December Sands – Sketchbook Poetry

The seab_wwalking along December sands
wind blowing harshly
steel-grey skies
waves crash
just beyond the dunes
one early solemn
afternoon
and I wondered
what would become of you
would you grow strong
would you be tall
what sort of man
would grow from you
and the wind
whipped my questions
into the sky
as we walked along
the deserted beach,
you and I.

Franz 1 bw

Life goes on – Sketchbook Poetry

 Image credit: NASA, ESA and the Hubble Heritage Team (STScI/AURA)-ESA/Hubble Collaboration.


Image credit: NASA, ESA and the Hubble Heritage Team (STScI/AURA)-ESA/Hubble Collaboration.

I read an interesting post by Rethinking Life which I invite you to go and look at and it got me to reflecting on something I’ve always been keenly aware.  We feel that we are terribly important, we’ve passed centuries creating myths and religions to prove this to ourselves, but each time I look up into a clear night sky, I can’t help but reflect, that we are of little or no consequence in the big story of the Universe.

the Universe keeps moving on
with or without humanity
the rivers flow, the rain falls down
and thinks nothing of our fate
and if by chance we ruin Earth
the planet will go on
we are just a moment
in eternity…though
we think we’re so much more.

Tiziana’s Orchid

The Orchid

Tiziana’s Orchid

a poem in color!
such majesty
is the orchid
that you gave me.

no thorny rose,
nor prickly cactus
can compare
to its grace and beauty!

my sweet friend
here I give homage
to your talent,
to your creation.

Oh,  lovely hybrid
from America:
here are
a poem
and
a photo
so I will not forget you
and my dear friend,
Tiziana,
who gave you, a lovely gift!

Reflections: Valentine’s Day

 

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAPart I

they say that love is peace
the bliss of kisses, a release
yet when my rationality awakes,
I wonder at the price I pay:
a chain – a leash – a bond
around my soul it has become!
the silvery thorn that’s embedded here,
a sliver of you, inside my heart.
alas, empty would be my life without
our lover’s battle,  our daily bouts,
as we put together what was once two
into a being that’s now me and you.

Part II

is it odd that I would seek serenity,
am I less in love with you?
am I a traitor, a deserter?
love wills out Oh Beauty’s servant,
butterfly qualities are part of you.
I,  but a single flower look on and sigh,
as others in the garden call to you,
they seek you out, with endless siren songs!
that cupid, who would pull you away,
my enemy, now, so I fight your nature!
behold!  I’m the anchor and you the ship
come now, pull into this gentle port
give up the Odyssey, lay down your sword
grey haired Ulysses, at last stay home.

I read A Sonnet for Valentine’s Day yesterday and thought I’d write a brief poetic comment…the more I wrote trying to hook back to the original poem and the more articulated and complicated it became taking on a life of it’s own…so I decided to post it here.

Do You Remember – Speakeasy #148

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Do You Remember

He says he sat upon his chair,
wondering what had become of her…
no one knew her name nor home you see
no on even seemed to remember her!
She was just a passing in the wind,
something like a somber breeze,
but her face was still so clear to him…
for he had really loved her true,
and though,
no one could ever know
what happened here,
(a miracle being a special thing)
she changed the way river time did flow,
making life so subtlety different, you know,
those who were evil just disappeared…
as though they’d never even been near.
And the moon and sun eclipsed,
stars came out during the warm spring day,
and birds flew back-wards in the sky,
or so he says.
Do you remember that fantastic day?
I can assure you nor do I!
To me it’s just his fantasy
a story that he often tells
as we’re sailing on the crimson sea,
near the land of Camolee…
land of the purple skies and sable rivers
where we walk through bright blue fields
resting each night upon our beds
walking through our peaceful dreams
ne’er thinking of a faceless woman
who changed all time in just a second
one morning back in ’21.

  • Your post must be dated February 9, 2013, or later.
  • Submissions must be 750 words or fewer.
  • Submissions must be fiction or poetry.
  • You must include the following sentence ANYWHERE within your submission: “No one could ever know what happened here.
  • The Speakeasy is for submissions written specifically for the grid. Please don’t submit an entry if you intend to showcase it to another blog link-up. Such posts are deleted without notice.
  • Please don’t post long explanations before your post. We want your writing to be the star of the show. If you need to clarify anything, feel free to do so at the end

Go have a look at Speakeasy…a gin joint you might enjoy!

Winter Lament

Rainy Day

Rainy Day

Sketchbook Poetry

Winter Lament

Walking under the stars last night
Seeing the moon’s distanct light
Thankful for a spite in the rain
Though it’ll be falling down again
Before the night is through.

puddles muddle inside my brain
waiting for some dry remark
yet nothing comes to me right now
but stale rhyme..a poet’s parody

Walking under the stars last night
Seeing the moon’s distanct light
Thankful for a spite in the rain
Though it’ll be falling down again
Before the night is through.

drips dropped ceaselessly for two weeks
(“you’re so lucky it’s wasn’t snow”) who cares!
the rain has rusted my bones and brain
leaving me here in sodden disgusted woe.

Walking under the stars last night
Seeing the moon’s distanct light
Thankful for a spite in the rain
Though it’ll be falling down again
Before the night is through.

pitter-patter on my window pane
splish-splashing down the road it comes
no good to lament…no good to whine
this is the true nature of our winter-time

Walking under the stars last night
Seeing the moon’s distanct light
Thankful for a spite in the rain
Though it’ll be falling down again
Before the night is through.

poor groundhog’s drowned in Italy
for his shadow he certainly saw that day
the blackbird* days were just too warm
so who knows when this rain will stop!

Walking under the stars last night
Seeing the moon’s distanct light
Thankful for a spite in the rain
Though it’ll be falling down again
Before the night is through.

twinkle twinkle went the stars
the moon shown bright for a few hours
then up they came the dull grey clouds
so, guess:  the sun won’t shine again today.

Damn.

————————————————

* see Days of the Blackbird

The Muse – Sketchbook Poetry

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERASketchbook Poetry
The Muse

all night the poet talks to me
waking me up sometimes at 3
telling me tales I can’t remember
rhymes that just may never be

but in the morn
some words remain
they play hide and seek
throughout the day
within my brain
brief images that just pop up
full bown
without a reason
to connect with with me

so I’ll think: round and round
of a sound, a bit of music, a song
a picture or perhaps a scene
that seems so real – like memory…

until I get behind the keyboard
and the words come flowing down
I feel I’m being hounded
by some urgency
without reason or purpose
to be found.
Inside my brain there lives a poet
A muse a master or a clown
and as the things I see go past him
he puts them into prose or rhyme§

Good or Bad?
bah…whether good or bad’s
not my job to tell…
don’t mind me, I’m just
the person who writes things down

😉

dVerse Poet’s Pub – Sketchbook

The News – dVerse Sketchbook

Monitor

Monitor

Sketchbook Poetry

The News

Tiddle taddle tell me the news
The gossip of a whole big world
All that there stuff I need to know
Like if Bieber will stay or go.

Stupid stuff fills up the program
Things that are there just as fillers
Even though the important things
Seems like propaganda to me

Shilly shally shallow people
Sit my ears on end they do
As the news goes on its way
Telling the world about another day

Tiddle Taddle TV news
You’ll burn inside a Babtist’s hell
You’re just gossips, tongue waggers
Your backbiting’s full of flame.

And if I should turn the TV off
And not pollute my mind today
What would happen then to me
Uninformed and maybe really free?

@)—>—>—

“So for today, I want us to write “Sketchbook poetry” – poetry that captures a scene – poetry that is immediate and in the moment – jot down what you see – maybe even go for a walk and write outside – go into heavy details with what catches your attention, cut other things out”
dVerse – Poet’s Pub