glisten-
shine so bright,
open up your heart
and write
your songs. They carry on
in spite
of rumbles, chatter,
hate and fright.
envision-
all the world
in cheer
with ringing tones
-crystal clear-
a clarion for all
to hear-
a star
a beacon
-listen.
A silver weave of bangles
that you placed on your wrist
held a star, a snowflake
and proof of your fire-kissed
soul. I could only speak words
that lingered on my tongue
and could not see them
clasped to silver- hung-
and fighting the flames
of your restless heart.
Pressed upon my mind,
Such are the things that fuel and start
the creation of gemstones.
whereabouts, then do you see
your comfort, lazing –
hushed, set free.
Among the forest wood so tall?
you’d have to climb to view it “all”
And next to this an open glade
with grass and shrubs and little shade-
surrounded by a green brocade.
I’d seek the quietness in space
with wild oats, primrose, queen anne’s lace-
So lay with me in flower blooms
in this, an isolated room
away from plain, removed from fear
staring at the sky, austere
at its inception-
this poem for affection.
In a field of flowers, blue
she wanders free and rapt,
taking in the fragrant hues-
a path she had not mapped.
Gentle hands reach out to blooms
caressing each in passing
and her random walk resumes
in heaven, without asking.
In the same field, ambles he
who takes a different way-
Spying first the large oak tree
that lingers by the quay,
Stolid-fixed- he moves toward
a vast expanse that speaks-
an oceanside of blue has lured
him to the edge he seeks.
Each, their own entrancement made
as journeys intersect-
She, from wand’ring wood to glade
and he, from larger treks.
Both gone seeking greater things
away from their familiar,
Habitating different strings
yet seeking bonds that whisper.
And there on cliff-side, past the glen
two lovers stood, amore and yen-
led there in divergent ways
and destiny to laud and praise.
it is only this –
a single droning way,
a backdrop for breathing, luring and lively
all in red or green or blue-
pink or yellow ribbons that remind us
of someone lost.
it is only this.
a surface, serene and affable
sometimes glowing and thinned
infinite until shattered.
and you step out
bleeding a bit of color
fresh from a palate.
it is only this.
I have a confession.
I like jello.
It’s simple consistency and the ability to hold different flavors makes it the perfect dessert. Strawberry, lemon, cherry…lime is my favorite -by far. Green jello. It is easy to make: Just add warm water, mix, and let it set. It can be served up in little dessert cups, in larger pans and then cut into slabs or cubes. This delicacy is unique. It holds form. You can depend on it…mostly…to be the same every time you make it, only becoming distasteful when it is stale.
I recognize that this love for jello goes back to my childhood. During my hospital stays for various surgeries, the food was never a favorite – it was not consistent – nor was it the easiest to eat at the time. I don’t really remember the meals, but I remember the jello. Cool and soft, flavored, and easy to eat.
It is also versatile. You can mix it with other things to contribute that flavor. Mix with whipped white topping giving a fluffy fruit flavoring. Or mixed with fruit itself. Or as shots with liqueur. I’m not as much of a fan of jello salads, perhaps I feel the other ingredients overwhelm the flavor in the jello itself…which is funny, because gelatin is really only a medium to hold things together. The fact that jello is flavored is a bonus, I suppose.
I seem to appreciate that bonus, so I don’t really care for the desserts that “contain” jello.
When we eat at our favorite chinese buffet restaurant (the one that plays smooth jazz), I always check out the jello dessert on the salad table. My son looks at me with doubt, and says “You know you are always disappointed that the jello is stale.” This is true. Jello that is “old” develops that toughened layer on top where it has dried out over time. This ruins the trifecta of form, flavor, and texture. Nine times out of ten, I am disappointed. But I keep trying the jello. I’m persistent like that.
They don’t serve lime-flavored, though.
************************
I recognize that my use of the term ‘jello’ may be implying that I endorse a particular product of gelatin dessert. Jello has become such a ubiquitous product that it’s identification is similar to kleenex ~tissue, coke~carbonated beverage, etc.
Because I don’t like how WordPress will not allow you to tag and categorize pages like posts, I’ve decided to move my NaPoWriMo poems over to an alternative blog, Rudimental Words. It just seems like double work to post a page, then post a blog post telling you about the page. And I wanted to keep all my NaPoWriMo stuff together, with tags and categories…but separate from Taps and Ratamacues.
Probably too much of an explanation. I’ll post a link to Rudimental Words on the side bar.
Thanks for visiting.
It is National Poetry Writing Month, or NaPoWriMo 2015 for lovers of acronyms (and poetry). I’m going to be putting my entries on the page shown on my title bar NaPoWriMo 2015
Please take a moment to check it out.
Thanks!
I’ve been doing a bunch of bits and pieces of things over the past week, I feel very scattered. I haven’t really had time to sit down and write much. This is OK. Life happens. I do have a lot on my mind these days.
I had some blogworthy tidbits I wanted to jot down, but they were not worthy of single posts…kind of like kernels of popcorn that presented themselves.
National Poetry Writing Month is just around the corner. I last participated in 2013 (I think). I proudly completed the entire month for the first time. Well, I’m committing to do it again in 2015. It’s a good way to stretch your poetry legs, gets some things written down, try new forms, and shake out the dust. If you are a poet, and are participating, let me know. So we’ll see how this goes.
A reminder, my very first chapter book Accidental Songs is available on Amazon. I self-published this collection. I invite you to check it out, purchase it 🙂
Spring is getting its claws in the seasonal change, judging from the number of robins that I’ve seen recently, the rapid changes in weather that are apparent, and my allergies ramping up. I’m looking forward to the green landscape though.
I happened to read this quote in my twitter feed this week,
“We’re all smart, distinguish yourself by being kind.”
This was posted in a twitter account entitled “ShitAcademicsSay”. I don’t know the origin of the quote, and have been looking for it’s primary source. The original context apparently has to do with academic publishing and review, but I see it as a more universal restatement of the golden rule. I like it.
I heard Nat King Cole’s version of Smile a few weeks ago. The music by Charlie Chaplin, John Turner and Geoffrey Parsons added the lyrics and title in 1954. It was a mantra for a few days in the bleakness of winter. I love how a verse, a song, a quote, or even a picture can present a moment of beauty and relief.
That’s it. Popcorn’s done.
If it weren’t for poetry
I think I might sleep better
and disregard those dreams
that alliterate the night,
and ride around looking –
looking for new vistas in the dark.
If it weren’t for poetry
I could just look at
red glass bottles and ignore
what hides behind
the refracting light.
If it weren’t for poetry
I might walk on the cool
morning grass, but never
look up to see the sun.
If it weren’t for poetry
words would never project
what I dream or see.
If it weren’t for poetry
I would not awaken.
If it weren’t for poetry.
Taps and Ratamacues 