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Thursday, October 18, 2018

Cornucopia

The Work is Peace

I’ve been poor before,
no food, money, job, and no
ideas, fear-filled.

So happy for the
joy in my life now, as I’m
filled with abundance.

Breathing in with grace,
exhaling with gratitude,
life is just too good.

Grace, gratitude and 
generosity seem to 
work just fine for me.

There remains much truth,
even with this awareness,
left to discover.

Abundance is our 
right, prosperity a state 
of mind, effortless.

Giving is often 
based on happenstance,
yet it’s easy to be kind.

Not why we give, but
a cornucopia of

joy always follows.

Monday, October 8, 2018

Enchantment

More “magic”...

Enchanting Bliss

Like Bogey and Bacall,
with our love unfurled,
we bring order, stability,
steadfast togetherness,
bright lights in a dark world.
Ours is not a dream,
there’s no magic in our art,
though to others it might so seem,
we are simply playing our part.
Cupid’s arrows never struck,
with mysterious love potions,
no magic flower picked by Puck,
ever created dreamlike notions.
It’s no accident, no stroke of luck,
we do not bumble,
seldom stumble,
satisfied each day
with what life has meant to say.
Not star-cross’d lovers,
hoping for do-overs,
no need for enchantment,
T’would just impede our way.
We’ve turned our dreams into reality,
true visionaries, we let life be.
Even if our love were a dream,
it would need to be embraced,
but no golden palace, no silver hill,
no white elephant need be chased.
Our love, like life,
though not a dream, remains
unfathomable, indescribable,
it simply sits there, glowing.
We cannot grasp it,
so we simply
bathe in its perplexity,
revel in its complexity,
be content in never knowing.

A Viator

At Poetic Bloomings 2, we are experimenting with the Viator form. The Viator poem form was invented by Canadian author and poet Robin Skelton. It consists of any stanzaic form in which the first line of the first stanza is the second line of the second stanza and so on until the poem ends with the line with which it began. My attempt...

Gratitude

I thought about you,
late yesterday afternoon,
when the 4:00 wind blew in,
through the orange tree.

As night neared,
I thought about you,
while the full moon shone in,
low over Mount Woodson.

I woke between late and early,
some kind of bad dream crashing in.
I thought about you,
your strength carrying me through.

Lunch was quiet, peaceful,
no demons rushing in,
my day filled with appreciation.
I thought about you.

Okauchee, Elm Avenue

Here´s another stab at a Viator poem, this time with an abba rhyme scheme...

Okauchee

There are no more elm trees
on the Elm Avenue I knew,
the place where I grew,
in peace and at ease.

That bug took them, so
there are no more elm trees,
as my recollections displease,
of the world I would know,

leaving brittle memories, I guess,
of lilacs, firs, birches and bees,
there are no more elm trees,
but that maple still thrives, yes!

Damn that Dutch disease,
which stole our canopy,
the way things used to be,
There are no more elm trees.

A Tanaga Poem

Over at Poetic Bloomings 2, we are playing with the Tanaga form (look it up). My attempt...

The world may be in tatters,
but love still truly matters.
Ignore the cynics, natters,
forget the ugly chatters.

See, love is really real,
and it can truly heal,
with energy and zeal,
so let those love bells peal.

It’s easy to be at ease,
simply live a life of peace.
You’ll feel your health increase,
your anger and rancor cease.

So belt out a loving song,
you can’t possibly go wrong,
you will feel your heart grow strong,
with the power of King Kong.

Anniversary Ditty

Bill and Shannon,
sittin’ in a tree,
livin’ and a-lovin’
in Tennessee.
18 years of marriage,
never making it look hard,
family all around them,
dogs out in the yard.
Wishing them bliss forever,
though no one’s keeping score,
hope to see them growing old together,
for 100 years (or more).

Wednesday, October 3, 2018

A Note Found on a Desk


Thank you for 
completing me,
this being 
my last task,
left hanging, 
waiting for your part,
otherwise how tragic,
how it might sadly be,
no beauty, no art.

Did I die well?
I have given the matter 
great thought,
well, frequent thought at least,
perhaps not so profound,
this being the nature of the beast.
My preference would have been
for the least untidy end, 
free of trauma for me,
to be sure, but see,
even more for my discoverer,
upon whom I must depend.
I had thought it would be best 
to be asleep at the time, 
but maybe it wasn’t so,
maybe at my desk, 
one last comma to insert, 
or to remove...now there’s
a tragedy, I know.

I did not want it 
to be in public,
strangers made awkward by the intrusion,
but my fondness for my love
led me to wish for not at home,
though she would wish for her inclusion.

Ah, the dilemma.
Well, no more.
What it was, it was. 
Do not be sad, please, 
as I am not,
this ancient body 
had long begun its rot.
I have seen 
some of what is to be,
the thin veil,
the great mystery, 
the ever-hopeful maybe.
Be well, and do not shirk,
do great work 
with small things.

And keep in touch.