Day 3 A Negitave poem about growing old.


Summer's End

The wind blows through my trees,
dancing wildly...
zigzagging in the breeze.

Summer's end is coming swift,
fading perpetually...
floating adrift.

The sun sets on my days,
fleeting memories...
exsist in a haze.

Summer's end is now near,
fogginess looms...
Autumn is here.

Positively negative

The time goes by
too slowly for me
This two days a week
together
is killing me

When we're together
we're in slow motion
loving each other
living each other
suddenly realizing
once again
it's Sunday night.

I miss you something terrible.
They say
(who's they?)
Absence makes the heart grow fonder
I am so fond of you now
My heart is breaking.

although I'll miss
my housemate
I'll gain another
this one with benefits
A lover true and strong

Time is negatively positive
until we're together again
soon enough we'll be loving
soon enough living
soon enough until death do us part

Positive
Personal Best

Start the search at the “pass go collect $200”
Surely that’s enough money for one more turn
around the board. Four blocks after all, is merely
half a mile in any gridded Mid-western city.

You no longer own the monopoly on my time
Those three yellow streets are now replete with
new employment endeavors. I bought make-up
at Victoria’s Secret. Installed high speed at home.

My interview suit hangs ready in the laundry room.
Clutching my hopes to my chest I see mixed
possibilities. This singlehood could go really
well if I give it my best shot.

Negative

Horse Sense

I posted on Lucky back to the barn, his sides heaving.
Light on the meadow danced lavender at sunset, the
curve of the world held us in a positive twilight. We
hurried to avoid riding in sapphire night. I’ll admit
Lucky’s no skittish colt, but he’s hungry. He wants
his coat brushed. He’s unafraid of stamping his feet
and announcing the needs you wouldn’t address.

Black Rocks

Water cuts everything
but rocks
that slowly stand.

The sailor’s lament,
a never touch wall
between the last ore ships’ hull
and ice.

The shouting
of the deck hands
circle out
to the heights
that on other days
eagerly swallow
women into their wedding white.


White Water

Rocks cut everything
but water
that slowly glides.

Canoe paddles
barely touching,
the last lace maker
on the lake.

The rippling
of the canoe drips
weaving out
to the depths
that on other days
eagerly swallow
men into her blackened death.

Feeling a bit negative from dealing with seizures last night so this was a good outlet. Thanks Robert

How Must He Feel

It starts in his toe
Up his leg
Into his arm then
His head starts to twitch
And off he goes
Into the pose that stays so tight
He turns quite blue
My heart does a leap
What can I do?
I give the med
And hope he’s going to be alright
I watch, I wait as the seconds tick by
This turns to minutes
The jerking slows down
He regains his pink
And life will go on
He snores, he gurgles
He moans, he wiggles
He is a mess and I am worse
I hold him close as I am so blessed
We made it through another one
There should some law or rule
To decree this part of life illegal
No mother should ever have to
hold her child as he seizures

Jenna/Cheeky

One day Jenna the nurse
With Cheeky the clown did converse
Said the practical one
Though this troupe is great fun
I don’t have enough in my purse

Said Cheeky with her cheery smile
Just wait till you’re at it a while
You’ve got nothing to lose
With joy big as my shoes
It’s your faith, not God’s love, which stands trial

Sometime Day or Night It Comes


There is this haunting quality to life,
the existence of certain uncertainties
that lurk somewhere waiting, ready.
Through the late summer and fall,
following a delightful month of August,
came a steady, unrelenting downpour
of rain, an absence of sunshine, fields,
acres of top-killed potatoes, of ripe beans,
up, and down along the road, turned to muck
impassable as the mire of Passchendale.
Farmers made bold attempts at harvest,
powerful tractors, heavy machines stuck
to the axles, equipment clogged, and useless.
Even after the sun appeared, we watched the fields
on both sides of the road, drills shining,
pools of stagnant water clogging all the ruts.
How many thousands of rotting dollars
to add to all those farmer’s endless woes,
to the depressing economics of recession.
Last Saturday, coming home from market
I saw that all had changed, not a lone potato,
not a single blackened stalk of soy stood up
on any of those fields. Sometime day or night
great reapers came and everything had changed.
I felt relief, and the sunshine warmed me up,
on that brisk, late autumn day. And yet,
I felt a sudden chilling somewhere deep inside,
at how swiftly such despair can turn to untold joy,
and the most generous strings of circumstance,
can in the space between a breath, turn dark and grim.

“Bad thing”

She is afraid
To let this bad thing go
Because even a bad thing
Is still something
Where in her upbringing
Did she decide she didn’t deserve better
What happened to make her feel that way
She is scared that there will be
No one else to come along
She fears the aloneness
The growing old
No one to hold onto
When she goes to bed at night
No one to care
When she is sick or sad
Or her memory starts to fail
Who will tell her
That she was
And is still
Beautiful

positive/negative in one poem

Reality Bites

I do not covet inane reality, replete with huge
Flat screen devices, text messages repeating
“Hey,”
“Hey,”
“Wassup?”
“Nada”
"Hey,"
"Hey,"
gambling, drinking, sex, sucking spleef.

No matter he makes bank, second date
is not required. I’ll have to pass on the
three bedroom house in the better suburb.
Even the zombies of L.A. have decided
that’s Overvalued.

One Peace At A Time

Seeking awareness
before winter’s arrival.
Peace may still flow in.

“Everything Finished”

Have you felt incomplete?
Overpopulated deadlines, fight for action,
Tasks laid at your feet,
Ignore the element of distraction
Must meet the goals set before
Endless schedules, never bore

Pressure, tension, angst, berated
Today will end , I will sleep.
Oh, the turmoil I’ve created
Tasks assembled, my retreat
Over in my mind, it rolls
Sleep escapes, my thoughts unfold

ninacarole

I don't have any poems yet to submit, but I did want to thank you for not only posting these everyday, but for sheparding the #poettues on Twitter. I've got drafts going for the first two days and feel good about this PAD challenge!

It's Electric


My husband

bless his heart

has begun to ground himself

before reaching over to kiss me

Saving himself

the torture of the spark

loud and persistent

that smacks his lips

and brings water to his eye

as he tries to greet me

at the end of his work day

A violent response

of a positive - negative reaction

that I argue

is my electric magnetism

Brook

It obeys the amble of its banks
as blood obeys its vein. Aimlessness
does not exist. Each bend has been
planned. From this ridge, I can hear
the water’s new excitement – where
its path narrows and whispers
become song. Ferns gather there,
as green as virtue. They know
what I know. Nothing is left to chance,
not the cold stone warmed with moss,
the fallen branch that tears
the water’s silk, nor the tree root
that finds a place to quench its thirst.

The Ant and the Grasshopper

I am positive that snow is on the way
said the ant to the grasshopper.
Don’t be such a negative Nellie
said the grasshopper to the ant.

I am positive I’ll only have food for me
said the ant to the grasshopper.
Negative thinking ruins the appetite
said the grasshopper to the ant.

I am positive the fields are now all bare
said the ant to the grasshopper.
There’s no negative to easier walking
said the grasshopper to the ant.

I am positive you shall surely perish
said the ant to the grasshopper.
To die is inevitable, not negative
said the grasshopper to the ant.

How can you not be negative at all
asked the ant of the grasshopper?
My IRA has a very positive amount
Said the smiling grasshopper to the ant.

Wife.

Wonderful bathrooms
lovely kitchen
Views to die for from the living room window.

Quiet neighbourhood,
lots of storage
Easy to walk to the local town centre.

Centrally heated
air conditioning
Insect screens fitted on every window.

No curtain rails yet
but they'll fit them
there's lots of space to park outside.

Husband.

Did you see the stairs?
Polished marble
A fatal accident waiting to happen.

Did you hear those kids
Screaming next door?
Neighbour disputes will be inevitable.

Kitchen cabinets
flimsy and cheap
How long before the doors fall off their hinges?

The rent they're asking!
Completely mad!
I wouldn't take it at half the price they want.



___________________________________________________
Can you tell we've been looking at apartments today? ;)

Control is the negative the short one (in context) positive

Control

She sipped coffee
Looked over her planned agenda
She took time to say goodby to the parrot
Matilda always crossed off all completed tasks.

Looking over her planned agenda
She shook her head at those who failed her.
Matilda always crossed off all completed tasks
Even those that alienated the family

She shook her head at those who failed her
She considered the family tree with thinning branches
As her ways alienated the family
They no longer made excuses, only stayed away.

She considered the family tree with thinning branches
She sipped coffee
Family no longer made excuses, only stayed away.
She took time to say goodby to the parrot

_____
untititled

The girl swung in the swing
Riding her temporary pegausus
Away from family troubles

mkm

somewhere along the way
the poles reversed.
what was once positive
is now negative.
like alternating current
I can't stop the flow
from one pole to the next.
no wonder I'm confused.

(Negative)

Old Habits Die Hard

Tears run down her
face with thoughts of
years gone by too fast,
like a Corvette speeding
down a country highway.

Tears run down her
face as she remembers
when the kids were born,
when they started school,
the ups and downs
in the teen years,
and now all three
of her precious
children are gone
from home trying
to make it on their own.

Tears run down her
face as she chops
onion for soup and
realizes how each
childhood stage was
like a layer of
the onion. Now she
must let go so her
children can reach
the inner core. But
she finds this difficult,
so she cries in her soup
and accepts the fact that
old habits die hard.




(Positive)

sunshine at the beach
like hot saunas, renews soul
kids home for summer

HELTER SKELTER

Boy meets girl,
They fall in love,
She gets sick,
Boy loses girl.

Boy meets new girl,
they fall in love,
she gets sick of him,
boy loses girl.

Boy meets third girl,
he's not sure if he's in love
but he marries her before she gets sick...
boy loses mind.

Boy and third girl,
have two girls and fight like hell.
They get sick of it.
Boy divorces girl; regains a semblance of sanity.

Boy runs into first girl,
they fall in love...again.
She gets sick...again.
Boy loses girl to cancer.

Boy finds second girl on internet,
they catch up, he starts falling...
flat on his face when she's not interested.
Boy loses confidence and all desire to go girl hunting again.

Boy finds third girl has developed lung cancer.
They reconcile for the sake of the kids,
the road remains rocky, but they deal.
Boy feels this see-saw ride is worth it.

Moral of our story:
Love is not a zero sum game.
You give all you can
and take what you can get, as long as you can.

The ride is coming to a halt,
please keep your head and arm
inside the ride until it comes to a full stop.
Tickets please!

Tuesday’s Tune
Some days it is a matter of adjusting the dial
A click shaves the static away from the song
The song that is dying to be sung
The bird knows this as it hovers outside your window
Warbling the tune

The sun does too,
As it bullies it’s way between
The wooden slats of the blinds
Dripping honey colored bars of November warmth
Across the slumbering terrain of your body

This is the song of today
Linger a moment to listen
Then life your voice and sing along

THANKS AGAIN TO BRIAN :)

Cave In

Walking to a treasure,
An unknown undiscovered land.
Surely no one has gone here.
Inside there must be something,
Just waiting for my grasp.

A small indication,
Yes, it is close by.
I'll trust the guidance,
I feel
Leading me down and in.

Going deeper now,
Sensing the excitment
Of untold parts of earth.

I am alone in here,
Darkness engulfs me,
I embrace it boldy,
Trusting the silence even more.

Rubies are in the cracks,
Gems of light sparkling everywhere.
Sapphires with their blue hue,
No one else has seen before.

Emeralds heralding in their secrets,
I know they are for me.
Jewels are all around me now.
I can take it all . . .

Turquoise strands are running,
Veins are all close by.
My hands touch it all,
With deep wonder.

Stopping, I hear the quiet of,
Their maker,
Feel the warmth of the earth,
Awesome power of stillness,
Creates this inlaid beauty.

A rumble is low yet building.
It must be the answer to,
The untold discovery,
In my grasp.
What is truly mine.

Deafening noise is closer now.
A deep movement in the ground,
Turning toward the sound,
I know in a heartbeat,
There is no way but in.

All the gems and jewels,
Are within me.
In this moment we are one.

They were not mine,
We are not separate now.
Buried here, we are always part of earth.

Janet Carnahan

A Bad Choice for a Boy

The boy, who time and circumstances
made the man called Cayfall, scrivener,
became a sailor out of inattention to detail
escaped perverse and pedophiliac priests
by hiding in an oceangoing box of men
who looked on females with a superstitious dread
when only three slips down the queue
a short walk for an agile aging child
he would have found the entertainers
tethered to their rotting wharf
a circus with its tents and cages of asthmatic cats
and with an equal cast of mothy animals
an operatic repertory company
in either case a saner place to stow away
and better for an education

Light and Shadows

The world exists
In black and white
The sun rises on
Positive signs
Of goodness
Smiles, kind words
A touch,
Eyes warm with
Understanding
Support for
Needy strangers
And the sun sets
On signs of evil
Ponsie schemes
High school shootings
Exploding children
Hacked horses
Rotating through
The universe
In the dark and
The light

When I saw this prompt I immediately thought of cleave poetry. It's a bit hard to read since I can't do tables to format this correctly, so the way this works is that it is actually 3 poems in one. You read what is left of the "-"s as one poem (my negative poem), to the right is another (my positive poem), and then reading both together is a 3rd (sort of in between poem). Like the others, this is a rough draft.

teaching sucks - sometimes
you so rarely see - students do their best
those days when things go well - make you feel like you are really teaching
students talk back, talk on cell phones - while they do Geometry
excuses for homework - ask questions
ask why do we have to learn this - I tell them how logic helps their lives
teens live in an illogical world - make decisions that they
regret later not now - can live with
the dangers of adolescence - everywhere around them
are unknowns they really don’t think - they need math
want to blast into the future full force - on those days when they learn i
never want to stop - want to go back tomorrow

Day 3 My positive poem is about the beauty of aging and based on a quote by Henry Van Dyke:
I shall grow old, but never lose life's zest,
Because the road's last turn will be the best.

Gracefully


Beauty flows within
my soul,
turning pages
forever blow...
gracefully
I grow old

Time wanders
as a crow,
secrets danced
long ago...
gracefully
I grow old.

Take Me Away

traces of anger
like angels’ wings
float around me
traces of sadness
sew themselves
into my pockets
where can I go
that takes me away
from myself?

THERE ARE MEDIEVAL CASTLES IN GERMANY

There are medieval castles in Germany –
there’s Bingen, the birthplace
of Hildegard von Bingen and her songs –
there’s the hamlet of Mainz, the genesis
of the printing press, Gutenberg’s dream –
and communities of memories,
from the Brothers Grimm fairy-tales
to concentration camps and bombed out
buildings, where the world forgets
a Jewish mother whispered to her
blue-eyed, blond-haired, German son
in the language of the Vaterland –
there’s the Heinrich Heine Universität
where students go to school
in the shadow of a German-Jewish poet
who claimed Christ as his own
and wrote poetry on the Rhine,
the river of dreams –
and I could go there, to those places, again,
and cross over the stone bridges.

But if you were not there, my love,
how could I nestle my head
against your heart
like a bird in the reeds,
like the brown-winged female
singing close to the red-winged blackbird
a song to the autumn sky?

Jane Beal
sanctuarypoet.net

Welcome back Robert, sweet poem today and thanks for all the work you put into this!



DARK ACCENTUATING LIGHT

Lemon-drop, yellow sun peers
at me through drawn bamboo
shades, a flitting presence.

Shadows that dance dark
patterns against oriental
rugs and pale wood flooring.

Tree limbs whose bristles paint
a muted display on pallor of wall.
Brisk shifting in shadow, soothes.

Mine eyes take pleasure in the
Subdued glory of sun’s absence.
Light's gesture that much more apparent.

Negative/Positive

Little One

Sound asleep and dreaming
Means nothing to Kyra
As she climbs on top of me
Walking circles around my head
Purring and jumping and pawing my hair
Grumbling I roll to my side
When finally I open my eyes
There she is laying on my pillow
Legs outstretched toward me
Paws gently tapping my chin
I can't help but to smile.

Oooo... Jane, I just caught the last stanza of your piece, that's so beautiful and romantic.

Victoria and Megan...two of my favorites today. Thanks for sharing!

All in the Way You Look at It

It
lands
right here
on my head -
a praying mantis.
Good sign, or ominous portent?

Positive

MY FATHER'S JOURNAL

I hold you in my hands
I open you, inhale deeply
Your leaves so crisp
Yellowed now with age
black marks march across your fields
stacked one upon the other
bound by the softest leather
you hold secrets
in your slender body
I see the traces of him
the scratching of his hand
in the lines that lay across your plains
Words crowding each other in their haste
to put down the thoughts
that filled his days
and haunted his nights
I hold you in my hands
I close you, his memory safe

J. Kuykendall


Negative

THE STEPMOTHER

Black, the color of your heart
eyes of icy blue
Creamy, smooth complexion
to match coal black hair
Some would find you pretty
Perhaps even beautiful
He did
But if they turned you
inside out
they would find the ugly
was inside
hidden from view
So sweet was your
voice, dripping with honey
when he was there to see
I believed your tongue
was forked
my fear of you
was so great
I could see the lies
behind those cold eyes
I think he could too
but his heart was tied
to your black soul
so he could not
break the bonds
to end our living hell

J. Kuykendall

All in the Way You Look at It -- II

In answer to my own question
I know I can choose
good or bad
I choose
the
good.

Easy Peace

Lost in the world of self-help,
I finally look up at the room.
How long have I been out?
Half-an-hour, I assume.
There on the floor lies my son
Lulled soundly by Schoolhouse Rock,
And here in my arms, his brother,
Asleep at the breast, his eyes locked.
A dream could not be better
Than the bliss of easy peace:
While I was busy reading
My children fell asleep.

[This is, perhaps, a slight different take on "positive"! It ties in with my NaNoWriMo work this month.]

POSITIVE

She is sure she has the right
idea, positive a memoir that explains
those toxic family secrets is the best
way to get rid of ghosts. After all,
it was secrets that killed her mother
just as much as those pills she ate
every day at breakfast. And it was tight
lips that drove her brother to California
with his boyfriend in spite of the priest’s
directions for salvation. And it was the unspoken
that angered her father, even though he preferred
not to discuss his young girlfriend’s new baby.
But she knows without a doubt
that exposing details of her family’s fall
from reason will justify her own existence.
It is the only story she is positive she owns.

“Positive”

When I was little
Just a young girl,
I was positive
I wanted to be
A mommy, a teacher
Or maybe a
Police officer,
would be the job for me.

As the years passed by
And I was a teen
I was positive
I wanted to be
An accountant
A writer
A marine biologist.
Or maybe I could just
Compromise
And divide myself in three.

Now here I am
Positively not
A teacher, accountant,
Officer or biologist.

But I am a Mom
And I am a wife
And God knows
I try to write.

So all in all
I am positive
I have
The best lot in life.

She said No


She said no and she was positive about it.
She didn’t want to return to base.
She did not want to start anew.
She didn’t want to give up her new life.
He could not understand.
He could never understand.
He though a child would unite them
He thought he knew her mind.
What he did not know was...
That the child was positively not his.

A Curmudgeon Strolls the Sculpture Garden 11-3-09

What's this twisted chromy thing?
Why's this naked lady standing stark with rods
of steel paralleling her?
How come the path leads me in a circle? I could
just cross the grass to look at the other
sculptures, waste of a good day.

"The Prodigal"? I almost like that, but
the hedge behind it gives too much shade.
And who calls a fountain metal fish suspended on the bank
the water flows down a sculpture?
Yeah, I guess that's a good view of the river,
but who says a Madonna and child has to
look so round and primitive?

Hrumph. Should've stayed in the inn a few minutes longer,
lingering over coffee and the newspaper.

DAY 3 – Positive Action by Jane Eamon

I have an idea
That birds fly
Because they can

I love that they do this
Soaring and soaring
Catching the wind
Any way it blows

There is infinite grace
And beauty in this
Seemingly aimless pattern

It’s a marvel
That such grace
Could be hidden in
Something so small
In the grand scheme of things…

Negative Reaction – by Jane Eamon

Why can’t I fly?
What can’t I just lift my arms
And take off?
Why am I grounded here?
Like a tree with roots
So deep they cannot
Be uprooted

Why do I envy the birds?
What part of my evolution as
A human being
Denied me the ability to
Take wing?

A plane is a whole other thing
Who said man was supposed
To take flight
In a silver bullet
Too heavy for the air

Yet we do, I do
And kiss the ground every time
I land

Pages of Filler

words flow quick and easy
like liquid silk poured
onto a hot Teflon raincoat
in a summer thunderstorm

white pages turn grey,
turn black with paragraphs of text
white ladders of river type
climb from footnote to headline
snakes of white seen with half-closed eyes

but the prose is deceptive
purple description where what's needed
is scarlet death
and page-flipping action
and lots of white space.

A positive poem (or making a positive out of the negative).

HOME-RIDDEN

[The unfortunate accident I met with on my recent journey
prevents me from accompanying you on your mission to Europe.
- Elihu Burritt, letter to the Rev. J.B. Miles, Dec. 24, 1872]

I imagine you at home in Connecticut, Elihu,
gazing out the window – at what? Distances.
Fields and, beyond, railroad tracks.
Mankind’s evolution rides the rails, these days.

And here you sit, home-ridden by an accident
of the railroad. I imagine you gazing out
on your small piece of land, where once nothing
but rocks grew – gazing out, but traveling

in your mind to where men decide the fate
of nations. The Washington Treaty, Tribunal
of Arbitration at Geneva – what recent triumphs
for the cause of peace! And now, your mission

goes ahead without you. What of the man
who sows the seed and then
is kept from the field while the grain
ripens to golden? Can’t he still rejoice

in the harvest? I imagine you looking out
beyond your garden. A green shimmer of leaves,
a modest crop – is it Indian corn? –
where, before you came, only rocks grew.

Widely Scattered Showers

Even before they paved the road
all the way out here, we saw the rain
building miles away, thunderheads,
roiling clouds of gray. We stood
on the front porch of the home
he built with our own hands, hands now
shielding our eyes like Indian lookouts.
I swear we could smell the rain coming,
but—superstitious—I left the clothes
on the line, willing to build a fire inside,
to string a line in the parlor if need be.
The rain came so close it drowned
the rustling sound of the thirsty corn
in the field out back; it stirred up dust
in the distance in red clay puffs
with drops the size of nickels. But
it stopped just up the road, teasing,
mocking us with its nearness,
then turning to water another farm,
another field of the just or the unjust.
We did not know for sure.

“Luck, Falling”

Bright clouds of ladybugs dropped
from the skylight today—
clacking wings and spinning
red globes falling gently
onto paper, shirt-sleeve, lap:
an infestation of good luck.

This one's definitely negative:

WORSE THAN FICTION

Who could imagine the small child
drowned (by whom?)
and run through the dryer? Or
the farmer buried under the weight
of his own harvest, not even
a scared crow to bear witness?
The girl who fell off her pony,
they found her crammed
(already dead)
in the trunk of a car?

What horror-phantasmagoria
writes these scripts?
What sense or reason?
And we, with our sober statistics
and equations – how do we explain?
How begin to imagine?

So tired, baby yells
So tired, I sigh

Waiting
Hoping

Will he sleep
Will I sleep

Tension
Was it time

Wondering
Guilt

Silence

Shoulders relax

Worry
Peak

<blockquote cite="Keats">I had not a dispute but a disquisition with Dilke, on various subjects; several things dovetailed in my mind, & at once it struck me, what quality went to form a Man of Achievement especially in literature & which Shakespeare possessed so enormously - I mean Negative Capability, that is when man is capable of being in uncertainties, Mysteries, doubts without any irritable reaching after fact & reason. John Keats</blockquote>

Not this, not that

Not the time between
the last leaf on the russet oak
and the first fall of snow,

not the feeling that flows
like a wave through the heart
and washes behind the eyes

not the way the earth
cradles all that’s buried,
the way all mortal things decay

until the golden notes
die away of the last
trumpet that may not sound.

Jenny Doughty

A Man Like That

All that is feminine
Bright eyes, red lips
Smooth skin, plump breasts
All that is youthful,
I should say,
Seems to elude me now.
The old poet spoke of love
Last night, the passion
Of old men for their lovers
No envy of the young men,
None at all. I want a man
Who will recite me poems
Like that. I need a man like that.

DAY 3--positive and or negative poem

Perspective on a painting

When I think of Norman Rockwell
I recall that picture of talking heads
Not a musical group but
A cross-section of concerned citizens,
No doubt,
Sharing the latest news
I imagine
The conversation would go something like

Did you know that...?

Are you sure?

Positive!

It doesn't seem possible to me!

You don't have to be so negative about it--I was only saying that...

and so on.

Now in the days of Twitter

What would an artist like Rockwell do?

Something to ponder--toowit, toowoo.

” PUP ASHLEE”

A sweet disorder in the room
Toys, paraphernalia strewn
Disarray is no matter, feel free
Rearrange, amend or scatter.

Life is new, welcomed member,
Into this world, born September
Comfort, we’re in need no more, but
joyous time upon the floor!
“The Duke”

ninacarole

Such Sweet Sorrow

She came to me from somewhere
just out of the blue
and stayed with me
when everything was askew.

I never knew her name
a stranger’s face
there in an odd
yet familiar place.

She loved me
when no one else would
I gave her all of me
everything I had and could.

She was mine and I was her’s
if only for a day
yet, her image
and love forever will stay.

Mesmerized by her touch
on my naked skin
giving myself totally over to her
again and again.

Her love for me
so overwhelmingly pure
my desire for her
caused my flesh and heart to stir.

With the parting of flesh
life became so much more
as we kissed and hugged
heading out our own door.

To lives that remained
but without the other
in reality, smarter, stronger
all because of loving another.

It was erotic and beautiful
the message sent loud and clear
it’s all about love and focus
holding onto it without fear.

It is what it is and can
be no more right now
maybe someday
oh, my dear, maybe somehow.

Way more than we
ever dreamed we wanted
together, open and free
our love was to be undaunted.

There is no message here
that is untrue
simple honesty encapsulating
mere minutes of you.

Painful and painless
parting such sweet sorrow
knowing I won’t
be in your arms tomorrow.

The hope burning
deeply within me aflame
as the unending dreams
can’t change rules of the game.

Full of the innocence of
your love, touching my heart
my mind, body, and soul
completely yours from the start.

Come back to me soon
my dearest dream so true
I’ll be here waiting
patiently waiting for you.

darla jean

I love the Tuesday doubles. So much so, that I did two pairs of them. :)

Accentuate the Positive

Positive cash flows
Soaring profits, in the black
Prosperity reigns.


Minimize the Negative

Stocks plummet, banks fold
Interest rates an all-time low—
Better days ahead.

AND

Too High

Ten dollars, she shrieked
Why that’s highway robbery
You can just keep them!

So Low

Only ten dollars
she mused, That’s such a bargain
I think I’ll take two!

The second pair would have worked for yesterday's prompt as well!

ALEX

At 19, he hung himself
to be free of his demons
and diseases.

But now,
he will be bound by them
forever.



ANDY

Bound by doubt
and grief,
he fled to Jesus
who lifted his burdens
and made him whole.

Bloomings

Cousin Tippy wears a bra now— adjusts
and unhooks as if she's been wearing one
all her life like the Greenbaum girl. Meanwhile
everything on me, but those, is growing— hair, nails,
legs, feet. Tippy will be a woman before too long,
the aunts say. ("Bras now, babies next.")
There is no hope for me, ma says,
I will always look like a child: flat and straight
up. Cousin Tippy tells me not to worry, tells me
to think positive, to think of boys and babies and
blood. ("The blood comes 'bout 'round the time
you're needing a bra.") But I am too boyish
and un-round to picture a boy crawling all over
me the way they do on the soaps or in
the movies. Too sharp in the elbows and ankles, too long
in the neck to think of any baby ever blooming
in me, to think any blood will ever blossom
below and make me girl.

Walt,
Loved Helter Skelter.

Untangling

Thanksgiving trimmings
keep getting twisted up
in my Christmas light strings,

November’s grace

waylaid between a bracing green
or garish red bulb. Put on hold
are those in-between things
like your beautiful bowed heads,
consummate stares

and laughing prayers

across a dining room table
wide as divorce,
like every other year without you here.
The escapades of a grateful season

don’t quite escape me,

but are jumbled up
with the notion of a coming Christmas
when you help extricate
the strings I’ve managed to trap myself in,
and together we celebrate again
with a manger,

thankfully.

Julia Holzer (Note: In spite of what you see, this poem has no line breaks; however, the preview did not allow indentation. The four lines should actually be indented ten spaces.)

Negative Poem:
So much is wrong with
today, I don't even need
to write a poem.

Positive Poem:
Life is hard and tough,
it's road is long and rough,
but I'll have no reason to cry
as long as I have you by my side.
You give me the strength to carry on,
you are my joy, my sun.
You never cease to make me smile,
you make this life worthwhile.

Debra, you got us off to a good start. I also enjoyed Laurie's, Hannah's, and J. Kuykendall's.

My favorite so far...Ann Malaspina.

Tell No Lies

Where the end of your story
and the beginning of the truth
meet
there’s a gap as wide
as the Sargasso Sea, as the Grand Canyon
(which I have yet to see but I hear is pretty freaking big),
or as the Mississippi, which I crossed
with my church group when I was 12,
and swore I would see again, but I haven’t.
And I cannot tell a lie:
you are swimming in it,
up the creek
without a paddle.

Thank you, Linda H.!

Positive or Negative, That's The Choice

Black or white, yin or yang
Can we separate them?
We're taught that every force
Is always accompanied by equal opposition.

"One person's junk may be
Someone else's treasure,"
My Mother would tell me
While she sought to put everything around her in a box.

So we are forced to choose
Which way to see the world
From the light or the dark
Our choices and actions displaying volumes more than words.

we have a scratch scratch

on our door, the wood bending
we're pissed about all the rain
it was supposed to be sunshine here
the father with the lightbulb face
ears burnt into curled up flowers
he said so, didn't he

always rain, always bend, always undertow
never like that red haired girl sang about

Thank you Linda H

What does Yang do while Yin’s on hiatus?
Yang goes to the roof and hollers a whoop
of relief, rips open a brown paper
parcel, grills up the steak, masturbates, pops,
farts, paints, and toasts itself in Tanqueray;

sleeps and snores while dreaming Galapagos
turtles are hitting on albatrosses
hopelessly mixing malapropisms…
Yawns, rolls from sweaty sheets at noon, depressed.
Builds a building and breaks it down again.

Sculpts, carves, breaks. It’s not okay. Time passes
like the bay ever-rippling at high tide,
like the air around leaves, like molasses,
like some forms of madness, like suicide…
Someday the key turns the lock and Yin drops

its backpack. They embrace on the threshold,
tightly spinning both inside and outside…


DA

Wife cleaves to Husband

Wonderful bathrooms - Did you see the stairs, polished marble?
Lovely kitchen, views to die for from the living room window - a fatal accident waiting to happen.

Quiet neighbourhood - Did you hear those kids screaming next door?
Lots of storage, easy to walk to the local town centre - neighbour disputes will be inevitable.

Centrally heated - kitchen cabinets flimsy and cheap
air conditioning, insect screens fitted on every window - How long before the doors fall off their hinges?

No curtain rails yet - The rent they're asking, completely mad!
but they'll fit them, there's lots of space to park outside - I wouldn't take it at half the price they want.


Thanks to Victoria Rivas for giving me the idea of combining two poems into one. It turned out a little strange - but I quite like it.

A negative sonnet about being middle-aged at the park and really starting to hate children. If I could have worked in something about kicking a puppy, I would have.

Becoming Grumpy

Some afternoons the park’s a giant ad
for birth control—a sullen teenaged boy
mopes across the trail, earbudded, a dad
swings his girl so high she screams, a toy
truck full of gravel from the lot becomes
an armory for hunters after squirrels.
I’m here to try to shed some pounds, to run
into my forties, tighten, look at girls
in yoga pants and tank tops. There’s no more
kids for me, thank all the gods and doctors—
my own are grown and never were this bad.
That girl’s still screaming—I’d sure like to smack her,
give her one to cry about, then mock her.
Good God. I think I’ve turned into my dad.

Sun Salutation
- Surya Namaskar

This one I have taken with me to hotel rooms, back porches of fenced in back yards. in pictures as I try to do something besides counting sheep to help me sleep.

Start in Mountain. Breathe. Always breathe. Then hands up as your arch back before exhaling and bending forward towards you knees. My hands do not yet touch the floor. It’s a goal.

My lunge starts on the left because I have better balance on my non dominant side. I stretch the left leg back before moving the right one back as well into plank position. It does not take long for my abs to quiver, to hurry me down to the floor.

Now upward dog with bent elbows before rising into downward dog where I feel strong. My arms won’t let me stay there too long and besides this is a flow. This is a way to great the morning.

So I put my left foot forward this time, knowing how awkwardly I’ll move out of this lunge as I return to the bent over position, lightheaded I inhale and rise up to that slightly arched back, returning to mountain.

Sometimes I repeat until I can feel most of my muscles because I can’t see my muscles. They are under the mountain and the dog. They arch and lunge in caves waiting to for a tectonic shift to push them out.

Newly Negative

Broken thread
Unraveling,
Revealing,
Exposing,
Forcing the issue,
Relinquishing trust,
Silence,
Denial,
Death

"One door closes..."

She left violent
door slam goodbye
eyes of smoke
hiding fire.

She was not the rose
though she was red
a thorn twisted
into my heart.

And then he
with his pad of paper
and shiney shoes
and then he
with his checkered shirt
and clear blue eye
and then he
walked into the room
I smelled roses.

On The One Hand

The diagnosis is more of an aggravation
than anything else. Sure to cause
more stress, of which she is to avoid.
What joker in his right mind would
tell a working mother to avoid that which
is unavoidable and think the statement
to be a cure-all for this disease?



On The Other Hand

The diagnosis is a blessing, other
more sinister things could have been found.
So, she will attempt to regroup, revise
her life. Look for ways to simplify what
needs to be done every day.
Hold fast to the loving, the joy, the beauty.
All will be well.

Linda M. Rhinehart Neas 2009

I’d Rather Be Flying

On a pickup in the pharmacy parking lot,
a license plate: "I’d rather be flying"
and I remember my father whose car
paraded the same bumper sticker.
My father always flew, his weekly chance
to follow the cut-earth meander
of rivers and farms’ orderly patch-work
till his head was clear and he could return
to my mother and me a nicer man.
Sometimes he took me along to navigate,
my eyes trained from birth to rotate
from 9 to 12 to 3 o’clock and back, scouring
the sky for traffic, the engine’s roar
a soundtrack to our easy silence.
The last time we went flying, I got sick—
first time in years—the flight bumpy
and long. I hadn’t eaten enough to weigh
my stomach down. Or maybe it knew
what I didn’t yet see: once my father
could no longer fly, he’d fade and die.

Positively New

Paint splatter
Haphazard, reckless,
Get mad,
Take it out,
Put it where it belongs
Take too long,
Go short with it,
Paint it black and start
Again
Open the doors and let the dust
Bury into the
Thickness of mistakes
Wash it out,
Choose a new palette,
Think on it over night,
Get impatient,
Throw it away,
Dig it out of the trash
Forget about it,
Let it explode,
Use your hands,
Get dirty
Do something
Positively
New

The Journey: Day Three: Write a positive or negative poem, or blend the two.


Lovestory:
Black, white, the good, the bad, the ugly, the beautiful.
We unconditionally love our children,
withhold curative ministration from our spouse,
barter and beseech, never learning, and so we yearn
for adoration like a Kathy Mattea song:
Where’ve you been? I’ve looked for you forever and a day.
Where’ve you been? I’m just not myself when you’re away.

A man, a woman—
is there any mirror to tell the tale,
how love transforms,
if we let it, if we have patience, persistence, commitment.
Life determines genre—
poem, short story, novel, epic—but love converts
characters, alters the arc of connection, the journey, the outcome.
Love adapts, morphs through a somber low, a giddy apex, a heart wrenching
loss, transports to an epilogue of devotion:
Where’ve you been? I’ve looked for you forever and a day.
Where’ve you been? I’m just not myself when you’re away.

Taylor and S. Thomas, I'm a fan.

[someday soon I want to carve out time to read everyone's postings, and maybe even post comments, but right now, all I can manage is the daily poem plus posting it]


Day 3 Something positive


Ripples

At the intersection of St. Joe and Hillsview,
waiting, waiting,
for red to yield to green,
I idle, think of all
the necessary tasks still uncrossed
off the day’s to-do list.

My gaze drifts to the left, toward home,
toward all that cries out for attention
before end of day.

Turn arrow blinks.
I shift into gear,
accelerate toward home,
see the face of the woman piloting the car
advancing toward me.

I choose to smile.
She responds in kind.
My breathing slows, settles.
The smile remains.

Prompt words “positive” and “negative”

From Mein Kempf to Mein Schloss to Mein Paradeisos
© Richard-Merlin Atwater Nov 3, 2009

Branau am Inn is a peaceful town of Osterreich Innviertel,
Astride OberBayern, and 30 miles north of Salzburg city.
“Amadeus” born in city of “the Sounds of Music” ‘neath the bell,
Shares “favored son status” as fellow Austrian with “Adolf”, such a pity!

A young man’s prejudice and evil design expressed in Mein Kempf book,
Can not compare to harpsichord strains of incandescent melodies of amiable geniality,
One is positive, the other negative in creative proclivity and outlook,
Yet far and wide have been the “sphere of influence” of each because of innate ability.

Mein Schloss Hellbrunn and also HerrenChiemsee are renowned far and wide,
From Mozart’s “shadow of medieval past”, and beyond the limits of lakeside Bavaria too,
The negative torture chambers one reveals, and tools of iniquity lay open on display, astride.
The positive, like unto beauty of Versailles, with mirrored image in a garden scene, anew.

Ten miles west of Branau lies village Marktl-on-the-Inn, same river of Innsbruck fame,
Here was born Pope Benedict XVI-- a positive force to promote fundamental Christian values,
And 50 miles west in Bavarian capitol city Munich is the nativity of “Heinrich Himmler’s name”,
The negative leader of Nazi Secret Police GESTAPO underwritten by “Heil salutes” and ballyhoos.

Berchtesgarden is home to “Eagle’s Nest”, retreat for Hitler and royal base for Gestapo Police,
In Nazi days the image of a fallen Garden of Eden could place the negative upon this lovely place,
Yet, Edelweiss doth grace the scene as lovely flower and song amidst the sacramental chalice,
As the positive enhanced by American soldier religious retreats, as Julie Andrews puts on a happy face.

Musician Franz Gruber shares the chapel scene of Arnsdorf village, along with Joseph Mohr close, nearby,
Notation comes to enhance the lyric poem played on guitar as Christmas carol: “Silent Night”,
A positive expression that extols the virtues of the Savior JESUS CHRIST, far from the cry—
Of Nazi soldiers who carried out atrocities in Dachau prison camp for Jews of ethnic fright!

From Garmisch-Partenkirchen one can ski the Zigspitze Alpine Mount, or pray within the chapel Wies,
Or off to west become entranced by Schloss Neuschwanstein of King Ludwig—Disney fame,
And Oberammergau each decade thus relive: “the Passion of the Christ” in Passion Play of Jerusalem guise,
The positive of God’s scenery and man’s creation, explore the negative of what we do in sinful blame!

I prefer to view the positive in life and sail across the Konigsee to “Sankt Bartholoma” as pilgrimage in time,
Or ride the underground train of Obersalzburg salt mines for the thrill of movement and intrigue,
As spy to bring the negative “Iron Curtain” down, thus open up both East and West, exhume the crime,
Of political fallacy, man’s inhumanity to man, to bring “the olive branch of peace” to nations in league.

So thus it is my friend and confident of muses of the things we think to do, or say,
To choose Mein Kempf, or glamour of Mein Schloss, within Mein Paradeisos land,
Remember this, the Master said: “the tares must grow with the wheat until the judgment day.”
Then root up and burn the negative that grows, and let the positive forever truly stand.
=======================================================================
Poet’s Note:
Reflections of a real world spy who lived within and visited all the environs spoken of in this poem, long after the Nazi regime had fallen into disarray, and was replaced by the Soviet “Iron Curtain”--- for which the author spent his life as a career American Defense Intelligence Officer bringing it down to its collapse. The full events are recorded in the book: The Man Who Helped Bring Down the “Iron Curtain”. Available at www.3swanspublishers.com Also available online is the complete poetic works of American Poet Laureate of “the Maine Woods”—Richard-Merlin Atwater---in the book: Perspectives on Life.

P.S. Mein Kempf = My Struggle--the title of Adolf Hitler's book that led to the events of the Third Reich of Nazi Germany
Mein Schloss = My Castle of which there are amny beautiful structures across Bavaria and Austria--some of architectural beauty and serenity, others of medieval purpose for atrocities
Mein Paradeisos = My Paradise, which can be any place on earth that you choose it to be by bringing the positive in your heart to make it so, and eradicating the negative which is implanted by far too many people for bad purposes. Bavaria and Austria are beautiful places like unto Paradise, even as is my native Maine in New England, and my adopted retirement in Florida, and the 75 countries I have visited all around the world. I never saw a place I didn't like, for we learn by experience that you cannot find the beautiful anywhere--unless first YOU bring it with you in your heart. Enjoy YOUR Paradise---where ever it may be--hopefully foremost around "the Heart of Home" within your own FAMILY. RMAtwater

Yes or No

Your answer can be yes or no,
Your eyes can tell me stop or go,
My blood will either freeze or flow.

This love is ours to find or lose.
Will it be based on truth or ruse?
Will our two hearts stay split or fuse?

So let me know if yea or nay,
And turn my life to night or day.
Please tell me, should I go or stay?

I was
postive
those
pictures
were
gone,
lost
between
this house
and
our last
place

or
maybe
between
that place
and the
apartment,
do you
remember?
the one
with the
carpet
we could
never get
quite
clean?

They
spill out
from a
book,
fluttering
strips of
brown,
many more
than I
remember
us
taking.

I
hold one
to the
light,
I can
recall
cleaning
the
carpet
endlessly,
but not
why
I was
smiling
or the
name of
the
restuarant.

Was it
your
birthday,
our
anniversary,
or
something
else entirely?

Negative space
is that which waits
to be filled

It draws you
down
into it,
pulls
like the hasty
inevitable marriage
of negative to positive
magnet ends

If you pull up
and away
real fast
you can break ties
with the pulsing field,
the vortex,
the cyclone of descent

You have to power up
with the will
of a super hero
and then,
on three,
jump up
as close to the sky
as you can get

Both feet must leave the ground
and it helps if you time a giggle
to parallel your lift
(it pops the seal)

I have never known this
to fail

CHRISTOPHER STREET, 4TH FLOOR
(Prometheus)

He was shy as a kitten sometimes,
padding naked through the apartment, self-absorbed
but self-defeating. When we fucked on the living room floor,
I could see the spark gap, the disconnect,
all that cognitive electricity going somewhere else.
Going somewhere ahead. A better future.
He had these grand designs, he was going to be a songwriter
and make it big, but he would still hold me close
when I shivered in the space between night and morning,
nothing for a lullaby but the static on the television
and nothing for heat but the slow steady stroking
of his hands, fire warming me up from the inside out.
I would kiss the scar on his stomach
and tell him how beautiful he was,
how life beats us down and we build each other up.
He sang through telephone wires. He was
temporary insanity, the flare of a match,
vanished before I ever saw him on a stage.
We've crossed paths. I think I've outgrown him, now,
now I am the teacher, but still, I see him around,
disconnected
and I always want to lift up his shirt,
whisper to that mark on his belly, thank you.

...

COOPER STREET, 6TH FLOOR
(Pandora)

She was my type, and she knew it:
overwhelming and theatrical, brimming and full-bloom.
She would start a plague of smiles if you let her.
We used to explore each other against the stained glass
windowpanes, playing Marco Polo with our tongues.
The trouble with all that dammed-up energy
is that sooner or later it has to burst,
and there are chain reactions
when the water finds chinks that you didn't know were there.
Secrets become rumors, then information,
and the cracked-voice confessions we shared
(in chapels and minimalls and cryptlike basements)
spread through our bodies,
left us cancerous and cadaverous and wholly unsure.
Our lips became strangers, our hands,
our nemeses,
passion drowned by guilt and shame and regret.
I don't blame her anymore: I hear she's had
girlfriends of her own, and fate just played out as it should,
floodgates will open other floodgates and so forth,
but still, when I think of her face,
widemouthed, lip-ringed, amphibian,
it is the fountain of all that is wrong with my world.

Attitude

Breeze stirs barely-grayed hair
his eyes intent on the pole
heart set on a Walleye supper

heart set on living each day
against the odds
the doctor gave after
the third “cabbage”
ten by-passes
two stents
seventeen angioplasties
anaphylactic shock
serum sickness
all in nineteen years

heart set on another tomorrow

THIS MORNING

This morning,
I tried not to wake you.
Slid out from beneath the covers,
so careful not to bounce.

But just before I left the room,
I turned to watch you sleep:
your mouth half-open,
one arm flung above
like a little boy,
bird's nest hair.

It hurts sometimes,
this joy inside.
Let me keep this moment.

THIN RED LINE

As if in slow motion
I see the knife slip:
pieces of orange scatter
as a thin red line blossoms
across the palm of my hand.

A stupid mistake
but part of me is
glad for the pain,
It reminds me of the consequences
of carelessness.

It reminds me of you.

Negative Coffee, Positive Day

Off work early today
An unexpected surprise.

Sunny and seventy
Great to be outside.

Tried a new coffee shop
The java was terrible.

Negative yes, but so many positives
Made it more than bearable.

True Polarity – A Love Sonnet

Anode took a fancy to a sparky gal
but she did not return his affection.
He politely queried her rationale
for her dismal, galvanic rejection.
Cathode flashed him a brilliant smile
as she responded most matter-of-factly.
“You’re negative, I’m positive. And therefore, while
I think you’re hot, I don’t know exactly
what we have in common, besides a battery
of charges. We’d end up without any juice.”
“Gee,” sighed Anode, “what negative flattery!
It’s too bad. It might’ve been nice to transduce.”
But then...somehow... they connected – a true rarity,
proving opposites can attract. Even with true polarity.

AUTUMNAL IDYLL

The forest floor, drenched
by the recent storm;
belated drips from
stubborn leaves hanging,
refusing to fall
upon the carpet
of the woods. Infant
breezes stir naked
maples as hardened
long-malnourished oak
leaves crash on Autumn's
crowded floor. Dimness
fades in the intense
glow beginning to
permeate the stand.
The air is imbued
with cleansing scent-change:
Day's breath purified.



FROM THE HORSE'S MOUTH

You didn't know someone was there,
hearing what was said.
Why did you say "thank you",
when you didn't mean it?
Why did you ask for her help again,
raising her false hopes?
How could you praise her efforts
which you told others you despised?
Credibility: you've none.
Morals, ethics: yours are missing.
Character: you have the lowest.
My friendship: evaporated.
Reputation: your reflection.

W

These are your hands

Here, where the babe lay, a stillness now
These are your hands holding my hands
Both so empty even as we try to catch
At life, our lives, whatever we imagine is left

There on the steps is our dog, uneasy in his stance
As if suspecting the sea change in us
He sleeps with one ear cocked, one eye slitted
Open to our strained tension-filled space

Our television like some artefact remains silent
Closed off, as are we, gathering dust in a living
Room that mocks us almost as much as the
Nursery and the family room are wont to do

The names of things have never meant much
Until now when cruel irony seems to reproach
At every turn; you are careful not to cradle my
Womb, as am I, that empty vessel where Ely

Last lay in a perfect breathless slumber that
Will remain forever flawless, however tragic...
Determined, we try to be, stoic don’t you think
Our Calvinist parents would be so proud.


and on the positive side:

A New Man in My Life

Don’t wear your heart on your sleeve
My mama used to say – play a
Little bit hard to get – don’t show everything
You feel at once – hold your cards close
To the vest...

Easy for her to say – she hadn’t met you
Hadn’t seen your gorgeous eyes
The colour of morning, or felt
Your sweet breath on her neck
So soft...

I fell and fell hard little man, you have
My whole life in your tiny fist and twisted
Around your baby finger to boot
And me thinking I was too old for
Such nonsense...

Little did I know there would be yet
Another child I would be willing to fight
To the death for, another one to fall head
over heels in love with forever and ever
amen...

Negative

Negative is easier than positive
these days it seems I have
no time forpositive, with its
words appear contrived,
just chugging along, put
one foot ahead of another,
try not to think at all.


Positive

Oh what a beautiful day
to be alive. I am so excited
to face the day, do not know
what it will bring but
know it will be as unique as
all days are but please
forgive me for not enjoying
it fully as I am exhausted,
look forward to early rest
and hope I can sleep.

When Negative Is Good

He
saw
blood in
his urine,
post radiation.
Fraught with fear, he awaited news,
certain of enemy’s return.
He saw shortened life;
“Negative,”
returned
his
breath.


When Positive Is Bad

In
a
sterile
room, she sat
awaiting results
of the biopsy taken two
weeks ago, but no one had called,
so she assumed nothing untoward.
She felt fine, hopeful;
“Positive,”
toppled
her
world.

Po’biz

We three meet
every few weeks
over coffee drinks
and baked goodies.

We bend our heads,
lend our ears, focus
on pages of poems.

Between lines of words
and remarks meant to help
we catch up on our lives.

Then comes
the long drive home
through dark city streets
and commute traffic.

Neck relaxing
I turn on my road,
straight into
a golden full moon.

My neighbor, the optimist

Buck called to me from next door.
"Agnes left again," he said.
"Come over and have a beer."
"What happened this time?" I asked.
"Oh, you know, I got in too late or too early.
Or I left my dirty shirt on the floor.
Maybe I ate the last piece of pie."

Well, I thought, I might have left over the pie.
"Still," he said. "She went shopping
this morning and bought a case of beer.
"She even made chicken sandwiches.
Let's have lunch. Watch some TV.
And maybe she'll come back
this evening or tomorrow."

First Move

She takes her
first tentative
movements,
her eye
caught
by the
red ball
rolling
pass her face.
Her mother
beams
in delight
as her
daughter
crawls
for the
first
time.


The Revenge

He had been left alone…again.
He was bored.
He wanted company
but there was no one here.
He decided to chew on a pillow,
and a shoe,
a bra,
until finally, all that
chewing made him
thirsty.
The water bowl was empty.
He looked around
and saw a large bowl
on the table behind the
couch. There was
something moving in the
bowl but he smelled
water!
In his excitement
he knocked the bowl over and
frantically began to lap up the water
before it soaked into the couch.
He sniffed the orange thing
flopping around
but then discovered a small
canister of deliciously
smelling flakes.
He ate it.
Canister and all.
Then…
he didn’t feel so good.
He couldn’t get outside.
So…he proceeded to
leave large,
runny,
piles…
all over the house.
Then he fell into
an exhausted sleep…
until a scream woke him,
and he got up
to happily
greet
his
owner.

HELLO GOODBYE

You come, you go,
I never know
just what is in your heart.

You tell me yes,
you tell me no,
I don't know where to start.

You're standing here,
you run away,
you're keeping us apart.

You're unaware,
you had me there
your logic isn't smart

I have a fear
it isn't clear
if I am on your mind.

I know it's true
I'm telling you
I'm feeling in a bind.

I've given you
a love that's true,
but you've been less than kind.

So if you leave
I do believe
you're leaving much behind

Stay or go?
If stay, hello.
If go, goodbye.

Aloha!

Positive Vibes

When right –
Love energy flows
Between us
Like the strongest
Electrical current
Carrying light
Into the heart
Of midnight

Novenserene

I look to hear to listen
no sound returns to me,
as I see I wonder~~~~
no answer comes to me.
What is this i ponder...
tranquil novemserene,
perceive it I from hoping
a world filled with peace
~
by melinda P

MEAN MR. MUSTARD

I ruled the world, you see,
and then the world ruled me,

a singing jester, a bloody fool,
one of those lads from Liverpool.

We came to America, land of the free,
but as our music grew, it stifled me.

My choice of partners made a stir,
and the world had come to ravage her.

But we made a home and found our place,
without all that screaming in our face,

to settle into a life of seclusion,
and perpetrated this fantastic illusion.

So a glad house husband I became
while Yoko worked to make her name,

and I, a Beatle, husband, dad,
was happy in the life I had.

But music, still my love and passion,
had lured me in a rhythmic fashion,

to feed this "Double Fantasy"
and brought the world right back to me.

But, a yellow bastard made his name
by stealing someone else's name.

Mark my words David, he was a mean chap, man,
couching there with a steady hand,

I sang that, "Happiness Is a Warm Gun"
"Mr. Lennon?" bang-bang, shoot, shoot. I was bloody done.

Plus and Minus lives

They asked me when I was a kid if I’d rather
A long and boring life or instead
A short exciting one.
It was harder to answer the question than I’d’ave
Thought but on the plus side a short life
Wouldn’t give time to be bored.
The plus to the long a boring life though
Was knowing that I could dream and write so
Many miniature lives so I said
Live long and prosper.

I'm astounded at the quality of work here these past couple of days--and we're just getting started! I'm so excited to see how this challenge unfolds.


Renovation

Ragged linoleum
skirts the wall,
stubborn scar tissue
framing wounded wood:
floor stripped bare.
Artifice no longer hides
water-stained
broken-in
daily-walked
wood.

I, too, carefully ply
a practiced covering,
bury myself
in acceptability.

What if, for a day,
I excavate
my own layers,
dig to an unabashed
original:
let my torn-linoleum soul
greet the world
as is?

Welcome back, Robert.

DAY 3

POSITIVE

A daily chance
to write poems
without a backward glance

NEGATIVE

Missing
The laughs
At the quips and the comments



Observation from a neophyte in the November poetry challenge
and
In anticipation of the return of Wednesday prompt responses
and
Day 4 of the November challenge



SECOND THOUGHTS--As my first efforts to send this poem did not go through, I had a chance to read the latest additions

PHEW! Walt, your MEAN MR. MUSTARD blew me away (to coin a phrase) and I glanced at the Lennon sketch for November on our home office calendar.
Such a way with words! Sadly, this is a tribute to a lost poet.

Patricia A. McGoldrick (PM27)

Time’s Double Image

self-esteem
(What’s that?)
conceptually ignorant

words turning slowly
into sound-bytes
sitting and sinking
replaying
mantra-like fashion

congratulatory methods
and compliments turn sour
moody like minor chords

staring at my reflection
I’ll never see what you see

Geographies


We were young and in love with New York,
its noisy excitement, its overheard conversations
in languages never heard in Kansas,
the smell of roasting chestnuts in winter,
the endless possibility of seeing
someone who might have been famous
getting into a cab on Fifty-seventh.

My mother came visiting. We took her
down Broadway, one on each side,
steering her gently away from the drunks,
guys in overcoats peeing in alleyways,
stores selling crotchless black lace panties,
and going-out-of-business-forever places
that lured her, child of the Depression,
with the promise of bargains.

“Goodness,” she said, “everyone looks like…a character!”
And we, city sophisticates at twenty-three,
nodded and smiled, bursting with happiness
at having escaped from Middle America
and being here at last in the center of everything.

'breaking through the foul and ugly mists' Henry IV Part I

Gathering, myself at the window,
feeling, rather than seeing,
nimbostratus collecting their strength;
dark, dark, heavy, wet and threatening
clouds, not solid, though - I've flown in them,
through them and left them in my wake
many times before. There, there, a brilliant
shaft of light, tinged yellow, orange, ochre
to the south peaking through the elm,
and I remember that park in Oklahoma sunshine.
Gathering, myself at the window...

Let's do it, let's go, south like we have wings,
with the flow of it all, at one with it all.
Gathering, thoughts, light, momentum,
myself at the window.

No Regrets

Her servant’s heart led her to create countless gifts.
For decades, she has given afghans and blankets,
capes, sweaters, scarves, hats, mittens, dresses,
baby outfits, housecoats, shawls, pillows, doilies,
dishcloths – anything she could knit or crochet.
Her age-spotted hands reflect the love she poured out,
her fingers gnarled and bent to guide knitting needles
and crochet hooks, and she does not regret.

Hard Choice

I can understand the logic of wanting to change,
I know that my lifestyle is wrong.
This is how I live, how my parents lived,
I can’t trade it for the words of a song.
What will happen if I decide to accept?
How will I fill my time then?
Why should I surrender the joys of this world
for your description of heaven?

I did it! I asked Him to come into my life
and He has changed all that I am.
My thoughts, my dreams, my words, my hopes -
I’ve been completely born again.
I will never regret the things I gave up,
I know that the battle is won.
Thank You, My Lord, for bringing me here,
thank You for giving Your Son.

Positive/Negative Effect

There I was
in my own little world
feeling worthless and alone
asking myself daily
did I not deserve to be loved?
understood?
respected?

I wondered endlessly
day after day
what will the 'morrow bring?
will there be sunshine
behind dismal clouds
that hovered
overhead
strangling me
with veils of darkness

would I ever see
my dreams fulfilled?
would the tears
I cry
perhaps
one day
be tears of pure joy?

one lonely night as I sat
questioning
life, death, God,
wanting to live
yet,
Praying to die,
a stranger knocked on my heart
liken to a rainbow
after the storm

with him
I looked at things
in a different perspective
feasting on positive
casting out negative
he nourished
my being
with kindness,
friendship,
sincerity

it wasn't long
before I felt
renewed,
worthwhile
special...
a fading rose
brought back to life

we shared everything
from good to bad
and all things in between
there were no secrets
as our inner feelings
opened up
allowing the other in
where
trust and respect
became stainless

then...
suddenly without warning
the rains came
pouring down
with storms of life
crashing my world
once again

the rainbow faded
out of sight,
silenced my midnight
serenade
leaving me
to wonder
'what in the hell happened?'


November 4th. 2009
(prompt- positive/negative, combination of both)

(c) Rose Marie Streeter

Negatives

Chemical-coated plastic smiles stalk me from strips of film that spill out of little paper pockets and drawers and boxes,
luminous white lips that glow eerily even through closed eyes.

The blue, licorice-scented hyssop is in full bloom
but I sleep until afternoon, and rise to walk through the dark hallway bumping into a cold wall covered in photographs.

When I dream, I see images of feathered hope perched
on a black bag full of trash and leaking barbecue sauce, he sings
the sweetest song, but I'm wearing earplugs.

Two for Tuesday

And though i write one every day

a poem each for all of November

the lead, the ink, the shape of words

fail to express the shaking of my fingers...


then joy penned turns to dissapointment

when computer keys and code are rejected

as it is only mine that seems to fail

to join all the others as comment posted...

Just wanted to say great poems have been written by all these past three days. I really don't have a favorite, because all the poems are excellent. Keep up the awesome work!

:This winter warm:

Ah, oh, to wriggle in the warm
joy of moonbeams on your pillow
to steam like a kettle and ruffle
toes against twinkle soft

To dance, to shine, to bathe in copper
tones and roll along the carpet of stars

To be a droplet and swing, swing, swing,
to tussle with a mitten of sheets

And find one snug
in the raptures of a cuddled nose
like snowflakes on the tongue

***

:And you, winter, unlike the rest:

Oh winter why do you bark,
sharp, wake me to this phantom rust
this tundra that slides against my skin,
bites into sadness like a mist

Why do you make me die, linger
cold, snap my shadow to this prickly point

Why are you pale, you nail this ache of ice until I break
from where do you draw this tone,
sinking teeth sallow for a final bitter snip

Planning

I tried to think of everything
what if the plane is late?
what if one of the kids get sick?
of course the kids did get sick
the day we were to fly, I almost
delayed, but couldn't wait another
day for what I'd put off for 8 years

NEGATIVE VIBES: INDECISION


Caught between a rock and a hard place
My breath ekes in gasps that burn my chest.
Trying to think, I’m not at my very best.
The stones pressed up against my face
They all say are precious every one
But they cut deep and I can’t run,
My body flattened by the crush
In time will powder into dust.

#


POSITIVE VIBES: IMPROMPTU


off the top of my head
where my hair doesn't grow
i'm writing a poem
and letting it flow

whatever comes out
the words and the phrases
i'm putting down here
how crude this way is!

usually my poems
need time to rehearse
the dance that they do
in lines of my verse

but you set down the rules
here's what you said
just write a poem
off the top of your head

#

GOT TO GET YOU INTO MY LIFE

The ebb and flow of an existence,
crossing paths with an unknown entity,
sets sparks to fly. An ember aglow for
a moment in time in this brief eternity.
And you stood in profile, a shadow of a girl,
bright eyed and rapier smile, beaming beacon
of brilliant dentistry. A glorious posterior
and an interior that screamed “pure soul”.
A radiance of auburn aflame, tendrils of
a fire left to burn with a passion of its own.
And I, a word-bound nebbish, as shy
as the day is long, and enraptured by
the piercing lance that initiated in your eyes
and lodged itself into my soul. Control over
my senses was lost, and at all costs, I knew,
either my trepidation be damned, or my heart
be cast down to the ground and trampled.
I had grown rather attached to my heart,
so I had nothing to fear but complete and utter
failure. A rejection of tentative advances
would have destroyed what little confidence
I could feign. And as I approached, I felt my hands
stutter well before my mouth had the opportunity,
a slew footed gait lacking any chutzpah, but with a purpose.
All roads lead to where you stood, and any detour
I could have imagined, ended at your door as well.
I smiled faintly. You blushed in a hue to match
your flowing Irish mane. We both lowered our eyes for
less than a blink of same, only to have them return to their
upright position to peer into each soul so claimed.
Your smile came, more combustible that could
have been imagined and your eyes, the dark
cocoa shells that fed your fire, started this
conflagration in me that burned unfettered.
And my mission was clear.
I’ve got to get you into my life.
Eternity claimed you for my own, and I owe it one.

DALE CARNEGIE GETS PISSED, or the POWER of POSITIVE DRINKING

A journey of a thousand miles begins with one slip.
The only thing we have to fear is fear gets buff.
Behind every cloud, there’s a silver lying.
It’s always darkest before the swarm.
Whistle while you hurt.
Forgive and regret.
Have a nice die!

Positive Scenes of Life
By: Meena Rose

Hearty laughs and joyous sounds;
Good feelings abound.

Three generations of family;
Enjoying each others company.

Finding time to gather;
And support each other.

==================

Negative Scenes of Life
By: Meena Rose

Parents arguing and fighting;
Children hiding and crying.

Family in all but name;
The sight of each other brings on shame.

Someone lied and Grandma died;
No one even noticed.

I'M DOWN
(Negative)

Depths of darkest night
a mourning all consuming
shrouding me from light

GETTING BETTER
(Neutral)

And then comes the sun
glowing love in memories
easing grief most dour

I FEEL FINE
(Positive)

The healing begins
heart-felt support from beyond
your love churns within

"It Was A Good Day"

A good day,
mood coincided with need
I began
to tackle long ignored dust
move plants
fit clutter behind closed doors

A good day,
dust mask remembered
space found for most
Roomba cleaning floor
new mattress delivered
(in three boxes)

Wow, I could even
fit between them
in the hall...

Clunk.clunk.clunk.
clunk.clunk.clunk.
clunk.

No!

Roomba met its match - a bottle cap

Marcia McLees Bogaert

Absotively Posolutely


Bartholomew Foggerty, the brilliant weasel
Had returned to painting with ketchup and diesel
His short lived fling with stone
Had ended with a crack and a groan
And as for being the model
It was clear it wasn’t a doddle
So now for the good of his health
He was painting a portrait of himself
He was sure to catch the right light
And it was bound to turn out just right
He could mirror all his best features
As one of God’s finest creatures
The weasel began with the eyes and nose
The key to fine portraits as everyone knows
He progressed to his fine shaped mouth
And continued working his way south
His chest was fine and distinguished
(Though the ardour within was extinguished
His heart having once been broken
By a damsel who refused his token)
He found the legs quite tough
As he wasn’t quite tall enough
To see them in the glass and sketch
With getting a knot in his neck
Finally he came to the glorious finish
And realized he’d fulfilled his wish
His heart sang like a warbler
He wasn’t just any old dauber
His portrait was quite majestic
His pose almost electric
The way his eyes followed you round
Even if you looked at the ground
This was his great masterpiece
And he signed it just underneath
The left foot, about an inch to the side
And sat down overwhelmed with pride
The only thing left to do
Was to put the portrait on view
Where it could be seen by one and all
And where critics were sure to call
At the cost of nigh on a month’s salary
He had it hung in a fine local gallery
His door was at once flocked
Never once could he keep it locked
The great and the good begged permission
To give him their own commission
His stature grew along with his riches
And he finally got rid of the twitches
Til' there came a crash and a bump
And he found his head had a lump
He let out a blood curdling scream
It had all been nought but a dream
The most positive time of his life
The end to hunger and strife
Was all just a figment of mind
How cruel! How very unkind!
But he determined to set out anew
And he knew just what to do
After combing with his best teasel
He sat once more at his easel
With a mirror just to his right
It was time to fight the good fight.


Iain

THE ORIGINAL

Even though the others before her
were called the same thing it's starting
to sound like her given name —the way he
calls her that and nothing else. The way he
says it in public. In Stop & Shop
when she went ahead to get the clementines,
he said, "Honey Babe, I'll be where
the bread's at." It took her by surprise
the first few times, but now she's used to
it like she's one of those girls that are Darling
and Sugar for real and got the birth certificates
to prove it. She wants to tattoo it on her hip
bone or the center of her lower back 'cause
she's so sure that even though the others
before her were called the same thing, they
never heard it like this. He says it like he means
it, like it's permanent, and even if they split
he couldn't help but still call her by it.

Day two poem- couldn't get it to post.
" Beauty "
Beauty is all around us, in the scenery that surrounds us. But, how about the beauty we don't see everyday. The beauty thats within. The giving nature of someone, the caring that has no asking in return. The beauty that surrounds us, that has, no look at all. An average someone, that doesn't stand out at all. But, is more beautiful then anyone you could ever see. Beauty is, to the eye of the beholder, but behold the beauty that you can not see, that beauty that hides inside of me.

Negative

Sifting through the bureau drawers,
trying to decide what to keep,
what to share, what to give away,
I came across the worn sleeve holding
one strip of negatives, not a single print.

The record of my recent life
is limitless, camera snapshots
shared online, in photo albums,
cropped and journalled,
drugstore prints as bookmarks,
faces that I love peering up
amid created characters,

but she had only that boxy
Brownie camera, and lacking flash,
she took all her pictures out of doors.
Film was a luxury, and once a roll
was filled, it sat in the fruit bowl
for weeks. By the time she had
the prints, we’d often forgotten
what prompted the shot.

Taking the strip gingerly
between my fingers, careful
not to smudge, I held it
to the window, peering at the image
in reverse, surprised to see
her younger self, not quite twenty—
I am positive—since there
in the crook of her arm lay
the newborn who would develop
into me.

No Romance
You find me very attractive
I notice when you’re around
But we’re not lovers
We’re just friends
No, you’re not the ONE
We’ve told each other so

You poke me without permission
I comfort you without compassion
You show me the ugly side of yourself
I mirror mine back to you

You accept me as I am,
I allow you to be you
I notice when you’re around
You notice me too

It is unconditionally true
There’s no romance going on between us
We’re not lovers, we’re best friends
We’ve told each other so
I’m only positive
That you love me, and I love you

“Positive Sign”

The thing I feared
the most

wasn’t happening.

My daughter
(with the learning disability)
was making the connection.

She understood
and was able to explain
exponents and
the order of operations
and she explained that
a negative multiplied by
a negative
yields
a positive.

Everything shifted
and shined with possibility.

The memories
of the previous evening’s
tortured homework
faded into amnesia
as we laughed and joked
and went to the mall
to get birthday presents
for her older sister.

Crossroads

Life again and again
Finds only crossroads
Where now, and before
Shall turn into a tomorrow.

Worry not in this
Crossroad’s time
For this will always
Pass into a yesterday.

Life again and again
Finds only crossroads,
Where life will again
Be always anew.

Today, Tomorrow and Yesterday

There isn’t time to dwell on the past,
There isn’t time to think of the future,
Is there time to think about today?

Or will all our todays melt onto our yesterdays
What have you accomplished?
Did you work today for tomorrow?
Is so; is your tomorrow coming?

Live day by day,
Strive towards your goals,
Work on today!

Therefore:
Today is never here,
Tomorrow will always be coming,
And yesterday is just a reminder of what has passed.

Positive/Negative

Death
is welcomed
when suffering is ended

Birth
is mourned
when bellies are empty

Our Internet went down yesterday, so I couldn't post this until this morning...I have witnesses! Lox


November's Loom

Part I: The Negative

November falls hard
through the veil
where those I love have gone,
leaving me to struggle
against currents of pain,
currents of tears,
loneliness streaming,
keening past my ears.
I cry out---Never!
November pulls me down.

Part II: The Positive

Inside I rise and fly
towards the river's bend
between times of being.
My wings spread wide
I ride the wind
flowing from memory
like a purpose.
I dip and turn,
cry out---I can---and I can!
To their camp at river's bend!

Part III: The Weave

November falls hard.
Inside I rise and fly
through the veil
to the river's bend,
where those I love have gone
between times of being,
leaving me to struggle,
my wings spread wide
against currents of pain.
I ride the wind,
currents of tears
flowing from memory,
loneliness streaming
like a purpose,
keening past my ears.
I dip and turn;
I cry out---Never!
Cry out---I can---and I can!
November pulls me down
to their camp at river's bend.

Once Upon a Thanksgiving

Once upon a Thanksgiving,
The weather was perfect;
The music, the food, and the beer
Were excellent: All excellent.
And I had a very good year-
Thank God!
I agreed with the young girl
Who stood on a chair
A garland of maple leaves in her hair,
Proudly declaring:
"I'm Thankful for Thanksgiving!"


Thanklessnessgiving

That Very Thursday
I was criticized for the way I dressed,
And why I was so ignorant
In important matters like rearing babies
And making Jell-O salads,
Even though I know Latin
And could have told her where
The best beer in Oxford is,
And where we can all listen
To the best classical music next month.
The decorations in the room were stunning-
I had put them up myself,
And my only function that day
To one or two killjoys
Was sheer decoration.

positive prompt

The Is-ness of All

yesterday is a memory
some yesterdays we learn from
some we save in our hearts
others we let go

tomorrow is a projection
a land of what-ifs
a place where plans come to fruition
or not

today, this moment is all we have
we inhale the Now and exhale the Never More

Joy is a state of Being
free of the anxiety of yesterday
and the fear of tomorrow
apart from carnalities and
temporal pleasures

Become aware of Your Life
apart from your life's situations
Become aware of Now
and of Being and the Is-ness of all
Live!

Ions

Ions can be positive or negative
Like the balances in my monthly bank account
My moods can be sunny or thunderstruck
Depending on my internal chemicals
Which rely on the ions and how they bond
And the state of my relationships with those
Of whom I’m fond.
It’s a question of chemistry, endorphins and the like,
And the state of my relationships with those whom I like.

Juxtaposition

I can't stop you.
You stare at me and
thank God it's not you.

I close my eyes,
cut you out of my sight.
You cannot pain me now.

Mrs. Pennington, J.D. Parks Elementary School

She’s archetype woman,
terrorizing third graders
who hate homework,
multiplication tables,
her disappointed frowns.

Righteous- that’s the word
she most represents, teaching
is her call, her moral obligation,
to win her smile is to win.

Simple, she means well,
but isn’t very smart.

In 1959, she didn’t need to be,
her world was small,
there was a place for everything.

The race for the moon
was way above her head.

Vampire stories…

draw me in like a fool
at a carnival’s Midway. I envy
the idea of living forever, sleeping
my days away
from a scared world, dancing
through nights filled
with stars and brandy and lust
while being as strong
and sneaky as a sharp-toothed tiger hunting
a graceful gazelle. Though I daydream
of living large and wild, the thought of biting
into the ropy-blue veins of anyone whose heart still beats
with life and hope and delusion, sucking
salty blood through sweaty
skin makes me gag with gladness
that I’m not the undead.

Ions


+

Fact: they attract.
Darkness and light.
Fear and flight.
Dusk and dawn.
It should add up,
all things being
equal.

_

But he gives, and takes away
and the equation shifts.
She, optimistic.
He, opposed.
Until she
is positively
zero.

The Child goes right automatically
just because the Parent went left
One day, with love, growth, and Grace
an Adult will forge a new path

Positively

Positively right, positively wrong.
Never going to write a poem that's really, really long.

Positively rhymes, positively wrong.
Never going to write a poem that doesn't sing a song.

Positively right, positively wrong.
Never going to write a poem just to get along.

Positively rhymes, positively wrong.
Never going to write a poem every day, so long.

Throw a long shadow

The three-legged tabby is curled
On a cushion
At my feet
Surrounded by her shadows,
a fan of black and grey,
as she herself grows opaque
In the falling dark.
I am a grey shadow
cast over 4 millions years
drawn over nests in trees
lingering over death in savannah grasses
With water at my side and food
At my whim, there’s
No work left to be done
I am the shadow worn thin.

Emily at 70

"Oh, the rain," she cried,
turning her face upward
to let the cool drops run
down her wrinkled face.

Fingers open to the sky,
she let the water flow
down her wrists, her arms,
her shrunken breasts.

Rivers of rain raced
over her belly, resting
in the dent of her navel
before threading south

to wander down her bony legs,
climb the knobs of her knees
and jump like crystal frogs
to tickle her gnarled toes.

Wet all over, she slowly spun,
twirling like a sprinkler head
watering a thirsty lawn,
flinging rainbows everywhere.

One tenth of the way.....

CHAP #3A

One Thing Negative

What can one say about Heaven
That would be read as negative
Just one thing off-putting
One thing undesirable
Something adverse
Unattractive
Or bad

Let me see…….
………….
………….
I’m still thinking…..
………….
………….
Well
There is one thing negative
To say about Heaven……
We’re not there yet


CHAP #3B

Surely

Surely
Nothing that exists could be
All bad
100% negative
Nothing worthwhile
Absolutely nothing good to say

Surely
Everything as a good point
Or points
A positive side
Something salvageable
A light in the midst of darkness

Surely
Even Hell has a good side
Or sides
Something nice
Something redeeming
That spark of positive hope

Surely

Now and then for here and there, forever
You see me, you hear me, why don’t you listen?
I hear you, I see you, why don’t I care?
We live, we follow, we lead, and we wallow,
Two sides, one vision, two paths for the same road,
One direction, two hearts, we will converge soon enough.
I agree, you will one day, I will hesitate, you will lead, and we will meet again.

Positively Negative

I miss the days before digital photography -
the care that had to be taken
not to expose fresh film
as it was loaded into the camera;

the necessity of rewinding
the carefully exposed film
back into its canister;

taking a dozen rolls of film
to the one-hour photo lab
to be carefully developed and printed;

the slightly sour smell
of developer, stop bath and fixer
coming from the lab machines;

the long strips of gelatin negatives
hanging on the racks
waiting to be printed by a white-coated lab technician;

flipping through the glossy, borderless prints
at the counter in front of the bored cashier
who desperately sought something positive
to say about your sorry negatives.

Sorry if this is a double post. I thought the first one didn't take.


Fire brings reactions strong
After embers
Have died.

Amidst smoldered remains
Gratitude comes
For life.

Ten thousand dollars in
Things burned away--
Nothing.

Six lives and a household
Saved from danger—
Priceless.

It could have been much worse
Our house, the lodge,
All safe.

Swinging Gate


There is nothing so lonely
as a swinging gate.
Softly squeaking back and forth
with a breeze, seemingly helpless, or
Banging with a stiff wind, trying to get attention.
The ancient latch still works, but
it must be done with two hands now,
not an option when arms are full.
Laundry and garbage are the reasons
we go through the gate,
chores resented by all.
Garbage, having to take our own refuse out
because we don’t want to
live with it in close proximity.
Always dirty,
now someone else’s problem.
Laundry, dirty, smelling of
sweat from working out,
sweat from insecurity,
sweat from sex.
Wiped away by the wash and wear cycle,
Fluffed by the hot bin of purity. Warm and clean.
Done with our duty, we close the gate
relieved we’re done with the mundane for awhile,
sometimes it’s left open because we are
never, ever done.

This is what happens when I write at 2:00 a.m.

Positively Flubby

Fannie Flubby and her hubby
Used to be quite fit.
But years have flown, and my they’ve grown!
Now they’re not fit a bit.

This summer season gave them reason
To buy a swimming pool.
They could not beat the stifling heat
How else could they get cool?

They could not wait to congregate
In water, cool and clear.
What happened next left them perplexed,
Said Fanny, “Oh my dear!”

Their suits were tight, they looked a fright;
No longer were they lean.
By their own volition in this condition
They chose not to be seen.

So after dark, they did embark
To take a skinny dip.
Though they were chunky, and quite spunky
(Details we’ll just skip).

Now, since that night in pale moonlight
They often take the chance
To fight their shame, and fan the flame
Of positive romance.

Standouts: Shelly; Connie Peters; Ginger; J.A. Jensen (LOVE it!); Banana; Oh, Walt … Helter Skelter; Jane Beal (always, I’m noticing); Sweet Hannah, as always; J. Kuykendall; Katrina; Dawn Marie (lovely sentiment); Karen Phillips; Nancy Posey; Daniel Ari; Brian Spears (HA!); Mary R.; RJ Clarken (BRILLIANT!); S.E. Ingraham; Sara McNulty; Michelle H.; Amanda Fall; Susan Peters; Trudi; Marcia McLees Bogaert (LOL!); IAIN (BRILLIANT!); Buddah Moskowitz. De!; Pam Bailey (come back!); Walt, as always, my favorite without doubt.

Half-Life

Step off the edge of the world
confront the uncertain
in negative freedom

freefall

fuels the flight of the possible
the only barrier solid ground

in the half-life between
that first step
and impact with the earth

the negative prevails
an absence of contstraint

until

you take the positive act
you pull the ripcord.

Positive freedom.
Control.

Carol A. Stephen
November 3, 2009
PAD Challenge

Lost and Found

Any day
even a bad day
can be good
with a little
blind faith

if you believe
there’s a purpose
a reason for
everything
every thing
every one
every action and event
no matter what
or where
or who

good and bad
positive and negative
become meaningless

and comfort may be found
in believing --
if you can only
have faith

Daydream Positive

A tree-lined drive of poplars, you can hear the popping and crunching sound of tire on gravel, long before you see the cottage, deep in overgrowth: deciduous and evergreen trees, vines that wind their way around posts. A porch with wooden swing. Weathered fence around the garden. Flowers, flowers, and more-- herbs and veggies galore! A gnome, gnat, and bee. Birds flit this way and that. A cat content to sat, or two or three-- the more the merry! And fido, at the full or quarter moon, howls. Maybe a sheep, a goat, a Shetland too. And room for milky white--moo! Laughter, even sad rain the color blue. Foundation willed strong, granite stone hue.

The Writer

Was it Virginia Woolf? Yes, I think.
Or one of the Bronté girls, at the beginning of a movie
about one of the Bronté girls. Or "Mrs. Dalloway."
I have forgotten. The whole thing.

But the first shot stays. It was my gratitude, my privilege, my memory and luck:
the hem of a velvet dress
dragging on the ground, revealed purple by the moonlight.
The singing of crickets.
A long shot of the writer from behind staring
from the cover of night into the house, thinking .. what?,
where guests held their glasses up
illuminated from the centerpiece
from the warmed house, from the blessing
of being together.

Laughter escapes through the side door.

Perfection.
The company of air, the vision of company,
the presence of looking,
the water in the inner ear
trembled to the cricket song
- come to me -
and words in the mind forming, aiming at the hardest task:

what do you see?
what blessings are you over
and over again
given?

Don't take your eyes off your fortune.
Don't stir in the wet grass.
Rub the edge of your words together
until they sing out
and fall in time with all the rest.

Tragic

There is much that is tragic,
Blood on the street where once a body lay
Anonymously and bleached of life
While strangers walk obliquely by,

Grizzled men in hungry coats
With nervous shoes and angry eyes
Suppressed by trembling hands and
Urgent pleas to disregard the past,

While strangers walk obliquely by,

The weeping widow wondering among
Obligatory black umbrellas raining
On her faith what took the man away
while strangers walk obliquely by,

Offering condolences and
Measures of their self-same faith
Beads and baubles, words and whispers,
Mouth to ear and cheek to cheek,

The strangers walking slowly by.

Fall

Trees undress
slowly
one leaf
at a time,
baring limbs
that point to
Heaven,
revealing
a secret
posture
of praise.

Villanelle on What My Parents Didn’t Know

Parents are there to teach a child how it is
That we humans need to live
Eternal guide to the ideal hers and his

From the chaste to heady passion kiss
As no mother or child can give
Can we find it in what the Bible says?

When hateful words are all there is
Draining through that loving sieve
To the eternal guides to the ideal hers and his

Children wonder how it is
They can tell us how to live
Can we truly find it in what the Bible says?

What the father says and what he does
His actions manage to outlive
Those eternal guides to the ideal hers and his

The only model needed how to forgive
Unbury the heart and go on to live
Can we find a way in what the Bible says
To follow the eternal guides to the ideal hers and his?

Day 3 the positive or negative side of it all

I am weighing my options
Get out of bed
or press snooze
If I get out of bed I will be cold
If I stay in bed I will be late
I don’t have to work per se
I have to get to my computer and type, type away
The month is November and the challenge is on
I can’t write fabulous poetry in bed
That for sure
I must venture out of my warm comfy bed
Cold feet hit the floor
Oh I’d rather be dead.
I so hate being cold
But falling behind is much sadder
I guess I go sit in my computer chair
My ass getting fatter
For the next thirty day
Nanowimo has my time
And the poem a day challenge is worth it every dime
I feel so much better making time to create
A new novel and a poetry chapbook await
In a mere thirty days I’ll be toasting champagne
then preparing for a new project
my family calls me insane.
To my fellow writers
I can feel your pain
The world await patiently
For the words we create
So get out of bed and get typing
Grab your coffee and go.
The presses are humming and rearing to show
The world what you made for them
So likity split
Get those keybords clacking
Those words out you spit.
Fame and fortune are but for a few
Yet you may inspire a young writer by what you do.
I may never make money
Not even a dollar
But if I don’t write
The muse he will holler
So I’m out of my bed in my warm slippers and robe
To incite and inspire and take poetry higher.
To create a new poem
fulfill my life’s desire.

My Phillies had a great season, till they met the Yankees in the World Series. Oh well, I still remember the "lean years", so this poem is dedicated to all you baseball fans whose team didn't have a great season:


Another Long Season

S. is a slacker, L. is a drag,
M. can’t hit his way out of a paper bag.
J. is a slowpoke, D. is a bum,
F.’s a good shortstop, but boy is he dumb.
R. is a closer who can’t save any games,
W.’s been called all kinds of bad names.
C. is a choker, B.’s a hot dog,
T.’s got less hustle than a hollowed -out log.
G.’s overpaid, N.’s over-the-hill,
K.’s been suspended for using some pill.
These guys haven’t given me much reason to cheer;
all I can say is: Just wait till next year!

Winter Time

Winter’s almost here
The crisp chill is in the air
Soon there will be the holiday’s
as we all sit down to give thanks and praise. . .

Ralph J. Fitcher, November 5, 2009, Positive poem



Another Cold One

Damn, Winter’s almost here
can already feel the cold in the air
Bones starting to Ache
not sure how much more I can take

Soon it will be the holidays’
The economy means no turkey these days
Everyone needs a job that pays
Won’t be much reason to give thanks nor praise

No, not this crummy holiday season
now, they are predicting lots of snow
Where’s the god, we were all told to believe in
It just seems, this year troubles only know how to grow

There are more homeless every day
things are getting more hopeless in every way
Damn, winters’ almost here
It’s sure going to get cold this year. . . .

Ralph J. Fitcher, November 5, 2009, negative poem.

Despickerel

Like a rainbow trout’s
Iridescent scales beneath
The tarn’s surface,
An undercurrent of anger,
Indifference, apathy
Shimmers through me.
The sunlight glinting off it
Strews its razor rays,
Blinding those whose baited
Hooks have ripped
Another slice through me.
My gills rendered impotent,
I purse my lips
Into an O.
Sucking in the last vestiges
Of life’s toxicity, I know
Death is nigh;
I do not care.

Good

There is good
in the world
because
there are people
and because
there is good
in people.

.
Over the edge of white: black
night black mood black thoughts
grease spots on crisp, white aprons
mud splattered across the clean floor.

.

JOYLESS

Where once a joyful love endured
resentment grows in poisoned ground
Acidic silence does abound
where hatred is its own reward

My heart is but a broken flask
whose razor edges yet remain
to wound my hope and leak my pain,
denial now its joyless task

Unsteady at the precipice
and sure he will ignore my call,
I waver still; I'd gladly fall
as payment for one final kiss

I’m so done with
The negative.
After years of hate and
Disdain,
Brewing like a poison,
Bubbling with fury over
The edges,
Destroying everything
Unfortunate enough
To be in its path.

I’m ready for
The positive.
A bit of sunshine,
Happiness, kind words,
A direction that
Follows a path of
Hope, a clear way
Out of the darkness,
Leaving the negative
Behind for good.

I have written a positive and a negative poems.


Positive Love


When I see the moon,
I think of you,
in my darkest moments
you lift me up.

When I see the stars,
I think of you,
you believe in me,
and my dreams and my wishes.

When I see the sun,
I think of you,
I see love written all over
your glowing face with passion.

When I feel the cool breeze,
I think of you,
how I feel your love wrapping around me
Oh how I love you, my Darling.

(Dedicated to my Loving husband, Garry Snyder, of almost two years.)
Noreen Ann Jenkins is my pen name.




Like a Plague



cost of living soars
people’s finances goes down
no ending in site

like we’re living in a plague
we need God back in our lives.



Noreen Ann Jenkins, author of
You'll Learn to Love Me

November Poetry Challenge Day 3, positive or negative poem

My computer editor

I wrote poems, I did,
For day one and two of this poetry
Challenge, but now they are gone—
Lost in cyberspace—where oh where
Have my little poems gone, oh where
Oh where can they be?—these weren’t
Lines I lost among the trees, or misplaced
On my desk, they were coldly annihilated
By a dead laptop battery.

WINNING AND LOSING


To love and to lose is the next worst thing
To have never loved at all;
Someone once said this once upon a time,
I have the words written on my wall.

The one you keep searching for
Is the one you seek to find;
The one with the heart of gold;
The one who never leaves your mind.

He's out there just around the bend,
Waiting for you to come his way;
We've loved, we've lost, we try again;
And love will be ours again someday.

One is truly happy when, deep down in your soul,
You know you've found that special one,
The one with whom you will grow old.
When your heart smiles, you know you've won.

Positive - Negative


As a child
lying in the dark
fearing all
my father explained
that light needed shadow
and shadow light
that there was a yin and
yang to things
and that there was
no superiority being either
the male or the
female end of
the battery coupling
Such wisdom I kept
and held when he left
returning to his room
leaving me to the
dark
I thought the positive thoughts
rainbows and daisies
yin and yangs and light drawing
strength from the shadows
no match rainbows and daisies
and vagaries of yin and yang
against the night's negativity
swirling through the
long drapes swaying promises
of death, of disease, of destruction
devastating positives
until daylight's dawn elixir

Negative

Progress

It gives.
It offers something
we don’t know have to receive
or handle.
Yet, we reach for it
like children
climbing the high self for the cookie jar.
And once we hold it
in our hot little hands
we devour it
then complain that we need more.
We take advantage of it
and take it for granted
and allow it to swallow us whole.
We created it and don’t fully comprehend it’s power over us.
Pathetic.
We are slave to our own creation.

“What we call ‘Progress’ is the exchange of nuisance for another nuisance.” – Havelock Ellis


Positive

Postcard

School was closed.
The roads were impassable
and encrusted in white
and the trees were encased in
crystaline ice.
Snow fell gently
and appeared as silver sparks
in the breeze.
Everyone seemed to stay inside.
Few vehicles were on the road,
not even snow plows.
Not even children.
It's as if for one day,
no one wanted to defile the scenery.
No wanted the ice to melt.

(ok, how about a poem about turning a negative into a positive?)

Phishing
by Juanita Lewison-Snyder


"Dear Customer,"
the email reads,
"It is our pleasure to inform you
that you have a $5000 transaction
awaiting you via Western Union®
from the International Monetary Fund."

Hmmmm....International? I muse,
rubbing my razor stubble.
South Africa? Germany? France?
or perhaps Angola?
Yeah, I bet it's Angola
as I'm forever getting mail from them.
I'm giddy with expectations.

"Please pick up soon,"
the message urges.
"And for security reasons, please
email your address, telephone number, and
bank acct info so we can confirm
it's really you."

It must be true, I muse
imagining giraffes & zebras
roaming corporate hallways
while lions and vultures circle outside,
cuz Western Union® really does
send money worldwide everyday,
and besides I saw it on the Internet!


© 2009 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

Fall ~ Take It Or Leave It

Its raining leaves and the air is crisp
moods can turn dark like the evening drive home
all around colors fade,
from the barren trees,
to the grey sky,
into the darkness
wild creatures disappear, into caves,
burrow in the sand and mud or fly away
people hide under bulkier fabrics
and spend less time outdoors
in what little sunlight is available
and the faces turn pale
the world becomes gloomy and cold
dark and stale
The year has grown old.


Today is the day
in the middle of fall
when color returns
and candles burn
traditions and rituals have been passed down
creatures and ghouls are on Shasta Lane
cowboys and princesses meet on Reflection
and on every street
to call on their neighbors
and scream
Trick or Treat!

"Kiss"

A vague shadow hangs between us now
Its murky presence in thoughts
strung across a week's space

You told me that one thing--
I shuddered and now the shuddering
is subsiding and I want to ring your door
and your world in nights of
escapade--

But I wait.

As clouds turn into telling realities
As morning breaks and I start
morning black coffee
as you are not here...
as I have a chance to discover
inner self
undaunted by your words of prowess
and Time--

Bring me more Summers we Shared--
sun streaming sun,
wind on water droplets lying on skin--
but away from harm
a sick becoming, yet missed
shadow's kiss.

"One doesn't always die from it"

...
"You are right,
completely right!
One doesn't always...
die from it." "Not always."

"And maybe it isn't...
serious." "Yes, maybe it isn't."

"But what if it is?"
"You'll have to live with this."

"OK gimme her letter,
think I'm gonna read it better."

"Well there you go...
It's after all your letter bro."

...
"You are right,
completely right!
One doesn't always
die from it. Not always." :-)


© November 2009 by Martin Anthony Dorn

Positive

I took her husband out
Into the garage
And strapped him down
And taped him up
And put a cable on
His nipple left,
And put a cable on
His nipple right,
Sort of like a football play
And jacked the amperage
Until I noticed he was crying
So instead of killing him
Outright I ran the play
I watched him cry and plead
And beg me just to let him go
And only stopped the show
When it began to smell
Like burning meat
And he was dead
And she stepped into the glow
Of kitchen light at garage door
And asked me, "Is he dead?"
And I said "Yes."

And she asked, "Positive?"

Had two or more for every other day, but only managed one on "2 fer Tuesday"

So Bad


Thoughts wander wicked ways
in the wake of obligation
exiting left.
No one lets me work here--
a spoiled and pampered child--
messes smoothed behind
my royal progression.
Lord, deliver me
from unearned luxury

I did a combination of a found poem and a dada for this one.

Ions
Something in the air, and while it may not be love
Some say flat zero
The section of the pounding surf creates negative air ions and we
For a whopping one in three of us, who are sensitive to their
Science 101
You may feel sleepy when you are around.
It’s the next best thing—negative ions.

More mental energy.
Air conditioning depletes the air of negative
decreased irritation due to inhaling various particles
That make you remove--
Ions.
But an ion generator re-releases the ions that air conditioners
Work as well as anti-depressants?
Ions are molecules that have gained or lost an electrical charge
Generally speaking negative ions increase the flow of oxygen to
Effects, negative ions make us feel like we are walking on air
Levels of mood chemical serotonin, helping to alleviate.

We inhale in abundance in certain environments. Think mountains
They may also protect against germs in the air resulting in
Negative ions—much more than the average home or office
Owners manual for the brain. Everyday applications.
Depression, relieve stress and boost our daytime energy
When you step outside or roll down the car windows
Being sold in stores and all over the internet
But do they really
Also see it immediately after spring thunderstorms when people
And these are a few reasons we see negative ions
Report lightened moods
Waterfalls and beaches. Once they reach our bloodstream
the brain resulting in higher alertness, decreased drowsiness.
Negative ions are odorless, tasteless, and invisible molecules that
feel immediately refreshed and invigorated.
Open a window and breathe in fresh, humid air.
Experienced the power of negative ions when you last set foot on
Cognitive sciences?

They are created in nature as air molecules break apart due to
building which contains dozens or hundreds and many register
normal pressures of home and work, the air circulating in the
mountains and the beach is said to contain tens of thousands.
The beach? Walked beneath a waterfall? While part of the euphoria

Ions are believed to produce biochemical reactions that increase
Sunlight, radiation, and moving air and water.

Sitting in the middle of nowhere
Facebooking with friends I never met
Or connecting with family and older friends
Bonding and posting over the Internet.
Such pleasure to be involved and sociable
No matter where my computer is set.

Sitting in the middle of nowhere
Internet connection is really bad.
Not able to join the social sites,
Makes me lonely and sad.
Unable to play games or post my poetry
Leaving me frustrated and mad.

Unsent Letter to an indifferent Man

They always asked about you, first, with the rivaled
soft-spot for tater-tots, then their impressions
turned sour-apple like hard candy. Unrequited
affection is a cold wind that unravels
carefully tied ribbons and natural curls.
Stumble in a child’s dejection and suddenly
your acumen’s legs are in need of fracture boots.

Your five year old clenches magic dust
and declares she spelled daddy
on each speck. She waits.
She falls asleep. Her grip loosens.
End of glory.

Your high school graduate looks around
the auditorium for a face that will not
beam at her, though she rides through
that absence with skinned appendages.

Know what it’s like to slump like a burlap
bag that’s had potatoes pulled out of it?
Be present when teen pregnancy is no longer
a stat you judge from a distance.
Sometimes the ground cannot be padded.
While your heart wants to sink
in their lip-line to make a wave
where smiles wait, every part of
your body kneels to pray.

Unsent Letter to an Indifferent Man

They always asked about you, first, with the rivaled
soft-spot for tater-tots, then their impressions
turned sour-apple like hard candy. Unrequited
affection is a cold wind that unravels
carefully tied ribbons and natural curls.
Stumble in a child’s dejection and suddenly
your acumen’s legs are in need of fracture boots.

Your five year old clenches magic dust
and declares she spelled daddy
on each speck. She waits.
She falls asleep. Her grip loosens.
End of glory.

Your high school graduate looks around
the auditorium for a face that will not
beam at her, though she rides through
that absence with skinned appendages.

Know what it’s like to slump like a burlap
bag that’s had potatoes pulled out of it?
Be present when teen pregnancy is no longer
a stat you judge from a distance.
Sometimes the ground cannot be padded.
While your heart wants to sink
in their lip-line to make a wave
where smiles wait, every part of
your body hunkers down to pray.

Unsent Letter to an Indifferent Man

They always asked about you, first, with the rivaled
soft-spot for tater-tots, then their impressions
turned sour-apple like hard candy. Unrequited
affection is a cold wind that unravels
carefully tied ribbons and natural curls.
Stumble in a child’s dejection and suddenly
your acumen’s legs are in need of fracture boots.

Your five year old clenches magic dust
and declares she spelled daddy
on each speck. She waits.
She falls asleep. Her grip loosens.
End of glory.

Your high school graduate looks around
the auditorium for a face that will not
beam at her, though she rides through
that absence with skinned appendages.

Know what it’s like to slump like a burlap
bag that’s had potatoes pulled out of it?
Be present when teen pregnancy is no longer
a stat you judge from a distance.
Sometimes the ground cannot be padded.
While your heart wants to sink
in their lip-line to make a wave
where smiles wait, every part of
your body hunkers down to pray.

School Reports

There are so many vivid words
That best describe your boy
But few that I’m allowed or have
The freedom to employ
I’m told to write my comments in
An optimistic light
My tendency for talking straight
Is something I must fight
Your “darling boy” so fragile might
Be bruised by what I say
So I must choose to couch my words
In some offence less way
Read between the lines to find
The things I really think
He carves the table with a knife and
His manners really stink!

Positively Charged

In my dreams
Tearing at a surgical seam
Running circles around my muse
You were my detonating fuse
In my dreams.

I've been searching for my wings for sometime
And as I'm beginning this rapid climb
I feel your heart connecting with my beats
In my dreams.

I think last night there was lightening
Charged our spirits, enlightening
In that moment there was but naught
That could deter this precious thought
My bonded love we're heightening
In my dreams.