a poem in my pocket

 
notice how
the latest
illuminati-esque
arrival of a
handsome pair
of goldfinches
perching perkily
on the garden
pea fence
has sparked
snits of domestic
dissatisfaction
among the
common-esque
(but not drab)
sparrows !
 

Sharing today with d’Verse poetics prompt on nature’s micro worlds…

 
young owlet

fell from tree

when trimmed

fluttering low

unable to fly

high as his

worried parent

yet doesn’t try

to fight my

son’s firm grip

of gloved hand

around his

warm body

heartbeats…

grey fuzziness

luminous eyes

already wise

clicks to scold

the camera

turns neck far

to stare in all

directions:

where’s mama?

carry him oh

so gently back

to nearby spruce

for a few more

flying lessons.

photo by lynn

entered in Carpe Diem Haiku Kai’s first “kukai” contest…

 

wisteria weeps

dissolves in lavender tears

yen for soft spring rains

(wisteria photo borrowed from CDHK)

where is freedom of speech?

will bullies of anti-bullying take freedoms away?

who would cut out the tongues of those who disagree?

may atheists even question the existence of allah?

can cartoonists still print thought-provoking comics?

are heterosexuals permitted to promote their lifestyle?

can school children post comments online after school?

are businessmen allowed to say no to any customer?

may valedictorians speak publicly about their faith?

can citizens send emails the government won’t read?

are people free to protest brutal police tactics?

are wives permitted different opinion than husband?

are bloggers free to post personal worldview?

who speaks for the voiceless?

will we defend freedom?

is all speech free?

answer me!

Amendment I: Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances.

I share a beautiful haiku from an earlier time:

the childless woman,
how tender she is
to the dolls!

© Hattori Ransetsu (1654-1707)

…and my 21st century interpretation:

post-abortion grief
a mother’s searching heart-aches
collects life-like dolls

link to Carpe Diem Haiku Kai and “childless woman”…

antithesis |anˈtiTHəsis| noun (pl. antitheses |-ˌsēz| )
a person or thing that is the direct opposite of someone or something else:  love is the antithesis of selfishness.  

blond boy born of summer
winter’s brown-haired girl
both blue-eyed

raised like corn from rural soil
born and bred in city lights
single sibling each

staring out school windows
curling up in library chair
home-school sons

cold, plugs in a heater
hot, flips on the fan
warm embrace

shuts off the radio
cranks up the music
concerts together

loves bright sunshine
adores soft moonlight
playful shadows

he will order a beer
she prefers glass of wine
sharing a sip

straight meat and potatoes
mix veggies with pasta
time for dessert

irreconcilable differences
might be reconciled
by love’s heartbeat

(Linking to D’Verse where Bjorn is hosting MTB: “antithesis”)

The first fragrance of fragile flower

foreshadows flavor of fall’s fruit.

photo by lynn__

An “american sentence” (17 syllables) from my orchard…

May Day at the pub and Bjorn’s serving up recycled cliches!   d’Verse Poetics MTB

While out to lunch (and armed to the teeth with cliches), two fast friends argue over who will pay for the meal:

 
I’ll take care of the tab.

No, let me. You covered all the basements last time.

That’s water over the bridge…I’ll get it.

You’re gonna dig in your Achilles heels on this?

Yes, so don’t loose a cannon over it.

The buck stops at the cashier.

You’ll pay an ugly penny to eat those words!

Probably have to borrow the family silver…

You won’t get my goat’s sympathy with your alligator tears.

Yeah? Well, I’m tired of wearing your heart up my sleeve!

And I’m retired of crossing double-edged swords with you!

Humph, you’re deaf as a buried hatchet.

Maybe, but not paying a bill is a fate worse than debt.

Upon leaving the restaurant, they decide to sweep it all under the proverbial dyed-in-the-wool rug.  After all, why put all your rotten eggs in one basket case?

how are we?  better than expected yet

mental frustration imposes physical toll

emotional wounds may bleed through

relational pain lingers most awkwardly

personal grief feeds melancholy mood

accrual disappointments weigh heavily

spiritual muscles are aching in protest

psychological scars can pull powerfully

no permanent healing this side of heaven.

wild violets blinking

spring’s soft sunshine coaxes blooms

beside garden stones

I am from…
the love of two mothers,
three sets of grandparents
(i thought everyone had)
and a father’s laughter.

I am from…
tease of best younger brother,
crossing line in car’s backseat,
okay, put on the boxing gloves
(always hit ’em below the neck)

I am from…
hamburger casseroles,
patio picnics with friends
popcorn, swedish pancakes,
home-canned jars of applesauce.

I am from…
summers of biking, hiking,
softball striking (you’re out)
driving past windmills, cornfields
anticipating visits with cousins.

I am from…
library books, music lessons,
arts & crafts; friday sleepovers
and saturday morning cartoons,
sunday school memory verses.

I am from…
games of monopoly and ping pong
yo-yos, troll dolls, four-square at recess
playing house or school with teddy bears
neighbor kids’ army in dad’s uniform hats.

I am from…
hurry up or you’ll miss the bus,
clean your plate, did you make your bed?
be nice to your brother (you’re older, they said)
finish your homework, say your prayers.

yep, that’s where i’m from!

Based on a poem by George Ella Lyon: http://www.georgeellalyon.com/where.html