We’re looking off into the near distance, searching our horizon for the next big thing. Every adventure is out there for our taking as long as we’re making a concerted effort to reach for it. Of course, writing a horizon poem will work for you here as well. Or take a new look at an old thing and make it new (relatively) again! We stand on the cusp of that brave new world. Where will it take you?
MARIE’S OUTLOOK:
Fog may blur your view of hope on the horizon, but it’s no less there. #seventeenintwentytwo
WALT’S SCAN:
BLUE HORIZON SKIES
I return with regularity. To empty my mind; to achieve clarity. And it is a rarity that I can attain both. But along this shoreline, life reveals itself. It pulls memories from my mental shelves and splays them before me in these azure skies. Sights for my weary eyes, it is no surprise that I return. These thoughts inspire by my mind’s mire! I find a place, a space where I can plant myself. And vacate the moment, searching the horizon for some semblance of beauty that reminds me of you. The sky is blue. But, it is not maudlin, nor melancholy. Brilliant and bright and jolly, cloud pocked and wholly enveloping. And portraits of you start developing in my heart. seagulls take their terns we are birds of a feather we soar to the clouds © Walter J. Wojtanik - 2022
POETIC BLOOMINGS 
Responses
Walt, I live this seaside moment, your words bring on the gentle “shussh” of surf and breeze, and sky hues that calm the heart.
Most definitely! Loved it!
Same here; especially, “seagulls take their terns.”
Marie, your poem aroused the certainty of that ages old mantra, “the sun also rises.” Lovely 17 syllables.
(Which, I know, I cite the Hemingway title out of context separate from the sad tragedy in his novel… as often is done.)
Marie made the fog so ethereal.
Yes, and that’s putting it mildly. That little piece belongs on the icebox door.
Well, I have to say I am impressed! Dear Walt and Marie you’ve take the muse by storm!
SEEN FROM QUEENSTOWN PIER, 11 APRIL 1912
The ship
is sinking fast
from view, taking with her
dreams, schemes, and extreme hopes that curl
toward the rim of the world.
William, love “…curl / toward the end of the world.” Such vast imagery in a bit of line.
“rim” …. not ‘end’…
I agee!
Agree
You have mastered that form, my friend.
Stunning visual piece, William! Loved it.
This is no less than a painting using a word brush. WOW, Bill … WOW …
Thanks for the kind words, folks. I’d like to acknowledge some help with this one: I borrowed the gist of the last line from Henry Beston’s The Outermost House.
Good call!
THE TRUTH ARISES
The horizon lies on the top tier of truth.
It never lies—and never lies in bed with falsehood.
It only relies on the heavy burden of cosmic sun. Those who truly see it will witness and realize,
its beauty and proof.
© Benjamin Thomas
That first line sucked me in, Benjamin.
Yep
Views
Horizons can be futures,
or views of our pasts.
The place we stand,
from which our view is cast,
depends on the direction
of our heart.
Lines between
land and sky…
more than art;
they make
the place we are
either end
or start.
© Damon Dean, 2022
Great poem, interesting perspective, Damon.
(Smile)
😁 Beautiful Damon. This sounds very much like a poem written according to photo along with added depth.
Thanks, Ben…
Gorgeous writing, Damon! This looks like it took days of contemplation, yet it didn’t. What a natural you are.
Thank you Marie, just feels natural….
Beautiful, both in visual impact and the fluid use of rhyme.
Thank you William.
SURE HORIZONS
Sometimes it’s hard to kiss the edge
of destiny.
To stop squirming, wriggling, writhing,
in blasphemy.
To let go of all the invasive vines encompassing
me.
To have a firm hand on the ledge of inevitable;
climb peacefully, joyfully.
© Benjamin Thomas
Well put. I can relate, Benjamin.
🙂
“invasive vines encompassing me” My goodness. Talk about, “Show, don’t tell.”
Another poem with an arresting first line. Superb.
Marie, I needed your poem today… all I see is lazy clouds.
I’m sorry to hear that, Mary. I hope those few words spoke hope to your heart.
they did
Walt, wow…. thank you and it has been years since I have been to the shore…
My Horizons
When I was ten,
I read Shakespeare,
And wanted to be a writer…
(Before that I wanted to be a dancer,
Or an opera singer…my dreams
Were always high.)
But that horizon
Was always out there
Just beyond
This detour
or had to wait
until car was repaired.
Sixty years later,
I am one.
As a young woman
I thought I would get married,
Only to find no one wanted me.
I had wanted children…
What I got was a job
Where there were
Children enough
For anyone,
For they brought me joy,
And when I said goodbye…
They brought me sorrow.
In my midlife…
I just wanted to live,
and here I am
living still…
They call me a senior…
And there are those
Calculating
When I will be
Sent away
To spend idle days
Alone
Just waiting to die.
I smile
For that horizon
Is still out there…
I have a few more
Detours to make
Before I get
To that expiration date,
And those people
Can just wait…
I am still on this road
Chasing my next horizon,
And guess what
It is not a cemetery plot…
I am not sure
What it will be
But it is not that…
For I got some livin’
To do and I plan to do it.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
May 15, 2022
Mary, I love this. Interesting and victorious.
Thank you… I call myself a victor…
Good word for it: “victorious.”
thank you
Loving your perspective, your poetic writing, and your heart.
thank you
Beyond the Horizon
(englyn penfyr)
In their hearts humans plan their course, but the Lord establishes their steps.
Proverbs 16:9
Past the horizon, if all goes as planned,
I fanned flames, only God knows.
He watches with water hose.
Travels, music, writing, art, friendships, fun.
He’s the One that does His part.
He’s the horse and I’m the cart.
And, of course, there’s the mundane, daily things.
He sings through sunshine and rain.
He loves through triumph and pain.
Life is complex, I must rely on God.
Through odd notions and concepts,
I make plans, He guides my steps.
Love this, Connie. The sentiment in its entirety, and the final two stanzas in their wording. Well done!
I find this form devilishly tricky to execute. Masterful job.
Going past the West End of the Work Zone
an open road
beyond barriers
in south dakota
sky burnt orange
as the sun fades
another town
appears
in the countryside
a vision shimmers
for weary eyes
a calling
to go beyond
conversations
in a convenience store
small talk made
as if
i’m with friends
and a pause
before stepping
out the door
when a bell rings
car keys in hand
an invitation
even as
time presses on me
to venture beyond
what I know
far away from home
wanderlust
in life well-lived
as dusk shadows the land
a desire of the heart
to go further west
and take a chance
I may never have again
The longing in your words really speaks. The short lines lead your reader on, longing right along with you. Love this one, Mike.
Agreed, and this is superb word-painting to a T.
Love this and love your interview
Natural Horizon
Trees tremble in fear,
as Earth’s fever drains the lakes.
Spring lambs keep sleeping
White snow still on peaks,
Summer thirsts for its melting,
windows need cleaning.
Brown season is here
There’s smoke on the horizon
The roof needs tending.
Orange Navels are eaten,
Valencia’s unflavored.
What of the apples?
Soft light from afar,
the new buds need attention.
Bees remain divine.
Red flowers open,
Pomegranates in waiting.
We must make sun tea.
Pink roses whisper.
Bougainvilleas scream color.
Pastels still enchant.
Spring’s colors fading,
Summer blooms soon in season.
Seedlings need water.
Epi’s bloomed briefly,
cactus flowers much the same.
I must call my Friends.
Oh, I LOVE how you chose to speak to this prompt!!!!
For me, there’s melancholy in this piece. I lived in southern California once, and I hurt for her and the whole southwest these days, as drought and heat take over.
Horizon 2
For the second time
in fifty years, I’m beset
by Agent Orange.
Having borne guilt, shame,
regret and sadness, I have
no room left for hate.
I am attempting
to be open, cheerful, and
at the same time, brave.
She said, do what you
can. If you can’t, you just can’t.
Nothing else to it.
My mind doesn’t know
what’s real or imagined.
I might as well dream.
My brain tells me to
criticize, to run my mouth.
My heart wants to help.
All prayers are answered,
but God’s rejections
are just Sprit’s protections.
So happy for the
joy in my life now. I am
filled with abundance.
Sirens in the far
distance do not trouble me.
Busy with the birds.
You will discover
unexpected treasure, says
the fortune cookie.
Daniel, how do you come with all of this so flawlessly and quickly? I will go back to read both offerings again in the morning. And maybe again after that. Wonderful. Just wonderful.
Amen to that, again and again.
I rise
To a new day
And look toward the Son
What does He have in store for me?
Whatever it is, I rise
Amen!
A new horizon
A new challenge before me
that I will defeat
Excellent.
A bingo of a senryu, this.
In The Distance
I see in the distance
Through the foggy haze
A dark and ominous figure
Haloed by the rising sun
Walking straight for me
Ever larger with each step
I find I cannot move
Then I see in the distance
A second figure rise
Following in the footsteps
Of the one closing in on me
This second figure calms me
Though I cannot explain why
Yet I still cannot move
The sun rises higher
As the foggy haze dissolves
No longer dark and ominous
I now can see his face
Masculine and gentle
Eyes wrinkled with a smile
The face that I see is me
He came straight at me
And I still could not move
Then at the last second
Our souls seemed to merge
I felt a sudden renewal
Like my purpose had returned
From years of its wandering
Then figure two came into view
With His arms open wide
The lock on my feet loosened
And I ran to Him and bowed
His mighty hand lifted me up
He welcomed me home again
Then we walked into the distance
Together
WOW. EARL. WOW. Was this a dream? Or just where your mind went when you began to pen this poem? This is amazing, my friend.
Thanks. My mind started on the first line, then went here and there to the end. I just followed along and wrote down what it told me. It’s easier that way, don’t you know.
This is crafted so well; a word-painting par extraordinaire.
Moving On
When we move on we
leave nothing behind.
It all comes with us – the good,
the bad, the things that made
us stronger, wiser, more
compassionate. It’s up to us
to decide which of those things
we’ll unpack to share with friends
and family, to reflect on or laugh about,
and which ones will stayed boxed up,
where they belong, until someone comes
along who needs our stories to help them
keep going until their time comes to move on.
Excellent, Candy. This is imaginative and its wisdom seeps through. Well done!
Thanks, Marie❣️
Indeed so.
Walt and Marie, each of your poems made me sigh in delight.
Thank you!
haiku
soft light arises
from a night of shadows
morning of promise
*sigh*
Yeaahhhhh…..
haiku
morning illuminations
promises rise from shadows
horizons shimmer
Lovely!
Fascinating, that last word used there.
Thanks to you all for your kind comments.
Walt, there is so much to admire in the construction of your poem. You took me right there with you, and I feel like I’ve just walked the shoreline. I suspect a redheaded muse was involved. ❤
Red Moon Eclipse
They call it the flower moon…
The day had been sunny,
But as evening arrived…
The clouds rolled in,
But still I planned
To go out to see the eclipse
With my nephew…
As the clock neared
The time,
We decided
To go into the horizon
To see if we could see
The sun, the earth, and the moon
Align and we turned
To that horizon and came to the remnants
Of the old bridge
That crossed a bit of the once
Mighty Savannah River…
There we watched the clouds
Form a face around the crescent moon
And as the moon became darker
As the light retreated…
The color maroon was its shadow-
A blood moon they say…
We talked of the night
Two decades before
When I had been at death’s door,
And this nephew took
Me out to watch the star’s dance…
They were wonderous that night,
And so was this night.
I told him
I would keep this night tucked
In my memory with the other one
That we watched the stars dance.
The horizon was out there
The trees along the once
Great Savannah River…
Looked like black lace
Against the sky.
I told him a story
I once wrote
About the night I saw the stars dance,
And like that night…
All was at peace
Within me…
As we rode back home…
Thankful for those moments
Of perfection,
And how
I love this nephew
Who loved to watch-
The night sky with me.
I read once something my father wrote…
When he lived in tents
While his father was on the chain gang…
He slept with the supplies alone,
And at night he pulled his blankets
Out so that he could watch the stars…
It is how we all are alike…
Even though we are different.
In the morning,
I will see a new a new stone
On which I need to step,
And to what horizon
I am to go…
Is yet to me unknown,
But for this night,
I will rest in the comfort
Of watching a moon eclipse
And turn blood red
Wrapped in the peace of the night.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
May 16, 2022
Beautiful companion to the lunar eclipse last night.
thank you
Bill, I write lots of poems about the night… this one I wrote five years ago….
One Star I saw…
I looked out upon the sky tonight.
I saw a wealth of stars.
Each way I turned they were flung-
Buoys in the dark satin heavens…
Sometimes black…
Sometimes blue…
There on the earthy field was flanked
The tops of trees
Black lace against the night sky
With the shadow of earthly light
Gleaming through the lace
A promise that even this night would end.
One Star, I saw above the trees,
Seemed to flicker as if its time was ending.
The beams radiate from a forever place
To travel to where I stood.
Enlightened by the fact
The star I am seeing
May have died eons ago, and
Its life connected to me
In this moment of its life
To marvel that in this space and time,
We are both bound
By time and space, and
Unlike eternity
We are not forever;
There is an end to us.
Here I stood outside
Looking out into the atmosphere
At stars, and one star I saw
Had shared its beauty in beams
That will fade,
To this heart that needed to witness
The loveliness it shared
As it sent out its last light.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
May 11, 2017
This moving piece recalls for me the time it takes for light from the stars to reach Earth. It may be indeed the “last light” we are seeing, in some of those cases.
Thank you and I thought it was when I saw it that night
You draw a lovely picture of a treasured night and nephew. Beautifully captured. Thank you for sharing your grand evening(s) with us.
thank you… i will treasure this… he talked to me of his life ending…. and i drank in the memories of this night to keep always with me.
Here as Well as There
Mountains shaggy against the sky
white peaks still shouldering snow
and beneath the snow blue slides
down into the pine and cedar scrub
I drive on watching the flash of sun
every crystal shimmering like signal flares
calling beckoning the horizon on fire
and then the sun shifts ever so slightly
and I know then it’s only clouds
no, not only, but sheer majesty and power
what builds on the horizon tumbling
rising frothing with all their water vapor
holding this ethereal light that allows
me to believe just for a moment
that the Rockies rise in the east and
that the air is thinning with altitude
and that I’ve driven to the very edge
of what truly rises to the west and
holds my heart along with the eagle
soaring skyward here as well as there.
This is a sparkling piece, in my opinion; breath-taking, really.
Oh, Pat … just magnificent … and your use of “here as well as there” is subtle and monumental at once. Superb!
Marie, you said it all in few words. Wonderful!
Walt, a splendid haibun, with outstanding haiku!
Thanks so much!
horizons
in spring and summer
earth blooms in flowered hues
horizons brighten
Haiku and/or senryu are hard for me to write, so my comments probably require the proverbial grain of salt, but I think this is an especially skilled one. The last line creates a vast array of interpretations and images.
Thanks so much, William!
I couldn’t agree more.
The Horizons of Life
Kept looking
Out there for the answers
But I got answers
Still out there on the horizons
The horizon
Is still beyond me.
I sat down one a boulder
Of a problem
Until it dissolved.
The life horizons
Are there
Just to keep me going.
One day
I will be done,
For I will have reached my horizon.
All my questions
Will have their answers.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
May 18, 2022
I like the way the horizon keeps station through this piece.
The turning of the page…
Last night
I realized
That this year
On one day,
I will have lived
Half my life
With Da living and
Half my life
With him gone.
After that day,
There will always be
More days
That I have lived
Without him.
When I was small,
Da would say
That my age was
One third the age of my brother,
And in a couple of years,
I would be half his age.
I never got the math,
But I liked
That he figured out
Our lives
In math equations.
For he loved math,
And he loved us.
The horizon
In the rear-view mirror
Has been a struggle
Since he died.
We all had to learn
To live our lives without him.
The view ahead
Is foggy,
But
I am hopeful
That when needed
It will be clear.
Da was a poet,
A storyteller, engineer,
Mathematician, and
Student of nature.
The pages he wrote
On yellow legal pads
Are finished,
And his book is closed.
Mine is still open,
And I am turning a page-
A math equation this year.
There will be a moment
Where half my life,
He was alive, and
Half my life he wasn’t.
I live on
Beyond the poet storyteller
That I have missed,
And
I still love.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
May 18, 2022 and edited May 19, 2022
I can feel this one.