morning of 9-11-2001…where were you when unimaginable tragedy struck?
at home with children husband says, “turn on news” watch furtively shield little eyes (they saw enough to fear airplanes) terrorists fly fueled deathtraps to fiery destruction & chaos hell’s heat & smoke people panic, jump screams & sirens first responders are brave to rescue the injured & bleeding buildings collapse leveled to street low cloud billows of dust & debris onlookers run as victims lie buried below steel cross
the following summer, in month of June when my father called to tell me mom had died, (she was our second wife & mother we grieve) he commented, “our twin towers have fallen.”
“Boys in a Pasture” by American artist, WinslowHomer (1836-1910)
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last lazy summer day in pastures green one week of freedom before starting school stiff grasses tickle, prickle calloused feet noon sun shines hot but breezes gently cool
two cousins sit together amiably companionship does not require words they watch the cows while clouds float easily from distant trees, they hear the caw of birds
they dream a pirate’s dream on desert isle of treasure buried deep beneath the sand although there’s no high seas for many a mile boys can imagine sword fights on dry land
covered by straw hats, long hair falls in curls time’s brief, as young minds soon will follow girls
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An ekphrastic sonnet linked to W3 prompt at The Skeptic’s Kaddish.
circle on screen spins as computer “thinks”; interminable spinning seeks missing links, or while waiting for host to allow guests and greet to zoom room gathering or another google meet. trying desperately to reload, refresh, retool but constant spinners make one feel dizzy fool!
As children, we used to pick tart green apples from the lone fruit tree in our city backyard and peel using a paring knife…slow, careful, deliberate and then slice into chunks by hand to cook. Mom filled glass quart jars and vacuum sealed them in the pressure canner.
As adults, we pick ripe red apples from tree of choice in farm orchard and use a mechanical peeler…set apple on spikes to hold in place, turn handle quickly to create curls of peelings, then remove naked fruit, already sliced. We cut, cook, cool, and spoon into freezer containers.
Family comes together to make applesauce memories in season…working to process the produce, we’ll savor the flavor the rest of the year. Counting filled jars or quart containers is pure satisfaction.
camping offers idle time alone with nature and nature’s God. He is everywhere present in the quiet moments, in shade of tall pines; seen in magpie’s wings and shine of doe’s eyes; felt in chipmunk’s fast heartbeat and icy glacial stream; heard in honk of goose and bugle of elk. He abides on mountain heights and in rocky crags’ hidden cave; his power witnessed in lightning jolt, drenching downpour or an alpine avalanche; in strength and beauty that beckons us to be still and know.
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“Be still and know that I am God…”Psalm 46:10
photo by lynn__(he was this close from pickup window, no zoom!)
life… we’d like to wrap it neatly in a tight ball of colorful yarns; the stories and scenes we’ve experienced till now…but it seems that no matter how hard we try the numbers are indecipherable and unresolved ends fray out loosely yet… there’s an inexplicable order to the chaos and the total effect of our threads is beautifully woven.
Digital artwork titled “Pi, the never ending nebula” by Shaharee
Linking with poets at dVerse hosted by Melissa LeMay and featuring the amazing art of Alma Thomas!
i must radiate from cool core soul like blue mud ball of heavy clay saturated then evaporated into wet rings rippling outward with smooth swirling moves that break through purple barrier of fearful insecurities with unique inner energy ignited by spirit’s heat. which pulsates bright music of love and creativity to touch and enhance other lives with beauty and joy!
Alma Thomas, The Eclipse (1970), Smithsonian American Art Museum.
Her father registered as democrat, like his brothers. They thought they were standing up for the “little guy” against a big, bad republic. But over the years, he felt the sting of high taxes for ineffective social programs which actually hurt a lot of “little guys” in the long run and made dependents of capable people. He became disillusioned and changed parties after realizing he usually voted republican anyway.
So when his daughter turned eighteen and could legally vote, she registered as republican and proudly voted for president Reagan. She considered herself a feminist until she realized abortion was big, bloody business that actually hurt a lot of women and “little guys”. She became disillusioned with political rhetoric and eventually switched to be independent.
Socialism breeds violence, as proven by history. Every day unfurls as it must; our government “under God” should promote justice!
Time for tea at dVerse poets hosted by Lisa. We are writing prosery of 144 words and incorporating this quote from Adrienne Su’s poem, Oolong: “Every day unfurls as it must.“
Considering the recent events in U.S. (assassination attempt on presidential candidate), we must speak for truth and justice, not spout violent political rhetoric.Maybe if we discuss politics over a cup of tea, we can all be more civil in our disagreements.
a poem in my pocket 
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