Sunday Poets

Hi everyone,

In case your missed Don Barrett’s Word of the Month poem yesterday, here it is again, with his permission. It seems a fitting poem for today, the times, and the great sadness we’re feeling. Thanks, Don.

GOD BLESS AND MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL
Don Barrett

SO MUCH SORROW
SO MUCH SAD.
MOMMY AND DADDY
HAVE WE BEEN BAD ?
NOISE SHOUTING FROM EVERYWHERE.
NO MORE SOUND IT’S VERY CLEAR.
WHAT HAS HAPPENED YOU ARE SO SAD.
NOW WE SEE A LIGHT SO BRIGHT.
GOD HAS TAKEN US FROM DARK TO LIGHT.
WE ARE OKAY WE HOPE YOU ARE TOO.
WE LOVE YOU SO MUCH DON’T BE SO BLUE.
WE WILL BE TOGETHER AGAIN , IN GOD’S
OWN TIME.
WE JUST DO NOT KNOW WHEN.

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Sunday Poets is back

Honesdale, Joy - 2Hi everyone,

I’m grateful to Joy Acey for providing us not one but three poems today. Joy, thank you for pitching in. I enjoyed reading your work and am happy to share it with others! And as for you — others — please don’t forget that I always hope to receive some poems to share on Sunday Poets. Now, here’s Joy.

SAYING GOOD BYE
By Joy Acey

At the airline departure gate
stands a couple in desert camo.

His arms wrap across her back.
Her arms drape his neck
pulling his head forward in an embrace.

Then, it becomes obvious;
she is weeping.
He pats her back,
strokes it like a puppy.

She breaks the embrace, takes
one step back. He moves his arm
to her shoulder.

She takes a tissue from her chest pocket
tries to smile as she dabs her eyes
sniffles and wipes her nose.

He whispers in her ear.
The address system announces– last
call.

He helps put on her backpack.
She looks up to him one last time,
delivers a quick peck
to his lips, steps back, salutes
with military precision.

Before she can pivot,
he quickly breaks his return salute,
reaches forward, catches her hand
and pulls her toward his lips
for one last deep kiss.

* * *

GOOD DAY
By Joy Acey
(This one won Third Place in the Long Free Verse category for the AZ State Poetry Society.)

You could tell it was a good day,
when after school
you’d walk thru the door
and the smell of white navy beans
cooking with bacon
would rush to welcome you home.

This is the day,
When the amber bottles
would stay hidden away
between blue bath towels in the linen closet.

And the car hadn’t left the drive
to park at La Cantina
to swap lies
with drinking buddies.

And soon the smell of golden corn bread
would come, and I would set
the formica topped, aluminum legged table
with bowls and honey and paper napkins
for a festive touch.

And my dad and mom
and my sister and I
would all sit for supper
on chairs with frayed plastic cushions.
And my daddy would proudly say,
“I wonder what the poor people are eating today?”

* * *

TWILIGHT
By Joy Acey

For about an hour today
before dusk, as the sun sets
I watch a lizard
climb rocks in my yard.

He, the size of my pinkie
jumps from rock to rock.
Now, he does push ups,
raises his belly,
his throat pumps like a bellows.

He turns his head,
lifts his tail
as if scenting the air.

He swings his tail
over the edge of the rock
like a yoyo string,
catching and releasing
the rough surface.

I watch him
lick small black ants
skimming the rock.
His jaws move up and down.

Just as the cicadas
start their next round
of buzzing
he throws himself
flat onto the sandstone
and pretends to be
an ancient fossil.

When the buzzing stops,
he picks himself up
leaps to the next rock,
and the next,
and then out of sight.

Perhaps you think
I’ve wasted
a good evening hour,
but I ask you,
how do you plan to spend
your twilight hour?

* * *

Sunday Poets

Hi everyone,

Jeanne Poland is back with a new poem that reflects on suffering, devastion, and faith in the aftermath of Sandy.

MEDIA GOT IT RIGHT
by Jeanne Poland

They got it right: graphs, alerts,
Evacuation plans;
Doppler flashings: East Coast- Great Lakes
North to South: damp to frost
Wind speeds!!! Moon pulls!!!
Irreversibles!
Floating cars, boardwalks, subways.

We weren’t ready for the darkness
Looting
Grasping through our private space.
Our hope’s been struck
Fractured.
Can’t sew it up quickly.
Only SLOW remains.
Slow shallow breaths:
Not the stink of it.
Rather cling to spirit strength:
The grace to walk on water!
Arms extended to the One Who
Lifts me up, makes all things NEW!
He knew. He knows.
More than the media!
I’m in his arms.

 

 

 

 

http://thevibrantchanneledcreator.wordpress.com/2012/11/04/media-got-it-right

No Sunday Poets this week, but there’s hope

TO EVERYONE IN THE PATH OF SANDY, OUR THOUGHTS AND HOPES ARE WITH YOU.

BULLETIN: Considering the challenge before us — writing poems about children who are not exactly sweet and nice — I think I’ll leave this one up for another day or so. Jump in and share your own poem about the less than perfect child of your feverish imagination.

ANNOUNCEMENT: Sorry to tell you but no one shared a poem with us for today. The good news is that this gives you time to write something for next Sunday.

Hi everyone,

So what’s a post papa to do? Maybe all you poets out there are simply tired of telling children how good they are when you’ve personally met a few who are not. I say let’s take a holiday and tell it like it is! Stand up for our rights. There are some real stinkers out there and it’s time we poets let our true feelings out! I’ll go first and you, if you aren’t a fraidy cat, can follow with revelations of your own. I suspect that some of our student writers can probably tell us a few terrible tales of their own.

AWFUL OLLIE
David L. Harrison

Ollie is a WRETCHED child
Who drives his family wild!
He pulls his puppy’s ears and tail
And laughs to hear the poor thing wail,
He pours syrup on his cat
And tells his sister, “You’re so fat!”
Oh Ollie is a DREADFUL child
Who drives his family wild!
He’ll never close the bathroom door
Or pick his stinkies off the floor
Or clean his room or make his bed
Or do a thing his daddy’s said,
Yes Ollie is a WICKED child
Who drives his family wild!
He joined the gypsies and ran away,
They brought him back the very next day,
So you’d better listen when I say,
If you see Ollie coming, pray!
He’s a NASTY HORRIBLE AWFUL TERRIBLE
Child who’ll drive you wild!

Sunday Poets

Hi everyone,

It’s time for Sunday Poets. My thanks to Jeanne Poland for letting me reprint her poem, “Leave Dance Prints.”

I didn’t hear from another poet for this past week so I’ll pop in one of my own poems. I hope to hear from more of you this coming week.

Leave Dance Prints
By Jeanne Poland

Stand
On this poem.
Leave footprints.

It is
Made by hand.
A grand gesture.

Not public;
Published
Like some pimple on your face.

But spoken
On the tongue:
Whispered for you.

Stand
On this poem.
Leave footprints.

Or,
Dance
If you will;

Prance
On this poem.
Leave dance prints!

If you’d like, please go to Jeanne Poland’s Poetry Blog to see her work from the past year:
http://www.thevibrantchanneledcreator.wordpress.com

E-copies of her photos and poems can be found at:

http://www.blurb.com/my/book/detail/3215784
http://www.blurb.com/my/book/detail/3102714
http://www.blurb.com/my/book/detail/3039122

****
BE A BETTER BUTTERFLY
by David L. Harrison

“Watcher” was on the second line of the brochure
so all I saw at first were the words at the top:
“Be a Better Butterfly.”

And I thought, being a writer, or rather I wondered,
who was writing this brochure, and for whom?

Because I’d guess that most butterflies,
though drop-dead gorgeous,
are quite likely illiterate, or have, at the most,
a limited vocabulary of words they recognize in print.

So imagine my surprise to think that somewhere
a motivational butterfly bent on improving the lives
of those less fortunate was helping singles get dates,
encouraging fat moths (who technically are not butterflies,
but a customer is a customer) to take off a little around the middle,
suggesting the right blossoms to go with wing color – that sort of
thing – and had actually published a brochure.

And let’s face it, being a butterfly today is not what
it used to be when food was plentiful and species
could count on the next generation being around
to carry on the family tradition.
It makes more sense now than ever
to become a better butterfly!

But just when I thought I’d blundered on one of the most
astounding discoveries in all entomology,
I moved the next piece of mail, spotted “Watcher”
on the second line, and tossed the whole embarrassing affair
into the trash.

http://davidlharrison.com
http://www.amazon.com/Goose-Lake-Year-Life-ebook/dp/B006MGDDHS/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&q

id=1334587336&sr=1-1
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/goose-lake-a-year-in-the-life-of-a-lake-david-l-harrison/1107998233?ean=2940013876583

David