Poetry Here (Mostly)

Posts tagged ‘poems’

Patience and Fortitude


When Fahrenheit rose uncomfortably

up several degrees internally,

thermometer neared one hundred and two,

the abnormal heat caused my shivers too.

Decided to follow voices I’d read,

fever burns virus until it is dead,

without those pharmaceutical effects

that can cause kidney or liver defects.

“Won’t take medicine, are you serious?

Perhaps, illness has made you delirious.”

“Look, I’m still taking my blood pressure pill,

and adhere to multi-vitamin drill.”

I moaned at well-intentioned suggestions,

and groaned rather than answer his questions.

I allowed sickness to follow its course,

slowly got better, and am not divorced.

Day 7: Found Poetry from “The Daffodils”


Stretched lake breeze,

ten thousand trees,

continuous bay,

milky waves,

lonely twinkle,

solitude hills,

daffodils pensive,

golden thoughts.

 

——

The Daffodils

William Wordsworth, 1770 – 1850

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A Poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

Old Movies (Day 6: Screen/Enjambment)


Sometimes before falling asleep in bed

I tune in people who now are long dead.

Glamorous actors from last century

look stylish in dramas or comedy,

film noir, or high jinks of action frolic

city bustle or somewhere bucolic.
Cinema loved a storybook romance

feelings expressed in a well-rehearsed dance.

Entertainment sang on Hollywood lots

before stars got cast into dark, final plots.

On my screen they shine without special effects,

computer zombies, or uncomfortable sex.

The Vase


Algebra factors bored

friends who preferred baseball

thrown and caught, high and low,

through the heart of the house

that pounded hit and miss.

Venetian hand-blown glass,

glazed warm with memories,

Modigliani necked,

graceful, fragile icon,

broke like a shattered dream.

Dad took Ben’s mitt and ball,

grounded, Ben could not play,

did homework on his own.

What lesson did he learn?

It hurts when your Mom cries.

The Need for a Quality Yarn


Words crochet
in stitches played
one line above
the other.

Twining not
much more than strings
and some knotted
random things.

No pattern
hums me along,
my brain’s lantern
lights no song.

Imagery,
I haven’t got
no tapestry
I’d call art.

On I go,
elongating,
rough edge, I know,
wants basting.

Of what use
this crinkled scarf
but to blow loose
on mind’s wharf?

Easter Over Half a Century Ago


  

Purple gave way to joyful white,

lilies looked altar perfect,

the choir resurrected hymns.

Facing priest, we followed him,

sat, knelt, stood, prayed together,

kept a Latin-metered rhythm.

 Sermon sent a stern reminder:

 clothes do not define the day,

 nor bunnies, nor jelly beans.

 Communion broke long fasting,

  confessed received wine-dipped Host,

  sinners sat wooden in pews.

 Priest: Dominus vobiscum

 Us:  Et cum spiritu tuo

 Priest: Ite Missa est.

 “Lord be with you,” “And with you,”

  “Go, you are dismissed,” he said.

 We replied: “Deo Gratias.”

“Thanks be to God!”  How very glad,

and new I felt in spring-bright coat,

and cute, flowered-straw bonnet.

Though Simplicity sewed my dress,

I proudly strolled home, patent

leather dangling, t-straps tapping.

Dormant gardens had begun

displaying the work of bulbs,

they bloomed with color, like me.

Mom always went early to Mass,

I knew she’d be cooking dinner,

but I looked forward to chocolate.

Writes of Spring


Mint, rosemary, and lemon
enhance my garden’s breeze
Roses bloom again this year,
lovely each variety.

Ladybugs, budding trees,
birds, and birds of paradise,
pomegranate’s red flowered,
tomato seeds growing fast.

Usual sky, blue and bright,
puffed clouds silent and sailing.
Such a day that’s come and gone,
once or twice I stepped outside.

This poem blew in, took root,
but weak, it does not dig deep,
unlike the garden that grows
with strong creative purpose.

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