Pretty Pierette

Some people hate clowns,

think them murderous 

with wide, round, staring eyes 

and crazy grins.

I, myself, despised

the lumbering, stupid

circus clowns of my childhood.

Then I found these others.

Now I am in love

with the clowns from the Carnival,

their patterned costumes,

their shapely masks.

Here at my left hand, overlooking 

the desk whereon I make poems,

there sits the loveliest of all –

a gift from a knowing friend.

Her white porcelain hands and face,

her elaborately painted eyes,

her bows and bells and glitter

show me she is beautiful but sad.

I know sad. Those frozen tears

on her blank, helpless face

remind me. They are for love lost:

remembering a different beauty.

Written for Poems of Garden Gnomes. The prompt: to write about whatever is just out of reach of one's left hand.

Also linking to Poets United's Poetry Pantry #389

Autumn on the Tweed

As I drive alongside the river

under a sunny sky,

the air seems blue and golden

up and down my way – 

my way along the river

now, and spreading forever.

Always it seems forever,

unbroken days of perfect weather,

Tweed River sparkling lazily –

untroubled, expansive,

mimicking Spring or even Summer. But

no, it's Autumn; that rich, warm season.

Autumn was always my favourite time

under Heaven, as the earth rolls around

to repeat its cycles over and over

until time spins to a standstill and stops.

Must we think of that while the sun is shining?

Never! Let's rest in the heartbeat of Autumn.

Note: This Tweed River is in Australia, not Scotland!

A triple acrostic, written for Form Friday – Acrostic (with Autumn theme) at Poems of Garden Gnomes. It is a hot Spring in Australia just now, but I love to celebrate Autumn in this sub-tropical part of the country. Not many coloured leaves; just glorious weather.

‘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'.)

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).

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

divided!’ – 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'.

Pub;ished in HAVE YOUR CHILL, July 2018

My Garden Gnomes

They carry garden tools

but live in the house.

They have a job to do

and it’s not gardening.

They are my Finder Gnomes.

‘Silly,’ says my friend. ‘They 

aren’t alive. It’s your angels.’ 

All I know is, when I lose 

anything, I ask them.
Then it turns up.

Written for 'The Truth About Gnomes' at Poems of Garden Gnomes. 
Also shared with Poets United's Poetry Pantry #368