Day 13: Renewable

The Tide

The tide ebbs and flows...

endless swirls
in and out
life unfurls

changing motions
in and out
many oceans

melodic refrains
in and out
scattering remains

©2009 Debra Ann Elliott

In for the Long Haul

He's exhausted again
as usual.
yawning.
She sighs

No one promised
a life of excitement
She's realistic
& knows better deep inside.

She dreams
Just once she'd love
a night on the town
or lovemaking 'til dawn

She loves him
dearly
But is it enough
To make it through the long haul?

Reborn

She sang of summer,
winter’s grip soon forgotten.
Peace always trumps fear.

Robert, you are writing magnificently in this month of the chapbook. Perhaps you should be busy and ill more often. I love love as much as I love peace and you seem to love so well. Thanks for sharing it with us.

"renew"

it's simple, really,
just walk outside
and open your eyes
and ignore, for a
moment, all that we
have done to change
the world. instead
let the world
change you.

Daniel, your comment is as poetic as your poetry. Truly a poet.

How Much Longer?

The land sustains so many forms;
humans, animals, plants, life itself.
The water, too, sustains;
without, all would perish.

So who renews each resource?
Who protects and nurtures,
as we would a child?
The choice is ours.

And who preserves relationships
between countries, states, communities,
friends and lovers?
The choice is ours.

What brand of caregiver are you and I?

SUN KING

HERE COMES THE SUN,
after a goodnight's rest.
It lowered its tired head
THE NIGHT BEFORE, only to GET BACK
after A HARD DAY'S NIGHT,
for a day without sunshine
is like a WORLD WITHOUT LOVE.
You can search ACROSS THE UNIVERSE
EIGHT DAYS A WEEK, only to awaken
every morning to say "GOOD DAY SUNSHINE!
GOT TO GET YOU INTO MY LIFE"
You'll never hear anyone one say,
"I DON'T WANT TO SEE YOU AGAIN".
I NEED YOU, and IF I NEEDED SOMEONE,
BABY, IT'S YOU. I'LL FOLLOW THE SUN.
I WILL! When you're down, I'M DOWN.
I'm just THE FOOL ON THE HILL
who will WAIT for you to warm me
with your INNER LIGHT at least for today.
YESTERDAY, we had RAIN. TOMORROW NEVER KNOWS.
So I'll WAIT here until I know WHAT YOU'RE DOING,
BECAUSE as long as YOU KNOW WHAT TO DO,
YOU'LL BE MINE. HERE COMES THE SUN!

THE DAY CAN BE RENEWED

don’t believe for a second
once the day is done it’s done

there is a certain magic
recalling those expended
moments, reining in the joys
and yes even the sorrows

holding them gently
in your two hands
then letting them tumble
into the memory box
where they’re transformed
renewed and saved forever

the day is like a comet
dashing across the night sky
when it flashes by
there is always the tail
to leap up and grab for
hold onto for dear life

#

“Perspective”


Refreshing Perspective
Uneven terrain,
Treading path gingerly.

Refreshing Perspective
Blurred vision, altered,
Gait moves more steadily.

Refreshing Perspective
Clearing the shadows,
Stride with confidence, free.

Ninacarole
11/13/09

Renewing November


It’s Friday the thirteenth
and I’m thinking about
renewing November.
Up to now the focus
has been on autumn,
on the closing down
of things, falling leaves,
the final steps and falls
of a long and decent life,
the miscarriage of a longed for child.
Yesterday I mulched
great yellowed drifts
of faded fallen leaves,
now turned to fragments
lost among the yet green lawn.
The morning sun blinds and warms
from a clear blue firmament.
This day began with trumpets,
a mighty flock of southbound geese
saluting a glorious sunrise.
Sandra is reading happily
beside the dozing white cat
and we will head out shortly,
aware that every season
has its seasons, every shadow
is the herald of a warming sun.

I love this new poem of yours, Robert!!! jb

Jane Beal
sanctuarypoet.net

Peach No More

Hot then cold,
never comfortable,
she fans herself
one minute and the
next she dons
the blue sweater
he gave her
last Christmas.

Once upon a time,
her body was
youthful, limber,
athletic and lithe,
but now she lolls
around complaining
about the aches
and pains in her
aging, tired joints.

She looks in the
mirror with disdain,
wondering who
the wrinkled old
lady with graying
hair is looking
back at her
like a forgotten
shriveled peach.

Suddenly an idea
hits her, a wake
up call she thinks,
so she makes her way
to the phonebook,
Joe Cocker crooning
“You are so beautiful”
from her radio,
and searches for
the name of a
plastic surgeon,
and then
happily heads for
the store to buy
blonde hair dye.

laurie k.

THREE CANDLES

When I met you,
I was already pregnant
with our child.

You touched me
inside
before you held me.

You kissed
my mouth
before we even spoke.

Your hands whispered
against my skin
before we lit the three candles.

For everything that came before,
for what is now and for what will be,
I love you with all my heart.

Jane Beal
sanctuarypoet.net

Robert, stunning images today. I love everyone's original take on each prompt.

Renew Me

Brisk pace
cross bridge
swinging arms
panting breath
crisp air
current below
blue above
inhale fall
heartbeat up
heart full
peaceful soul
breathe God
life good.

Open for Business

There’s one born every minute
a sucker, that is, aching to believe
in wonder for the sake wonder.

The voodoo of our times is filmy
stuff. Seems magical to uncover
civil exchange, deliberate action.

Regular human interaction has become
unconsciously syrupy commercial
Hallmark greetings as holiday cues.

A warm desire for unjaded amazement bears
scars just below the surface, vulnerable
to current disinterest in renewal energy.

She Wants

Alright. I will renew my commitment by renewing my membership. I originally signed up for a month after taking a free yoga class, just to see if I would like it – or not even so much if I would like it – but if I would actually go. See, I’m the kind of girl who signs up for diet plans but only last two weeks. I’m the kind of girl who joins a gym and moves away but is too ashamed to cancel her card even though it is a justifiable way to get out. It wasn’t always that way. When I was a kid, I could save dollar after dollar in the back of my underwear drawer, knowing, some day I’d have enough for a new tape – ya know the kind with music? Or maybe a T-shirt that wasn’t just white or yellow, but something with words. There was a me that would plan, who joined the BMG music club and stuck to the program. Even a me who planned to read at least a book a month for a year and did and then some. But, this me, this girl, wants to only eat when she is hungry, wants to put exercise before everything else on her constantly updated to-do list. She wants her heart and her brain to get to know each other. She wants her stomach to just SHUT THE HELL UP. She wants.

SPRING BREAK
(Dionysus)

Headlights like a river of stars in the distant night,
and we've made a bonfire for some warmth of our own;
March rain left the grass slick as snakes,
toes sinking into the irreverent mud.

Tonight is dry, though, and we are
wrapped in quilts, showing off our patchwork wingspans
(for the airplanes sighing by are so small up above),
laughter our new punctuation,
red wine in plastic cups and blackened flesh on stakes
or s'mores and fingers we have to wipe clean,
raising our hands to scrape
marshmallow off on the moon.

Tomorrow the sun will crack through the last of winter,
fruit trees will flower, mad passionate energy will
dance through our muscles, and we will be here
to sing up the dawn, guitar music and polyphonic chants,
bongo drums and brave souls spinning chains of fire,
Polaroid lives that grow younger and more beautiful
each time you look at them, from all
the different angles.

We bleed together like pigments tapped from the soul
of the Earth, in our similarity; we are
simple in our celebrations, for we've found each other,
searching for so long through this incarnation,
and finally we have succeeded, we are burning
suburban crowns of sorrows that twined our curly heads.

Remember the principles of illogic: all things being equal,
the simplest ecstasies tend to be the right ones.

Un-greening

Vows made in haste
promises meant to be broken
hearts sundered in two

a non-renewable resource
if ever there was one.

Blast! I cannot get the spacing right so that my name is just far enough below the last line of the poem. It's either right there or too far down.

I have been so impressed with the quality of work this month. A daily poem presents quite a challenge, but there have been so many gems posted here that it is not possible to comment on each.

Robert, thank you for this opportunity. I have been enjoying your daily poems very much this month in particular. Write on, all.

Five-Year Contract

You used to say
marriage should come
with a renewable five-year contract.
I nodded yes, then discovered
I’d have renewed every time,
up to that last breath
you took in your own bed.

Now I’m alone in the big house,
though I share it with three cats,
find my life has renewed itself
like wildflowers in spring.
I make the contract with myself
to enjoy every moment, every day.

About Renewal

hard to say
who had the most faith that day
we exchanged one dry Christmas tree
for ten bare sticks
traveled home to plant them
in the hard ground

then
watered, waited, wondered
at the hopelessness
of what we were about

yet today
birds sing from
ten generous red maples
lifting their limbs
into blue sky

COME TOGETHER

You knew.
You saw the decline
of a man so full of life,
reduced to this frail and repentant soul.
A fractured family standing by while
a common thief stole every last breath
the man had to offer, labored as they were.
Glazed and inebriated with morphine, all to ease
the pain of seventy-nine years of love, support
and enough wrong choices to make regret take charge.
Six siblings, all ever at odds, hearts kept miles apart
and conversations kept at a millennium,now abreast,
shoulder to shoulder, hand to hand, eyes fixed and tear-filled.
As cold and lifeless death took hold of your hand,
where seconds ago your father's pulse held your rapt
attention. Heads bowed in unison; a collective sigh
of relief and grief took over the room to manifest itself
in the strangest way. On that day, you had all returned.
At your parents silent request, you had come together renewed.
And the Heavens smiled.

Renewal

Piles of sodden leaves
Quietly decomposing
To return as soil.

Renewable mint source.


See the little lambs scampering in the field;
frolicking without a care.
Happy, happy, happy.


'Hello Mr Fox,' squeal the happy little lambs,
'Hello little lambs,' says Mr Fox.
'We're so lucky Mr Fox, to have your caring help;
to keep us fed and safe in this field,
you are so very kind.'
'Well yes, my little lambs, it's my job to keep you safe;
there's nothing makes me happier.
'In fact, I am watching you closely to see
who will be so happy as to win a prize
to go on holiday to another field.'

See the little lambs happy in the field.
See Mr Fox licking his lips.
Happy, happy, happy.

MAGNIFIED

Even when she feels
like a nameless plant
forgotten in the corner,
parched and dusty; hidden
in the shadows. Indwelling
Spirit will meet her there.
He'll move her to a sunny spot
by the window; water her, and
dust her off. She's not alone,
not forgotten...she's loved.
Lovingly called by name to the
place where Your Son melts away
her negativity. Generously You
feed her with Your undying water.
Gingerly You dust off the areas
of her faith that have grown stale.
Patiently You draw her out of the
depths of gloom and dark to fill
her with Your passion and light.
Persevering to progress; soulfully
seeking Your face, attentively heeding
your voice. Magnifying the essence of You.

BELIEVING AGAIN

Once upon a time
I thought life was a fairy tale
Then I grew older
Life became a struggle
I forgot magical things
Caught up in day to day worries
I forgot about elves and fairies
Shamefully, I even told my child
magic was make believe
Santa wasn't real
the tooth fairy didn't exist
I told myself, don't lie to her
Let her see the real world
I forgot how to believe
in the magic of childhood
Until my little girl
gave me the greatest gift
a view of the world through
her imaginative eyes
We walked in the woods
she showed me the toadstools
painted by fairies and elves
the moss the tooth fairy
uses to weaves her little pouch
We started reading fairy tales
the magic poured out
knights, magicians, fairy godmothers
I was reborn, seeing again
all the magic in the world
And on Christmas Eve
We set out cookies and milk
And went to bed
with visions of Santa in our head!

J. Kuykendall

Mmmmm...Walt, that piece is living, full of love.

Beginning Again


When you spoke, it was in wine-breath whispers
recalling the first days of youth, taking your
listeners into the wild grass valleys where
only natives and first settlers walked.

In the paper-shelled body, so wrinkled
it seemed as if wrinkles alone
propped you upright, the eyes sparked
with remembered life. From the old country,

you told us, the first sprigs of vine came,
renewed themselves in these hills. The land
adopted them as their own, nurtured them
into that first harvest, grapes as bitter as

burnt sun. The next year, sweeter,
the third year, sweeter yet, welter of vines
growing thicker, leaves, once pale, greener.
You mark your words with long pauses,

stare at the fertile vineyards that cover
the valley floor, flush with grapes
and leftover rain from a cloud-ridden sky,
knowing it’s your turn to be replanted.

Renewable

R enewable like resources,
E nergy, driver’s licenses,
N oon day sun, seasons, leases,
E leventh hours, faith, hope, love,
W onders of a child, friendship,
A lligator tears, gift cards, library books,
B eliefs, promises, wedding vows—
L ike morning glories, Your mercies are new
E very morning.

Connie, that is full of truth and beauty.

The lives that we travel

A new day is rising upon this dusty road
Night stars gently fade away
As sleep fades from my eyes
I’ll put on a brand new body
Then’ll walk that road again

It’s hard to remember where I’ve been before
But I’ve walked this road to sorrow
I’ve walked this road to joy
I’ve walked this road for so long
And I’ve seen a lot of things

I prayed on temples in Atlantis
Oh how beautiful you were
Then I fought in bloody battles
That the Romans staged for play
I have fished upon the south sea
I’ve found joy in simple life
Who knows just what I’ll see today

I imagine I will see it all
Before this journey ends
I’ll make some mistakes
I’ll be the victim of the same
But I’ll learn to forgive
And I’ll learn to be strong
Until I have learned all
That this road has to teach

Well they say the Universe is round
And if you go straight long enough
You’ll end up where you began
I think that that is so true
But one thing yet remains
You’ll never end up who you where
When that journey first began

Banana, you've been reading Rachel, haven't you, you devil?
(not that there's anything wrong with that)...that piece is way fun

Banana, you've been reading Rachel, haven't you, you devil?
(not that there's anything wrong with that)...that piece is way fun

Walt, I've been following your admiration of the Beatles. I grew up with them and love their music.

Jane Beal, what a wonderful love poem.

Joseph Harker, your imagery is lovely and so visual. I love your poem.

I am in awe of all the wonderful poets who have filled these November days with their magnificent poems. Thanks to all for sharing.

How appropriate on this day...renewable codes lead to renewable comments

Maril Crabtree, your poems is beautiful. It touched my heart.

Debra, what a beautiful offering this morning. I could feel myself flowing with the ebb and tide of the poem, traveling upon the words. And Walt - "Coming Together" what poignant power, it blew me away.

Why did I shatter to tears at their touch?
My daughter and I had argued that night.
Family roles and hard opinion edges
crystallized hilts on the blades of judgment.
We broke our clutch with our standoff unbudged.

Wearing the suits of plaintiff, defendant,
and magistrate, I escaped to the dance.
That’s where six hands came gently to my heart,
forgiving all beyond all forgiveness,
everyone, everywhere, and everywhich:

my sleeping daughter, my beloved spouse
and my burdened self, wracked in my own thrall,
splashed down, washed free, a falling waterspout
wept and swept down to small rippled puddles
calmly reflecting the warm, human light

of anonymous, personal healers.
I can’t explain it. It healed me. That’s all.


DA

Renewable Mother Earth

Sweet Mother Earth!
Show me again,
Beyond merriment,
And mirth.
What are your thoughts
On rebirth!

How you keep going
And knowing,
Showing us the way.
To begin again . . .
Each season,
Reveals your reason.

Come spring,
Beginnings are evident,
Trees and plants,
In the process of becoming full,
Mother Earth . . . again you are growing.

Come summer,
Sun is our shining sign,
Of brightness, enhanced warmth,
Ripening, reaching our maximum.
Mother Earth . . . again you are glowing.

Come fall,
Subtle sense of slowing down,
Ushering in the necessary changes,
We all need to make, take to shake us awake.
Mother Earth . . . again you are flowing.

Come winter,
Sure transformation is in the air!
Inner pull for reflection, a bareness of the soul.
Chilly perhaps outside, warm closer inside.
Mother Earth . . . again you are blowing.

You teach,
You reach,
With the beauty of a beach,
Through each
Developing peach,

That renewing each day,
Is your way,
To stay,
Forever in the NOW.

That despite our resistance,
Or lack of a positive attitude,
By altering our stance,
We shift our attitude.

If we copy your message,
If we can find that inner resolve,
Then you mirror to us what is possible,
And, in truth, how we , too, evolve.

You are grand,
You are gentle,
No greater teacher for me.

And if I lose my center,
I will always find my mentor,
No further away then a tree!

~Moonlit Willow Memory~

Our love had been waning and we seldom talked
so tonight we decided to go for a walk

We went as the sun started to set, awaiting the moon to rise. Turning a bend we discovered the willow, a majestic prize

The stately tree stood tall by a lake- what a perfect hiding spot we thought this might make

You and I went toward the tree, walking hand in hand, wondering at the beauty of it upon our land

For never had we seen it before, we didn't know why, as we gazed at the tree reaching up to the sky

As you parted the vines for us to pass through, we entered a world that belonged just to us two

With perfect timing the moon began to rise and we stood close together, lost in each others eyes

As the silver beams shone down from above we reclaimed our love with a tender kiss, could it get much better then this

The willows fronds swayed gently in the wind as you passionately carressed my lips time and again

My hands drifted to your face and time stood still in this magical place, our hearts beating out a rhythm, keeping pace

Lowering down upon the leaves we made sweet love beneath the tree, our souls mingling together, spirits flying free

We lay at peace in each others embrace, and you thanked God for the willow with a smile on your face

I snuggled up to you with a sigh and also thanked Him, for helping you and I become closer again

We both came to cherish that special night, when we rekindled our love beneath the willow in the pale moonlight

---

AFTER STORM

One man keeps his Huck-Finn dreams intact,
river-carries-it-all-away possibilities.
Another guards each detail like a thread
leading out of the labyrinth. He gathers crumbs
and clues. From a footprint, he intuits
someone lost, and follows down cattle-swale
and boulder; a half-moon mark in sand
is proof enough.

One man slips from his appearances
and keeps following the dusk and dawn.
The other holds his course
of piece-meal evidence, this footprint
pressed in earth, fresh
as daylight, while cows from their curious
distance
lie down to ruminate their cud,

then get up again to graze, and drop
their cow-pies mixed of grass and sun. See, here,
where someone stepped
in heifer night-soil, left that much of himself
hardening all summer to adobe. In time,
like man, it gives up to a river-take-all destiny.
But for now, at least, it’s brought
to life again by last night’s rain.

Water Heater 101

Some things you just expect
to work, until they don’t.
Kneeling in the dark corner
of laundry room, siphoning
bucket after bucket of old
water, mopping up excess with
torn towels and my knees,
I wonder: how did I never
appreciate the magic
of hot water, appearing at
the touch of a handle?
Seriously. Every day,
I expect this reliable miracle
to appear, healing streams of
hot hot water, never once
thinking how or why
or thank you.
What else have I ignored,
assuming it will always
be there?

Just Us

You, a decade younger than I
Extremely good looking; painfully shy.
Me, just divorced from a man I had trusted
Forging a way; not yet adjusted.

Me, disenchanted with happy ‘er after, yet
Wanting renewal of love, warmth, and laughter.
Focused on making a way on my own;
Facing a future -- uncertain, alone.

Me, back in school, as I clean up debris;
You, nearly done with your two-year degree.
Exchanging brief glances in class and in hall;
Attempting discreetness, as well I recall.

Enter professor, who noticed our plight, then
Schemed with amusement and fiendish delight.
“You’ll need to pair up,” said this playful young teacher,
Whose hallmark, I’d say, was her matchmaking feature.

She gave us a sheet of one-hundred-plus fill-ins,
Ranging from neutral to oh-make-me-blush sins.
Then she sat back with a smirk on her face;
Happy she’d taken us on as a case.

You, walking out of the classroom that day;
Me, walking with you; both chatting away.
We, walking into a lifetime of love;
Now twenty years later, and blessed from Above.

Banana, caught yours. If they are all as brilliant, I'll have a great time reading tonight! :)

Flood

“God gave Noah the rainbow sign:
Won’t be water but fire next time.”

Before I saw it, I couldn’t fathom
the image of rain, water, so much
water, to wash the world clean
then begin again, flowing through
veins of earth like lifeblood.

What raw power, eroding mountains,
toppling great oaks, stealing breath
from swimmers grown bone-tired
treading water. Yet we were spared
while borne aloft on swollen streams
covering so many lost souls.

What did we owe, beginning again
in a world made new? Should we
have known our past mistakes
would multiply as we pressed
those first grapes springing from
new ground, partook, and sinned?

Another Chapter, Another Scene

tap.. tap...tap..
another scene committed to paper
or pixels, rather, or bytes of information –
the stories in my head
committed to data
is this how AIs are made?

I let it simmer
and an hour later
read it back. and sigh

DELETE
REDO FROM START
>:

Renewed to the Nth Degree

The mountains of Shenandoah aren’t the
grandest mountains on the continent.
Their majesty is dwarfed by
the Rockies, the Sierras, the Smokies.
But they’re close to our hearts and prized in our lives.

It was there I camped and hiked alone,
seduced by the wonders of nature for the very first time.
The city girl was never more aware of how intense
a smell could be,
the fragrance of mountain greenery,
the scent of rich, brown soil.

It was there you and I became friends.
Those mystical mountains readied the way
for what would come later.
They bound us together,
the source of our renewal,
the replenishment of body, mind and spirit.

And so they remain.
Bad day, bad week, bad karma.
The mantra repeats itself whenever we need it.
Let’s go to the mountains.
Let’s watch the green line rise to the summit.
Let’s glory in the magic of gold and crimson leaves
that last for the briefest of moments before
sharing the barrenness that comes before the cycle begins anew.
Renew us again, each time we ask you
to embrace us with your peace.

Marie Elena and Tim Snodgrass, I am touched by your words and the images they convey. Amada Fall, I, too, have been in that basement and have questioned the things I take for granted. Walt, you are the first one I seek to read. You are an amazing wordsmith. The talent of all who write on this page is the essence of inspiration. And to the codes: someday I will master your mystery.

Tim Snodgrass: Thank you for your lovely comments. That was the intention of the poem to take the reader into the poem. To make you feel like you were part of the ever renewable tide.

Tim, your poem was beautiful and so true...

I just want to say that I enjoy reading every single poem everyday.
I may not comment on each one, but the writting is beyond words.

My soul, today an orange disk,
would enter a danios
like a hand returning to a glove.
My soul, if I die today,
fly to your pure ocean home.

Loves Light Renewed

Loves light grows cold in the dust of the day
They never put the bottom in time’s quaint hour glass
The grains of sand keep falling and cover it in mounds

But love is a jewel its flame sparkles renews
Funny jingles can’t stop dancing in the mind
Like a sand covered treasure it beckons to you

You stop to remember on one cloudy day
Like a wisp in the wind it calls out to you
Like magic the clouds part and sun finds a way

Like the echoing laughter of your favorite joke
Hold it up to your heart don’t try to refrain
Wolf giggles ignite the love light renewed

I AM RENEWED…

I am renewed…
by quiet gentle breaths,
flowing delicately from my lungs,
yielding my body to a brand new day.

I am renewed…
by my frosty morning Slim-Fast,
smooth and chocolaty,
enticing my taste buds
as it trickles down my throat.

I am renewed…
by the soft dulcet tones
of my meditative music
as I create my own lyrical expressions
using paper and pen.

I am renewed…
by the enchantment of my granddaughter’s voice
as she pushes the button on her mommy’s cell phone all by herself,
and says, with laughter, delight, and fascination of her own expressions,
“Hi Ummy, it’s me!”

I am renewed…
every single day,
knowing that God has provided me
with a new plan,
a new lesson,
and renewed joy for my life.

I am renewed…
that I am still here
on planet Earth.

Nor'easter

Sands of our youth
beaches where we played
dunes that we climbed
- yes, even the ones they rebuilt -
in two wild nights
of storm, wind, massive wave
return to the sea
from which they came

God reclaims
His property.

these last few have been mantid days
and everywhere it seems, are tiny pale
and tender green insect miniatures
posed in attitudes of patient prayer.
insectile pharisees of the fall.

aloe that summered on the porch
(brought inside at the report of frost
in butter tubs and plastic cups, green
pups expecting potting soil and better digs)
brought the first one up to my eye level.
it was clutching a slender young and
jade-pale aloe spike, living jewelry.
etched gold wire legs
body pale spring citrine.
for accent ruby chips

pot plant and insect departed
my warm computer desk
to the chilly sheltered porch
and survival by their own devices,
but I have seen more one inch
monsters since. One on the door
kneeling to share the word with
its glass reflection, another lit
upon the mailbox, the usps in
its prayers, or perhaps auditioning
for the next commemorative.

frost did come at last as promised
and the only traces left are
filamentous legs still grasping leaves
transparent body empty now
molted, or to answer prayer
relieved of mortal shell
chitin coat left, a meditation
for the needy.

Marie Elena - Sure hope you sent that teacher some flowers!
Walt - All these years later, the Beatles still have the power to inspire words like your "Come Together" and all the others this month.
banana - Love it.
J. Hugh MacDonald - Your work this month, poignant and beautiful.
Daniel Paicopulos - The haikus will make a lovely little book of peace.
Hannah - Another beauty.
Many more worthy of special mention. Please know that I am reading you and enjoying your work.

GET BACK
(Poem-A-Day Challenge)

April was a daily romp,
a prompted tour-de-force,
with all the poets signed on board
to write thirty poems, of course.

With R.L. Brewer at the fore,
(with Tammy keeping him living)
our charge had taken on great power,
through all the poems given.

Ravenous poets with bated breath,
Pavlov's dogs with muse,
waited for the daily prompt,
to deem the words they'd use.

And now seven month have passed the board,
November's poetic reprieve,
offers us another chance
to write what we believe.

Once more poked by Brewers lead,
his poetic cattle prod,
to pen the poems all will read,
he's given us the nod.

So P.A.D. has been renewed,
another month of muse,
lost within this Poetic Aside,
no poet can refuse.

Many poets having fun,
renewed again when April comes.

Robert, what a powerful poem. It's so visual and crackling with fire, intensity, and the kiss!

"New Dawn"

I strain
to breathe
a fresh scent
a morning flower
breaking
on the dawn.
Here in a grey cloud
I cannot see light
nor believe in the sun.
Though it may not come,
my eyes strain
for the sharp leaves of light
pushing through
the grey.

The Phoenix is a great choice for renew-ability Robert.

Ralph

Susan Schoeffield, thank you so much for your kind words. They mean a lot coming from someone as gifted as you are, and to be mentioned along side someone with the talent of Marie Elena is an added bonus. I don't always get the chance to comment in a timely manner but I love your writing. Its so deep, and vivid in very personal ways. The piece where you compare love to hiking, and master builder are two pieces that will remain with me long after the November challenge is over. The piece where you discuss your struggle with writing is another one that touches me on a very personal level, and to which I can relate so very well.

Thanks, everyone, for the nice words this month! This has probably been my favorite challenge so far. Tammy and I were talking about it just last night. I appreciate the kind words, but y'all make these challenges and prompts the amazing things they are. So, thank you, thank you, thank you!

Thank you Theresa, I enjoyed yours as well. Powerful message and a unique way of expressing it.

Chev...very kind of you

Theresa...equally kind thoughts, thank you for noticing...and the best part - they'll each fit on one page!

WHEN I CANNOT SLEEP

I wake at three in the morning,
no light visible save that
from the clock radio’s atomic green
digits. You move your leg toward
me without waking and I
turn toward you. Your warm breath
is soft in sleep, your face blends
into the gray of a night time
bedroom. With one finger, I stroke
the hair that falls across your
forehead, remember when you first
appeared beside my dreams.
My life melted away then
only to reappear in the middle
of a marriage, fastened by a glistening
thread from my heart to yours.
In a whisper, I repeat the words
uttered a lifetime ago:
I do. For now. For always.

Renewal

Every time I see your essence
I am renewed with love for you
It only takes your very presence
for my love to begin anew

We may have a lifetime
but every time were together
it’s like the very first time
We have something that’s forever

We’ve built so much more
More than just a home
Oh, we may get sore
but, neither of us would roam

We have to much we’d miss
to make a life alone
would be to give up this bliss
that makes up our loving home. . .

©Ralph J. Fitcher, November 13, 2009, Renewal poem.

SGT. PEPPER'S LONELY HEARTS CLUB BAND
(The Fab Faux Renewal)

A pseudo-Sullivan takes the mic,
he looks a lot like me,
going through his paces,
to a fan they all agree,
stiffly playing to the crowd,
posing left and right,
for those that do remember,
they're in for quite a night.
Women screamed insania,
breathing was obscured,
a revamped Beatlemania
before a song was heard.
Beatlemagic was the band,
a Beatles tribute group,
in costume from the period
down to the Beatle boots.
Instrumental replicas
played by phony fabs
to recreate this history
of their music and their gags.
When I pointed to the curtain
they lead into "Can't Buy Me Love",
Their voices were spot on tonight
like a blessing from above.
Three straight hours of "Beatles" songs,
replete with Fab Regalia,
with Sullivan thrown in for some fun,
and music that never failed you.
A recreation, a replica,
a renewed presentation,
of the band that shook the floor
along with most of the nation.
A true Beatle reunion
alas can never be,
but this uncanny representation
of the Beatles is the show to see!

SGT. PEPPER'S LONELY HEARTS CLUB BAND
(The Fab Faux Renewal)

A pseudo-Sullivan takes the mic,
he looks a lot like me,
going through his paces,
to a fan they all agree,
stiffly playing to the crowd,
posing left and right,
for those that do remember,
they're in for quite a night.
Women screamed insania,
breathing was obscured,
a revamped Beatlemania
before a song was heard.
Beatlemagic was the band,
a Beatles tribute group,
in costume from the period
down to the Beatle boots.
Instrumental replicas
played by phony fabs
to recreate this history
of their music and their gags.
When I pointed to the curtain
they lead into "Can't Buy Me Love",
Their voices were spot on tonight
like a blessing from above.
Three straight hours of "Beatles" songs,
replete with Fab Regalia,
with Sullivan thrown in for some fun,
and music that never failed you.
A recreation, a replica,
a renewed presentation,
of the band that shook the floor
along with most of the nation.
A true Beatle reunion
alas can never be,
but this uncanny representation
of the Beatles is the show to see!

The codes got me! Ack!

Choices: Day 13: Renewable


Again and Again, Love

Feed the flames, sparked into life
with tinder of tender resolve.
Shelter from blast of fear, from drizzling doubt.

Blow gentle across fragile aspiration,
a steady breath, essential to
life and combustion.

Kindle and rekindle, with touch and look,
With passion and restraint, until
First faint firelight burns solid, sure.

Then fuel the flames: let oakhard care
and dry devotion build and burn, stout,
strong, until darkest night shines bright
and bitter’s cold is kept at bay.

Stay close. Stay warm.
Forever feed.

Beware the Dare

Why did I get this weird tattoo?
Oh lord, I wish I could renew,
restore, refurbish and repair
the place I got it on a dare.

REVISITING THE ROSE AND CROWN

[for Elihu Burritt]

You’ve come back to this inn
between the Lickey Hills,
where you first began your English journey
twenty years ago. How many battles
won and lost since then – battles against war,
injustice, slavery. On this very table
you penned your morning prospects,
then set out on foot
to see the country, how its people
prospered. You found a nailer’s boy
standing on a stone so he could reach
the anvil; he earned pennies
for his family but no letters for himself.
Nine years old, he couldn’t read,
or write his name. What future
for such a child? At the next day’s inn,
you wrote his story and sent
the word back home. Such sympathy
you roused in Yankee boys and girls,
they raised enough to send the lad to school.
In time, that same boy sailed
to America, sought you out, worked a year
on your rocky farm. Now he’s a citizen
of your hometown. How pen on paper –
the marvel of education –
renews the prospects for a boy!

Day 13

When asked to write a poem about
Things that are renewable
I had to do some free writing for a moment
because I could only think of things that aren’t renewable
like my patience and my time
Once they are gone
They’re gone
Water is not renewable
we have polluted the environment to such and extent
that every cup of water that I drink taste of chlorine
It has been treated but is it really clean?
My mind is not renewable
Every moment adds to my memory bank
The things I wish to forget
I remember
The things I want to remember
I forget
Until it is too late and the moment has passed
That too is not renewable
The moment
This moment
Will never return again.

Watching you rake the leaves
With your grandson on your back
I think of all the lovely compost
I’ll be harvesting from your work
I hear him laugh as you flip the leaves high
I know when he’s grown he’ll have days
He wants to rake and will wonder why
Where did all these happy feelings
Come from, the laughter that accompanies
the sound of leaves brushing over leaves.

Renude

They tell me to get back in bed
and don’t get out again.
I just want to see what they do
after they put on my jammies
and tuck me in.
I just want a peek.
They tell me to stay in bed
no matter what.
I’ll take off all my clothes
and my diaper
and fall asleep naked.
I’ll show them.

title: Victim's Name Withheld

I meet her mother
now and again, at
a march, at a
meeting. She always
half-holds her pain
inside, and each
of her words is
weighted down with
years of not knowing.

I know the truth,
even though I don't,
not really. Its
an old story told
again and again, one
unguarded moment, near
a freeway. Thats where
the smart ones wait.

Only the details
change. It was a 22
or a 38, delivered
under the jaw. Or
something heavy
like a tire iron,
brought down hard.
she would've have
convulsed. Maybe
lived for a few
minutes longer unless
he got lucky, crushed
her brain stem.

Maybe he wrapped her
daughter in garbage
bags, or a tarp, or
even stripped her
naked. The smart ones
carry duct tape, line
their trunks with plastic.

He would've skipped
state, maybe two or three.
Buried her, or maybe
sunk the body deep into
a creek,a river, a lake.
The smart ones gut
the body before they
sink it. A gutted
body can't float.

I attend the meetings
and the marches, I
listen to speeches.
The prostitutes have
moved south, the
drunks and crackheads
shuffle down other
streets. Renewal and
hope are almost
tangible things.

Almost as tangible
as the touch of her
sister's hand, the
heavy weight of her
mother's words.

Renewal

New as the summer
Old as the winter
Fresh as the spring
Tired as the fall
New as the ocean
Tides filled with promise
Old as the sip-sighing
Eventide called
New as a baby
Sucks at a mother’s breast
Old as his sibling
And troubles foretold
New as a birthing
Old as a death
New as a promise
Whispering breath
New as the words in
The oldest of tomes
New as eternity’s
Past and its home.

'ROUND AND 'ROUND IT GOES

Oaks last to disrobe.
Golden-brown pods harvested.
Winter wheat's small sprouts.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Whitetail rut season.
Grazing corn and bean orphans.
Many full bellies.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Recovery time.
Blankets and pillows of white.
Quiet. Strength will grow.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Verdant explosions.
Forest breathes,swells,flows, blossoms.
Trees are donning clothes.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Frogs croak. Babies bound.
Rains. Breezes blow. Sun ripens.
Slowing time returns.

W
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Renewal exists
as long as hope shall survive
and that is enough

Create in Me

“Create in me a clean heart, oh God, and renew a right spirit within me.”
Psalms 51:10

Does there exist, a prayer more noble in concept? More upright in notion? More pure in petition? Create in me the heart of the psalmist, oh God. A heart yearning for Yours.

Thanks Hannah, Susan, Marie, Tim and Janne. As Robert has said, it is the poetry we ALL present that make this site so special. I'm just doing my part. Janne, if you get to read Sgt. Pepper, you'll get an inkling that this Beatle obsession is more than in my poetry. Great inspiration there.

Hi guys! I'm happy to be back. Half way through the cruise I paid the hefty fee and used the "internet cafe to download the first 8 days prompts, and so so had some lovely deck days, writing, but I'm not sure how to post the early ones, as the site doesn't go all the way back to the beginning.
Help Robert!
I'll start reading tomorrow.

It never stops,
There’s always more
No matter how much
Is given or used.
Despite the sasses,
The grounding,
The “What were you
Thinkings?!?”
A Mom’s love goes
On and on forever.

She never runs out
Even though at times
The reserve may become
Dangerously low
But after lunch with
Friends, a walk,
Some quiet time,
The love replenishes

And once again
She finds the patience,
The strength and energy
To jump back in
To their world.

She feels renewed and so
Blessed to carry the title of
Mom.

It is her honor.

Just a Hiccup

She said that I . . .
She pointed her
Finger,
Wagged it at me

She said I tasted . . .
She said I went where
I shouldn’t
Have

She said I did the unthinkable . . .
She said I gave her
Sips of my beer
Until she was drunk
She said
I . . . .

She said I’m the reason . . .
She’s different now,
Can’t forgive . . .

What’s to forgive?
You give a life and you take it,
Right?

She’s just a hiccup
Let’s feed her a line of
Horseshit
That should shut her
Up

Anger and Forgiveness

The ever roiling lava within
churning beneath a peaceful façade.
A controlled fiery passion
just waiting
to explode.

Her own inner volcano
An ever present reminder
of her faults and
ability to destroy

Keeps her mindful
that forgiveness
must be her only
lava that flows.

Another cleave poem. read what is left of the "-" as one poem, right of the "-" as another and the entire line as a 3rd poem.

Every day-the alarm rings
a new start-begins my daily
rejoicing-routine
renewing my resolve-from the moment I arise
to live every moment-until I fall into bed.

Blank

Forgive me if I stare
I get like this sometimes
I draw a blank
My drum beats raw
Here I am

Forgive me for being what
You created
I draw a blank
My drum
Never stops

Forgive me for hating you
I am like this all of the time
I draw a blank
But we both
Know who you
Are

Return Notice

Like the books I check out
from the library
usually on hold for weeks
while I wait for each reader
to release the book
from their avid grasp,
you are but on loan to me,
nonrenewable,
because when my time’s up
another woman waits
to slip you into her bag
and take you home.

Renewing

Renewing lifestyles, renewing mind
Renewing friendship, left behind
Feeling defeated from deep within
Wondering, if it’s pity or maybe sin
Suicide, sometimes crosses my mind
Is life worth living, am I wasting time
Should I get it all over or get it all on
But what about others after I’m gone
Hates for these feeling that pull me down
Feel like a dummy, act like a clown
Anger consumes me when I feel let down
Suppose to be friends are never around
Renewing lifestyle renew my mind
Return to my best friend I’ve left behind
The faithful one who never lets me down
I’ve deserted Him often, He lingers around
For a back sliding Christian by my choice
Knowing renewal is found in His voice
These words of comfort my Jesus will say
Welcome back home my dear friend Ray
Although we both know I’m the forgetful one
They will all welcome back their prodigal son.

The Journey: Day Thirteen: renewable poem


Sunset Once More

A bald eagle, silhouetted against a rising winter moon,
circles and arcs across the fallow field.
Its mate answers, full of wild grace,
gliding on currents woven though clouds.
I watch, earthbound and breathless
with imagined flight.
The eagles ascend over rimrock,
rise through the silence of sky,
their claws tracing the myth and truth
of secrets loosed beneath their wings.
I think of my husband, of our daily prayers
for wild grace to carry us home.

Penny, Try clicking on the November 2009 link on the left hand side just below "Revision Tips". It should list all of Robert's prompt posts for November from the beginning.

Salvatore, I don’t comment enough about your writing. Great stuff.
J Hugh MacDonald, beautifully written
Laurie, good one
Patricia Wellingham-Jones, love it!
Jane Penland Hoover- Nice
Walt, Come Together, touching
Hannah Gosselin-beautiful poem. And thank you for your comment on mine.
Marril Crabtree, beautifully written
Amanda Fall, great thanksgiving poem
Yet another nice one, Nancy
Kathleen Cassen Mickelson, sweet
RJ Clarken, Beware, cute
Laura, love your leaf raking poem
Patti, I love it!
Heather, good ones

Lighthouse in the Fog

The trail leads to the water,
another step,
one step;
I imprint
the sands.

On water
I loose my touch,
weed my thoughts.
Hear my tears;
it is as if I must.

Automated.

It is as if I must
smell the taste
algae breathes;
I find what stinks
on sand.

The water
imprints me
one drop,
another drop;
the trail leads to myself.

Renewed © Richard-Merlin Atwater Nov. 13, 2009

He gave His life that we might live again,
Renewed the hope that prophets taught of old:
Atonement for repentant, sinful man, and then
Sealed the resurrection over death, as foretold.

Thus all shall stand before the bar of God,
To give account of all the deeds we do in life,
Judged from out the books, “the sacred iron rod”,
And balance truth and justice beyond all strife.

The only name that offers true salvation unto mortal man,
Is JESUS CHRIST, the Son of God, who holds the keys,
For He is God of earth, Creator of the sod upon which we stand,
Under jurisdiction of the Father, Elohim, to whom we plead upon our knees.

Jehovah, of “the Torah”, was His name in spirit form,
To Peter, James, and John, and all the Twelve: “the Nazarene”.
For you and I, “the Savior of the world”, who stilled the storm
On Galilee, and that of Satan’s tempest cast upon the scene.

Shout Hallelujah, Glory to “the Lamb of God” above,
For He has overcome, and held the course, thus not unglued
Is plan of happiness, for our salvation based on love,
Because of JESUS, what He did, and what He hath renewed!
=================================================================
Poet's Note:
Based on the prompt word "Renewable", or in this case "renewed"
and thus the theme "Renewed the HOPE" in regards to Atonement of sin for repentant man, and resurrection towards judgment for all, as taught in The Bible and The Book of Mormon in regards to JESUS CHRIST being the ONLY name under heaven whereby salvation can be obtained. 39 books of the Old Testament prophesied of the coming of the Messiah, and 27 books of the New Testament revealed His "First Coming". 11 books within the Book of Mormon (2200 B.C. - 33 A.D.) testified of the coming of the Messiah prior to His birth, and 4 books within the Book of Mormon (33 A.D. - 421 A.D. )testified of his reality as JESUS CHRIST. Happy Friday the 13th--- a Lucky Day---after all the 13th Apostle was Mathias, chosen by casting of lots after the defection of Judas Iscariot. Perhaps 12 should be unlucky instead!

Connie- Thank you !!!!

Strawberries

Strawberries are free,
and butterflies
do not burden the earth
with heaviness.
Wind too, and falling leaves
whisking through autumn air.

Snow starts free with single flakes
then settles in to lock
earth with ice till spring
thaw opens for daffodils
trumpeting the new season
till summer comes, and strawberries.

Jenny Doughty

Renewed Singing

The bamboo culms she wears
are renewable.
Thick strands of poles,
taken down
and ravened for two stick legs.
Standing green and stripped,
now lye brown.

She walks by hip-hugging
every last curve—
Sustained!
A narrow tree, enlivened,
sometimes breaking into
a rare flower.

The House Up The Block

The real estate agent inhaled the air
before she walked up the front steps.
What did she expect?
A house, exactly like next door
dark green as a forest in spring.
There was no red `X’.

The real estate agent inhaled the air
stopping just short of the doorbell.
Could there be blood specks?
She prayed the house could be renewed
by scrubbing, and repainting walls, but
what of haunted souls?

Susan and Tim: Thank you from the bottom of my heart. Your kind words mean a great deal. Tim, I too appreciate being in your good company.
Theresa, we never sent her flowers; didn’t invite her to our humble little wedding, and truly don’t know whatever happened to her. Such a shame!

You truly ALL do incredible work. My favorites this go 'round:

Debra Elliott: Isn’t it fun to get top billing? Nice work.
Daniel: I do look forward to your “peace of Pai,” as somebody we both know puts it. “Peace always trumps fear.” EXCELLENT.
Chev: Simply profound.
Patricia Frolander: Prudent message
Salvatore Buttaci: If I’ve never told you before (but I think I have) you have the coolest name. ;) Love today’s poem.
J. Hugh MacDonald: I read today’s offering several times. There is a sense of peace of mind. May God continue to renew your spirit, and that of your family. Today’s prompt is fitting.
Oh my, Jane Beal. You took my breath away.
Karen H. Phillips: Excellent and uplifting. Love your style.
“She wants her heart and her brain to get to know each other” What a great way to express it, Jessie Carty. Nice.
“…raising our hands to scrape marshmallow off on the moon.” …… and …….” Remember the principles of illogic: all things being equal,
the simplest ecstasies tend to be the right ones.” Joseph Harker, you are truly one remarkable writer.
Theresa: Emotion and heart in few words. Excellent.
Patricia Wellingham-Jones: Touching and well written.
Jane penland hoover: Everything I’ve read from you absolutely sings of poetry. Lovely piece today.
Carol Holman: Pure, unadorned take on the prompt. Down-to-earth (no pun intended.)
Hannah: Your work is so consistently exquisite, I feel I am running out of ways to describe my enjoyment. So I resort to “wow” once again. :)
Janne: Charming!
Tim Snodgrass: Excellent poetry … beautiful and engaging commentary. (What are “wolf giggles?) :)
Daniel Ari: Absorbing. Another “wow.”
Beautiful, Janet. (May I just call you Janet?) :)
“Moonlit Willow Memory” is a lovely title, LM T.Richardson.
Nancy Posey: Thankful you are fine; lovely poem.
Susan Schoeffield: Beautiful.
Amen, Linda Robertson.
Kathleen Cassen Mickelson: Stunning depiction of true love.
Taylor Graham: Inspirational. Thank you.
Megan and Laura: Enchanting, both!
Raymond Alberts: I’m deeply touched by your poem. Bless you.
Penny: Glad to have you back. :)
All: How fun would it be to all COME TOGETHER, right now, to see Walt’s performance as Ed Sullivan, and listen to three hours of Beetles music? Or five? Or an entire weekend? Great work, as always, my prolific friend.

Whoa. I started to automatically plug in another code ... my comments above "took" on the first try. Walt? What on earth did you do to those codes when they got you? I think they're intimidated now.

The trail leads to me. (I guess if it wasn't so foggy, I would have seen that.)

Good evening Patricia! Oops. It's morning. Guess I'm hittin' the sack.

Okay, one more ... and then I really AM hitting the sack.


Haiku

Forgive, not seven,
But seventy times seven.
God, renew my strength.


Sorry, all. Not intending to be preachy today ... just a reflective sort of day.

To be honest I have no idea what a wolf giggle is. I know the feeling it evokes. Kind of like when you look at a dog and you just know it is smiling or laughing (quiet but somehow powerful), and it just makes me want to laugh. I did something very different with that poem. I just started randomly typing letters on the keyboard, letting myself go. Then I went through the long line of letters and started picking out words, which subsequently became the framework for the poem. The last two words were "wolf" "giggles".

Revival

I woke to November's chill
nibbling my nose
knowing right well
winter's wrath would
soon be breathing
down my neck
with blankets of white
covering the earth

At that moment
covers pulled
over head,
I decided to hibernate
'til springtime flowers
danced on front lawn
inviting me out to play

November 13th, 2009
(prompt-Renewal)
(c) Rose Marie Streeter

Public Service Poem #2

An inexhaustible supply,
easily accessible
to everyone.

The only source of power
creating change
in countless ways
since the beginning of time.

It can speed
an end to sickness
and topple the
mightiest of enemies.

It’s the only force
that’s ever made a difference

and contrary to the laws
of entropy

it never dies.

Once used
it replenishes itself.

Love.

The ultimate renewable resource.

Night Renewed

We camped on the banks
of the sparkling Shenandoah,
daughter of the stars.
Volkswagon bus and four of us
in a friendly farmer's field,
vibrant green Virginia shield,
shining crystal caves below.

The farmer's wife reached
for dusty case beneath quilted bed.
This family treasure,
a fiddle rare--a fiddle fair
came out from its repose
to fill the night with notes,
spilling free like stars above.

Farmer stroked a dream,
fiddle warmed to a deep-rubbed shine
like moon on the Shenandoah.
Renewed hands on tired working man
danced their way across the strings,
reincarnate fiddle rose to sing
filling river, land and sky.

We camped on the banks
of the rushing Shenandoah,
daughter of the stars.
Volkswagon bus and four of us
who would never be the same,
wanderers who came,
sharing in night renewed.

Renewable Energy

Though I suffer
headaches,backaches,and stress,
it is
the pile of bills
on my table,
the occasional hunger pangs,
my son's constantly open hands,
that usually keep
me going
when hope
is not enough.

Thanks Marie E. for the compliment on my title :) I've always had a soft spot for willows, I think they are very romantic. ;)

~LM

Orchard Visit

On the hayride,
miles of trees,
Macoun, MacIntosh,
Empire

The perfect gild
and form
that made him
lean from the wagon
for a pear

All his weight
could not push
the corer down
enough
to make the pie

We leaned down
together,
heard the breaking skin,
split and crunch,
squirt of juice

How solemnly,
what reverence
as he sought
and sorted
the seeds,
big plans to plant
our own grove
just outside

I didn’t know
the right depth
or soil
or plan to tend

It was
a little cold
that day

Should have planted
them anyway

13 RENEWABLE

Renewable energy source:
A walk by the sea
With waves crashing on the wall
The mist spitting up its lovely salty juice
Forming the taste of potato chips on your lips
Washing clean your very cells

Paper

Fashion magazines, broken-
down cereal boxes and
seven drafts of a poem in
a bundle on the curb.

The gray cat reclines on
last week's spelling
test, she bats a jigsaw puzzle
piece between her paws.

Last night's carry-out
still on the coffee table,
Kung Pao sauce weeping on
a brood of cut-out paper dolls.

Marie and Hannah - Thank you. Looking forward to the new prompt today.

Underground

I never imagined I could do this
kitted up with a hard hat and battery pack,
he pulls the cage shut and we descend slowly
nothing to see just the damp rock face.

Descending further into the dark,
our bags and cameras left on the surface
a spark from a battery could ignite
our guide tells us, he was an explosives man,
laugh at his jokes to forget
we’re half a mile underground
the kids stunned into silence.

We all turn off our lamps to experience
dark so dense it presses our eyeballs,
think of kids sent down here age 6
working twelve hour days.

He talks about canaries and poison gas
and ‘snap’ that’s what Dad called a packed lunch.
We crouch through low tunnels
dig some coal to take home in our suitcase.
Back in the cage at last
we’re re-born into the sunlight.

Marie Elena,

Thanks Marie Elena,
I don't know how I managed too with the stupid code mishaps.

I don't say it often enought but I really enjoy reading your words everyday!
Debra

RENEWED

“Lived life to the nines,” he said,
whatever that meant.
“Danced on the rim.”
“The captain of his own fate.”
“Had a fine hand with the ladies.”
Until that day Jesus beckoned,
and caused him to
sing a new song,
dance a new tune,
and walk a new path—
never to return to the old ways.

Visiting Yesterday

Going back to visit,
remembering anew, the waves
of pain, fresh salt in the wounds,
not yet scars, of forgiven sin.

But now the salty tears
wash over and not within.
Time and grace have done their deed;
healed scars are the evidence.

Give comfort knowing this,
forgive and be forgiven.
Visit yesterday, but don’t stay.
And bring back only glad tokens!

Thank you Theresa and Marie Elena. I appreciate your kind words. I love reading through your poems and others. I agree with Robert: such fine poems this November. Hugh

Lorraine Hart: Always a good read, but Night Renewed is an exceptional piece.

Katherine Hauswirth: So touching, and poetically penned. (My dad always says, “no regrets.” Good advice.)

Tim Snodgrass: The way in which your piece was penned makes it all the more impressive.

Thanks much, Debrah and Hugh.

Trust Refreshed

I failed, they failed me, and I fell.
Despair overcame me and there was
no rescue.
“Do not fear, for I am with you.”
Faith refreshed, love renewed, trust restored.
So easy to say and only time will heal.

garage sale
by
mel goldberg

I set my things out on boards
stretched between saw horses,
hoping they would be bought
and taken to good homes.
Willy’s old skate board missing one wheel,
the child’s bicycle Jim used to ride
around the cul-de-sac.
I remember buying those coffee mugs,
each paperback book, the flower vase
with the roses hand-painted on the side
by a amateur artist whom I knew.
I am saddened by people
who pick up the pieces of my life,
take a cursory look, and then put them down.
The scene reminds me of a ruin
I discovered on a hike in the Arizona mountains.
A room filled with pottery shards and a cracked stone metate.
I touched the finger impressions in the mud holding the stones,
and smiled at the scrub brush,
the wild flowers growing all around.

As the Sun Rises

In solitude but not alone
Between prayer, sleep, and vision
Learn ancient tongues
Secret lessons
Of herb, water, and spirit
The power of word
Oaths of silence
Strength renewed
Faith reinvigorated
Re-enter the world of mankind
As the Sun rises to
Meet the new you

I am certain, I have written something similar earlier in the year when the school year started. This is however new. If I post any old stuff, I will indicate so. To me posting old stuff, defeats the purpose. Enjoy the poem.

Yearly Renewal

Every year we begin anew
with a new class or two
A chance to correct last years mistakes
Show what a difference a year makes

With new names to remember
as we dream of those holidays in November
The days we will be off and sleep late
only to be reminded of the current date

Mostly, though, its’ the chance to rectify
choices used to help us get by
Even when we knew they were not right
Sometimes, it’s hard to see in turmoil’s dim light

All the while, they watch your every move
looking for any weakness
so, that later, in case there is something they need prove
but, not always what they seek, Is.

Your there to teach
they need knowledge, not to hear you preach
Must always keep that in mind
when they’re questions are of the wrong kind

At the end of the day
you can only hope to say
There are some I’ve managed to reach
Though, all, I’ve tried to teach. . .

©Ralph J. Fitcher, November 14, 2009, Renewal Poem. I am not good with this prompt, it just
does not work for me. Robert, Thank you for the challenge. If the prompts are too easy, I will not
learn, if they are like this, I will benefit more. Though, also become frustrated at times as well.
Frustration though, leads to creativity at least for me.

WITH A LITTLE HELP FROM MY FRIENDS

Every morning I wake refreshed,
with one thing on my mind.
Where the new prompt takes us
what treasures will I find.
I'll read the "Pai-man" to get some peace,
and Hannah for some beauty,
Marie Elena boosts my soul,
she is the constant cutey.
Both of the Nikki's bring their best
An De posts when she's able,
Theresa, Connie, Patricia et al,
bring something to the table.
Nancy Posey keeps the keel
smooth and fresh and even,
Sally, Buddah, Rose Marie,
Their works I do believe in.
LOX, Ralph, Obi-Wan,
Barbara, Tim, and Susan,
and so many others; so little space,
all poets here are cruisin'
So soon the prompt comes
and we run to get our muses goin'
to plant the seeds of poetic bloom
to see what new is growin'

To all of us who are about to rhyme,
I salute you!

Humans Should Be Like Alpaca’s

Alpaca’s are peaceful and serene,
their feet are gentle on the earth,
their waste makes excellent fertilizer
tor our gardens,
they produce amazingly soft, non-allergenic
wool for clothing,
and their demands are few.
If only Humans could be like Alpacas.

Saturday Renewal Recipe

10 minutes on the treadmill
30 crunches
20 sets of arm lifts
12 push ups (barely)
2-egg omelet (egg whites only)
1 handful of almonds and raisins
1 30-minute nap
Repeat (the nap)

Peach Juice

When she is in Georgia,
she eats peaches as if

she's never had them before— leaning
back on her cousin's porch. Eyes

closed. She is no longer a mother
of four then, no longer a wife

with an ever-hungry man. That peach bigger
than her hand, bigger than her

mouth— she is Sarah Nell
of the south: not the woman who moved

north for work, not the woman
with water on her knees and trouble

with her grip. Sticky from her fingertips
to her elbows, she is LueBertha's child

again— baptized in peach
juice, her old-new skin shiny

in the sun.

Planting Trees
by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

He always sings when he plants,
a funky rhythm in which to swing
his sharp hoe-dad to, help steady the
anxious tap roots of douglas fir,
keep spacings fairly accurate, and
of course, annoy any black bear touristas
in the area enough into leaving.

The work is hard but not without reward.
With a bag of promise slung over his back
he plants to guard against erosion,
remove harmful CO2 from the atmosphere,
provide for wildlife habitat,
and of course, eek out a living.

It is an activity known as reforestation,
a forest science of planting baby trees
over an area already harvested or
damaged by fire, insects, or disease.
The days are long and physically challenging,
with work spot-checked on a regular basis
by tough foremen wise to worker habits
that once practiced, are difficult to break.
Turning a seedling loose before the
soil catches and holds roots,
and you’ll have plantings too deep;
removing the hand too quickly after tree
placement results in flat, shallow plantings.

Tree planters thrive on adversity --
fighting through mud and slash,
flies and mosquitoes,
the dangers of sun, wind and rain,
planting several thousand trees per day
on terrain too steep for mechanized equipment.

With pay tied to accuracy percentage,
he holds the sapling between
forefinger and thumb,
taking care that the roots of each
remain uncurled, untwisted
then gently tamps in the soil around it,
letting the tender cambium inside
spring the heartwood upright
into the waiting arms of
a serenaded sun.


© 2009 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

Renewed Friendships

Friends move away
Or get new jobs
It happens
We'll keep in touch
Then life gets in the way
Letters in the mail
Are less frequent
Phone calls get put off
But with email and facebook
Comes many renewed friendships

Two Sisters are Going to a Dance

And they don't have to pay. Don't have to
go to mama and papa and ask them
for money only to hear them say We just
don't got it. Not this time. This time
the dance is free and they know just the thing
to wear. They turn their nightgowns into
ball gowns —free their shoulders, tie the sleeves
around their stomachs to cinch the waist and the space
between the twin beds becomes the dance floor
they boogie down on to fast music coming from
the radio on top of the dresser. They dance a dance
that requires no partners —arms, legs going
every-which-way. But when the slow songs play
they close their eyes, imagine boys that hold them
close, tight, who whisper sweet nothings and sweet names
like Honey and Sugar in their ears in the dark.

Has a prompt been posted for Saturday, 11/14? I can't find one. The prompt for 11/13 still appears on the blog.

Thanks for your help.

The re-working of an old master
(or painting over the inexperience of youth)


Bartholomew Foggerty, the brilliant weasel
Had brought an old canvas to his easel
It was a piece of which he’d once felt pride
But now he kept it locked inside
A cupboard full of similar daubings
His hats and coats and assorted things
That he had no more use for
Like the stained rug upon the floor
This particular painting was of a gazelle
Which once he thought he’d done quite well
But now on reflection he considered trash
So he’d thought he’d have another bash
Bart stood scratching his nose
Lacking a gazelle that could pose
So he reconsidered his purpose
And thought to put the canvas to use
For a painting fresh and new
Of a meerkat he’d seen at the zoo
He’d taken several photographs
For their many antics made him laugh
He set about making a start
And painted first the middle part
Soon he had depicted many meerkats
Some in waistcoats and others in hats
Bart new he was risking the critics’ wrath
But as mentioned before they made him laugh
Thus he’d added comical poses
As well as strange outlandish cloth-es
He giggled so much he fell on the floor
Banging his elbow which was quite sore
Still this did not spoil his mood
And he was glad the canvas had been renewed
He knew of a collector of comical art
Who would be delighted to pay to Bart
A large sum of cash in order to buy
A family of meerkats looking fly
Dressed in their finery ready for fun
Except for the fat old grumpy one
Bart had painted him last
By the way of a contrast
To the revelry taking place
With a disapproving look upon his face
Bart decided the work was done
A group meerkats having fun
He elected for a final touch
And so with one last stroke of his brush
He added to old fatty a cigarette
And then he thought he would let
The painting dry
And went to eat a slice of pie
He washed it down with some mead
And chuckled to himself indeed
He was as happy as he could be
And looked forward to the fee.


Iain

Thanks Connie, Marie Elena.

Everyone is doing wonderful work with these prompts!

"Call For Renewal"

There's a wind of change
blowing in the air
sweeping across the earth
begging for all of us
to stop and take a stand.

Our environment is ailing
our resources are waning
as years of abuse
and over consumption
take their heavy toll.

Slowly people are waking
from their clueless slumber
aware of the dire need
to change the way we live,
the way we work, the way we play.

No more can we rely
on what we've known before
we need to find a better way
to live cleaner and greener
renewing our earth
not leading it to decay.

Not Yet

Lined face, hands, wrinkles,
lose hanging skin, muscles
that sag, force me to recognize
I am no longer young. Some
might, horrors, call me old,
on the downward slope
of life; it is hard to believe life has
passed this fast, brought me
to this point I do not want to be..
In my mind I am young, vibrant,
future ahead of me.When I walk the
treadmill at the Y, I am energized,
upbeat, feel I could walk hours and
then hours more. I hide my head
in the sand, I know it It is an
illusion, a game some of us
may play as long as we can. We
fight what will eventually win. Our
lined, wrinkled bodies will give in
and slow down, step off he treadmill,
kiss the illusion of youth good-bye.
But not today or tomorrow. Not yet.
Old age can wait.

H

No Promises

He said
with all sincerity
he would not
could not promise
forever,

but we married anyway.

Thirty-five years
later

we plan for 55 years more
by mutual decision.

Marcia McLees Bogaert

Renew me, Lord

Renew my energy, O God,
reshape my flagging heart,
help me recapture my first fervor
when I was young and wanted
to follow your footsteps
into forsaken places and
arid wastelands. I used to run
wanting to outdo all others.

But now I drag my feet,
reluctant and full of doubt,
unable to break the barriers
that hinder me from soaring
to the heights of rapture,
keep me from embracing
those in the throes of pain.
Revitalize my spirit, Lord.

Thanks, Walt, for your affirming, clever, shout-outs. This is such fun!

Mother Earth and the Little Boy
By: Meena Rose

“Oh, how I ache;
Oh, how I suffer.

The pain;
The tiredness;
Weigh me down so.

I can’t stop working;
Earth needs me.

Earth is not well;
I no longer know what to do.

The cleansing storms;
The explosive volcanoes;
The shifting land masses;
No longer work.

My grip is slipping;
The ozone has holes expanding;
The Arctic is shrinking;
The pure water is disappearing;
The clean air has gone missing.

I can’t hold on much longer;
No one hears my plight.”

“Excuse me, but who is talking?” the little boy asked.

“It is I, Mother Earth, little one. “

“Mother Earth, I heard you cry.
Everything seems to have gone awry.

I see in the books
Picture of Nature;
Pure,
Serene,
And Bright.

Is there a way to bring back those days?”

“Little boy, there is a way
And I can guide you from far away.

Focus on the things you do, little one.
Reuse, Reuse, Reuse.
Reuse whatever it is you use;
Except for items designed for single time use.

Little boy, my brave heart,
You inspire me.
I feel renewed.

I will keep up this fight,
Together, we will end this plight.”

my hands grab fast under the wee canopy of dead mums
and i snap their heads off and fling them into the soil
that I blow clean of parched leaves
that shed from the tree
that lets go complex, built pods (of a thousand seeds)
that won't fall apart until the late, later rains,
about when the camelias .shh. unfurl
that will later fall and rest like little pools of pink or white till they brown
and disappear, brown into brown, into the path where I walk in circles
forgetting and finding love with each season,
and the clouds pull back into the sky that grows pink, then blue like
a bruise, then darker again so i climb into bed, like before and before,
and close my eyes and see worlds that should have no light
but do
and in the morning i awaken
renewed
startled to see
a cyclamen
volunteer
established and blossomed
in the driest corner of my garden.

RENEWED

Fragrant with milk,
you lie cradled in the crook
and your gaze humbles
and cleanses me.

Parched, oppressive heat, soil
clay baked and cracked
everything weary and wilting
in the airless afternoon

Nothing moves, nothing breathes, until
white light sky grays to gloom
and the garden grows restless

Only a whisper, at first; a scent
teasing the senses in anticipation
sweet taste of temptation, then

tempest strikes; deluge, cloudburst
accompanied by light flashes,
followed by thunder clatter,
swoop and swirl of slashing rain

bringing relief, respite, renewal
propelling the flowers to
madly dancing

Renewable poem;
Private Joke

I look at him and smile
And feel a silly rumble in my belly
He knows exactly what I am thinking
I can see it in his eyes
We start to retell the story
As we are driving
We can barely contain our composure
as we remember that just an hour ago
how we laughed until we cried

I wake up each morning
hoping against hope that
today's the day my nerves
spontaneously regenerate
and I can kick free of this
chair, run screaming into
the yard, feel grass between
toes, the breeze on my skin,
bark of the oak rough against
my palms as I hug the tree
close. I wake up every day
hoping it will be the day
I am resurrected.

Contract Renewal
We used to celebrate our anniversary
by discussing the renewal of our contract.
More of a covenant, I suppose, that we made
between ourselves in front of our families and God.
Negotiating next year's terms and conditions
was a chance to air differences, come clean and sort
through any stray disagreements that might linger.
Sometimes tough, but mostly cathartic, and all good.
We stopped doing that a while ago, too many
other more pressing issues as we watched the day
go by. Jobs, kids, the running of the house all took
precedence. We were fine, what needed discussing?
With the children gone, there are no more distractions,
no places to hide, just his stone washed denim blue
eyes staring into mine. Hello old friend and lover,
let's rewrite that contract. What shall we put in it?

My Libido

jumped out the passenger side when the car was doing 60.
was last seen wearing a black wig and oversized sunglasses.
wonders what you had for breakfast.
doesn’t mean to be coy but is an only child.
loves the color orange.
slept under a bridge last night.
laughs when I ask her to visit.
hates the expression the old ball and chain.
feeds off others’ hunger when she’s fasting.
controls pulse and crash.
got pissed off and went on retreat to Mexico.
dresses in an old sweatshirt and five-inch heels.
avoids eyeliner but wears fake eyelashes.
chooses the bus over the subway.
would rather not be singled out like this.
hides behind sharp fingernails and hood.
wandered off into the desert without a water bottle.
cries in the distance before swooping for a field mouse.
is not a diplomat though she’s well-traveled and speaks many tongues
refuses to come when called.
rings the doorbell when I’m in the shower.
has an inferiority complex but would rather die than ask for compliments.
keeps a gun in the drawer just in case.
is born again and again, each time with a different face.

.
Every Thanksgiving I think
we can change the recipe
for at least one thing:
mash the sweet potatoes, or
make the stuffing with sourdough.
At each defining moment
we come back to what we love
and find we are
unable to change.
.

Smoke Detector

There’s a familiar chirp from the ceiling –
the smoke detector, hungry for juice,
wants me to replace its battery.
It’s an annoying sound, every thirty seconds.
I can relent and snap in a new nine-volt,
but of course there are none in the kitchen drawer,
or anywhere else in the house, for that matter.
So I pull off the cover, yank out the offending cell,
and render it mute. Then I start remembering
all those TV news reports of fatal fires,
and the words, “They had smoke detectors
but they weren’t in working order.”
Next thing I know I’m out to the store
shopping for batteries. It’s a small price
to pay to keep that silent sentinel alert,
ever watchful, its red eye glowing
through the night.

Renewable

shadows, unfamiliar
confront whispered polymorphic breath

lead tomorrow’s children
out of the ash and concrete

fragments of a spirit
rise from the sheltered crystal

the winter of the psyche
gives way to the promise

renewal deep in weathered wood
releases the metamorph

to rise as winged flower
amid the feathers there is renewal.

Carol A. Stephen
November 13, 2009
PAD Chapbook Challenge

Flying Horses, Slinky, and Other Recycled Dreams

You flipped and bumped down Nana’s stairs, head over toes
like Slinky ~ the action toy ~ in its best metal gymnastic throes,
although you lacked the round wire head, torso, torso, and torso,
unless that was a halo and, last to land, a round, open toe.

Lincoln logs kept plastic horses at the gate, and molded trees
cowered next to huge wooden slats called gates ~ notched
and grooved ~ until the wee, wild horses were picked up
and flown by the opposable thumbs of a young girl with curls.

Goosebumps, one other literary world you graduated into or out
from my chosen witty, wise world of practical princesses,
Horton who heard a Who, and rarely, the virulent fairy tale.
I didn’t care, reading the most important emphasis, or grail.

Paper bags lined up along your bedroom wall exposed the room
as a different zone and tone. Those holders of paper pads,
dice, dolls, pencils you carefully bagged up so methodically
as to be patiently waiting as gifts, or a rummaging discovery.

Different were the tea parties we’d all agreed inclusive toward
all household residents’. Inclusivity allowing the favorites ~
Dolly and Bunny ~ and even Mommy or Daddy would make three,
once even Jessica and her father, after playing hide and seek.

Paper bags were recycled into trash bags, or for packing lunch,
“Slinky, Slinky,” slatternly for having been sat on or crunched,
sold at a garage sale, Bunny II made do for lost, loved Bunny I,
and Goosebumps to a library sale, so another child could cringe.

Inimitable Lincoln logs were passed down to a new generation.
They were my favorites, fitting into the imagined groove of you ~
tea in a firelit cabin, horses in the barn, book on a rocking chair,
husband carving a wooden slinky for baby, Dolly, clutching her bunny.

Day 13 – Renewal

In the basement of this house
is a wraith
chained to the wall
in a dark stone dungeon

Fed on bread and water
locked away and starving
I’d forgotten he was there
It’s been so long

No sound, no whimper
No cry for freedom

Something has called me
to this place
A feeling that it’s time
To break the chain
and open the door

Lead him to the light
And hope he’ll come

Renewable


Renew?
Who knew
love you
could do

When the sickness was at its worst,
and I was closest to death,
a stranger cloaked in scarlet
pushed a foul concoction into
my mouth. It burned its way
down my throat, bleeding into
my veins. My strength regained,
my color returned, my life renewed.
The stranger merely smiled and
left the room. He spoke nothing
of payment, but I do not doubt
that I will see him again. He
always has a price, which
differs from soul to soul.

Chartjackers

Some say that reputations once
established can never be changed
But we have had the reputaion of being self absorbed
Uncomitted fly-by-nighters who can't work with anyone
And can't produce anything of true quality
We will prove you wrong when hundreds of us
Use our internet obsession to create a song
promote it to the top of the charts
and do it all for children in need.
Then you will find out how renewable reputations can be.

(this is a true story- if you haven't heard of the chartjackers search for them on YouTube: its an amazing story of creativity on the internet.)

Useless
This head cold of mine is not sustainable.
I tried using the green snot for glue
to hold together my son’s airplane project
or the knitted ends of a winter scarf or two,
but it’s useless.

There’s no way for me to justify
staying home for days on end
producing mucus without purpose.
Which is exactly why I crack open the window
to see if I can extend it into next week.

Caterpillar basks,
Leaf half eaten, in the sun.
Butterfly hovers.

“And I will give you a new heart…” – Ezekiel 36:26


Resuscitation

Ripped from sleeve
and placed in pocket
it beats on
aches still.
Then
kindness comes
enfolds her
holds her
until
she can breathe again.

On Being Renewed

The night is too lovely
For this task, I say
You agree, after all
The sky’s a perfect pitch
Punctured sporadically
With constellations, that
Glimmer like Blood
Diamonds, set with care

We sigh, you and I, wishing
To be doing almost anything
But this, attending our friend’s
Memorial; her life cut short
Tragically, a car crash, gone
So suddenly, we can barely
Grasp the fact of it, even yet

The smudge fills the still night air
As we approach the rapidly filling church
Sweet grass aroma permeates everything
And we pause to partake of ceremonial cleansing
Before entering; we are piped down the aisle
To the strains of “Amazing Grace”

During a service that defines eccentricity
The Lutherans lead off with subtle
Bits of Christianity; we are impressed by
How accepting the minister is of the other
Faiths involved – the aboriginal chants and
Drumming are profoundly moving
But the Wiccans! They might have been
Deal-breakers in some other churches...

Instead – they are embraced
In all their astrological glory
And as our friend is declared
“here” – that is to say – “still in the room”
As in, “still on her journey”

We have no problem believing
It, nor the possibility that our friend
Is not actually gone...
You and I decide, on the way home
We are certainly renewed

Thank you Walt.

Ralph

:Ostinato:

Echoes free to kindle melody, resonance fermented
from the ashes of their former vibrations, notes
that billow and soar, crash against their former tones,
deserted in the newfound crush, free to rise,
to plant the seed and grow the tune, the sonic vibrato
that rouses the burning hint of that once faltered strain,
vibrates the soul to flame, the timbre of that rushing
hue—to weave that lilt from the fragile fall

One Wire Away From Dead Silence

Our bond had diminished,
winding down like a clock
with old batteries, like water
circling the drain, stories
were the same tug of war,
those of the daughter,
seventeen, those of father,
seventeen plus twenty-six,
each stuck in idiosyncratic goo,
a small connection kept alive
by years of cards, letters,
He never calls, I do,
He never writes, I do,
He always apologizes,
for his inability to do either,
I always forgive him,
He is thankful,
Our secondhand kinship,
renewed by intermittent visits
across the Suisun sloughs,
the old issues,
sinking into the murk,
letting our new found selves
revive in only the good remembered,
nothing less.

Drat!

Time, it turns out,
is not a renewable resource.
Thoughtlessly used
It disappears beyond retrieval.
You cannot plant
a minute, watch it grow to hours,
harvestable
when need arises, ready to hand.
Sixty seconds
spent is gone. Best get your minute's worth.

Unfolding Realities

When ideas die for lack of feasibility
And hopes collide with circumstance,
Fresh becomes stale and
Possibility becomes improbable.
Passion comes and goes
And creativity waxes and wanes
Until the sun rises on pain,
Exposing what was thought to be
Ragged wounds left bleeding
As surgical incisions with
Cauterized edges, perfectly sealed
To promote healing growth
After the fact.
Hope, after all is said and done,
Never fails, and ideas
Never die, and passion
Returns, and creativity melts
Into pools of possibility,
Proving that internal focus groups
Are not as representative
As you once thought.

Renewal


Pluses and minuses
yeses and nos
getting and giving
that’s how it goes

in the country of sunlight
longing for rain
gasping with pleasure
remembering pain

out in the open
hidden away
entropy triumphs--
nothing can stay

life is the sweetness
death is the sting
and all feed the flowers
unfolding in spring

Renewing Old Friendships

This was a weekend to renew old friendships.
We celebrated Lee’s 70th birthday,
the first one of our high school newspaper staff group
to reach that proud and
totally unbelievable age.
The Fell’s from Illinois,
the Doyle’s from Arizona,
and the rest of us,
California-based,
convened first at dinner Friday night
and yesterday at the birthday celebration.
We ate tacos, drank champagne,
and gooey birthday cake
while reminiscing about kisses
through the screen door
trips to downtown Chicago
to see burlesque
and books and screenplays never written,
except in our heads.
Though we met while working
on the high school paper
Lee was the only one
to actually make a living as a news man.
But that only came after
stints at two less than prestigious publications,
called Penthouse and Hustler,
and rides in Ken Kesey’s magic bus.
Boy, does he have tales to tell
if only he’d stop acting like an old fart
and write them down.

Golden orange sun
Rises daily in the east
Refreshing each day.

Renewing a promise I had made
once upon a time
seemed so easy to do.
Until I had to accomplish the feat;
then I found that I was beat;
beat by the factors that make up time,
time that ceased to be mine.
The promise was one that stated
that I would no longer procrastinate,
and I had made the promise too late.

If only brains were renewable

Rechargeable like batteries
Reprogrammable like computers,
Then we wouldn’t have any of these
Tired old bigoted Alzheimer’s patients around.
<i>How can you say that?
You’re the one who’s prejudiced.</i>
But you might feel differently if your
Dad, when you took him shopping for
Trash cans and dish soap for his new
Apartment in the assisted living facility
Said, on seeing a group of black teenagers
In the candy aisle, block his mounds bars,
“Boy, they sure got a lot of n#&&$%s in here.”
Loud and clear as a bell.
Maybe you wish you could rediscover that man
Who held your hand in the Congregational church,
Who taught you how to swim, and helped you with
Your algebra homework, and sang to you in his
Pseudo opera voice Swing Low, Sweet Chariot
Coming for to carry me home. Maybe you’d be
A little angry that now you had this man you
Didn’t even know and you’re supposed to
Take care of him and ease him to sleep
Just like he used to
Do for you.

This is just my view
On Reduce, Recycle, Renew
Please try to be wise
Your health, the planet could be compromised
Use things over and again
Of disposable things, please abstain
Don’t toss stuff into the trash in haste
Recycle instead of making more waste
Yes drinking water is very healthy
In a reusable bottle will keep you wealthy
Donate things you do not need
Little steps will help you succeed
Maintain the things you already have
Green living is a lifestyle, not a fad
Reduce, Recycle, Renew
It’s just the right thing to do

Change for Change Sake

Everynight, my wife complains, you undress the same way
R o b o t i c alleeeeeh!
Everyday the sun comes up, everyday the sun goes down,
say I.
But can't you change your movements, vary the ritual,
do it a bit faster, do it a bit slower?

Like this good earth
That I tend to ape
My movements are diverse, mysterious and subtle
of that you must have no fear:
once in every four years change may come, I say,
an intercalary year, an intercalary day.

November Poetry Challenge Day 13 Renewable

Renewable

This is a word you’d hate to have in a rhyming poem
Like a villanelle. Wow. Think of the limited
Possibilities for those two monotonously
Repeatable rhyming lines:
His word might be good but was it renewable,
Only the gum that he favored was chewable.
Pretty bad.
His word might be good but was it renewable,
Maybe in film, but he might not be cueable.
Worse.
His word might be good but was it renewable,
She pondered his looks and thought, was he ___able.
Oops, X-rated poetry is not where I want to go.
His word might be good but was it renewable,
They find out tonight when they meet up in Louisville.
Golly, I hope tomorrow’s word is better.

Lazarian

Dust in clouds wraps around the vehicles
As they travel through the parched roads
Where life seems to have dried up, disappearing
Into the hills and valleys

Slowly, drops begin to hit the windshield
Playing a scale that goes from plop to platter
In a flash like the lightening, calling
All to move forward

Watery waves of light engulf the road
Creating a backdrop for the resurrection
Of villagers suddenly active, scurrying
Out of the storm

Old MacDonald’s Farm

Old MacDonald had a farm
EE-EYE-EE-EYE-OH
And on that farm he had
Seventy two wind turbines
EE-EYE-EE-EYE-OH
With a swish swish here
And a hum hum there
Here a swish, there a hum
Racking up the mega watts
Selling off the surplus
Old Macdonald had a farm
EE-EYE-EE-EYE-OH

ANOTHER CHANCE

We’re gifted a chance to mold posterity
with infant soul, born innocent of guile,
a wonder of untainted purity
and nature’s rebuttal to all we revile.

With infant soul born innocent of guile
revitalized hope emerges from doubt,
and nature’s rebuttal to all we revile
rekindles awe we cannot dream without.

Revitalized hope emerges from doubt.
Each dawn renews our opportunity,
rekindles awe we cannot dream without;
we forge another link to destiny.

Each dawn renews our opportunity
to shape the malleable hours as they unfold.
We forge another link to destiny
until at life’s end the story has been told.

To shape the malleable hours as they unfold
—a wonder of untainted purity—
until at life’s end the story has been told,
we’re gifted a chance to mold posterity.

(Pantoum)