I ... entered the poem of life, whose purpose is ... simply to witness the beauties of the world, to discover the many forms that love can take. (Barabara Blackman in 'Glass After Glass')

These poems are works in progress and may be updated without notice. Nevertheless copyright applies to all writings here and all photos (which are either my own or used with permission). Thank you for your comments. I read and appreciate them all, and reply here to specific points that seem to need it — or as I have the leisure. Otherwise I reciprocate by reading and commenting on your blog posts as much as possible.

14 September 2017

Ghazal for —

Where shining joy was the most blended with piercing pain;
of many loves – all true, all lost – you are that one.

We meet in dreams, and in my memories, again
and yet again. It seems, briefly, death has not won.

‘Shall we meet once more in another life?’ I asked.
‘Nothing surer!’ declared my friend the magician.

With that I must be content as the slow years pass.
I was angry a long time that I must go on.

How full and rich life became for me after all.
Yet, still haunted, I never say your name, dear  —.

You owe me something. I will hold you to it, soul-
bound of old. I am your love. I claim reunion.


Written for Poets United's Midweek Motif ~ Reunions

13 September 2017

‘East West, Home’s Best.’ North South, Same Truth

They cry, ‘Here comes the cold!’
those Northern Hemispherists – bold
to ignore the other half of the world.
(Sigh!) That’s getting old.

Here, the cold is leaving. How sweet
to contemplate the return of heat.
Never mind what excesses we may meet
as we globally warm – still a treat.

Here in the sub-tropics, anyway, cold
is fleeting and slight. We find it sweet
that our winters are meek and bland, not bold
and harsh. We welcome the caress of heat.

Cold north, warm south; the twain don’t meet,
can’t cross from opposite sides of the world.
Never mind change or seasons, that much is old.
And perhaps we may count it a treat.

More and more I love home, as I get old.
When I was younger I travelled the world
and sampled other climates. Oh, I was bold!
Now – in all weathers, home keeps out the cold.


Written for 'Here Comes the Cold' at Poems of Garden Gnomes

I attempted a ‘Martin verse’, invented by Martin Kloess. Not easy! 
(At the link, scroll down to the poem 'Summer's Air'.)

10 September 2017

Letter to a Lasting Love


















Little Prince, I loved you at first sight. 
When I came to know you better,
your inner beauty matched and deepened
the sweet exterior, so my love deepened too.

I grew more intimate with you; at first 
swiftly, immediately, filled with increasing 
excitement and wonder ... astonished, rapturous.
Then even closer and better: leisurely, gradually.

'Time cannot weary nor custom stale.' I return
again and again, sometimes after long absence –
yet, you are never truly far from me. Your words
whisper often in my innermost ear, sound in my heart.

Oh excellent teacher and friend, I am and am not
possessive. I hold your physical body close, clasped
to my breast. Yet I share you with many. Once you lent 
one man and me your language (before he returned to his star).


Responding to Magaly's irresistible prompt at 'imaginary garden with real toads': My Dearest Book, I Wrote You a Poem ...  
(But the phrase in quotes is, of course, from Shakespeare.)

Sevenling (Hope is the other side)

Hope is the other side of despair,
hope is the helpless cousin to prayer,
hope is what's left when nothing else is there.

I want to turn it into intention,
I want to transform it into action,
or better, use it in advance as prevention.

But sometimes there is only rage and blame.


Written for Poems of Garden Gnomes (a sevenling on hope).

9 September 2017

Book of Words

My book of words 
is a testament to rapture,
a mimicry of treasures I find
outside the book – leaves
in a tracery of lace on sky, 
clouds like angels 
vastly soaring aloft, 
liquid-throated calls 
of currawongs ... do you see
how my book of words
frees these delights 
and countless more
each time I open the cover?













Written for Words Count with Mama Zen at 'imaginary garden with real toads': a poem of up to 60 words, preferably entitled 'Book of Words', and including three words from a list of her children's favourites. (My three are 'testament', 'rapture' and 'mimicry'. Great words, kids!)

Also linked to Poets United's Poetry Pantry #370

6 September 2017

United, Not …

The Chilean composer (Ortega) wrote a song:
‘The people united will never be defeated’
based on a shouted slogan for social change
under the great Allende (three months before 
he fell to Pinochet). It was the time
of uniting classical music with popular 
melodies and the instruments of folk.
The American (Rzewski) then created
a piano opus: thirty-six variations
on the theme. And now on Labour Day
in Australia we shout the slogan, changed:
‘The workers united will never be
defeated!’ – although the fact that 
Labour Day happens on different days 
in different States makes you wonder
if Governments are making us 
subtly disunited, or maybe not so subtly 
when you think about many other 
things that go on – like tax breaks 
for huge corporations, like …
well, so much (attitudes and rulings;
erosion of wages, safeguards and conditions)  
which in the end, gradually, without 
bloodshed, make us feel bloody defeated. 


Written for the 'Getting to Work' Labor Day prompt at Poems of Garden Gnomes' Also linked to this week's Tuesday Platform at 'imaginary garden with real toads'.

1 September 2017

Respect (Argument)

Let's spread respect today. Let's show it and praise it and trouble it and mend it. – Susan Chast

1.

Let’s get real on Unconditional Love. How can we
spread it to all those we can never like, admire,
respect or approve? Look around – evil abounds.
Today the world is full of the mad and the hateful.

Let’s admit, the task is impossible. They hurt me! 
Show me how I can find love for those people.
It’s not a thing I can feel for them, not for them,
and you shouldn’t ask it. I must defend myself.

2.

Praise be, love is not a feeling; that’s a myth.
It is a choice, an attitude, a set of actions,
and we must not mistake it for softness of heart.
Trouble and hurt and evil will come. Nevertheless

it is possible to show respect, even kindness.
Then we do not ourselves grow hateful. We can
mend the broken, even though we must not yield.
It is respect which is the true Unconditional Love.


Written (simultaneously) for Poets United's Midweek Motif ~ Respect and dVerse's Meeting the Bar – the Acrostic. (This is a first word acrostic, using the words quoted.) It also grew out of a recent discussion in the local women's Wisdom Circle, on unconditional love.

30 August 2017

Fallen

Will you not come,
lonely and broken,
to drink from my eyes
the love you are craving,
to receive from my hands
a softness like flowers?

I thought you would. I thought 
I could touch you, gaze on you, 
give you enfolding,
a caress like sleep
or the fragrance of roses
inhaled gently.

But then you let me see
the hard light of your stare,
let me hear the cold 
in your careless laugh.
The mask fallen can't be replaced.
It is I who am broken, lonely.


(Not directly autobiographical. An experiment in style as much as anything else.)

Linked to Poets United's Poetry Pantry #369

26 August 2017

We Gathered in the Sacred Grove

We then fanned out into the forest, each of us picking a tree:
our brothers and sisters who, like us, love you, Goddess of Light.

Goddess of Shining Light, we see your radiance; let it be
that which awakens us from the fearsome horrors of the night.

You are arising and shining, Goddess of the Forest. See,
we are here, who adore you – you limpid flame, you flaring bright.

Each of us stands with a tree, side by side, sharing all we be.
It is a custom here, and so it seems to us good and right.

We sing with strong voices; our breath, helped by the trees, pouring free.
Joining together to love you, we become one in your sight.

This ancient ceremony
is yours: oh love, oh delight!


Written for the Meme prompt at 'imaginary garden with real toads': using the 7th sentence on page 13 of a handy book as inspiration for a love poem.

The first line of this poem is the sentence, or as much of it as was on the page. The book (read as an ebook, so page numbers don't necessarily conform to the paperback edition) is
Fairies of the Wild Wild Moon by Vyvyan Ogma Wyverne. It seemed fitting, given the source, to make this a love poem to the Goddess.

It also seems to fit with Poets United's Midweek Motif ~ Nature: Her Words

And it's an attempt at the chanso form recently aired at Poetic Asides.