Some say it’s never too late to learn something new. Do you agree? If so, what might you want to learn? Maybe you disagree. Whether you agree with the statement or not, use it as your springboard to write your poem. It’s never too late. 😉
MARIE’S SOMETHING
Say …
“Never say never,”
they say, and it’s clever,
‘cause never is never
forever and ever.
And what of forever?
For that is a never,
for always forever
is never to end.
So amend what life penned,
and just go with your gut
and delight in your dreams.
But don’t ever say, “but.”
© Marie Elena Good, 2022
WALT’S NEW TRICK
TEACHING OLD DOGS
Old dogs can learn, but they’re a bitch to teach. You can reach them if you’re persistent, but you know they’ll be resistant to change. You might bribe them with treats but it defeats the purpose. Nowadays I find myself pretty set in my ways. Rest assured you CAN teach an old dog new tricks, but leading a horse to water is a totally different schtick! (C) Walter J Wojtanik - 2022
Mornin! Very fascinating and swell poems Walt and Marie. 👏
Good morning! “Your” sun is shining here, thank you very much! 😉
Good morning, Benjamin… all. Thanks for the comment and recognition!
Hahah! Great observations, Marie and Walt. Loved the parallel jumps at the ending of both poems (‘never’ to ‘but,’ and ‘dog’ to ‘horse’)! There should be a poetic term for that.
Thanks Damon! You make me wonder. IS there a term for that? Perhaps there is, and I don’t know it. But regardless, it’s a fun way to write! 😉
It’s a transference of sorts. A metaphoric connection between two ideas. It surely is a fun way to write. It broadens the scope of both separate thoughts! Thanks Damon! Walt.
IT’S NEVER TOO LATE
It’s never too late to sail in abundant waters set free.
To surf atop crystal blue waves taming the deep.
It’s not too late to scale bourbon rimmed skies.
To take prize the transcendence of hawks skillfully.
It’s never too late to learn from my faults, my ways—
to be released, sail free the rest of my days.
© Benjamin Thomas
Lovely, and creative! (I can correct the two “to” typos for you, if you like.)
Yes please! I was half asleep.
Wow. This is transporting stuff.
Powerful imagery… sky the limit, vast sea of possibilities. Loved it.
this is so lovely…and brought back memories of one I loved in my youth who loved sailing.
This is such a freeing up poem, Benjamin!
Thanks Sara!
Learning Curse
I sweep the clouds
in my tai chi,
my yoga mat’s
in love with me,
I learned a new
cool zumba step
and I use kale
in salad prep.
But each new trick,
move, trend and turn
my body does
NOT want to learn.
My mind and heart
both want to learn it.
My body says,
“just stop that, durn it!”
© Damon Dean, 2022
This one made me smile HUGE, Damon! What a fun and inspirational read!
I hear you
Hah and it gets worse with age…love it
Loud and clear!
I love that first stanza
Pentimento
Zenith of creation, image of perfection,
mankind made worthy, companion of God,
to nadir he plummets, from grace to rejection,
excellence decays into putrefied fraud.
The canvas is ruined, masterpiece marred,
worthless condemned to be flicked to the fire,
But The Artist is savior, the canvas re-easeled,
His blood on His brush, a skilled purifier.
Creation made new, pentimento revived,
man resurrected, new life fixed eternal,
all things are of God, our canvas redeemed,
to Himself He has saved us, His Love speaks fraternal.
2 Corinthians 5:17-18 (NKJV)
Kevin, loved this… esp “canvas re-easeled.” He is my re-Painter.
Kevin, I agree with Damon…
“The canvas is ruined, masterpiece marred,
worthless condemned to be flicked to the fire,
But The Artist is savior, the canvas re-easeled,
His blood on His brush, a skilled purifier.”
Oh my. I have read this several times. The third and fourth lines capture my Lord to perfection. Creator/Artist, Savior/Purifier … His blood on His brush …oh my, Kevin. Oh my …
Love your poem Marie, it was fun to read…. and Walt… Love that one… made me smile.
Thank you!
BEST USE BOTH HANDS
Never
get too clever,
or else you may sever
ties that bind your four-in-hand for
ever.
true
Good one, William!
Super clever!
Love the sheer playfulness of your pieces, Marie and Walt.
Thank you!
Never Too Late
It’s never too late to start over
And turn a new page in your life
Never too late to bury the past
Dispose of the trash and the strife
It’s never too late to get right with God
He’ll forgive you no matter the sin
Just approach Him with pure sincerity
And a new life in Him will begin
True renewal Earl!
absolutely true
My humble amen. And, as always, I admire your FLAWLESS cadence.
Learning
Feeding the brain
Something new every day
You can teach an old dog new tricks
You just need to want to learn
Like minds.
That’s the crux, all right.
AMEN
Good point, well penned.
The Older I Get
The older I get
The more I learn
The more I see
The more I hear
The more I feel
The older I get
The wiser I get
The stronger my mind
The softer my heart
The more I forgive
The older I get
The more I realize
That God is real
Right here by my side
Holding my life
The older I get
The more I pray
For those I love
Even those I don’t
For I love them all
As does My Lord
Yes Earl… and the “learn” goes on…
I agree, and love the way you state it.
thank you for this one
This goes with PAD prompt super heros
Teachers
They say learning something new
helps prevent memory loss,
so as I age, teachers
are my new super heroes.
So hats off to my uke teacher,
my Spanish teacher,
my French history teacher
my body language teacher,
my cell phone photography teacher,
my art teacher,
my nonfiction writing teacher,
my hip hop dancing teacher,
my body composition teacher,
and my business teacher.
All on video, all my super heroes.
Hopefully they’ll help rescue me
from cerebral plaques and tangles.
With all that learning, seems like there’d be no room for tangles.
HEAR, HEAR!
Connie, you are a busy learner! Loved this.
this made me smile
Most definitely!
Something New
So more than ever in pursuit
of plants to support bees
and birds and butterflies
this year I will plant for the first time
astillbe (mountain saxifrage)
in blazing red for hummingbirds
onion like alliums in dense circles
for cinnamon honeybees
the fat black and yellow bumblers
this year I will upcycle
an old battered cylinder planter
long empty from an old house
with bright caladium and tuberous begonia
colorful calla lily a trailing wisp of vinca
watch what comes to visit
this year I will cold sow petunia
and coleus for the first time with
seeds gifted from a distant niece
this year I will move to improve
soil shift rocks to new borders
try new varieties of zinnias
and if, like the first planting of
lettuce and spinach that failed
and had to be resown,
I will celebrate eventual success
relegating ‘fail’ to opportunity
trying something new:
letting myself be joyful.
So uplifting, this.
Seed of old, transplants new, garden joys because of you!
Thank you! Very muddy garden shoes from working in wild bergamot yesterday ! Up cycling huge snd choking clumps of water grass to holes in garden verge!
smile
Great attitude, Pat!
An attitude to capture for myself, written in true Pat style. LOVE THIS!
all ages
in all endings a beginning found
in all endings a beginning found
in every dream another life
in all endings a beginning found
in every night the promise of dawn
in all endings a beginning found
in all ages lessons to be learned
in all endings a beginning found
in every goodbye another hello
in all endings a beginning found
I can’t recall what form this is, but I love the execution.
Thanks, William. It’s a ghazal form.
Yes. Love this form and how well this phrase fits it. Good writing Mike. (Like William I can’t recall the name)
Thanks, Damon. Ghazal form.
Right! Thanks…
lovely
Wonderful job with this form, Mike!
I must be honest, this is not a form I generally enjoy. But Mike, you have used it to perfection. This is gorgeous writing! Thank you for showing me how it should be done … how lovely it can be.
Never Too Late
This poem has taken up a new hobby,
to lobby for better conditions, safer positions
in which to poem. It is signing petitions to end
inhibitions when penning love poems. It is appealing
to magicians to conjure apparitions with lofty missions
of peace. It is looking for omissions to requisitions for
moonlight and old ponds, and it posts admonitions in
favor of frogs, in 5-7-5. It’s dispelling superstitions
and suspicions relating to crows, while appealing to musicians
to turn down commissions that do not rhyme. This poem
finds conditions are lacking traditions and perfect for
trying out new compositions.
😁
Bingo!
Brilliant, Candace. Give me liberty, or give me prose!
smile
Wow! Outstanding.
Thanks so much!
WHOA!! This is such a different style for you, Candy! Outstanding! I had to go back to read it aloud!
Gee, thanks, Marie! I never know what will appear when I start writing 😉
Life Lessons
We are all
just passing through.
What’s now so old
was once quite new.
Things rise and fall,
they come and go.
Such impermanence
is just what’s so.
This is a happy thing,
not one of futility.
It can bring joy to one
practicing radical humility.
So pleased now to awaken,
discovering the right stuff,
content in learning
how much is enough.
Sweet satisfaction, resigned to plenty in little. Loved this Daniel.
Expressed beautifully.
Daniel, you see things so clear…
Perfectly stated, Daniel!
Packed to overflowing with true Daniel Pai wisdom. ❤
I learned this early in life, but it make ask questions correctly….
A lesson on asking the right question…
Da was fishing.
I was with some friends
On the other side of Greenbriar,
And I wanted to ask him a question.
I asked a simple one first…
I hollered across the river,
“Is the water over my head?”
It wasn’t the question
I wanted to ask,
But I had to cross the river
To ask that one.
He smiled slightly
Almost missed the slightly-
Actually, I didn’t think that smile
Meant anything.
He said, “No it is not over your head.”
The three of us waded
Into the cold mountain river,
And I felt my friends beginning to chill,
But I am mountain born and bred…
A little cold water isn’t going stop me.
Soon we were waist deep,
And lifted our shorter friend
So, she would not drown.
The water got deeper,
And I was on my tiptoes
To keep the water below
My mouth and nose.
I came out of that water
On the verge of a conniption fit.
My father was smiling….
I marched over to him,
And said, “It was over my head!”
He was laughing,
“No, it wasn’t, your head was above the water.”
My face crinkled and crunched up
Not wanting to say he was right.
He got serious, and said,
“You asked the wrong question.
The right question would have been
Is it over my chin?”
It was one of those teachable moments…
He said, “It is important to form
Your questions to get the answer
That you are seeking.”
I never forgot that lesson.
It takes a bit of thinking
To ask the question
To garner the info, you want.
Oh, the question I wanted to ask…
Well, that was simple
Would he take us up to the flint rock swimming hole?
He took us there and came for us later…much later…
Mary Elizabeth Todd
April 25, 2022
What a valuable moment.
Yep, and my father used situations to teach us lessons of life.
Good lesson to learn.
yes, it was, and I did learn to form my questions better…
A true father, you had. ❤ You've captured him (and home) yet again.
thank you and my mother when she got mad at me would say…. you are just like your father, and I would say thank you and she would respond… it wasn’t a compliment…
Oh Mary I can do relate! Especially in our line of work it was critical to phrase the question…. I too was my fathers daughter and my mother did her best to switch and what she called spank and ‘discipline’ it out of me… he was already gone away so….
The Next Day
I listen, I learn
something new. I watch
the Great Courses DVDs,
enthralled to discover
mysteries of the brain,
life of Vincent Van Gogh,
and how to look at
masterpieces of art.
Part that frustrates me
is that next day my newly
acquired knowledge is gone.
Retaining is learning. My
mind is yearning, but brain
cells keep slipping away.
Maybe the Great Courses need to use the ghazal form.
Ha! It might help.
*gigglegiggle*
I know what you are talking about Van Gogh….they have found in Starry Starry Night…an answer to turbulence… He painted strokes of primary colors and the brains sees it as flickering… Science had not been able to find the answer to turbulence until one scientist studied his painting…with a little help from the Huble space camera…. Loved this poem…
Thanks so much, Mary, and for the info.
I can relate all too well. Well done, Sara.
Thanks, Marie!
Learning how to move on….
I had been lonely in my youth.
The names I was called crushed me.
The ugliest girl, and was asked was I a fool?
As I walked the halls of school,
I looked down to avoid the eyes of others.
I apologized for being alive.
Looking down I hid my tears,
But they saw and called me a name for crying.
I survived and they didn’t break my spirit.
I was once their victim, but I would be a victor
In the life I now live.
But grief brought a weight of a stone
Tied in my heart, and I have endured the burden
Near thirteen years.
The loneliness of grief
Is me standing on a beach,
Watching the waves of days
Coming towards me.
I am the shore,
And those waves sometimes easy
When the tide is low,
But when the tide is high…
I am lost waiting
For the days to end.
For memories are one sided
When the person who shared them
Are gone beyond your reach.
I tell my stories…
But those who listen
Sometimes are impatient
And other times they just pretend
While they listen to themselves think.
I know when people actually hear me.
Even that does not help
For as I tell the story, no one laughs
And tells what happened next…
They never tell what to do with memories
When the voices of those who were there
Has been silenced.
It all seems hollow.
That first night after the funeral
And everyone has gone home…
I was so weary…
I wanted to sleep for days,
But the house was so silent
For the sound of your snore was gone,
And I balled up tight to block out the silence,
But the tears of loneliness
Warped my heart and I was broke.
I have moved from houses
In the days of my youth.
I miss those houses.
But as I began to live alone…
The house I knew became a stranger.
The walls were the same,
The furniture had not changed,
But the silence was crushing
The tick of clock speaking loudly.
I filled my house with noise
Not to hear the ticking of silent clock.
I heard an echo of a voice speaking
Words I often heard,
“You have to accept it, and
Move on.”
But you never to told me
How I was to move on-
Just that I had to do it.
Grief breaks you down.
That stone it brings to your heart.
Each day a bit of it is chiseled away,
Or so you thought…
Life seems normal,
Then someone says a phrase,
Or asks how you are doing…
And that weight it is still there…
Heavy deep inside you…
But you keep on.
Grief is like a muzzle
For after the funeral,
I was expected not to speak
Or allow anyone to see my tears,
But none of them
Were there at suppertime
And the seat that should be filled
Was empty, and the food had no flavor.
It became simple
Each day I took a step
To move onward,
And I looked back,
And the path
I was walking
Had disappeared.
I understood
Why you couldn’t
Tell me how to keep on,
For how you got
Beyond such grief
Was erased
As you kept on.
In the nights
There is such a darkness,
And I spoke stories
Much as I did as a youth…
Of a life much better than I had.
There would not be loneliness.
Sorrow would be like a vapor
And disappear into the atmosphere.
But even my storytelling
Could not block out the silence
Of all those lost voices
Clanging within my skull
Reminding me of all those lost voices.
Some nights I cried…
Some nights my sleep evaded me…
Some nights there was a stillness,
And wrapped me within
The wings like a fledgling
In the shadow of its mother’s wings.
That stillness spoke in whispers
As quiet as the flutter of butterfly wings
Or the sound the stars make
As they dance across the skies…
The morning would come
And in that rising sun was joy…
With no hidden despair.
It was in those days
I learned the strength
That was within me.
I had walked through fire
And my dross was burned away.
I am an old warrior,
But like any other warrior
As the sun rises
After nights of battles
And days that were lost…
I knew
Grief will not hold me back,
For I am moving on to wherever.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
April 26, 2022
Ma died the morning of April 29, 2008, and as I am getting closer to that anniversary…. I am finding myself reflective.
it is near fourteen years…. math and I do not gee-haw
The poignancy is almost palpable.
it was palpable…
This is a wonderful story of one person’s experience in getting through grief, and the ability to move on.
thanks and that is why I talk about my journey thru grief… we teach children a lot these days, but no one talks to them about the trauma of grief…
Tomorrow, as I read this. “The house I knew became a stranger” grabbed my heart.
It was like I was in a foreign land
Courage, a hard lesson to learn
It isn’t that I have no fears…
Those I face each day.
Each time I testified in court…
My heart would thump hard against my ribs,
And as they told me raise my right hand…
I looked down at my hands to see two rings…
That was my right hand,
And was there until the Judge said,
I could step down.
The verbal battles began.
Sometimes when I stepped down…
I felt my eyes tear…
From the first to the last hearing…
It never did change.
I walked into dangerous situations…
I had knives pulled on me, put to my neck.
One said to me, “Do you believe if I tell him
To cut your neck that he will do it?
I looked steady into eyes filled with rage,
And said, “I don’t doubt that he would.”
Over and over, I walked into places
No sane person would go…
People said I was brave and reckless,
And I knew I was afraid…
But it took courage to face my fears.
It is a lesson I am still learning.
I believe in being vulnerable
Creates a deeper bond, and
Here I stand feeling that fear
Creep into me…
Caused by many
Who created a person vulnerable to pain,
And who is vigilant to protect against anguish-
For my heart is fragile
And I am not sure I can put the pieces back
Into place…but my heart is beautiful
Like a stain glass window
Shards and pieces of beauty
I have collected along the way.
I am here… not afraid
That I will be rejected…
But afraid I will disappoint, and
Now I face down this fear
And it is time that
I am vulnerable
In facing who I am,
And believing
I am a woman
Complete with courage
Who can do whatever
I need to do
In this life I live.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
April 27, 2022
This is put crudely, I know, but it recalls something I remember about someone else: :the lady has guts.”
Thanks for the compliment…
Your story leaves me shaking my head. I am far from the strong woman you are, Mary. God bless you.
thank you
“To be accessible to God and People,
To be vulnerable to God and People”
From the Northumbrian Community….Rules of Life…
Learning to be….
Accessible….
Having an open smile,
An open heart,
And just being there…
When needed…
But
Am I that?
Sometimes I am.
Most times I am not.
I am guilty
Of setting myself apart…
I learned this
When I built a stone wall
To protect me.
You can’t access someone
When they live locked away.
Tearing down the walls
Was just part of the learning…
But I am still working
On the part about being accessible.
But being vulnerable
Sounds out warnings
Danger, Danger, watch out, watch out…
The alarms are loud,
How do I quieten them?
I pray.
I become still.
For God will bring me peace…
And the walls I built
That I thought kept me safe
Instead kept me imprisoned.
In one tiny step after another
I opened the doors to others.
I let them see who I was…
Sometimes their words stung…
And I retreated,
But I did not give up.
Each day I start off
With opening that inner door…
Each day I am weary…
Sweeping the wall builders away…
Each night I rest
In the freedom
Of being who I am.
One day those wall builders
Will not come back.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
April 27, 2022
So vivid, this.
thank you
Mary, just perfect insight.
thank you
William used the term vivid, and it surely is.
thank you
A KETTLE OF BROAD-WINGS
Aloft over land, away from the lake,
they catch the bubbles in the air
and ride them high, up to where
my straining eye no longer sees
the forms their soaring bodies take.
Aloft, the birds exploit the breeze.
Wheeling in their element
they know no end to their ascent,
content to let their resting wings
lift them onward, without surcease.
Watching them circle always brings
a peculiar loneliness to me.
I sense I’m less than I could be;
that the only the hawks know how to make
of life an experience that sings.
Perhaps if I watch I might discern
some lesson here that I must learn.
Maybe next spring.
Love this ascending sonnet.
Love this, William. So well written.
Can do relate! We have many many turkey vultures here and I never tire of watching them catch thermals and glide. Thank you for an eloquent piece
This belongs in a book of classic poems. I love this style and subject matter. Well done, Bill.