Poetry in April #5: A Fireworks Finale of Poetry

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

SPRING STORMS

Ahead the mountain ridges are brown

Seen through rain-coated windshield

The streams beside the road roil in earth tones

Spring storms are erupting.

QUICKSAND

Stepping along the seashore

Waves lapping at my feet

Suddenly…I’m sinking in

Unexpected quicksand

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

Everyday Angels

faithful friends

surround me,

giving

sharing

sustaining

encouraging. . .

When my spirit wings low

you lift me up,

light the way with hope.

Nothing compares

to the healing balm

the tender touch of

Everyday Angels,

priceless friends

found in unlikely places;

God’s earthly emissaries

liberally showering love and grace.

May blessings

countless as snowflakes

fall upon you. . .

GRANDKITTY Kathleen Clark

150414 IMG_9325E

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

120415 IMG_9126E

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,

a second,

gasp,

eternity,

timeless.

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

intricate design.

 

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

classmates, jowls

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

floated by.

A deer approached from the woods.

I did not tread on his territory,

nor he on mine.

Transfixed,

LILA Joanne McGough

Your hair,

    dim with a dying shimmer,

        fading more each day,

                                  often tangled,

                      matted in the back where your head lies on the pillow;

 sparse and translucent like a ghost’s hair might be.

Your belly,

                  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,

                   lost them.

                                           What’s next?

                                                                                 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,

Capture me,

Hold me spellbound,

My trembling heart yearns for you,

My dream lover.

Oh Andrea! Share my pillow!

Sing softly,

Let your lips brush against my ear.

I promise—

I’ll treat you the way you should be treated.

WAVES OF LIFE Julia E. Torockio

150417 IMG_8535

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.

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About carolyncholland

In several if my nine lives I have been a medical lab technician and a human service worker specializing in child day care, adoptions and family abuse. Currently I am a photo/journalist/writer working on a novel and a short story. My general writings can be viewed at www.carolyncholland.wordpress.com. My novel site is www.intertwinedlove.wordpress.com.
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One Response to Poetry in April #5: A Fireworks Finale of Poetry

  1. Pingback: A Bucket-List Trip to Florida: Part 2 | Carolyn's Online Magazine

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