poetry

New September

Zinnias dance in swirls of saffron, pale pink, and tangerine; God blesses me with this day.

Coolness of autumn at summer’s scorching finale.

Doorstep of Autumn; God blesses me with refreshing coolness.

Steel gray birds serenade from the canopy of mint green beauty bush leaves laden with deep purple berries.

September morning oak branches brush the pale blue sky; God’s artistry calms my soul.

The heavens heal my brokenness.

Sunshine, breezes, birds, trees, bees, the earth beneath my feet prove that God is holding me.

Journey, 1981

Teardrop did not fall

Beyond caring what you thought

Chose my own journey.

Remembering When, 1983

Chandelier, faux glass

My handsome beau married me

Youthful rendezvous.

Notebook: Late 1980s

I cling to the past

to you in shadows of amber, grays, and fading indigo skies; fading light at the end of my days.

Your voice betrays your heart; you fail to have that part of my closed heart you briefly possessed.

The world babbles into chaos; I know I stand here alone among skyscrapers that bury me on this crowded street corner.

Train rushes past; I fail to grasp the image of your handsome face reflected in the shattered glass door that slammed shut.

Loneliness swells around me; crowd jostles me.

I want to deceive myself.

Like the shattered glass, I shatter.

Shades of dying light in hues of lavender, sepia, and soft rose.

Shifting world; shifting hues of light.

Daddy’s Journey North, 1928

Daddy jumped the train

Red clay road lined with cotton fields

Nightmare followed him.

Highschool Graduation: Chicago, 2008

Grandson graduates

Land of Grandpa’s broken dream

Finally success

Selma, 1938: Daddy’s Daughter

Sister left too soon

Newborn never drew a breath

Memory remains.

Myth

Daddy loved Mama

Lost on the Serengeti

Blinded by starlight.

Hobo Train: 1928

Daddy at fourteen

Chicago in the distance

Escaped the dying South.

Poetry: Still Looking over Old Notebooks

As you know, this week I am going through old notebooks to find poems that I’ve written over the years. Perhaps I will compile a self-published poetry book. In the past I did self-publish with Amazon, but I removed my self-published books from Amazon for a variety of reasons. If you have any suggestions for self-publishing avenues please leave me a comment. Thanks.

Here are a few of my poems.

From 2019, “Vows.”

“Vows”

Endured. Distant, dark hills aflame with summer’s wrath.

More sickness than health; health turned into sickness.

Cherish morphed into tolerate.

How could we have just walked away with those broken promises and resentments real and imagined that we bore like a bagful of rocks on our backs that finally toppled us to our descent into our nothingness?

From 2020, “Memory Stalker.”

“Memory Stalker”

Your memory has followed me

down all the roads

I have taken to escape.

From 2020, “Passage.”

“Passage”

Letting go.

Of him.

Darkened day, clouded over by time’s cruel passing; my powerlessness at its slipping away.

Thanks for reading. Please leave a comment.

Poetry Revisited

As I’ve said in my last post, I am going through old notebooks and journals to review my past writing. I’ve always thought of myself as a poet (regardless of what writer’s group critics might say). I simply love the freedom of expression that captures emotion and imagery in poetry. Everyone has an opinion and that is fine.

Here are a few of my favorite poems over the years:

From 2019, “Just Being.”

“Just Being”

Little lavender flowers wet with early morning dew drop their petals into the green grass; dragonfly flitters past.

God glances between ancient oak branches; birds rustle in their nests.

Breezes swirl around brown and gold leaves.

God lifts his fingers to touch the sky; clouds drift by.

I turn my face skyward for the benediction; God blesses me with the gift of just being.

From 2019, also, “Options.”

“Options”

Cold rain in early May.

God has left it up to me to decide which way to go.

Live or die?

Laugh or cry?

Cold rain in a present year I decide.

Sunlight breaks through the clouds; the warmth refuses to hide.

I lift my hands towards God who loves me; I accept the laughter and the pain.

I rejoice in the sunshine and the rain.

From 2021, “Squirrel: A Snapshot

Squirrel: A Snapshot

Chilly morning, a squirrel sits atop the wooden privacy fence and munches on an acorn.

His fat, little cheeks vibrate with joy.

He drops the acorn and scurries along the length of the privacy fence.

Thanks for reading. Please comment and let me know what you think.

It’s Memorial Day and it’s cloudy, unseasonably cool, but the birds are chirping in the oak branches so all is not lost.

I’ve been writing on my draft for a novel. Yes, I am back to writing. It’s apart of me and I will always write.

I’ve also been looking over some old notebooks in which I have a lot of poetry. I am trying to make another compilation of my poetry of which I plan to self-publish at another date.

Here are a few poems I’ve found from the past in my notebooks.

From 2018, entitled “Buddy.” It’s about my dog Buddy who was cocker spaniel and poodle. He lived for sixteen years and absolutely loved buttered toast.

“Buddy”

Little white dog barks.

Scavenges for buttered toast.

Leaps into my heart.

Also from 2018, entitled “River.” I live a few miles from a river that during that time has been absolutely breathtaking because it was wild with lots of massive oak trees. Now, greedy real estate developers have swooped into this area and cut down the trees and built hideously drab gray and brown high rise condos on the riverfront blocking access to the citizens in this area. Of course, if you have a yacht you can utilize the private yacht dock, but if you’re a regular working class person forget if. The river is evidently now meant for the obscenely wealthy. (Sorry, didn’t mean to rant).

“River”

Lapping waves sing song.

Birds dive into cool waters.

World washed in sunlight.

Also, from 2018, entitled “Anxiety.” I think it speaks for itself.

“Anxiety”

Fear ate up my life.

Imaginary monsters.

Took root in my head.

Please leave a comment and let me know what you think.

A Poem: Mirage

Grandma gambled and knew if she lost she would never recoup the cost.

Sage burned in the silver container in the corner; amethyst and orange quartz stones neatly circled the photograph of him and her embracing on the rocky shore of Paracas Bay.

Nobody had bothered to tell them back then on that windy day in 1942 that love was just a mirage.

He nor she would have ever believed it would all eventually crumble like the Incan ruins beneath their foreign feet.