"You must believe: A poem is a holy thing_a good poem that is." Theodore Roethke
“The Christmas Gift”
Your steps quicken
as memories awaken
as you journey home
as you hurry home
remembering the lighting of that face!
There’s no sweeter place
no finer gift
glowing
than your child’s
shining eyes.
Photo Source: my daughter, 1957
There’s majesty of scene where grows the oak.
You have more heart than most; my charming knight.
The winds of autumn hasten now to choke
but you resist the forest’s wintry blight.
You’ll not allow cold earth to freeze your heart
nor let the bitter breeze strip all your leaves.
You are that stalwart made of rarer part;
your leaf turns bloody beautiful, I see.
My bravest one, you face the cold ; unbowed
and I will marry you and place a crown
upon your shocked and bleeding, leafy brow.
My arms reach out to grasp and hold you round.
My love for you outlasts this winter song
as I will rest beneath you before long.
Thankfulness dances:
I am a puppet with soul
as I pull her strings.
(form: Japanese Haiku, 5/7/5)
Puppet picture source: < http://www.ending.net/media/puppets.shtml>
“In Memory”
The CHOIR mourns
John Kennedy.
The CHOIR sings
of lilies free.
The CHOIR longs
for Camelot.
Reverberates
along the walls
the City Book
near tree-lined halls
of Dallas streets
a single bullet.
(Trifextra Prompt: use single word of your choice 3 times.)
(written for the 50th Anniversary of Kennedy Assassination 22 Nov, 1963)
“The End of Innocence”
In Dealey Plaza, hear the choir mourn:
“Remember him at death’s appointed hour”.
In beauty as the flower, man is born
as glory in his heart may give him power.
But then, the madness of one man betrays
that longing to transform and make men free.
Too brief John’s life. Sad faces turn away;
the people shake their heads for they can see
ripped from all youthful hearts, a trust is torn.
Two priests will witness Kennedy expire
and all our innocence to country sworn
cannot defeat that Camelot held prior.
One man; one bullet in a Dallas square
may now forever change the need to dare.
(written on the 50th Anniversary of Kennedy Assassination
22 November, 1963, at 1:00 PM CST)
“All the Beautiful, Young Men”
I see the beauty of his sober eyes.
At Omaha, it is his shining hour.
The camera has caught the scene at sunrise.
He’s standing in that moment of great power.
The ramp now opens; there’s the glint of dawn.
There is no turning back; no time to pause.
His choice is made and like a muscle torn
from out his heart , it is for raging cause.
“Oh, captain! I have done my duty now.
I’ve given you my soul and all my heart.
I’ve nothing more to offer or endow
as water takes my body, I depart.”
War cannot strip their beauty or that smile.
Our young men gone in such a little while.
(Source: Dreamstime.com
“The Heaven of Thirty-Three”
Where are the other Thirty-Two?
Gone from this earth;
alienated from this sod?
I look within this dearth.
Hear whisperings from this clod;
my heart.
Upon my soul is shod
the Thirty-Third.
Buddhist cosmology tells of Trāyastriṃśa, or the Heaven of Thirty-Three gods, which rule over the human realm. Use 33 of your own words about a god of your own devising that shares heaven with the other thirty-two gods.
“Exchange”
Suspicion looms as I approach
salesman behind the counter, broached.
Bubblegum plenty
changes my twenty.
Eyes, squinty:
I’ve encroached.
Clogyrnach (Welsh form) 88,55,33. rhyme: aabbba.
“A Poem About Loss”
She closes eyes and briefly takes a breath;
remembers scent of him where lay his head.
She covers up her face with sheet instead;
remembers melodies before his death.
She slides her hands along the silken cloth.
She winces as the bed sheets now are spread
into a layered box where now he beds.
She wanders like a kind of muted moth
as now he sleeps in white and huddled hutch
and blanketed with warmth, she hears his voice:
“The soul is kept alive by human touch
so I will never leave you; that’s my choice.”
Imaginary arms embrace as such
but loss so loathsome she cannot rejoice.
Form for poem: referred to as a “George Gordon/Lord Byron” Italian sonnet. Rhyme
scheme: abba;abba; cdcdcd.) Iambic Pentameter.
“Sonnet to Deception”
This lover’s tale is one that’s beastly bold.
His eyes become a glowing, red-hot choir
as near her hearth, his craft a wanton fire.
He captures soon her heart; his lies unfold.
He grips with careful hand and brazen soul
her hungry heart now buried ‘neath the liar.
And in his craftiness but one desire:
to take her and to crush her with his lies.
Now blows the wintry rain against the pane.
and silence grips the ashes in the grate.
Now crying and a tapping’s heard again.
He’s searching for most innocent of mate.
Naivete is gone; her trust, inane
as now she listens; not with love, but hate.
