Salty like hot dogs (and tears). Sweet like marmalade (and life).
Sometimes
the best part
of a cloudy day
is when
the
sun
peeks through
and
Sometimes
the best part
of a sunny day
is when
the
clouds
pass by
The W3 prompt this week (from Leslie Scoble) is:
Man, it has been a week. I’ve had a cold (not COVID) and, for whatever reason, struggled to write much.
Kudos to those of you who crank out quality posts every single day, sometimes multiple in one day. I spew forth something occasionally, nonsense most of the time, but this week the well has been fairly dry.
The W3 prompt this week was a quote:
Honestly, I had no idea. When have I ever felt infinite? Pretty much never.
I tried writing something about swimming, because there’s something about stretching out in the water, and reaching towards the far wall that’s very Zen, but not infinite. That poem went into the trash.
On one of the days when I was home sick, I decided to tackle some of the sorting that needs to happen in this house. I live in my parents’ house, the house I grew up in, and it is chock FULL of stuff.
I found the remnants of my mother’s wedding dress. She had given it to me so the lace could be used for my wedding dress. For whatever reason, those remnants were saved. In a box. Under a bed.
The remaining lace was quite yellowed. The heavy satin that the lace had been layered over was spotted and almost brown.
“I should throw this away,” I said out loud. I resolved to do just that.
But I couldn’t.
Kudos to those of you who can or could.
It’s just beyond me.
I closed the box.
But I went back to it multiple times, wrestling internally with what should be done.
That’s when I decided that I would ask one of my sons to help me bury it. Somehow, allowing that satin and lace to become one with the earth again seemed fitting for my mother’s dress.
She always loved a garden.
Finite? Infinite? I’m not sure.
But I did crank out a poem if you care to read it at the bottom.
My mother gave her wedding dress
To me so I
Could use the lace for my gown.
I frown, I sigh
As I find the remains of that
Dress so many
Years later. A wreck of a thing –
Fitting, any
Joy I might have had now replaced
With a heartache.
The box holds scraps of what once was –
I pause – head-shake —
What do I do? “Throw it away,”
Says one voice in
My mind. “It’s just garbage now.”
Somehow the bin
Is not the proper place for it.
It is a wreck –
Like my life – but I simply will
Not kill that speck
Of what – Love? Hope? Truth? Connection?
It is a dress!
Nothing more and yet so much more –
But for my yes
My own promise — oh, how I grieve!
I will bury
The scraps. My heart is still not free
To be merry
I’m a little teapot in the air
As you might guess I’m exceedingly rare
How it is I do this I can’t share
I’m just a teapot in the air
I’m a special teapot
You’ll agree
There’s magic all around us for those who can see
Maybe you can fly too! Count to three —
Click your heels and follow me
~~~~~~ OR ~~~~~~
I’m a little teapot
Watch me fly
I hover, I pour, then zoom on by
Signal that you need me and I’ll try
To zip on over and resupply
~~~~~~ OR ~~~~~~
I’m a special teapot
Yes, it’s true
Here, let me show you what I can do
I can pour hot tea all over you
Be nice to me or get your due
~~~~~~ OR ~~~~~~
Maybe it’s a secret teapots keep
More than holding water and letting tea steep
Oh, the things that happen while you sleep!
Or do you think a broom just sweep-sweep-sweeps
This is my response to the “What Do You See?” photo prompt.
Now I’ve got that song running through my head. [sigh]
Hmmm…. Advice?
Parenting is not precise!
My counsel is, hit or miss,
This:
Hold children
With open hands. To build one
Up until they are strong, free —
See?
They travel,
Grow, change, at times unravel
These are things you always knew —
True?
Kids succeed,
Fail, succeed again, agreed?
As parents we give a base,
Space –
Both vital.
This is more than a title,
This whole mom-dad-parent thing.
Bring
An open
Mind and heart. Give (un)spoken
Acceptance to any mess –
Yes?
Yes! Because
No matter what the thing was,
Your child should be loved by you.
True.
This is in response to the W3 prompt this week:
Write an Ekphrastic Poem based on the photo of August Rodin’s ‘The Thinker’ with the theme of parenting.
I’m not sure how ekphrastic my poem is.
I tried using another Irish form called Deibide Baise Fri Toin.
The poem is made up of quatrains with an aabb rhyme scheme. Syllable count 3-7-7-1. Lines one and two rhyme on a two-syllable word; lines three and four rhyme on a monosyllabic word.
Kayaking
In a fjord —
Paddling, Pad-
dling toward
Nothing but
Pure glacial
Artistry.
So spacial!
Surrounded
By Peer Gynt
Who echoed
With no hint
Of Troll Kings –
Just the calm
Morning Mood —
Such a balm
Memory
Bids me hold
These moments
Made of gold
This photograph was the prompt for Tanka Tuesday, but I thought of that time I went kayaking in Norway.
The poem is a Cethramtu Rannaigechta Moire, an Irish poetic form, that calls for 3 syllables per line, 4 lines per stanza, 2nd and 4th line rhyme.
What do you see?
Bikes in a tree.
Bikes in a tree?
How can that be?
Susie and Mike
Each rode their bike
Along the dike —
But they should have hiked
Well, they rode along
Singing a song
But the ride was too long
Was that last turn wrong?
When they veered to the right
They went up, up — what height!
What a beautiful sight!
What a terrible fright!
The road suddenly ended
And they misapprehended
Though the view had been splendid
Now they were suspended
“Can’t we get the bikes down?”
Miss Susie did frown.
Mike looked around
“Maybe someone in town?”
Now there they are stuck
Such terrible luck!
To be so far amok!
(Though slightly awestruck)
Bikes in a tree!
Oh my! Oh me!
I’m sure you’ll agree —
’tis something to see
The photo at the top was the What Do You See prompt for this week. The kitschy poem just happened.
Bluey’s game — super fun
Ev’ryone keeps the balloon high
And if it drops, you’re done
Consider the floor lava and please try
Help, help to make it fly
Bungle it? Okay —
Allow yourself a little grace –
Let’s continue play!
Lob it! Bop it! Hit it high! Any place
So that it doesn’t die
I realize the W3 prompt says “Beach Balls” and I did a balloon.
Meh. You can play “Keepy Uppy” with a beach ball, too.
And if you’ve never met Bluey, this is as good an introduction as any. 🙂
Bald eagles –
Two of them at play –
One settled
At the top
Of a bare limb on a tree,
To scan sky and lake
In a field
The heron stood still –
So still that
The bikers
Rode right past; I held my breath
Hoping he would stay
Hummingbirds
Zoom in and around;
The bee balm’s
Spiky red
blossoms silently beckon
In color and scents
Noisy crows
Always interrupt
As if they
Have something
Important to tell other
Crows. So. Very. Rude.
Four A.M.
My window open
The sky dark
The world still
I hear the call — Whoo- who-Whooo–
Of the Great Horned Owl
I wish that
I gathered the sights
And sounds of
All these birds
In some better storage than
Failing memory
Tanka Tuesday Prompt: write a syllabic poem and incorporate synonyms for the words Quiet and Seek. I chose to do a Shadorma which has 6 lines and follows this syllable count: 3-5-3-3-7-5
an etheree —
Why
do you
unsettle
me? Why can’t I
look into your eyes,
your face, without feeling
pain? Is it the burden on your
shoulders? Is it that I will never
fathom your life, so different from mine?
This is in response to Sadje’s What Do You See? prompt — the photograph above.
Star
Faintly
Twinkling
In the dusky
Sky — You’re there even
When I can’t see your light
Like in the daytime, or night
When clouds obscure most ev’rything
I know comrade stars form animals
And warriors and women above me
Unseen Orion still wields his club aloft
While vain Cassiopeia admires herself
I can’t see them but that doesn’t mean they don’t exist
One little star
First star I see
Reminds me of
What is unseen
And beautiful
And just as real
W3 prompt: Write a “Tree of Life” poem about changes, impermanence and strength.
Tree of Life format:
I know that this poem isn’t about changes, impermanence and strength. I had an idea of what I wanted to write, but all of the sudden I had veered off in a different direction. Sorry. Not really sorry.
Hot Dogs and Marmalade 