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?
Tag: Friends
Dailypost Challenge: Anticipation
https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/anticipation/
While much of the world talks about gratitude, we in the U.S. find ourselves dealing with “anticipation” as the world shakes and turns around us. What’s going to happen in our future? Where will the next shoe drop? What happens if so and so does such and such? And then the political elbows appear to dog us back into our perimeters of uncertainty and our place at the bottom of the totem. Personally, I am tired of elbows being thrown to show who is the authoritarian expert on life itself and am ready to start throwing my elbows around. However that would be tiresome, and tiresome isn’t who I am.
I’d like to anticipate a broad future for us all, but I just don’t have it in me today. So I’ll simplify the anticipation of what I’m anticipating to what it means personally and shake out my brain’s rafters a bit.
We will survive to retire. We weren’t sure of this before, but as we get closer, well, the anticipation is thick with us. (Sorry Yoda.)
- Despite all of the efforts to throw issues between the two of us, my husband and I, we still stand together. I anticipate this to continue, after all, money won’t always be this tight, will it?
- Medical issues will be part of the future, but I think we can handle them. I have good doctors that are willing to work with me as my life becomes more complicated. I’m also willing, and have made arrangements, to donate my body to science so that more can be learned about MS, Type 2 Diabetes, and my other issues. I anticipate medical science will continue to improve our lives. I have to believe that the catch phrase of “there is a cure down the line” will eventually mean there is a cure down the line.
- I anticipate that my husband and my parents will remain independent. Alzheimers disease rates are down. Mom and Dad-in-law are both competent at age 81, and have significantly more energy than I do. They’ll both rock into the 90s knowing that they are well loved. We also have assigned rooms in their names if they ever do need to reside with us. Family will remain an important factor of our lives.
- Our pension is with a union which we predict will float through the changing times. Someday people will understand that those of us at the bottom and the middle are human too. We don’t expect it to happen in our lifetime, but hopefully for our children and our grand nephews and nieces. I anticipate that the union will stay in business.
- Our children are grown, and although there is still one at home, he’s a kind hearted young man. He knows that his situation is putting stress on us, but tries to mitigate it. He’s one hell of a salesman. He also has empathy for those who haven’t had his advantages and has learned how to positively effect those around him with small kindnesses. The other is a competent and surly, beautiful, young woman who can rise to battle as I was once able to. She’s smart, caring, kind hearted and one who will always fight for the underdog. It’s a nice thing to know that what we anticipated our children turning out like has come true. I anticipate that they will continue to amaze me. I anticipate that they will advocate for us when we need it. It feels good to know that they are keeping a close eye on me.
- I anticipate that I will become published one day. It has taken a lot of work, and I foresee more in the future, but I think that my dream will come true. What did Jefferson say? “The harder I work, the luckier I become.” Well, that is a truth that is hard to argue. Finishing the first book was a process of growing into wordier shoes.
- I anticipate, hope, dream, and lust after winning the Emily Dickinson Poetry Contest. It runs out of Chicago and hasn’t been offered for a while. This coming January it is back and will be accepting 46-80 page submissions of poetry by people over 40 years of age who haven’t had a poetry book published. (That would be me.) I’ve started the process of going over all of the work I’ve ever done and honing it down, categorizing it, slimming it, potty training it and all of the other things one must do to succeed where one has never even had a dream of success before. It’s an anticipation to fill all of those hours when I’m alone over December and January.
- I anticipate that I will start to make friends again. I’ve become rather reclusive. The first step to meeting people is getting out of the house, and to that end, I bought a car for me. It’s a vibrant blue 2017 Sonic. Why did I chose that one? I like the way Chevies crash. Two of the people I love have crashed tested their cars in the past 5 weeks and both owners of the Chevies got out of their cars and walked away from what could have been fatal accidents. It wasn’t what I intended to buy, but when I was out looking, I had my son looking out for me. The car had been in the dealership less than 10 hours, hadn’t been processed yet, had two miles on the odometer, and had never been test driven. In a lot of primarily silver, white and black cars, it called to me from around the corner and behind the service bays.
- I anticipate going to spring ball games for our minor league team, the Potomac Nationals. I anticipate going to a bookstore for events like poetry readings, sales, and browsing.
- I anticipate more people standing up for what is right, honest, fair and pushing back against hatred, bigotry, racism, poverty, and ignorance.
I think that I will develop a broader anticipation of what is coming in the immediate future if I am patient and stick to my value system. Kids always amaze me and give me hope. As I watch this next generation grow, I’ll learn which direction we’re headed in and then can focus my anticipation list better. I’d certainly like to become hopeful on a global scale. I’d better go back and look that that gratitude thing, too. Maybe it will allow me to anticipate some really good things in a new light.
Flâneur: A Stroll in the Mind
https://dailypost.wordpress.com/discover-challenges/flaneur/
I love walks. Being out in the fresh air gives me hope that I’ll have many days to stroll. When I walk I’m not the only one who goes along. My husband comes to ensure I will not fall of cliffs (yes, I have tried. Not intentionally, but the brain picks its own method of self destruction.) He’s been keeping me from falling off things for 36 years, so he does have some experience.
The leaves have just begun to change. In the back yard, the London Plane trees went from green to brown to on the ground in a new record this year. My maples are just starting to change their color orientation, with or without Mother Natures’s permission. The gum tree, in back of the magnolia which started at five feet tall and now is taller than the house in the 24 years or so we’ve been here. I have three magnolias. All have the dreaded seed pods that attack when you attempt yard work. The mocking birds and robins seem to relish the bright red seeds and have mock battles with the squirrels. No one wins or loses in their combat. I believe it’s mostly for the noise and excitement, like humans, there is charge to their world if chaos reigns.
The humming birds have left. Their stroll takes them south to a mystery place. I never told you but I had a humming bird sit on my head month ago. I don’t know which of us was more surprised. I was reading on the back steps while the pups did their sniffing routine. It was cruising the neighborhood. There was a soft breeze on my head, a light weight, and I was motionless. The experience? Priceless. It stayed for only a few seconds, I believe it was a humming bird equivalent of a nap. As it took off, it hovered for a moment in front of my eyes, just there and then gone. I guess off on its own stroll.
The bald eagles hover up in the air, surveying my path. They watch and wait for someone to drop a fish, snake or other loathsome falling from the sky. They are the royalty again now that the osprey have headed to Costa Rica. Funny how the smaller birds keep the eagles from getting too cocky. We have a murder or two of crows here as well. One species is the fishing crow with its nine inch body. Then there is the family of George. I call them that because my father always called the crows he met George. When I asked why, he told me it was a good name. They are larger, louder and will work with the sparrows to chase the owls at first light. Poor owls just want a nap by then. I guess it’s payback for the lack of sleep some of the smaller birds have at night.
Last night a different species of owl arrived, a different call identified it as “Not the Usual” barred owl. It was much more sophisticated in its lunacy. Barred owls have an insane cry, especially at four in the morning. It’s a hoot, hoot, and a scaled digression that sounds like a turkey gone bonkers. Even the wild turkeys around here look up when they hear the cry, not out of fear, but wondering if crazy old Aunt Loopy has arrived for November’s visit.
I think constantly as I walk. I write poetry on invisible sheets of paper which blow away before I can get home to write them down. I see a list of words, or my husband says something out of the blue that demands I use it, or the dogs bring me things. I’ll give you an example: red leaf, blue sky, mushroom cities, blue birds, raucous cry, diving, heron, snap, slip, fern, caught, kiss, toy wand, treasure. Pretty random, yes? But I take the list and within five minutes this is what happens.
A heron, diving with its magic wand, lands,
Slips upon the red mud, catches itself,
as blue birds and eagles snap their fingers in
Appreciation for the performance.
Blue skies filled with mushroom cities,
Far above our red leaved trees, ferns,
Delight in the loud and raucous cries
From starlings resting for just a moment.
Caught by audience and unable to move
Without creating a scene, I watch
Time creating a masterpiece of unmatched
Performances. Nature gives me a kiss.
A kiss upon my lips, my ears, my eyes,
What treasure is provided for us,
Beneath chilly sunning mornings starting
With the red skies of adventure at dawn.
Yup, that’s what I do when I walk. I lose almost all of the poems to reality, as it snaps me back into focus. You know, things like “Dogs approaching, manners must be initiated.” That means taking my beasties off the trail and making them sit, so the oncoming dogs can pass without a scene. Or things like a branch falling just out of the path, so I have to become aware of the present in a larger venue. Then there is the husband’s comment, “So, what do you think?” That’s the dangerous one. It means I dreamed through the conversation, again. Again, and he knows it. I hit the mental rewind in my head, load the last couple of things he said, and guess at the possible meaning. From this I construe an answer with enough details to pretend I was listening and offering him further time to explain. He counters with “What’s that your thinking? Your eyes have changed.” That means I’m busted.
I don’t need to be anywhere special to be possessed by the spirit of the stroll, it comes to me easier than breathing. I just wish I could walk and type at the same time.
I had a best friend once. Brian O’Malley of the O’Malleys related to the pirate Grace O’Malley who was more of a sharp business woman with a passion for being independent. He said that listening to the conversations in my brain caused him mental whiplash at times. I think that was probably the most accurate description of my thinking processes. I wish he had realized how important such feedback was and not wandered off when I went through dark times. No, it wasn’t a romance. It was someone who thought I was “entertaining?” He was a muse of mine for a bit.
My husband takes all of my mental vacation in stride. He’s not threatened if I wander into new territory, meet people, find unknown paths among the white matter of my brain. He’s a muse of mine as well. He keeps everything I scribble, on anything but food, and pours it back into me when I need a refill of words. I can use them over and over if they are good words.
If you send me a list of words that you collect on your walks, I can make poems for you. I’d like that. Perhaps you will be entertained as well. One caveat, don’t fall off cliffs collecting the words. It hurts if you hit the rocks below.
Ann
Grateful, Inspired, and Energized
February 2nd, 2015 was an incredible day for me. And today, well, today is even better. I’ve looked at all of the comments, reread them, and I’m in the process of following all of you who found me. I will be on all of your sites to read your thoughts as you have graced mine. I will take the time to learn from you, think about your messages and enjoy.
This is short, but I seem to have a lot of reading material to go through and some new ideas that I will be posting soon.
Thanks again, to all of you.
Ann
Words in Pockets
I have a word in my pocket, Joggling my mind, filling my empty shoes. Don’t be too quick to rectify a word, The brain teases you along. I had to use a tacky glue to bring cohesion to my mind, Indolently lazy, I surf the pages of my dictionary, Proofing my new words, giggling when I find obscurity. Enthralled with words my life passes my reflection In an uncanny reflection of my mother. Some might wish to know whether my dreams are real, But I just dance the moments I have, Swayed by laughter and good friends.
Ann WJ White 