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 |  An Iowegian's P(oetry)log |
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** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** This little adjunct to my primary blog, "Invalid Item"  , is strictly for poetry. Comments and kind, constructive criticism are always welcome.Peace and Blessings ~Mandy Breathe-in experience, breathe-out poetry. ~Muriel Rukeyser Everything in creation has its appointed painter or poet and remains in bondage like the princess in the fairy tale 'til its appropriate liberator comes to set it free. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson |
** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** dreamy eyes flutter her magic tapestry sails on pink petaled clouds |
"Do you like butter?" apple-cheeked yellow jacket plucks dandy lions When I was a child, my friends and I would twirl dandelions under our chins. If your chin turned yellow, this was supposed to mean that you liked butter. This morning, I spotted a little boy in a sunny yellow jacket picking dandelions...Brought back happy memories. If it would have been convenient and appropriate to stop and snap a photo, I would have. Darn! |
** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** elders felled ~ legends bequeathed to generations lifesong continues |
rubbish spews white clouds mischief clamors suspiciously no one 'fesses up |
** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** gaze of contentment swaying tail hails visitors faithful attendant Keeper of the Greenhouse |
** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** fragile geneses coddled in cozy refuge adventures await Mallards Nest...April 9, 2010 |
weathered palms outstretched offerings of compassion penance and healing [Embed For Use By Upgraded+] http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IlOSJCGyunc |
impressions dot shores where she walks ~ not alone gathering sand dollars ~ Inspired by two legends ~ http://www.footprints-inthe-sand.com/index.php?page=Poem/Poem.php http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LFy0rnQyIB8 |
lithe competitors sporting spikes and fortitude burst out of steel blocks On the way to Jefferson... ~ patches of dirty snow still lining the ditches and hillsides ~ pale golden corn stubble and rich black soil ~ farm houses in various states of repair...some crisp and white with welcoming wrap around porches; others peeling, rotted, and gray—literally falling down around themselves ~ lots of barn quilts: http://www.kcci.com/video/23022711/index.html ~ several red-tailed hawks perched atop fence posts ~ the Des Moines River encroaching on and eroding the fields At the track meet... ~ a dusty parking lot, a solitary puddle, and a robin merrily splashing about ~ the colorful, limber forms of athletes stretching, leaping, springing, sprinting, passing batons... ~ the chill in the air ~ faces peering out from beneath hoodies and hand-tied fleece ~ the itch of my stocking cap ~ the peaceful chirruping of frogs, penetrating the din of the crowd and the echo of the announcer ~ the smartass behind me that had an opinion about everyone and everything ~ the glare of the stadium lights ~ the full moon ascending over the bleachers, orange at first then glowing white with visible craters ~ (camera) lens envy!!!!! ~ the smoky flavor of a hot dog, slightly burnt...just the way I like it ~ the sound of metal spikes scraping and clacking on metal bleachers (makes my teeth hurt!) ~ compassion for the boy who is coming in one full lap behind his competitors; tears stinging my eyes when the entire stadium stands and cheers him on ~ the contorted expression on Emily's face as determination triumphs over pain and exhaustion ~ the warmth and sincerity of my daughter's hug The drive home... ~ the kind of tired that only comes from having lungs full of fresh air ~ the numbness leaving my cheeks as the blower disperses heat ~ the eeriness of a country cemetery bathed in moonlight ~ the odor of skunk ~ the emerald sky to the west; the sapphire sky above ~ the brilliance of the stars in a sky devoid of light pollution A curious observation... Several acres of corn stood unharvested. Perhaps the landowners—feeling grateful and prosperous—left some of the crops for winter wildlife to glean. Perhaps a health or financial crisis prevented the farmer from completing his harvest. A person could easily use this as a writing prompt. Or...if you're really curious, here is where the truth lies: http://www.siouxcityjournal.com/business/local/article_569af172-a4da-5973-a349-7... |
spinning, dizzying breezy bubblegum giggles tickle me pink Okay...so it's not a traditional haiku. The little cherub was wearing a pink jacket and pink rubber boots. Her mother was spinning her in circles. Brings back memories.  Some other notes from an evening walk. It was late March; but I didn't record the date. The phase of the moon should give me a clue.   seagulls diving and shrieking the scent of charcoal and lighter fluid wafting on the breeze the clink of an aluminum bat connecting with a baseball a stick of lime green chalk on the sidewalk an empty nest from springs past the gentle tinkling of wind chimes a red-headed house finch perched atop a blue spruce the revving of a motorcycle engine a brand new bicycle—fire engine red the shimmer of sunlight on the pond a feisty min pin two huskies walking their human the thud of a football hitting the pavement flags whipping in the breeze the boom, Boom, BOOM of someone's bass water dripping from a newly washed vehicle a hip granny with her iPod a white feather caught on a twig a yellow frisbee stuck on a rooftop an endless black ribbon of migrating birds (too distant to identify) a furry mammal (a muskrat?) skimming the pond the evening sky—a lovely lavender to the east/peachy keen to the west the glow of the library lights and the silhouettes of patrons inside the waxing gibbous moon peering over my shoulder a chill in the air reminding me that pleasant days in March are a rare occurrence in Iowa |
** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** piercing northern winds ravage maple's brittle boughs one crimson leaf clings |
** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** The scent of rain still lingers in the air and there is no color in the eastern sky this morning—only a soft white haze attempting to penetrate the bleakness. Somehow, its reflection glows brighter in scattered puddles adorning the sidewalks. Lambent droplets cling to the deep red baubles of crabapple trees, adding some gaiety to an otherwise dreary dawn. As I stroll the main road that borders the library, I note the side streets: Hemingway Drive, Mark Twain, Jane Austen, Jules Verne , Lewis Carroll, and Charles Dickens Courts, and Brett Ashley Place. If I had to venture a guess, I would estimate that two hundred Canadian geese have converged on the library lawn and I am forced to maneuver through a mine field of their leavings and dozens of earthworms. In the distance, four white cranes are skirting the pond in an awkward ballet. A mallard hen paddles away indignantly, breaking the silence with her displeasure. As my path takes another direction, I'm suddenly aware of the far off shadowy foothills; but there are no mountains to the west of these plains—only impending showers. this veiled quiescence dankness impeding sun's warmth September mourning |
| beneath a blanket of oppression, Parmatma toils—thirsting cupped hands bring shiny offerings; jars of hope overflow under the same sun, young minds seek wisdom, opportunity... a sijo Each year, our elementary building holds Pillar Pride Week in which students and staff focus on the six pillars of character (trustworthiness, respect, responsibility, fairness, caring and citizenship). Throughout the week, students bring in donations for a worthy cause. I was delighted this year, when our building chose to support one of my favorite charities—Heifer International. Parmatma is an eight-year-old boy residing in an impoverished village in India. The gift of a water buffalo has enabled his family to earn money by selling its milk, and as a result, Parmatma is now able to attend school. A female calf, recently born to the water buffalo, will be given to another family in need when it matures. That family in turn, will pass along a female offspring to another family and so on — The gift is perpetual. Please take a moment to learn more about this wonderful organization and consider donating your own gift. http://www.heifer.org/site/c.edJRKQNiFiG/b.204586/k.9430/Gift_Catalog.htm?msourc... |
| Here is the original text: from Maya Angelou's Wouldn't Take Nothing for My Journey Now... Some people who exist sparingly on the mean side of the hill are threatened by those who also live in the shadows but who celebrate the light. It seems easier to lie prone than to press against the law of gravity and raise the body onto its feet and persist in remaining vertical. There are many incidents which can eviscerate the stalwart and bring the mighty down. In order to survive, the ample soul needs refreshments and reminders daily of its right to be and to be wherever it finds itself. (91 words) ...and the verse: meagerly, they exist. amongst the shadows—all hunger; but some— like a mangy stray begging for scraps— fear the light and its warmth; threatened by those who dare to bask in its glow. for the defeated it is less burdensome to lie prone—death preceding life— than to press against gravity's law; erect and withstanding, like the resolute oak. menacing hailstorms eviscerate the stalwart and fell the mighty; but the ample soul— determinate and sustaining— restores its courage; persuaded of its right to be— and to be wherever it finds itself. |
she, an emerald plumed bird of paradise — enamored; hovering amidst empyrean dreams come Arenal, sip my nectar he, an incandescent force of nature — eruptive; surging forth ardent desires come Ruby, perch upon my summit The prompts were hummingbird and volcano offered by alfred booth, wanbli ska  .author's note: Arenal —one of the world's ten most active volcanoes — is located in Cost Rica. http://www.hoothollow.com/Foreign%20Photo%20Tours%20and%20Safari%20Brochures/Cos... |
| I don't have to spell it out for you, but you'd recognize the letters if I did: W-A-L-K. Lacing up my New Balance walkers can only mean one thing and you dance in anticipation. Chugging along determinedly, you huff and claws clack — a furry black locomotive; Only, trains don't zig-zag on rusty tracks. Sniffing anxiously, it's not the fragrant aroma of white pines you seek, but the curious scent of another. Canine tails wag in greeting — one a tiny stub, the other a wispy curlicue. Weaving back and forth, you make your mark on the world. "NOT THERE!" The gentle hands that tend this garden would not appreciate it being reduced to a public outhouse. I didn't notice the cottontail camouflaged amidst the clover, but very little escapes your keen nose and you give chase; My shoulder burns and I scold, but liquid brown eyes melt my heart. Gradually, your gait decelerates and you pay no heed to chattering squirrels in maple trees. Chickadees scatter — their bathing ritual disrupted — and you lap up remnants of the weekend's rain. As we approach the doorstep, a feline friend awaits and suddenly, you get your second wind. Roscoe and I just returned from our morning stroll; At some point, I'll write a poem. |
sleepy moonflowers greet morning sun Belladonna proudly postures flaunts voluptuous pink petals steadfast sisters also bask spirited brown-eyed Susan smiles Heather serves sweet nectar to the drones succulent Stella spreads her canopy bashful Lily-of-the-valley retires seeks seclusion in cool shade nearby, red-cheeked finches twitter ruffled cardinal flushes before vexed bride even peeping Jonathan's blush days grow short and summer wanes, the naked ladies of August delight admirers, dawn to dark |
| Recently, I've enjoyed participating in poetic challenges presented by friends here on WdC. Belonging to a community of writers has several merits. We can encourage, challenge and learn from one another. We can offer and receive constructive criticism and ultimately, develop and grow in many different directions. Our friend, KÃ¥re Enga in Udon Thani  has inspired me, through his observations and insight, to slow down and take notice of the world around me. There is wonder and significance in even the smallest things and so, in poet laureate form, I took notes during my stroll this morning. Anyone reading this is free to select a prompt and go with it. There are no deadlines or demands. I'm just anxious to see what you come up with.  Observations from a Saturday Morning Stroll  magenta and yellow daylillies, haggard and mostly spenta concrete urn overflowing with red and white peppermint petuniasa gaggle of Canadian geese grazing on the library lawn - oblivious to the barn swallow circling them"God light" pouring through the cloudsraindrops like pin pricks against my skina black beetle scurrying for cover from the rainwhite ~ daisy fleabane and queen anne's lacegold ~ black-eyed susans, rough stemmed goldenrodred and ivory clovercat-tails, bull thistle and milkweedshades of violet ~ great blue lobelia and pale purple coneflowersa downy woodpecker on swaying purple prairie cloverdandelions gone to seeda subtle scent of pine after the rainprairie grasses ~ foxtail barley, knotroot bristlegrass, smooth brome, cheatgrass, smooth crabgrass and nodding foxtaila solitary vine reaching out through faded, gray cedar fence planksa black locust tree with delicate fern-like leaves, its trunk covered in menacing thornsa tangerine Harley Davidson with Alabama platesa 1960 pink Cadillac convertible with a worn white top |
| a benevolent, gentle man, he is the virtuoso of expression and a maestro of melody awakening listless souls dreams flow, gently cascading, like glacial thaws in springtime I laud the troubadour's quill attitude en pointe sprinkling rose ribbons of stardust a stellar beauty dances amidst constellations ascending Franciscan hills sharing songs of hope and healing she strides beside her sisters in remembrance and celebration, a supernova inspires others dot com friends and confidantes weigh observations and opinions, keyboards clacking until wee morning hours lunch for two by the river in June a meeting of hearts and minds both knew, it was love at first laugh best friends and soulmates for life young moms in a foreign land parallel lives - sharing laughter and strife forming bonds to last a lifetime adamant women in transition our best laid plans, rearranged when he came and stole your heart some things change, but two friends are better than one  his nature is nurtured by strolls in Missoula sketching folks and refuse, so easily discarded recognition is scrawled in spiral journals an egnimatic shadow conceals a genuine smile plucked, but still vibrant, like blossoms delicately placed in sun bathed windows a sensitive soul finds acceptance here his gift melts her heart like blue crayolas in sunlight red roses hang their heads in resignation a Mississippi belle, as sweet as tea Pennsylvania hills and love beckon a bottle of sand unites two families never have I heard a more tender love story busy as a bee, she's gone boating with Big Pam and the gals it's her party and she'll drink if she wants to! she feels just ducky in her velvet crown cajoling and laughing with consorts time flies when you're having fun a toast to da Queen on her burpday |
| brats grillin' friends chillin' sippin' Mike's Lemonade® bongos drum guitars strum campers hum serenade mallows roast tales of ghosts cool night to remember grown men scared moments shared one impaired September a snà mh suad, for Catherine octaves - each line consisting of 3 syllables in an aabcdddc pattern L4 and L8 must be 3-syllable words |
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