Poetry – Page 3 – Ann WJ White

Please?

Published on February 25, 2017 by Ann’s Aliens4 Comments

I write the words that do not rhyme.
Poetry it's called. It called me.
Do my words scatter in the wind?

The breeze that takes the poems
Blows through Spring, Summer and Fall.
Am I part of a rainbow of particles?

When you read me, the real me, do you
scoff or do you ask for more?
Is it the bare soul that offends?

I travel leagues as a digital dot
On a web of transparent knowledge
Looking to see if I can become a snowflake.

I travel to far away lands, to the seas.
Each stop I leave part of myself
And take part of you away to show.

No, not the lover, but the friends 
That are with me for a breath
Before the wind scatters us again.

I write the words that do not rhyme.
I am a poet, seemingly out of time.
From the safety of my sofa, I watch.

The world frightens me these days.
Words are harsh once again.
Dreams are dismissed as lies.

But I will continue to look for 
Those who hold the end of the rainbow.
Have you seen me passing with the wind?

Catch me and hold me. Hold me close.
Take the hole in my heart and fill it
With a sense of purpose. Please?
Am I alone? Do you see the star I came from?

Translate; in memory of Bill Manville (W.H. Manville) who died Valentine’s 2017

Published on February 18, 2017February 19, 2017 by Ann’s Aliens14 Comments

Translate my pain into inspiration.
A grief that turns my heart to sterling,
A metal that will not leave me stranded,
A mourning that imbeds a jasper arrowhead.
He has gone, looping his words between
His memory and mine. Remaining.
Older brother of soul, teacher of order,
He had taken Valentines, paper cutouts,
Red hearts and Pink silliness,
Dark visions combating the light.
Wrapped them in cushions of unsweetened
Advice, given freely, powerful in their
Scent of citrus, their odor of sage.
Wholesome and forgiving. He listened.
Silence now that his breathing
Has erred on the side of quiet.
His heart filled with the love
A teacher has for student.
Transient as they grow, but his eternal.
I must write to find my heart again
Where I laid it out for him.
How many, many types of love there are.
So many ways taking the crystal bonds,
Which when broken remain
In our memory of precious laughter,
Honest criticism, layers upon layers of
Rebuilding. He gave these seeds to us
To plant in our inner gardens, to bloom.
Watered by tears of grief, blinked,
They will grow. Tiny green hopes, words,
Writer to writer. Clearing weeds
Nourishing plots of future dreams.
I hear his voice in the wind
Teasing me, scolding me, holding me close.
Calling me to finish what I had begun,
To love those he loved, to work, to stand
On two feet knowing he believed in us.
We must carry his gift to us,
The world’s visions, the expected literacy.
Must share our voices, must care, we must,
Even when the caring scares and scars us.
His footprints stay with us, his books,
His stories, his belief that the world
Must read, write, share and pass
The compassion of an old friend to a new.
We carry him now, heart to heart.
We will honor him by our words, soon.
But written as the storms come,
Rain beating the earth in a primal flood
As he flows away from us, following the flood
Of our sorrow. The transportation of our hearts,
Flooded and sitting now filled with salty tears.
Our memories are precious, sketch in words,
Written as the tears streak, but forming
Wary wry smiles, smiles that will not betray.
Oh the memory of those smiles, he loved us.
I will carry him with me in my pocket of life.
Filled with random pebbles, coins, a leaf,
An acorn or two, a magic ring, a fallen star.
This hole of sorrow, this well of loss,
Fill it with swords, shields, puppies
Pictures, mystery, letters, trials,
Hopes and dreams. Do not forget…
You see, I loved him.
I loved him as brother, father, friend,
Mentor, teacher, and confidant.

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/translate/

Bill Manville, of Sacramento, California died on Valentine’s Day 2017. He was a published author, a teacher, a traveler, radio host, copywriter, U.S. Army Veteran and dearly loved by Beverly. He ran a class on the internet called Writing to be Published. He was a well loved member of AA.

Volunteering at his local library, he ran a class on writing that was open to the public. He understood the need, the urge, to write and that writers need support at all levels of their ability. Being a gruff, loving, inspiring man, he passed the gift of what he had learned to others with an open heart. Whether the class succeeded of not, he urged them on. Revising, placing students in groups to evaluate each other, support each other, he gave us a rare gift of insight into ourselves.

He worked tirelessly in the pursuit of helping others escape the madness of addiction, remaining anonymous except for his first name. If a song represented his attitude towards others it might have been this one: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LjhCEhWiKXk also know as Bruno Mars “Just the Way You Are” He accepted people as they are. Truly a testament for human to be remembered as, Bill was “amazing” just the way he was. Of course you would have to change to words from girl to guy. Volunteering as a rehab clinic volunteer, he understood that by helping others he would help himself remain successful as a long-term sober recovering addict.

Celebrated as a Book of the Month author, he also worked as an editor for Cosmo, contributed columns to the Village Voice, Key West Solares Hill, The New York Daily Times and the Huffington Post. Magazine articles appear in The Fix, Cavalier Magazine, the Saturday Evening Post. He published his books through MacMillan Publishers, Duel, Sloan and Pearce, Simon and Schuster, NAL, Delacorte, Dell/Random House, BSForge Press and Tor Publishing. His works include: Cool Hip and Sober, Goodbye, Saloon Society, The Man who Left his Wife and Had a Nifty Time, Writing to Be Published, and Breaking up. He was a contributor to the fourth edition of the Alcoholics Anonymous: The Story of How many Thousands of Men and Women Have Recovered from Alcoholism (commonly called The Big Book at meetings.)

Bill also hosted a radio show, Addictions and Answers on KVML in Sonoma CA, which delved into real stories of the struggles faced by others dealing with alcohol addiction. With over forty years of research into the material he had available to him, he was able to paint a realistic picture of the process of becoming sober, something that was both a personal and social matter of importance. He believed in the process of sobering up as a lifelong purpose. One of the transcripts of a show he hosted with Dr. Dave More is available through the NYDailyNews.com, http://www.nydailynews.com/life-style/health/parents-cope-moms-dads-turn-kids-ambien-adderall-day-article-1.1092155.

He attended the University of Pennsylvania, but graduated from Sarah Lawrence College. His next stop was the University of the Mediterranean, Nice where he explored life in all of its fullness and color. As his works were being published, he was encouraged to begin teaching. So he did. He was a member of LinkedIn where he looked for aspiring authors to take his online course.

No one can summarize the character, love, production and history on a single page and with such short notice. I have done the best I can. So a final toast: To all who aspire to sobriety or writing, we have loved him, learned from him, and will never regret that opportunity he shared with us.

Seriousness

Published on February 13, 2017February 13, 2017 by Ann’s Aliens1 Comment

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/seriousness/

“We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defence, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America.”

Oh, my, the face of the political machine.
Grim faces, hollow eyes, lies after lie,
One citizen who stands, remembers, raises a fist protesting,
In a game, a silly game, where men tackle men,
Where brains are shaken, battered and bruised,
So that humans may be equal. Why his fist now?
Why raised in protest? His brothers in arms,
From the streets he escaped, are beaten, broken,
With trials valid only in confusion. Murder and 
Murderers wear badges that shame the men and 
Women who give their hearts to the law.
Young black women, volleyball champions,
From a high school, a high school that
Sent countless youth to futures lacking hope, now those 
That were uncertain, rise. With pride born of knowledge,
These teenagers, born in the poor side of town,
Bear witness to the deeds of the bully pulpit. Against
Which female athletes rise for equality that
Great-grandmothers and fathers raised in conflict earned.
Denied for decades, for a century now. Time flies, promises fall
And the hatred based on color, sexual preference, sex.
Even sex still. An amendment to a constitution that
Gave women the power to make decisions, to be independent,
Yet we are dictated as to how our lives must center itself on trust,
Color should be celebrated. Voices raised in black churches.
Voices raised in protest. Signs written, petitions filed,
Congressmen and women elected that see us, hear us, raise us to
The seriousness of action, against inaction, refusing quiet.
These must become our battle flag. A voice that steadies.
So powerful that it rocks a nation of quiet shame,
Of angry men and women, of injustices and just protests.
We allow the beatings of First Nation peoples as their
Water turns black with oil and greed. Tall and proud
They stand, fearing nothing but inaction. A president
Feeding on the profits he earns while his ears are closed
To the Appeal for commonsense. We should be a Nation
Of commonsense, looking for the future of all of us.
"We the people" in earnest reformation "Of the United States of
America" the beautiful, the possible. "For liberty and 
Justice for all" shall carry a message of the cause Justice,
Of the welfare promised, of the charge that we be given "happiness."
For "We the People of the United States, in Order to form 
A more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic 
Tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote 
The general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty 
To ourselves and our Posterity, do ordain and establish
This Constitution for the United States of America."
This is the promise for which protests are just. 
This the hope of the poor, to be seen and raised.
The middle class, the wealthy. How mighty the voice
As it pours into the streets? A wave of determination.
Protestors meet immigrants with signs. Hello! Welcome!
Mighty the wave of compassion while we are poisoned
By the water we buy. Action instead of promises broken. 
Promise that we are the real voice of our nation,
The serious citizens of the United States, willing to resist
Compounding moments of shame formed by greed, fear and hate.
An interest rate we are unwilling to pay anymore. We are,
Willing to love, include, protest for equality
and against a voice that should never have emerged.
The ugly voice of racism, hatred, fear and indifference.
Pledging allegiance to a flag of action. Protecting
The welfare of all Americans, not just the few.
Brothers, Fathers, Sisters, Mothers bring your seriousness
To bear on the foolishness of folly in office.
We are a union of action shouting at the sound of profit
Born on the backs of the common citizen who works.
Serious times need serious measures they say. We rise to the
Call for justice for all, just like we pledged
In elementary schools, middle schools, military, congresses
Where the idea of patriotism was a promise to action.
Raise fists so that truth will come. We rise. We pledge.

Scotland Speaks True. Award Winning Poet for this Tangerine Gabshite Wolloper

Published on February 3, 2017 by Ann’s AliensLeave a comment

http://www.thepoke.co.uk/2017/02/01/scots-poem-calling-trump-tangerine-gabshite-walloper-wins-award/#.WJP-rQHPA08.facebook

I laughed so hard, I fell over.

Overwhelming

Published on February 3, 2017 by Ann’s AliensLeave a comment

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/overwhelming/

Overwhelming, the number of letters
Your soul can handle,
Before it all comes crashing done.
Twelve letters, rolled off the tongue,
Held in abeyance only by the off switch.

How? Why? And the answers pull me
Into a world I do not know.
Positions on humanity that spout
And sputter into being based
On a nameless fear of something...

Political parties spare for the news
Broadcasting a descent from known facts
Until even the broadcasters must turn away.
Limits on being human, kind, mindful,
Actions based on color, mindset, empty empathy.

"Don't let them in." No, not out either,
For a four year old refugee might 
Play games of war as youth becomes teen.
It's a ridiculous argument,
Holding that a sixty-five year old...

Change all that was good, helpful, given
As a gift from government. Make it void of
Color or charm and let me scream
My frustration at the overwhelming hatred
Of bigots, fanatics, tv viewers...

They sing a song of hatred, without
A single why. One hundred thousand visas,
Cancelling hope. Banks cheering, burdens given,
Regulations falling, Morality redefined 
Millions of mothers standing, fist raised to the morn.

Overwhelming, twelve letters becoming twenty-four.
Discourse to hold off the helplessness
Of being Disabled, a woman, unable, wished able,
To make the world step back into sanity. Not the globe,
My world, my resolve, my liberty.

You threaten me at your peril, for I think.
I write. I protest and resolve. I turn,
I hide nothing, I am...and being I must
Prevent this overwhelming sense of doom.
Overwhelmed as we rise, surrounded by void.

By Twelve letters that roll off the tongue.
Easy letters. Ts and Ls, Es, O, a G.
Government stating that there are none of the above.
Twelve letters that hold us back. W, V, R, H, M
Twelve letters to define the abject despair, 
Actively adding the ing to the pile
We face now, with limits on rights, hopes,
dreams, loves, friends, health, 
Overwhelming. And continuing...

Resist

Published on February 1, 2017February 4, 2017 by Ann’s Aliens6 Comments

https://allaboutwritingandmore.wordpress.com/2017/02/01/resist/

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/resist/

I'm too old to sit in the corner,
Too old to twist and turn 
To find my heart and mind
Torn asunder over the
Future of the past, the once and future,
Over hatred and bigotry.

I'm too young to concede 
The world won't change
Its clothes for the better.
Won't go to a Humanity-R-Us
Establishment for a refit.
Overthrow the twenties and big brother's uniform.

Can't see the colors for the 
black and white, like TV when 
It started, with removable tubes 
You could change out tubes, glowing bright, at
The drugstore, right past the cashier
While Dubois sits writing in the corner still.

Your still produces the elixir 
Of rebellion, energizing,
Thought provoking, intoxicating,
At a forgotten power of protest,
Of knowing right from wrong
As you swing your placard proudly.

School taught me to be nice.
A fatal character flaw, unreasonable,
Being nice, compassionate, sweet, helpful,
All words that buzz and bee. Liberal.
I'm too young to join AARP
Too old to swing from a Constitutional noose.

My email sings the need for money,
Donations, signatures, and one,
Oh, blessed one, that asks for a tip.
A tip for taking my money
Because I must be old enough
To be rich, to have, to hold, to keep.

I'm too old to sit silent, Chevy waiting,
To drive with fist shaking, gun toting
Road rage. Oh yes, I'll yield, sometimes,
But not about my politics. Compromise, act.
My caution light gleams yellow,
But the red light fails. I run as I take action.

I'm too young to hand over hope, tethered to
My heart, forever to a cause. So many,
Change causes change. I change. Voices cluster.
Liberal changes are on sale, bargain prices,
On cheap fabric imported that
Feeds a family overseas, but saying, "Buy American."

Too old to wear a flag upon my two piece,
My jeans, jacket, elbow patches.
Burn my flag, I'll cheer your voice,
Serve my flag, I did that. Embroider my flag on a globe,
Don't use my flag to beat and bludgeon
Those in need. I'll use it for your shroud.

We came, my ancestors came, arrived
Found a place, to grow, manipulate
Become human, chase their tails with 
Their tales of how we became great.
It was 1624. We started it. The movement. Blame us.
We advocated freedom, compassion, hope, education.

Don't tell me I'm too old, too young,
To tell you to resist the crazy. Crazy
Worse than the flu, poverty, student loans,
Worse than children dying, drowning, starving.
I'll resist your overly patriarchal ambiguities,
Attempts to cow and control. My body, my life

Too Old, Too Young, not to care
To not open my heart to others, to welcome.
To litigate with my head. Policy maker.
Too proud of being a resistance.
For when they first banned intelligence,
They hurt us all. Stole from us.
.
Grow old, grow energized,
Hit with words, but true ones,
Turn your television to truth.
Read a book, French philosophy,
Grow young, stand and turn to the light,
Like a sunflower, follow the judicial glow.

I'm too old to find my seat
On the bus, train, plane, without
First asking to pre-board.
I'm too young to have my dreams dashed
As they play pingpong with my future.
Let me land, resist, fight. Let me...

A Late Love Story

Published on January 25, 2017January 25, 2017 by Ann’s Aliens2 Comments

Wrong time, wrong man,
Spite, trial by fire,
Death by booze,
Small little hands held
Me back from suicide.
Small head, large needs,
Hungry, thirsty,
They consumed me
From his indifference.

If I couldn’t be his wife,
I would be perfect.
I would be mother
Of his children.
Wrong time, right man,
Not who I would choose,
With his loud words.
With his lack of tact.
Meaning nothing to me.
I have boxed my heart.
But sometimes, …

Bad diagnosis, lost heart,
Right time, right man,
I spiraled down
Wings flaming,
Phoenix consumed.
He holds a fire extinguisher.
He stays.
Has my story just begun
my sweet romance…

Writing Prompt: Voluble

Published on January 13, 2017January 13, 2017 by Ann’s Aliens3 Comments

http://www.thewritingreader.com/blog/2017/01/13/prompt-1968-word-of-the-week-voluble/

<a href="https://allaboutwritingandmore.wordpress.com/2017/01/13/prompt-1968-word-of-the-week-voluble/

Oh, there were sassy ladies,
Rolling and hip swaying
In voluble conversations each
One stepping and braiding
the words of each other.
Independent and political, boldly
careening while dancing lightly around
The naysayers who stood in shocked conversation.
Stern proper women wearing white
and stiff collars approved by their husbands.
They frowned down on them,
These rotund and happy women
Who were tapping and rapping,
Skipping and hopping in intricate circles.
Drum banging, round singing, fluting tunes,
Playing. Shouting joyous news over baskets
Of biscuits, of blossoms, of brightly
Colored laundry, of fresh bread and
School books, holding hands like children,
Vividly recalling their sweet loving
Mothers who had danced as they toiled
With hip swaying chatter filled
With love everlasting as they twisted
The language of families belonging
Around Maypoles and harvest, children,
And Husbands slowly leaving in abeyance
Those pursed lipped disapprovers
As the long walk home followed fence and field.

Christmas Blues

Published on December 23, 2016December 24, 2016 by Ann’s Aliens2 Comments

I found out my husband has to work on Christmas Eve again this year, and that makes six nights that he’ll be gone this week. He’s doing his 29th Christmas Eve. So I figured I’d write a blues song for him. It’s pretty silly, but maybe I’ll find a band to play it for him someday. So, here’s the to blues and hoping I won’t lose my husband to packages.

My husband’s a UPS Santa.
Hitched to his brown tractor-trailer all day.
On the twenty-fourth of December
It becomes a brown Holiday sleigh