Carolyn’s Online Magazine
POETRY IN APRIL #5:
A FIREWORKS FINALE OF POETRY
April ends today. This article ends National Poetry Month with a fireworks finale of poetry. Previous article links, 7 poems each:
During the last meeting of the Foothills Writers (formerly the Beanery Writers Group) we had time to free write poems. Below are three I wrote.
NO POETRY TODAY
My mind isn’t working
My fingers dyslexic
My poetry writing
Is quite anorexic
Ahead the mountain ridges are brown
Seen through rain-coated windshield
The streams beside the road roil in earth tones
Spring storms are erupting.
Stepping along the seashore
Waves lapping at my feet
Suddenly…I’m sinking in
I stay still
Movement speeds the sinking
Who will rescue me?
Below are 3 poems written by Cathy Kenyon, of England, who I met in a toy store in Jacksonville, Florida…well, I’ll let her tell you in the next poem she wrote on 19th April 2015:
A CHANCE MEETING IN JACKSONVILLE
Carolyn, meeting yourself and Monte in Jacksonville was such a pleasure
And I surely hope my poetry will come up to your measure.
A competition you’re entering I heard you say,
Well I hope my contributions will help you on your way.
Below are the two other poems she sent me:
THE ACCIDENT OF BIRTH Cathy Kenyon (18th May 2012)
Sadly it’s a fact, friends you can choose but with family there is no choice!
In the warm confines of the womb what would you voice?
Nay or Yea as to the family you’ve been given.
This accident of birth could be why you’re so driven!
They mould you and form you into whom you are,
They can make you or break you, it’s so bizarre!
In the wild, survival of the fittest sorts out the good from the bad.
Alas not with people, anyone can reproduce, the stupid, the evil and even the mad!
Forever trying to put right this accident of your birth,
Always trying to prove it to the world your worth!
Your talents you hide for you’re afraid of ridicule,
Not daring to stand out in the crowd, not even when at school!
Not till later in life do you have the courage to show your gift,
How sweet is praise, it gives you such a lift!
So surround yourself with friends who’ll love and support you
And hope with their love and kindness you will pull through.
SPREADING THE WORD OF LOVE Cathy Kenyon (10th April 2012)
I realized tonight without a shadow of doubt
What Ann for the last few months had been talking about.
I was in the presence of a greatness of such magnitude
But his demeanour was that of such humble attitude.
The honour of this encounter is mind blowing beyond measure,
I was an emotional wreck but to my surprise of my questions he seemed to take pleasure.
I told him I knew of his identity of his mission in life
And we talked briefly of his possible struggles and strife.
Two thousand years have left their mark on this troubled world
And boy it’s more than terrible insults at each other people have hurled!
Weapons of mass destruction we have now at our fingertips;
So please, before we actually press our self destruct button, we’ve simply got to get to grips!!!!
Because no matter where in the world, there is just so much anger and so much hate
That we’ve got to spread the word of love and hope these negative emotions we will eradicate!
It seems a daunting task but one that must be undertaken
But James you will not have to do this alone, you will never be forsaken.
Following are poems written by Foothills Writers and others. I thank them for their contributions.
EVERYDAY ANGELS Kathleen Clark
encouraging. . .
When my spirit wings low
you lift me up,
light the way with hope.
to the healing balm
the tender touch of
found in unlikely places;
God’s earthly emissaries
liberally showering love and grace.
countless as snowflakes
fall upon you. . .
GRANDKITTY Kathleen Clark
I’m without grandchildren, you see,
so I brag about my “grandkitty”
Selina, the “princess,” she’s my girl.
Meticulously she cleans and preens
her parfait coat till it gleems
and just to tease, I blow between her ears
ruffle her fur backwards,
tickle her tummy
as she playfully bites my hand.
Oh, it’s grand! Eagerly I scoop her warm squirming body
into my arms, stroke her silky fur.
Amber-green eyes melt into mine
searching my heart, hugging my mind.
She jumps down, pursues morning
“hi-jinks,” feet flying, rug scrunching,
a flurry of energy until exhausted, she stretches out, belly up
and dreams cat fancies. . .
softly snoring, ignoring the world
curled paw stroking the air
tail tip thumping.
Picture perfect, I sneak shots
of the weary warrior curled, belly up, her body a venerable question mark.
“Being cat” is a art she masters with finesse,
and this grandma proudly confesses
she loves her purr-fectly naughty feline
with devotion bordering on divine. . .
A CHILD IN JUNE Kathleen Clark
Oh, to be a child in June
when the clock hands swing toward noon
on the last of school.
Bright ribbons of breathless color,
footsteps pounding the pavement
racing toward waiting cars and buses,
leaving behind classrooms and cement
racing toward summer’s sweet scent.
Oh, to be a child in June
with an entire summer free
to embrace sunshine, dreams and creativity. . .
TIME Patricia Orendorff Smith
Time for a child is
measured in seasons:
Spring, splash the puddles,
Summer, shed the shoes,
Fall, dance the leaves,
Winter, stack the snowman.
Perception of time is limitless,
forever in a child’s mind.
Time is a paradox.
When we have the most energy,
time inches along, spreads
across the horizon forever.
We age; our bodies slow down.
Time quickens its pace,
struts swiftly, reverses.
Old age views time:
a month feels like a week,
a week a day,
an hour a minute,
a minute a second,
SEVEN HAIKUS Thomas Beck
After the storm passed
the wind just sighed when it saw
the harm it had done.
As soft morning light
spreads across night’s frosted grass
silver turns to gold.
Cupped in the hollow
of a dried mud and stick nest
a single blue egg.
Above rocky shore
single tooth above the gums
stood the old lighthouse.
Bright ochre pumpkins
stand before corn shock palace
wearing frosty crown.
Silver white lacy fog
tats tree limbs with beauty
Milk cows, udders full
seek relief from their burden
lowing at barn doors.
WHO ARE THESE CLASSMATES?
Patricia Orendorff Smith
Do I look as different
after fifty years as my
drooping, eyes crow-
footed, chin pointed,
tummy bulging, wrinkles
engraved? Will anyone
recognize me? Will I
recognize them, the
class beauty, the stellar
athlete, the brain wizard,
the musical wonder or
will we all now blend
into a congenial picture,
all pretense gone….
TRANSFIXED Patricia Orendorff Smith
On a glistening day
leaf color became vibrant.
Leaves fell like rain.
Autumn touched ground,
crunched and rustled beneath my sneakers.
A scarlet maple leaf
A deer approached from the woods.
I did not tread on his territory,
nor he on mine.
LILA Joanne McGough
dim with a dying shimmer,
fading more each day,
matted in the back where your head lies on the pillow;
sparse and translucent like a ghost’s hair might be.
a huge, cumbersome mass,
so full of fluid it should slosh when you turn.
It swallowed up your breasts and dwarfed your limbs.
A Humpty-Dumpty woman with spooky hair—
And no teeth.
You had store bought teeth
but your husband,
Crazy John the neighbors called him,
A broken hip.
One push from John and you had a great fall.
TO ANDREA BOCELLI: A VALENTINE Joanne McGough
My Tuscan tenor,
My glorious man.
I see your image, hear your voice
And catch my breath ‘ere I drown in both.
Abandoning all pride
I succumb to your manifest maleness
And curl into my wombchair.
Its arms enfold me.
I pretend they’re yours.
You sing “Reste qui con me” and I promise to.
No fickle lover, I.
Sing “Mille Lune, Mille Onde” and I’m your slave.
The sweet vibrato, tender timbre of you voice,
Hold me spellbound,
My trembling heart yearns for you,
My dream lover.
Oh Andrea! Share my pillow!
Let your lips brush against my ear.
I’ll treat you the way you should be treated.
WAVES OF LIFE Julia E. Torockio
If life were an ocean,
Which wave would you choose to ride?
There are many waves in the ocean,
As there are in life.
I want to continue riding
the waves of love, peace, and joy.
Waves of laughter, waves of youth—
youth being forever youthful,
youthful by always having hope,
hope for a better tomorrow,
filled and void of sadness, of sorrow.
You may say that’s not possible, but
one day when the saints see Christ
that’s exactly what will happen.
We all have a choice—
a choice to choose life or death.
I want to live, and to prepare for death.
I know that may sound bizarre
but we all will face our maker one day.
When I face Him I want to be free
of guilt, shame, or wrongdoing.
I want to know that I lived my life
communing with Him,
riding the wave that follows His will
to the best of my ability.
I’m not there yet, but I want to be.
What about you?
Will you choose waves of doubt and fear,
having no hope for tomorrow,
living in misery or sorrow?
Or will you choose the wave of heavenly bliss?
Where will you go, heaven or hell?
The choice is yours.
When will you choose?
Today or tomorrow?
Tomorrow might be too late,
So, choose your wave
Before it’s too late.
SOMEDAY Julia E. Torockio
Someday, I’ll soar on eagle’s wings
Someday, I’ll fly away
Away on a cloud, away high in the sky
Someday, I’ll have a new body and a new mind
Someday, they’ll be no sorrow, no tears, no fears
Someday I will sleep nor wake no more
Someday, I will be forever awake with the Lord.
ON LABRADOR BAY Bay Tom Beck
A red boat adrift on a foggy day
All alone and floating in a wide bay
With water and sky blended misty gray.
The only color that draws wand’ring eye
In the monochromatic ocean and sky
Locked in memories of the days gone by.
My brain’s past thoughts stored, pictures fill each page.