Looking for Tranquility monday poetry potluck #20-Peace, Relaxation and Spirituality

Searching for the holy grail or a
hammock that shades the mind.
Swaying palms that cover the coast
where waves brush against a shoreline.
Looking for what feels right,
beliefs are arbitrary,
indecision couples whimsy.
Searching for peace or repose
a tree that shelters from the rain,
wild flowers grow on hillsides
where grass grows in tufts.
Facing an identity that sets us
apart from the ordinary,
convictions are solid,
decisiveness fortifies.
Relaxation exudes peace helping
to discover one’s own spirituality.

"Someone is Praying" Poetry Tow Truck #5-Going Up? And Down?

Sexuality has been placed in the eaves
Polemic thoughts alternate changing views
Eccentric minds can’t open airwaves
clogged with languid kaleidoscopic areas of kinkiness    
Love of humanity replaced in faraway areas
opting for permanence …
Expecting wispy pole dancers waging a personal siege,
hurling hips and flesh under neon signs that say
“Open Nightly” and “Come at your own risk”
Yearly tickets sold in oaken pews in a local church
that underlies the holy trinity of health
Swaggering from a wayward pupil with three wristwatches
enveloping an arm starting to form osteoporosis,
ailing him, though still able to touch
the labial kindred spirit found
on a confessional kitchen linoleum floor,
scratched and obsolete, showing earlier
valiance of persons exiting the peep show

process notes:
This prompt comes from Donna Vorreyer:
Looking for an easy way to throw yourself into new thought patterns and create a draft that surprises you? Try this Up and Down technique and see what happens.  Choose any phrase or sentence that happens to be in your head – the title of a song, a television show, or even a common saying and write it vertically down the page. Then turn the process around and write the same phrase from the bottom up.

Please visit her site for full details
http://djvorreyer.wordpress.com/

I chose "speak low when you speak love"

Upstate New York poets united poetry pantry #27

I fell off my bicycle when I was six,
landing in a pile of abbreviated wireworms
that started crawling up my leg.
Sardonic banana skippers held hands
with black cherry fruit flies, laughing and sharing a joke.
In front of me was the mighty alfalfa blotch leafminer,
a strange neighbor who loves to talk nonsense
while extending all authority in its path.
Apple orchards aren’t places fit for pulling wheelies,
hoping aerial yellowjackets will hold you up
with their broken wings … they try to do their best.
An apple leafhopper wanted to come to my rescue …
he was busy eating peaches, a different diet than usual …
Someday I will go back there, I am just not ready yet.


process notes:
This writing exercise came from
http://www.facebook.com/murphywriting
http://www.facebook.com/topic.php?uid=164598330232746&topic=305
Check it out!

The Buffet sunday scribblings #252-safe

Keen attention has accumulated

on the dusty folded napkins,

corners turned out.

Acquired from the nearest

pessimistic table designed for  

people crowding distinguished guests.

Wallowing in the sounds of

tongues’ rapid movements,

throwing cadences toward aerial ears.

Capturing all, figurative speech players

campaign against safety nets.

Egotistically situated in crimps of a niche,

a tedious afternoon with the powerful.

The Way I See It writer's island #5-illusion

Shattered pieces, my memories
A look in the eye can deceive,
as I trace your iris for signs.
Only to see my reflection …


Scattered remnants of the past.
If what I envision is not mine,
who does it belong to?
I watch movements
to see if they betray the words,
seeming to flow effortlessly

A master of the façade. 

A Song From The Sea big tent poetry #38-did you change your point of view?

 

http://www.flickr.com/photos/georgedonaldson/

model: Emily Franklin

In a daydream you existed
I saw you in the sea,
heard your lonesome cry.
I could never comfort you.
It was long before I saw  
those mystifying eyes,
your pouty mouth, enticing me.
Pearls draped loosely about your neck,
given by another lover, long ago …
Sorrow fills my shutter.  
I have become divisive about
what is captured with the lens.
I’ve waited for you –   
you laid upon the shore
seaweed, shells, enshrouding you,
wiping away the saltiness.
Capturing an essence before you slip
away – when I release you from the net.

a river of stones #20

A child laughed today,
when I was feeling down,
It made me feel lighter

"In The Middle of a Nightmare" poets united thursday think tank #33-fire

November 12th 1963
Close enough to touch
heat against window panes 
scorching
boiling water in a birdbath

Hysteria – people panicking,
running – disbelief – stay calm
remain in control

Flames reaching the clouds 
burning the sky,
lighting up the night

Red, orange and blue ribbons
heat overbearing – too hot

Sheets of water fly,
extinguishing the enemy
revealing a charred outer shell
that was once a home

a river of stones #19

Loneliness captures everyone
at some point in life,
Security is knowing,
we have ourselves

"It Will Never Change" we write poems #38-morning wake-up call / OSW #30

Mornings – silence – please
Sun shining in my windows
bright, blinding me
Always in a rush, looking at the clock
I’m late … as I spill my coffee
I can’t stand drivel at this time of day
keep it to yourself
Sure the garden looks nice in this light
I’d rather be in bed – under the comforter
My dogs always greeting me
forever faithful friends
I’d rather be in bed –  covers over my head
Troublesome and annoying – mornings

Nighttime – stillness – delight
A comfortable place to sink into
I watch the sky change colours,
look at stars, examining every subtlety
Feel the coolness entering
the air, so I may wrap it
around me, relax …
Listening to quiet noises of an evening unwind …
Give me nighttime … I don’t like mornings

a river of stones #18

I keep looking at the picture,
nothing has changed,
even though you tell me it will

our own construction monday poetry potluck #19-rules, regulations and laws

A vessel that holds liquid
within its circumference
never leaking out
left to evaporate
leaving behind a film
which can’t be erased

A line that has been drawn
with invisible accuracy
you know it exists and
no-one may cross over

A well formed tunnel
built beneath a river
with one way in and out,
no u-turns permitted

A deep well with walls
made of iron and glass
hoping the glass doesn’t
shatter from too much abuse

Sending slivers flying in
a wrong direction,
piercing the surrounds of
laws, rules, regulations

I don't know sunday scribblings #251-eternity

Weightless within unending sleep
limitless with no boundaries
like skin that is draped over bones
holding it together
until lifted off and cast into the fire

Ash in piles
to be blown away
captured – released

Pollen carried
across an open field
creating
encircling

Forever changing  …

Peeling away the old wallpaper
of another era –  


Nightmares collide with beauty –
found and formulated
intimacy lost on itself

"Vacant" poets united poetry pantry #26

In a white light streaked
with crimson … smashing the tiny
pearls of an optical sphere  

Anguish is relief when comparing
love of deserted natural virtue

Reasoning is too much to undertake,
brittleness of the senses compact
into a space with no room to move

Crystalline nightmares invade every
corner, seeped with sorrow

Vintage aspirations bustling in unison,
breaking extensions on elongated plains

Chartreuse light bolts against torrid
blackness becoming fetid and fearsome

Breaking up the stones surrounding a
silver pond filled with fish singing
long forgotten songs ...

Heard in echoes throughout the land

a river of stones #17

blue paint peeling away,
showing the grey hiding
underneath.

Main Street writer's island #4-clarity

So curious and circumspect
while christening memories
If you’re in the driver’s seat of confusion
like a crimp in the line
Examining your cuticles for prosperity
Passing on the left of
a crammed cucumber camp
Further up the road is the Chalet of Chagrin
where you may rest for a day
dining with classless folk who eat
crabcakes with their fingers
bibs fastened securely about their waists
Cringing from the scene
All comes forward into clarity 

process notes:
I wrote a list of "c" words,
the result was this poem.

a river of stones #16

rum, yerba buena, lime juice,
soda, sugar and ice – mojito

"For the Love of Fruit" big tent poetry #37-something about food

A walk through
the crowded market
flowing bins
greens, reds, pinks
superfluity of fruit
rainbow of nature
 
Fragrance fills
the air, as berries
hit the floor
women chat 
the scene comes alive
prickly pears – mamey

Such richness
starfruit from heaven
sweetness found
in my hands
pomegranates nestled snug
bouquet for my lips

Melons sing
chorus for a pence
papayas
gaze upon
pitaya, red dragon fruit
a beauty – behold

I walk past
the sapodilla
rugged, brown
you catch my
eye, delectable, honeyed
lonely mangoes sigh

"Water Rising" poets united thursday think tank- #32- "As Time Goes By"

Palapas line a beach as
the sun is setting on his world.
A cool breeze coming in …
He thinks back of walking
the white sand with love.
She woke one morning to greet
the ocean, never to return.
Loneliness fills a space
where he once lived.
Happiness and comfort almost now forgotten.
Dancing on the shore at sunset.
Is she waiting for him to join her?
As he stands with his feet at the edge
of the tide, water’s ascension
grabs his ankles …

a river of stones #16

Sunshine, blue skies,
a lazy cat sleeps in the shade,
while pigeons watch from above

"If We Had Spoken" we write poems #37-conversational/ OSW #29

Did they lay a shilling upon each of my eyes?
I’m sure I saw them do it, but I wasn’t there. 
I had to close my eyes.

Was the sun shining for the men and women dressed in dark suits?
I think it was a beautiful day,  but I couldn’t see through the haze.

Did the children dance and sing to the music of our homeland?
I remember them singing and dancing to sounds that didn't exist. 
Bodies swayed and mouths moved, but not one person was there.

Were there food and refreshments passed round to the guests?
I didn’t taste food or drink, but I didn’t complain.  
My hunger was a comfort.

Did you cry or laugh at the mention of my name?
I smiled and felt as if you were at my side. 
I believe I touched your cheek and looked into your eyes.

Was there a candle lit at mass?
I saw a million flickers lighting up the room. 
The atmosphere was vibrant and the smell of phosphorous lingered.

Did you recite a thousand prayers?
I have forgotten how to pray. 
I remembered you told me praying was for fools.

Did I make it across?
But to that I couldn’t answer.

a river of stones #15

City bus full of commuters,
cars shuffle through the maze,
Monday morning mayhem

friendship and love monday poetry potluck #18-languages,signs and symbols

Te quiero, mi amor …
signs we give to others
Mi vida …
symbols of ourselves.
We wind round a spiral catching
the wind in our hands.
As if dipping into saccharine sweetness,
like syrup that attracts honeybees.
Apis mellifera
A sincere gesture,
symbolic nature of a soft caress against
an arm, a kiss upon the cheek,
it’s the sign of friendship.
Romance in a foreign language
deciphers truth and love,
like a light that shines through the darkest tunnel,
clearing up the way.
Pinpricks of speckled awareness of
languages, signs and symbols.

at the cinema sunday scribblings #250-invisible

Are you still sitting in the aisle seat with a long face?
Watching the silent movie,
trying to catch the humorous lines.
Tears fill the eyes of the audience,
but if laughter filled the theatre,
wouldn’t that turn things around?
You would stand out like the actors before you
not wanting to sit in that chair, staring
at the screen, attempting to figure out
how you fit … into an invisible scheme.

a river of stones #14

A curtain falls across the sun,
I sit and weep, happiness is veiled

One morning poetry tow truck #3-soothing your savage poetry beast/ poets united poetry pantry #25

One morning as we walked along the river
looking for some peace to calm our worried minds,
I thought of the times when we had a soft
place to fall, landing in the center of truth.
Are we one hand, one heart in a furious world,
where sadness replaces kindness?
I have always wondered is there life after breakfast
while having biscuits and tea, examining the curve
of each morsel, before they pass my lips.
If tomorrow we should decide to climb the highest
peak, will you turn to me and say so long Marianne.
Or take me by the hand to guide me …


process notes:
song titles and albums:
“One hand one heart”
Westside story
Marni Nixon and Jimmy Bryant

“So long Marianne”
Songs of Leonard Cohen

“Is there life after breakfast”
Other people’s lives
Ray Davies

“One morning”
Hell among the yearlings
Gillian Welch

“Soft place to fall”
Show
Allison Moorer

encircles orange writer's island #3-courage

It takes courage to go to the store
I’m agoraphobic
It takes courage to bed a new lover
My body is flawed
It takes courage to turn on the news 
The news sucks
It takes courage to say I love you
I know you’ll fuck me over
It takes courage to look at myself
and accept things as they are

a river of stones #13

Green beans and shallots,
hunger sated. A relaxed
atmosphere, I’m home

remembrance big tent poetry #36 a list of words

Reverie
Sink into the foreground
with nothing to say.
The mind is occupied without
verbal passages.
Light fills spaces,
where doubt once existed.
Spreading jam
too thinly on burnt toast.
Scraping away at the background.
Everything is relevant,
like revolution in thoughts
that change a revolting scene
into something pleasant.
Rhetoric is a rearview mirror,
as I slip into my dreams … 


*words not used:
ridicule
rampant
raunchy
rigid
                                

safe and secure poets united thursday think tank #31-random deviation

 

To build a castle round oneself
never letting anyone get too close.
Walls high and strong,
overlooking rough terrain,
foliage and rocks.
Standing against rough times,
no-one can break them down.
A fortress that faces
an ocean of harshness.
Windows reinforced
to block the powerful winds,
allowing the sun or moon
to shine through … 
so we may look out from within.

a river of stones #12

Shards of glass scrape
against the hearts of the mourning.

a river of stones #11

People keep talking.
When their mouths
should stop moving …

"hidden meanings" we write poems #36-revision

Anamorphosis perspective appears oblique                
A catoptric view, sideways distorted
Sardonic paintings shown for critique

Where one relevant object pleads mystique,
has changed its intention to be averted
Anamorphosis perspective appears oblique

Flowers with ardent eyes: technique
Cunning and fiery, I cannot be comforted
Sardonic paintings shown for critique

A mirror’s reflected aiming: unique
That ignites our innermost disconcerted
Anamorphosis perspective appears oblique

Anamorphosis perspective appears oblique
Sardonic paintings shown for critique
.
process notes:
For explanation of Anamorphosis:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anamorphosis

I changed the form from free style to
a villanelle. Sonnets are NOT a strong
avenue that I pursue with comfort.
That being said, I did revise it and
I think changed the message from
the original. I am still not satisfied
with either. Please feel free to tell
me where I went wrong with this.
The original can be found here:
http://flaubert-poetrywithme.blogspot.com/2011/01/anamorphosis-changes-road-monday-poetry.html

movement and change one shot wednesday #28

Tectonic plates shift,
a seafloor spreading its wings,
widening, ready to engulf.

A bird falls, calls to others: follow
Thousands lay dead on the tremor.

Floodwaters devour humans,
as if to drench the dehydrated.

Everything is moving,
going in cycle
with hands grabbing from an angry lair
at unsuspecting life.

Fish gasping for one last breath
Thousands lay dead on beaches.

Apathy, our own worst enemy

When the volcano erupts: no surprise
as the molten rock
floods the valley at my feet.

a river of stones #10

hatred can only turn on us,
let it go, forgotten anger

a river of stones #9

Deranged thoughts change lives,
Didn’t anyone notice?

Emmylou Harris & Mark Knopfler - This Is Us (Letterman)

Just thinking about this ...

anamorphosis changes the road monday poetry potluck #1-journey and the road ahead

Looking at something from a certain perspective,
may seem oblique.
Using the mirror to change a view catoptric.
A sideways glance at the road ahead might become
distorted or reveal another avenue.
A different scene has showed the way across 
like Anamorphosis, where one relevant object
is not what it was intended to be.
Hiding sublime messages.
Flowers are in fact the head of a demon
with fiery optics, boring holes through the exterior.
Placing mirrored visuals we can see
the scene has changed the road ahead
into a pathway, with many outlets of desire,
aspirant thinking ignites beneath the surface.
Mayhem leads to fearing things will only escalate,
leaving us stranded by an unformed ridgeway.
Perspective from my cyclorama viewed from
different angles.

"Summer of Love" sunday scribblings #249-a walk in the park

Wish I could’ve been in the park
sitting cross-legged on the grass
with flowers in my hair.
Listening to the poets
with their beat.
Psychedelic rock music playing.
I would’ve painted peace signs
and hearts on your cheek.
We would’ve woven our stories
together on how to stop the war,
as we walked along in the park.

Born a bit too late,
missing a period in time,
I wish I could've called mine.
When love was preached – 
the world was a different place.

a river of stones #8

A peachfaced loro,
beak grinding on his cuttlebone

"a saturday afternoon" poetry tow truck #2-Channel Surfing: Brought to You in Living Color

Lying on the grass,
leaves dropping from branches
Smell of the ocean nearby,
the sky was clear and bright
You walked away in faded jeans,
I watched your car’s taillights blinking
Slowly disappearing …




process notes:
Colours I chose were:
red: taillights
blue: ocean, car, sky, jeans
green: leaves, grass
The movie was horrible and I don't
remember the name because the title
was in Spanish. Basically the beginning
of the movie was devoid of colour.
(actually I fell asleep about a half an hour into it).

a river of stones #7

Life passes quickly, but
memories continue to hide

a river of stones #6

Someone told me once:
“I don’t understand people”
neither do I: 1 hour 29 mins 45 secs

"Arbeit macht frei" (work will set you free) writer's island #2-destiny

“I know people get tired of hearing about it, imagine what it was like living it.
If you think it can’t happen again, turn on some pea-brained Right Wing radio gasbag sometime. With their irrational fear of Mexicans, Muslims, gays or anyone not exactly like them, they tend to make people like the fanatical racist Heinrich Himmler sound as benign and rational as Mr. Rogers, but nowhere near as smart.”
By Michael McGonigle

Loaded on to a train, a bleak and dreary sky
where coldness enters every seam.
A plan set by a madman – logistics in place
Still they followed the words – superior
Extermination …

While hoping for a piece of bread,
dreaming of a drop of water.
Babies and children clinging to their mothers
men crying in pain – the beatings.
Men first, women and children last,
walk the ramp of destiny.
Annihilation of a race deemed – impure …
“Delousing here: Lice kill”
Cleanliness is needed to work our fields,
build our shelters, dig our ditches …
False hopes on a final walk,
Typhus spreading like a blanket … suffocating …
lies and coverups, pretending it’s not real
(inside the camp)
As gas is released they took their
last breaths … shortly after smoke rises
from a chimney and spreads throughout
the land

river of stones #5

last breath … a doctor
signs the death certificate

"tak and nie" big tent poetry #35-a poem with a foot or feet in it

If you lay out the meters
side by side
so we may have feet
I think the moon has died …
Obscurity outlines me
centimeters become meters – the lost moon
Persistence of sounds echo
Never to cast a silhouette
As an overcast sky hides my shadow

He'll be watching ... poets united thursday think tank #30-observation

Crouched in a tower,
observing the misguided below.
Snarling with teeth bared,
he licks his lips wanting new flesh.
“Idiots” he says to no-one …

Lying in the streets in worn-out clothes
memories clasped to his chest.
A child cries somewhere in an abandoned field.
Hunger is encapsulating the exterior,
grasping at the line of life’s support.
Threadbare and falling to pieces,
disintegrating hopes as people scurry.
Advertisements of youth, (it can be bought)
Shed the weight of abusive gorging …
Slender figures of maidens –  smiling.
Comfort for the unseen but worthy ones,
like ants crawling all over each other
reciting over and over:
“I will tread on you to get what is mine”

river of stones #4

water flows in a stream,
to wash away the firelight …

"In your dreams" one shot wednesday #27

Suspicion is misbegotten
It lies in the soul of many a fool
Margins of extreme paranoia
A friendly aspect to ease your mind

It lies in the soul of many a fool
Vivid dreams of angry men
A friendly aspect to ease your mind
It’s your aim to console, open your eyes

Vivid dreams of angry men
With wicked people dressed in black
It’s your aim to console, open your eyes
As we watch from behind cellar doors

With wicked people dressed in black
Creating hysteria and disdain
As we watch from behind cellar doors
These things do not exist

Creating hysteria and disdain
Margins of extreme paranoia
These things do not exist
Suspicion is misbegotten

A letter from me we write poems #35-(not) poetry

I got your letter this afternoon.
I’m calling it The Unrecorded Symphony.
Today the most beautiful wish of my life has been granted.
Now I’m in Leipzig, but it’s not too bad,
nothing here’s as nice as the weather.
My Dideldum – may all the angels be with you!
One of these mornings, you’re gonna rise up singin’
It’s very beautiful here. It’s good enough for now.
The trees are not as far along as in Vienna;
Thank God your by the sea.
The lilacs already have tiny buds.
The little flower is from my garden.
I hope that tomorrow I’ll be gone.
For this equation: white is your soul, white is your body.
One of these mornings, you’re gonna rise up singin’
I’m shoving off! I’ll take my time driving.
But “just don’t get soft baby.”
Write me at Verona, poste restante.
You’ll spread your wings and you’ll take to the sky
That’s all my darling.


Process notes:
Speak Low – The letters of Kurt Weill and Lotte Lenya.
The first two lines of “Summertime” by George Gershwin.

a river of stones #3

The coldness in my fingertips is like
a chill sent to my heart, icicles.

a river of stones #2

christmas lights blink slowly,
as an ambulance’s siren shrieks
furiously …

another year gone poetry tow truck #1 first words

Drop essences of virtuous attempts at the foot of 

the volcano. As the smoke swirls in the blueness of the

last hardest impression of eternity. A new

year has begun with hopes of dreams to be gorged

into a filtered resistance. You built a brick house in

the past life, tough and unbreakable. While you left me

silent with no words for an escape, I have wandered in

limbo seeking refuge from the storm of hatred. The pleasantries

of kindness made me think otherwise, should I make

the first movement and let things fall where they may in the

past year of learning and enlightenment?

embarking into madness writer's island #1-embark

I like to hide between layers of cloth
keeping distance from the outside.
I asked if sulking in the fissures
would release the salvation waited for
or if the mixture is too much to withstand.

Threadbare injustice is the essential escape
from the destiny of forgotten memoirs,
frozen allocates within breached
resistance of your Armageddon.

Persistence is the opposition from where
we lie in parallel lines joined at the most
explicit measures.

I see fish climbing up the stairway,
delusions of amphibians that bark like
cats wearing glitter on their fingertips.

I wondered if life had been kind or
severe, when we found the Roman
soldiers hiding in the medicine chest,
their swords brandished 24 hours a day.
I wait for the story of Judas
and how you walked upon the moon.

a river of stones #1

A poinsettia seems to wilt –
exhausted, searching for the
sun in an overcast sky