I know that I’m not.
6
I think I want my old wire-rims
That are gold and have etchings
On the side, I will wear again…
If I have to find someone
Who can do that for me.
They take me back to my youth
When I wore gold wire-rims
Before most people wore them.
7
I would like a fun pair
With an artistic bent…
These I would choose
With bright colors,
Maybe hot pink or
Bright orange…
Those would be
For those days
I just wanted to have fun.
8
I would like some that are lavender
And maybe they would have flowers
On the side with rhinestones…
Have I told you I love rhinestone pins?
9
I have this rhinestone pin
Garish black and white
With a stylized flower
A touch of gold
With crystal rhinestones…
It is gaudy and ugly
Some might think,
But it is individual like me…
I want one pair of glasses
That I could wear
With that pin.
I could be the classy-brassy broad
That I know that I am
10
The last pair
I have not decided…
But I know
That those glasses will be special,
And I think maybe clear frames
With white and pink flowers
On the side…
I will wear them
When I am especially happy,
But I won’t need the glasses
To tell that I am,
For everyone could see it in my face.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
September 24, 2021
Hey there, poets! I’m so sorry I haven’t been out here to read and comment. Besides it being a very busy week, my computer has been giving me fits. I’m still going to try to spend some time here before the new Sunday prompt. Missing your words!
I figured it was something like that …..
You were missed!
Grateful
1
The morning, I rise
To greet the day, I’m living.
Humbled by the gift.
2
The trees that grow wild
Remind me to grow where I am;
Thankful for seasons.
3
The cry of the hawk
Reminds me to be watchful,
For life can be hard.
4
Those that share their life
With my life is a kind gift;
My heart joys in song.
5
The song of the wind
Sings to my wandering soul.
I love its sweet song.
6
Hardships come, tis true,
But there is joy in each one.
Let my soul rejoice.
7
God prepares the path
Before I walk on the stones
That I am to walk.
8
Come rejoice with me
All is good in its own time
Come rejoice with me.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
September 24, 2021