Writing for the next ten days without posting

Why? Well, there is a competition I tripped over with a glorious prize that includes the publishing of a book. So my goal is 100 poems in 10 days, those unposted on the web, because that counts against you, even if you are relatively unknown. The censorship ensures something new to read, but I have so many I wish I could send. For the cheap cost of $25 to $50, you can enter and enter different contests until your checking account cries “HOLD.” My account always seems to cry hold these days.

I want to be published. I lean on the windows of libraries, wishfully seeing myself in a display. One must enter, though, to find a means to be seen. My website, offline during the political recovery the last three years has suffered, is now back in the forefront. It will take time to regain my followers, and that is understood. But for a brief time, I must leave you again. Wish me well. The writer in me is sliding out to pay ball in the competitions. I hope I have the luck and skill the Nationals had with the World Series. I hope to score a home run.

Ann WJ White, aspiring….

Winter Brown

Here under gray skies the colors fail.
Green has faded, yellow gone, red is only
Litter found where children’s feet played.
Brown, brown survives.

The air bites with icy teeth, bites again.
Trees hold their leaves, brown and thick
Against their chests. Dead grass rustles.
Small chirps, squeaks, then beavers sail

Along the wetlands, busy pulling brown
Branches toward their lodge. A heron steps
Out of the grasses, stabs into the water,
Retrieves a catfish. Minnows streak into

Streams from eddies, a school of gymnastics
As they flip, swirl, dance, tag and run
Toward the river. A river otter slides down
The muddy banks, brown fur coated in

Slippery red-brown clay which washes off
Creating a particulate fog of camouflage,
Nipping and biting their dinner on a water cruise.
Crows chase bard owls, who wish to nap

On shore-bound trees. Smaller birds join
The cacophony of shrieks and cries, always
One step behind the bigger birds. They are there
For the excitement, but not fools. Owl talons

Are sharp, like the cold. Sparrows pull small
Grasses to line nests, which sit abandoned
Until the temperature rises enough for eggs
To warm in the sun, the missing sun.

One Thing

One Thing.

His arms, which reach to hold me,

At the end of a day, of a storm,

Guarding me in space and time,

Outside the world, inside our sphere,

A shelter formed from two strong arms,

Two strong hands, which kindle hope.

Peace and tenderness fill my heart,

My brain breathing, a relief from reality,

Boxing worry in steel bands, ordering it,

Diffusing the pain, ignorance, and hatred

Which strikes between the hours of isolation,

Solitude, aloneness, and despondency.

Heart melted into ease, resting weary head

Upon shoulders precisely positioned upon

Muscles of love, offering bright solace.

I am cocooned in ataraxis, blooming in

Our conservatory of love, of pansies,

Violas, Pinks of my John, Johnny Jump-ups.

His arms, the foundation, the center,

And my breath catches, my heart glows.

Here I am safe. Here I am understood.

Foxywiggles, Princess of Heart

Foxy is a shiba princess who languishes

Upon a bed of knotted flannel blankets,

Not a stitch in sight.

At sixteen she forgets

Her beauty, her play, games of fierce biting,

And sleeps upon the floor playing

Princess and the Kibble, a new form of pea.

Ambient rock and roll trades place with lullabies,

Silly made up tunes that almost rhyme.

Sleeping in my arms and rocked, her

Dreams of running in a grassy field

Keep her wiggling in pursuit of time.

Flying off the backstep, in search of

Adventure, the ligatures stretched,

Pulled her arthritis, turned off her will.

Gave her a world of painful hobbling

On three legs unsteady.

We both cried.

Make the decision for her, I heard.

Turned off my ears and hand-fed her

With a stainless steel spoon:

Grilled chicken

Roasts with marinated carrots,

Basted turkey and tomato soup.

Was the mobile backend jack that kept her up,

Moving during trips to the dreaded vet,

During Ins and Outs of the backdoor

For three months of worried fall.

Her head tilted right with vertigo.

So did mine as I fell. Physical therapy

For the ears set us both straighter,

But slowed our walks.

Month four had her casting 

Off her backend help. Abandoned, I smile.

She’s a Princess with a future

Who sings back to me, a two note hum,

Laughs at my jokes and silly

Dances, in the cold brisk winter wind.

Listening to me when no one calls

And my aloneness leans toward 

Issues of abandonment. 

A proper Princess on a cushion of red,

Who nuzzles my hands, and shores up

My Heart.

Princess Foxywiggles

Cantankerous Clouds

Born in an itching collision
Of molecules of H2O brushing
Against the dust specks,
Wandering carefree across the sky.
Itching, you needed more of your kind.
Particles of outstretched bonding
Grasping to find more of your kind,
Just your kind, and melding
The chemicals you needed,
You founded a drop,
But it was not enough,
“More,” you thundered, “more.”
Your greed eclipsing the scaling
Of dust motes, particles, specks of
H2O gathering breathless,
The wind took on the task of
Rounding the herd and you grew.
It was not enough.
You mounded together,
Cirrus clouds in their skimpy
Lace, Stratus clouds rolling
In batting across the sky.
The mountains mocked you,
Earth ignored you.
So you grew, tall elegant towers
Of white chrysanthemums,
Piled one over the other.
The Earth looked up to you,
Wondrous at your majesty,
But you weren’t alone.
Others stood above you in the sky
Others grouped together and mocked you.
Angered, frustrated,
To win the acclaim you sought,
You turned black and gray.
Stealing energy from the sun,
Bashing, molding, stealing, compiling,
Sending the energy of those collisions
Out to strike in lightning,
Resounding like an orchestra of tympani,
The energy of those others.
You became the storm,
The cyclone, the fury of God,
And wreaked havoc
A temper-tantrum growing,
Waves blew, Winds killed,
And thrusting your entirety
Into your apoplectic fit
You threw them out,
Drop by drop, speck by speck,
Falling on the earth
Flooding, raging, cascading
Until with a last effort,
You itched, a speck of dust in the sky
Lonely for company, holding the
Molecular bonds of H2O,
One at a time,
And it was not enough.

Leaf, changing

You were green once,

As the sun peeked above the horizon,

You stepped from your bud,

Exploded in color, racing your brothers and sisters,

Reaching to the clouds,

Drinking their tears.

You grew, blessed by light and warmth,

The summer brought drought,

Hot rays of radiation from the yellow

Globe of eternal life and death.

You survived. Turning upside down as

The heat beat upon your epidermis,

Your skin, and you released gases to the sky

When it cooled at night,

Protecting the mobile creatures who 

Rested beneath you.

Then the world cooled, and days

Brought a rainbow of change.

Possessed by the wild of glory,

You dressed for a ball 

In colors no one could miss, 

That no one would miss,

For you radiated the history

Of a growing season.

The wind came and teased you,

“Take flight, join me, whirl with me,

Twirl with me, spin and dance,

Chase the clouds, travel the world

Toward the sea.” So you did. For an eternity

The world danced beneath you until,

When the cold rain fell upon you,

Exhausted, you fell to the ground.

Mourning the end of your life,

You surrendered to the inevitable end.

Then hoar frost stole upon you that night,

Like a fairy godfather or mother,

Glistening you, crystalizing upon you,

And glorious, like a diamond,

You knew beauty again.

In the Game of Life:Kyler Murray

In the Game of Life, Kyler Murray
By Ann WJ White, BA and MEd, Teacher of Children of the Rainbow.

https://whiteawjwords.com/2019/04/30/in-the-game-of-life:kyler-murray/

Why are men so afraid of a child grown to
adulthood because of the brown hues of his skin?
By the talent of his athleticism?
By the company he keeps with owners,
Coaches, schools, family members who stand in his shade
While he holds the Heisman over his head and beams.
Names that the white rich are afraid not to fear.

Young men who bear their talent to the competitions that enrich.
Men and women of brown, black, tan, golden and peach,
None the white that the cowards wear
In hoods and salutes, crazed by swastikas, but
Pulling the green from hands that are rank with fear
Who celebrate their wins with demands
That the enlightened should scoff and turn from.

Not to salute the evil that the sadist and bully
Demand at feasts and festivals, competitions,
Games of ball, games of skill, games of prosperity,
Games that pull us together in our pride.
This bully offers feasts of cold hamburgers,
Colder French fries, and yells his admiration of himself
From the top of his Towers and Hotels.

Football, Baseball, Top of the Draft of Each of the lists.
His trophy an honor of skill, mind, effort and time.
He’s not perfect this Kyler Murray. Facing such
Criticism as he has faced, as those of his hue have been
Condemned simply for color, he has spoken his piece
At fourteen and fifteen, has apologized for his now he is grown.

Arizona will cheer him as he dawns the red of birds,
The MLB and NFL will watch and cheer as well.
His name is Kyler Murray and he has played his life well.

Loneliness

I work in my garden, alone,
But for bees that communicate
Satisfaction with my efforts.

The neighbors whisper and watch,
Looking for an error, a stagger,
Never once caring for more than gossip.

I live alone in a house of people,
Never noticed, never seen,
The dust is my intimate friend.

I watch the sunset from my window,
Its golden light illuminating my
Loneliness, I wish and dream.

I had a friend once,
He as golden as the sun.
He left like all the others, without a storm.

He was beautiful, rich,
Filled with ideas to make the world better.
As my world collapsed in tears, he left.

Gold sunshine will return at sunset,
Not always there, but returning
To give me a kiss of hope.

The neighbors will talk, and
I will freeze Like a rabbit before the fox.
Let them talk, I am deaf to them now.

the lane

When I was lost,
I wandered
Through golden boughs
As the sun set,
Knowing that the path
I chose
Would lead me to
A place to make
My stand,
And find myself.

Wednesdays Visual Writing Prompt