Good Morning,
I want to wish each of you a wonderful Thanksgiving. May you have the joy of being with family and friends. I pray good health is your constant companion.
Robert, thank you for the prompts. I have certainly enjoyed your work and the work of the poets participating in this adventure. You inspire me.
Blessings,
Patricia Frolander

Prisms

ice covers the trees
a prism shining like bright
diamonds in the night

laurie k.

ACT NATURALLY

A daily conviction,
passions embroiled and boiled over
to fill my page with the life-blood
of my heart and mind. Coming together
with friends of a poetic ilk to
share the milk of human mindness
that lives in every one of our works.
Through a slight quirk of the gods,
what were the odds that we would all
be thrown together at this moment
in time to join our voices and conjoin
our spirits to create and compose united.
The thoughts arise, the words flow
and the rhyme and meter take a back seat
to the messages we convey. All together,
all in pursuit of our expressive souls,
through the mire of muse we all choose
to just act naturally. It's what we do.

Guenevere

Flames lick at my ankles
as gleeful cynics throw
bundles of branches
atop the pyre. I should
pray, pleading perhaps
for mercy, but I know
they both watch unseen.
Each expects the other
to act, to ride in, just
in time to rescue me.
The formula is stale now;
I’d laugh if I could watch
from some other perch,
not tied to this stake,
a Yule log of flesh and
bone. Though the fire
has not yet touched
my garment’s hem,
no hair’s yet singed,
I do feel faint, nor
can I will the rivulets
of sweat—or could
it be tears?—to stop.
This time I’ll be set
free before I burst
into flames. The one
who makes the move
will certainly expect
my gratitude to burn
hotter than this fire,
and yet I now feel
cold as a winter cave,
surrounded but alone.

RISING TEMPERATURES

Sharon says she fears one day
one of my explosive tantrums
where my face turns tomato-red
and my eyes bug out on springs
I will keel over and die

she says when the smoke clears
when all I said is said and done
she hopes her next husband
will opt instead to speak his mind
without raving like a man on fire

a man who knows how to stay cool

#

I'm Hot Again

I'm hot. Again.
My age decrees
I should not look
annoyingly
upon this very
common event
and yet, I'm tired,
completely spent
of random heat
that makes me yearn
for less clothing
and often turn
into stripping
down, layers cure
crazy broken
temperature.

Yes Indeed, Walt, and What's More

Vonnegut called them
dancing lessons from God.
Peace, what a concept.

Chill

November in Buffalo
usually snows
but lately
balmy fifty-degrees
FLA of the North.

Over the river
and through the woods
the sleigh
is traded for the car
to Pamela's house we go

Thanksgiving dinner
is waiting
to warm our hearts
and bellies
Laughter fills the air

Armchair quarterbacks
shout out directions
as the women
gather in the kitchen
Family everywhere

Cold Is Not Separate From Heat

Life is as it is.
No need to create anew.
Peace is snow and sun.

Power Surges

Naturally warm
these searing times
always seem
to come
at inopportune moments

Why at bedtime
Why at work
these surges come and go
Freezing one moment
wanting to strip the next

Guess I'll live
with my new
moniker
It really could be worse
One Hot Momma
seems to fit
adding levity to this curse!

And if you pass Walt's house over the hills and through the clear pavement to Pamela's house, beep and wave. I'll know it's you.

Hold on to the Warm

His eyes
his heart
his touch
his breath
his skin

a hug unbroken
the deepest kiss
passion expressed
hours entangled

parting ways
always hardest
hanging on to the warm
and knowing
it will be waiting for me
next weekend

Winter Closes in

The forecast of freezing temperatures
creates chills and shivers even
in a warm house. Anticipation
disregards the coziness of fireside,
frosts the air, seeks wool sweaters,
fuzzy slippers, flannel nighties,
hot cocoa, a book to cuddle up with
to ward off the inevitability of winter.

Not Another Holiday Here

These clear winters fill me with fears
of being snowed in, of pipes freezing.
This is too much house for one single
woman. We had bought it for us,
when there were two of to use the sheds
when it was remotely possible to renovate.

The man who looked at it yesterday liked
how he could park his trailers in the front
stack cords of wood, keep his dog and two
cats, and his daughter’s pet rat. Nothing
non-conforming daunted him. Not even
those crazy stairs rising to the upper room.

So I started tossing things in the trunk of
my car. Hoping directions would make
themselves apparent, before his girlfriend
can nix the whole plan, before Thanksgiving,
before further forethought damns me.
Why not strike while the iron is hot?

Hot Springs on cold nights
Egg smell, but feels delightful
Talk, laugh, time, burrrrr, run

NOVEMBER '09

Up here
In Canada
So thankful
For November
Snow-free
Thus far
So unlike
Last year
With snow
From November '08
to May '09.


Happy Thanksgiving to all south of the border!!!
Thanks Robert for all the "poeming" prompts!!! Wishing everyone much happiness and peace on this special weekend!

Patricia PM27

Thanks to anyone who sent up a prayer on my dad's behalf. The PET scan yesterday showed NO CANCER. His lymph node had shrunk from last week, probably inflamed from infection. Truly something to thank and praise God for!

Bridge-walking Weather 11-25-09

I’ve walked here many times
many temperatures
scarf-bundling mornings
breezy sweater afternoons
balmy evenings
for company—my thoughts
or the just-right climate of laughing, climbing, running grandkids
or the warm perfect-fitted hand
of my husband.

Trouble Maker

The lights went off;
the TV too.
The bedside clocks
went blank, on cue.
And things plugged in
just stopped their function.
Yes, all of this
was in conjunction
with one appliance
so much mistreated:
my hair blow dryer
had overheated
and blown the fuse
or circuit breaker.
Oh, beauty’s such
a trouble maker!

Happy Thanksgiving to all of you, and may the great poetry continue to flow. Thanks, Robert, for your hard work to make these challenges happen. You keep us inspired and WRITING.

DON'T EVER CHANGE

Undaunting demeanor,
unflappably flaunting,
an influence that's haunting,
like an apparition in this
poet's eyes. Amidst the cries
for revolt and upheaval,
your reprieve comes in the
knowledge that consistency
in proficiency are closely tied.
The voice you use has a oneness,
a sameness, and you are blameless
for needing to verbalize your
inner self. Sometimes wishing
you weren't so forthcoming.
You won't be succumbing to
the pressure of critics in peers,
and your purpose is clear
so don't ever change.

Karen, our prayers of concern will sound much better now as prayers of thanks on behalf of your father. Truly a Happy Thanksgiving, and we're happy for you and your family. God has blessed you in a big way.

Southern Exposure

When I was a little girl, I wished
I could escape
the molten heat blanketing
me as I wilted
within the borders of a land called
Texas. My blue eyes watered
and my pale skin blistered
from the angry, glaring
rays darted down by that orange ball hanging
out in the sky. I watched
roly-poly bugs escape
the scorching hours by curling
up into tiny round balls. Unable to contort
myself into comfort, I sweated
through the skin-stripping
days of summer and wished
I was a polar bear. No longer a child, I still sigh
and cringe when June blows
her habañero breath across my face and I dream
of dark, cold wintery nights where I make
my own kind of heat.

And Patricia, I'd be remiss in not wishing you and all our Canadian friends a Happy Columbus Da... I just thought that if your Thanksgiving is our Columbus Day, our Thanksgiving would be your Co... Never mind! Happy Thursday!

Walt- Stop in for coffee & pie!
Kumari- beautiful. Been there, done that. Eloquently stated.
RJ - had to laugh..I work for an electrician
Karen- Glad to hear the good news! My dad is 9 years cancer-free this Christmas, so I understand the blessing!

Happy Thanksgiving to All!

Mr. Tem Perature


I laid out a photograph on poets behalf
Laced it in His chill and placed it between
blades of tall grass that burned from the sight-of him
I rested under an Evergreen that turned red to white
For the wind had whispered what happened in the night
It wrapped me in its branches
for now we are both as cold as he
and deep rooted in misery-as if the season had no say.

In one moon, His emotions had turned our blue skies gray
and our insides to clay.
Leaving us molded in his way- and he loves it.
He draws breeze under his wings at knowing that he has such power.
That his heat can devour,
and his chill can freeze my ever will
Until
my harvest grows sour-in every season.

FIRE AND ICE

Years later,
the stones still bear the mark
of your passing.

We gather once a year
in your memory,
shivering in that land of ice,
sacrificing a weeks' wood
for the fire ritual
and to remember
how you stood there,
hood blown back
as you announced your decision.

How I regret my anger,
the words I flung like daggers.
Don't leave us, I said.
I meant: Don't leave me.

I have to try, you said.
To see if the legends are true,
that there is more for us
than this hell of endless white.

You kissed my forehead
and before any could stop you,
spoke the forbidden words
from the Book I wish I'd never found.

Then the cave filled with thunder
as the blaze of fire embraced you.
I saw you raise your arms
as you cried out
and just before the end,
you turned and smiled at me.

And now I sit with the others who remain,
huddled against the cold,
watching the fire dying
with our regret
as we struggle to remember words
of hope.

Way Station

My son comes for his annual visit,
my home the way station
between here and there.

He likes an early start
so at 4:22 I leap out of bed,
turn up the heat, plug in the coffee pot.

By 5AM we’re cradling mugs
of hot caffeine at the kitchen table,
enjoying the last chat of this trip.

He marvels at how fast
this old Shanty on the Creek
heats up.

The warmth that washes me
has nothing to do
with the furnace.

Weather it's warming or not?

Tap the barometer to see
what is in store;
temperature
rising or falling?

Tap the barometer harder
to make it move;
give it a whack
the glass is cracked now.

But you never accepted
what it said -
"Weather steady"
the storm's in your head.

Temperature:
Gives Rise to . . .

Fire and ice,
Naughty and nice,
Heat and shiver,
Full and sliver,
Sun and moon,
Or even Neptune!

Flaming passion,
Cooling . . . pass on!
Fiery calm,
Heated up, soothing balm.
Desert sun, winter fun!
Extremes mean,

Stay in between!

Steaming coffee, ice tea!
Warm to the touch,
Doesn’t touch me!

Temperature rising, cold shoulder,
Express your self . . . be a bit bolder.
Fire away, cool off!
Smile in your heart or openly scoff!

Just don’t curse it and ride off,
Into the fading sunset!

Deepest love wants to rise,

Please let that sparkle,
Dance in your eyes . . .

Please . . .

For just one more,

Sunrise?

Just another day at the ranch,

a hot and humid hayfield awaits at 5 am,
sneak peak at a blistering day.
I cut hay with an old swather, open to the elements,
save the umbrella which dips and sways
with the level of the field.
A gallon water jug sits at my feet;
by noon the water will be long-gone.
Small armies of gnats and sweat bees feed
on my perspiration; the bees constant stings
raising welts and Irish temper.
Grasshoppers and weevils lunch on alfalfa,
as I hastily prepare fried chicken, potato salad and beans;
set out another gallon of tea in the sun.

Back in the field, it is hard to take breath.
Off and on the machine to change broken serrated-edged
sections which cut the hay, I am soon tee-shirt-soaked.
102 degrees at 3 pm.
I leave the field at 7 pondering what to prepare for supper.
Do I really care?
Eleven days into the process and only thirty-four left
if I have no major breakdowns.

Almost too muggy to sleep, I drift into a dream.
The weatherman says a stinging cold front
is headed our way from the Canadian border.

stars never seem
as beautiful in
the summer.
warm weather
warps vision
and renders
majestic wonder
as God's fuzzy dice.
but winter nights,
cold and crisp
bring clarity
of sight and
beauty reasserts
herself as you
stand, shivering,
but unwilling
to go inside,
just yet.

Shall I compare thee to a Winter’s day?
Thou art more still and far more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the manor’s windowpanes,
and Winter's lease hath all too short a date.
But thy eternal Winter shall not fade

so long as in the virgin’s blood you bathe
nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;
nor shall Death brag thou wanderest in his shade,
when in eternal crimson-thirst thy ghost
administers its soul-suck to thy prey.

And yet in aerial din cold Death may boast
his servant to the Netherworlds beguiles.
Innocent, I laid near thee, Twilit Host,
but, O, thy soul within a nadir lie.
By dawn we both drank deep the salt of Fate.

So long as men can breathe, or eyes can cry,
so long we shun the light, we canst not die.


DA

Fahrenheit


The heat is rising in the room and she is still
trying to remember how this all started, why

he’s so angry, what she should have done
differently and there’s a hole

in the wall very near where she was
standing and she knows it could have been

her, this collateral damage, blood
flying instead of plaster and even as he’s

screaming at her she is grateful
for that, thankful she is still

somewhat intact, if not whole, then
salvageable. She closes her eyes and prays

that the storm will end soon, as the roar
of her heartbeat loud in her ears tells

her that every day she stays
she is dying by degrees.

The Temperature of Love

How should we like it were stars to burn
With a passion for us we could not return?
If equal affection cannot be,
Let the more loving one be me.
W.H. Auden (verse 2—The More Loving One)

How sweet our futures, should love divide,
In equal part from us, and to us supplied,
As this hope may not come to be
The more loving one must be me.
By patient waiting I’d hope to earn
Respect, attention and, through time, to learn
To make of myself someone who
She could quite vigorously pursue,
And with like passion my love return
How should we like it were stars to burn?

Stars have eyes that shine but they don’t feel,
And they do illuminate but don’t reveal.
They have more power than the sun
But from such distance we feel none.
A match that’s close at hand can scorch and burn
The greatest star gives heat we can’t discern.
Whatever warmth is yours to spare
I’ll bask in all you will share
And love you more than all the stars that burn,
With a passion for us we could not return.

Should each gleaming star drop from the sky
Deep darkness shall descend and blind the eye
So stars will shine till we are gone
And hopes for love will struggle on
Love feeds on human generosity
And to be loved is everything to me
I only give a thought to stars
At night when getting out of cars
I now offer you all of me
If equal affection can not be.

Blue skies and summer sun
You wave goodbye and ice and cold
Take hold within my heart.

White snow and winter freeze
You say hello we shoot the breeze
And spring and summer start.

To anyone who won't be around tomorrow: Happy Thanksgiving!

FOR THE FAIREST
(Eris)

It wasn't even about
a wedding:

it was about the hypocrisy of people,
their duplicitous whispers behind bared shoulders

and a demonstration of how easy it is
to start a rumor in a den of dragons:

poised to envenom each other at a moment's notice
all they needed was gatecrasher punk girl,

cousin nobody likes, to show up (mohawked)
(ripped tuxedo stitched with Emma Goldman's silhouette)

saying did you know, did you hear,
I'm only telling you because I like you best,

to break sweats on those meticulous foreheads and
raise fevers in blue bloodstreams

at a rate inversely proportional to the
freezing of their hearts;

sit back and watch the feline pandemonium while
situations get volatile, mascara running off the surfaces of

prideful illusions, enjoy a bite of Golden Delicious,
so happy you could scream

Joseph Harker, unfortunately I haven't had much reading time at all this month, but have caught a few of yours (and look forward to seeking out all of them). Your work, and theme, are simply exceptional. Today's is my favorite so far. Nice work!

Celsius Four-Five-Oh

450 degrees Celsius –
the temperature at which paper auto-ignites
and books burn
(Bradbury thought Fahrenheit 451 made for a better title).

To increase the scarcity of her only novel
she elects to burn the remaining copies
(save her own)
but her oven only goes up to 225 degrees
leaving the pages brown at the edges
but otherwise unharmed.

She sells them all as pieces of art;
each ten times the price on the cover
and is content.

25 TEMPERATURE

Ah, buzz word of the day
Are we cooling off?
Heating up?
Can it be true?
The human race
affects a whole-earth eco-system?
Or
Is it just another folly
of our ego to believe
we have that much power?
Could it really be
that Mother Earth can fend for herself
by giving one toss of her pretty head
and shaking us all off
whenever it strikes her fancy?

It was one of those days
When you run the heater
In the morning and the
Air conditioner in the
Evening
It made me
Want to bite and hiss
But I know if I wait
I can sit under the
Air conditioner
And read a book
Before I go to sleep.

CHRISTMAS TIME (IS HERE AGAIN)

Hectic holidays come to roost,
your temper takes a ride,
but in your rush to Ho-ho-ho,
please hold these thoughts inside.

Thanksgiving morrow
ushers in the time of kith and kin.
Prayerful gratitude to the Lord,
we contemplate within.

Feast and famine rule the day
for those who have or not,
and a mindful thought to fill our hearts
of all the things we've got.

A service leads the morning,
sandwiched by parades,
pre-game, pre-game, football game,
precludes the plans as made.

Preparations for the meal,
shared to ease the load,
turkey dinner with the works,
and much pie à la mode.

Oh Tryptophan, please do your thing,
that voo-doo you do well,
while your sedation works its wile,
if you wake me, you can go to

help your mother with the dishes.
A holiday forgotten, lost in a festive hole,
between the witch and wishes,
your concept makes me whole.

A time for friends and family
a union, bonded strong,
a couple million turkey fans
surely can't be wrong.

And when the day is over,
and à la king is king,
THEN is the time to Christmasize
and give your bell a ring.

Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours,
and them and their's as well.
'Tis the season for the Reason,
the rest can go to help your mother with the dishes!

Depending on the Temperature of Your House

Dissolve yeast and two pinches of sugar
in warm water. Set aside.
Melt butter in microwave.
Add milk and heat 1 or 2 more minutes.
Mix sugar, salt, and eggs.
Add heated milk and butter.
Stir in two cups of flour
before adding warm active yeast.
This is most important.
Stir in rest of flour,
one cup at a time.
Cover and let rise
until doubled in size.
2 to 4 hours depending
on the temperature of your house.
Punch down.
Roll out.
Brush with melted butter.
Form into crescents.
Place on pan and let rise again
until doubled in size.
2 to 4 hours depending
on the temperature of your house.
Bake in oven 350 degrees.
Serve warm,
with butter.

DOCTOR ROBERT

Dang, my friend you've got the flu,
Doctor Robert.
Night or day, anytime will do,
Doctor Robert.

Doctor Robert.
You're burning up with fire,
he can help, if you desire,
to control your hot and fevered pyre,
Doctor Robert.

With a shot he'll pick you up,
Doctor Robert.
Tamiflu from his special cup,
Doctor Robert.

Doctor Robert.
Take a stand if you believe,
helps the sickly ones indeed,
there's no one else that can succeed like
Doctor Robert.

Hope you're well, and feeling fine.
Sickness sells, he'll make you sign..
Doctor Robert

H1N1 will sap your health,
Doctor Robert.
pay the price with more than wealth,
Doctor Robert.

Doctor Robert.
Take a stand if you believe,
Helps the sickly ones for greed,
there's no one else that can succeed like
Doctor Robert.

Hope you're well, and feeling fine.
Sickness sells, he'll make you sign.
Doctor Robert.

Dang, my friend you've got the flu,
Doctor Robert.
Night or day, anytime will do,
Doctor Robert.


*** A parody lyric based on... Doctor Robert by Paul McCartney and John Lennon.

Temperature

We teachers are told
to take the temperature of a room.
There are always those eager faces, but

often it is cold.
Boredom, hunger, stress. I've learned
to listen and read their eyes.

I recite poems, I sing, tell a joke or two,
read a book aloud, or talk a student
through an essay. It shouldn't be about me,

but it usually is.
As the years go by, the chilly days
are fewer.

Karen, I am so thrilled for you and your family. What wonderful news.
I'll keep you in my prayers.
Debbie, your poem is so powerful and heart-rending.

AOL CRASHES

Temperature rises
with each successive
attempt to fix.

More knots tangle
until I give up.
Call the techs.
Ask them to take over my computer.
Their magic minds
and expert fingers
go to work.
I wait and watch my cursor fly
around the screen
in places I’ve never seen before.

At last a voice announces,
“All done, Ma’am.
A pleasure to serve you.”

I exhale and let out
a long stream of steam
in a quiet,
“Thank you”
just in time to cook
Thanksgiving dinner.

Ten in
the morning,
and I'm
half-
wishing for
a coke,
heat already
pouring off
sun-soaked
asphalt.

My face
shield turns
the summer golds
and browns
dark, even
the limestone
cliffs loose
their austere
purity, turn
into looming
gray fortresses
instead.

I take a
turn a
little too
fast, catch
glimpses
of prairie
sunflowers,
scraping
tall against
the sky.

Thank you, Walt, Pamela, and Patricia--sharing the rejoicing makes it even better.
Ellen, you truly have a way with words--for instance, "habanero breath."
No pie ready here yet, but I'm about to work on it!
Tomorrow we FEAST. Every day we give thanks to the One Who makes it all possible.

Walt, LOL! In Christmastime, I prefer not to . . . "go do the dishes!"

This one doesn't need any explaination as far as temperature goes... lol


~Passion's Journey~

You gave me a smile
The special one that moves me
As you took my hand

You pulled me close then
Smoothing my hair back slowly
Your touch light, gentle

My eyes were shining
As you pressed your lips to mine
The kiss was so sweet

I melted for you
Languidly in your embrace
Oh so willingly

I parted my lips
sighing as you caressed them
tenderly with yours

I trembled for you
Excitement coursing through me
You set me aflame

How I wanted you
The way you wanted me too
Passion undenied

The world stopped spinning
Time standing still just for us
And loves perfect dance

Lost to each other
The fire in our souls higher
We reached for the stars

Climbing that mountain
Everything ceased to exist
But the two of us

Cresting our rainbow
We then became two of one
Ecstasy was ours

We floated adrift
In a peaceful pool of bliss
In each others arms

Hazily I smiled
You chuckled and drew me close
and we were content

---

And since yesterdays poems refused to post (tried for 2 hours! stinking captcha)...


~Everybody Says~

Everybody says to do this not that
Drink this cola
Feed this to your cat
Don't eat this stuff
Or you'll get fat

Everybody says whats wrong or right
This fashion is out
That saying is trite
Thinking's a bore
You're all uptight

Everybody says what everyone should do
You must be like us
If you want to be cool
Oh yeah? I say
To heck with you!

---

~Nobody Says...~

Nobody says that
they are happier alone
yet really mean it

---

Winter's Bite (older piece revised)

Frozen limbs of stillness
trees naked, standing bare
the wretched wrath of winter
a death within the air

Stripped of all the beauty
colors fade away
a tapestry of gloomness
mourning shades of gray

His breath a bitter coldness
dressed in snowy white
causes pain, illusions
smothers nature's light

Displays a rude awaking
sends chills down to the bone
sheets of glass portraying
his nasty undertones

Drowning out all whispers
from thrashing of the wind
his shadow taunts, is haunting
round and round it spins

Old man winter lingers
grasp is strong and bold
frostbitten shrubs lay buried
'neath his icy hold

Soon, with season over
he'll slip behind the clouds
sun will bring a warmness
embrace earth with a smile

Frozen limbs of stillness
awaiting a new birth
peeking out with little heads
from 'neath our mother earth

November 25th, 2009
(prompt-temperature)
(c) Rose Marie Streeter

Goldilock's Undoing

Her tastebuds tempted
In the end she was thwarted
By porridge too hot.

GOOD DAY SUNSHINE

Oh temperate days,
so lazy, hazy, crazy daze,
of Summer, where've you been?

Your season came
but you remained
in your vacation home den.

Oh, a cheap impostor
showed its face
for about an hour or two,

But memories of water skis
are faintly less
than fond, it's true.

Spring changed
to Autumn with
no transition time.

And now that winter looms, I find,
it's filled with chill,
will the snows be far behind?

But I regress none the less,
the sunshine warmed my hide,
and now I find my peace of mind

all cuddled up inside. Good Day
Sunshine, show your face,
or else I'll have to leave this place.

The seasons here
run hot and cold
and summer's not so hot, I'm told.

So for a change this winter,
I'll not let it get me down.
I'll face the guzzler to the south
and head on out of town.

A Cool Holiday Dressing - (Patter Song for Thanksgiving)

Is it rude
to conclude
that it’s lewd
to go nude
when visiting a relative?

Is it not swell
to dwell
on a damselle
au naturel?
Guess that’s not an affirmative.

I have to wonder ...
is it a mistake? It
seems such fun
to go butt naked –

but if your cousins
and your aunts
and your uncles
say you can’t

when it’s hot
or cold or warm
or in between –
it’s not the norm!

and then they say
that they have loathed
when you are not
all fully clothed

and they request
that you get dressed
in stripes or plaid –
at least, be clad

just remember...

that when you share
Thanksgiving fare
you can wear –
or just go bare.
but either way...
I’ll see you there.

Temperature's Risin'

Summer day
evening comes
sickness starts

Mama rocks
soothing arms
forehead warms

Mama croons
lilting songs
fever worse

Mama knits
candle lights
body burns

Mama prays
nighttime falls
hotter yet

Mama soothes
fevered brow
thrashing now

Mama keeps
vigil still
never sleeps

Morning dawns
fever breaks
all is well

Mama rocks
Mama prays
Mama thanks.

Fujiyama stands,
snow-capped, in the setting sun;
Hell frozen over

Luke Warm

My life luke-warm, no power or clout
So God in Heaven spits me out

Have a blessed Thanksgiving. My prayers are with you all..

Day 25

Fall/Winter

Is it fall?
Is it winter?
In Alabama
who knows...
the temperature
changes in a snap
one day
falling leaves,
next day snow...

Is it fall?
Is it winter?
In Alabama
who knows...
the temparature
changes in a blink
one day
hot
one day
cold...

©Debra Ann Elliott 2009

“Turkey Time”

Maybe old-fashioned
Make a tent of foil

Open each end, heat
Escapes, no boil

Don’t forget the bag,
You know what I mean

Don’t want a fire
In the cavity, you clean

Slow roasting, start three,
Three twenty five

Six o’clock, peaceful morning
Great time to arise

Wearing its coat of melted butter
Prepared the night before, wet towel , refrigerate until morn

Pop him in the oven, he’s ready, been waiting
Prefers low temp, anxious for the basting

Tenish drain the juice, eliminate wet bed
Four hours to dress, cozy up temp, just like I said

One o’clock cooling, experience aroma
Heaven scent permeates, everyone arrives

Thirty minutes perfect,
And you did survive!

Failure seldom, enjoy the main show
Love always conquers, pretend he’s your beau!

Ninacarole
11/15/09
















“Turkey Time”

Maybe old-fashioned
Make a tent of foil

Open each end, heat
Escapes, no boil

Don’t forget the bag,
You know what I mean

Don’t want a fire
In the cavity, you clean

Slow roasting, start three,
Three twenty five

Six o’clock, peaceful morning
Great time to arise

Wearing its coat of melted butter
Prepared the night before, wet towel , refrigerate until morn

Pop him in the oven, he’s ready, been waiting
Prefers low temp, anxious for the basting

Tenish drain the juice, eliminate wet bed
Four hours to dress, cozy up temp, just like I said

One o’clock cooling, experience aroma
Heaven scent permeates, everyone arrives

Thirty minutes perfect,
And you did survive!

Failure seldom, enjoy the main show
Love always conquers, pretend he’s your beau!

Ninacarole
11/15/09
















“Turkey Time”

Maybe old-fashioned
Make a tent of foil

Open each end, heat
Escapes, no boil

Don’t forget the bag,
You know what I mean

Don’t want a fire
In the cavity, you clean

Slow roasting, start three,
Three twenty five

Six o’clock, peaceful morning
Great time to arise

Wearing its coat of melted butter
Prepared the night before, wet towel , refrigerate until morn

Pop him in the oven, he’s ready, been waiting
Prefers low temp, anxious for the basting

Tenish drain the juice, eliminate wet bed
Four hours to dress, cozy up temp, just like I said

One o’clock cooling, experience aroma
Heaven scent permeates, everyone arrives

Thirty minutes perfect,
And you did survive!

Failure seldom, enjoy the main show
Love always conquers, pretend he’s your beau!

Ninacarole
11/15/09
















“Turkey Time”

Maybe old-fashioned
Make a tent of foil

Open each end, heat
Escapes, no boil

Don’t forget the bag,
You know what I mean

Don’t want a fire
In the cavity, you clean

Slow roasting, start three,
Three twenty five

Six o’clock, peaceful morning
Great time to arise

Wearing its coat of melted butter
Prepared the night before, wet towel , refrigerate until morn

Pop him in the oven, he’s ready, been waiting
Prefers low temp, anxious for the basting

Tenish drain the juice, eliminate wet bed
Four hours to dress, cozy up temp, just like I said

One o’clock cooling, experience aroma
Heaven scent permeates, everyone arrives

Thirty minutes perfect,
And you did survive!

Failure seldom, enjoy the main show
Love always conquers, pretend he’s your beau!

Ninacarole
11/15/09

Unseasonably Warm

It was unseasonably warm
for December
in the city
on the night
when he took her hand
and led her across the street.
The sounds of the holiday
were musical snowflakes
playing a flurried air
around all the tourists in the park.
With this as accompaniment
he sang a song of expectations
in front of the grandest
of all the decorated trees there.
Her cheeks
turned pink
and unseasonably warm
as she said, “Yes.”

hemispheres


does the sun feel earth's
cold shoulder
as she turns away
to face another, distant chill and constant
not a lover, other.
polar as the dark dichotomy of night
beckoning her northern hemisphere?

we shiver
in the wind of polar stars
sun caresses
our southern hemispheres
searing tender places with burning glances
and drinking dry dark chasms with hot breath,
while we,
wrapped in wool
close our eyes
dream of palms
and salty spray

Marie Elena - Thanks for yesterday's prayers for Kelly and her family. This site has been a true blessing in many ways, and that kind of support for total strangers is one of them. Every prayer, no matter how small, means a great deal.

Happy Thanksgiving to all. Please know that I count all of you very high on my list of blessings. I am truly thankful to "know" you.

Bereavement Visit

When we arrive the temperature is rising,
a light drizzle has turned to steady rain.
She greets us at the open door, comments
on the miserable dampness of the weather.
The 25th November and almost 10 degrees,
nine degrees or so above what’s normal,
for this north eastern edge of Canada.
Shoes left in the porch, we sock-foot-it
into her living room where a gas fireplace
pumps a wave of dry heat against my face
cozy at first, but in time it turns oppressive.
She talks about her newly buried husband
his last days at home and in the hospital,
how difficult it had become and how tiring,
the adjustment to an empty house alone.
She made us coffee and a tasty lunch
warmly thanked us as we walked away.

Karen - We share your happiness with the good news about your Dad. You have many people pulling and praying for your family here.

"Meeting"

In the beat of red music
you tell me your name
wait
before
there was a
millisecond
of an eye flash
through the door
a matchlight
of smile your
teeth in the
light. An eternity
burns in your
darkest eye.
Ice water in my
throat but not my
blood. You asked
me to dance and the
beat of my heart
turned the music to
fire.

“Love Fever”

A fever's in his eyes, bright and glassy
like a pond at noon—-dazed by heat
and pain; scratchy behind skin, throat,
jaw bone. When will it break? Not tonight,
because he’s also in love, and his heart hurts
each time he coughs, breaths, even sleeps
in the long afternoon that slips into night
with curtains closed, phone silenced;
there is no day or night here—
not in the time of fever, time of love.

Happy Thanksgiving!

***

Below Zero

Surprise snow flutters
overnight, covers earth
with froth of lace.
Morning after, I hurry
out the door, seeing only
what must be done.

Life turns slow-motion
as I slip, slide, catch myself
before tumbling down
icy stairs. Paying attention
now, I am transfixed:
etched patterns sprawl
across wooden slats,
a topography of winter.

I huff out breath,
watch and wonder
as my life spirals
into sky.

If it’s Too Hot, Maybe You Should Stop Lighting a Fire

For the last year I’ve prayed this prayer:

Burn away all that does not serve me
and help me remember who I am.

As my computer dies for the second time
in six weeks, and hip pain grips my stride
again, as it has daily for the past five months,
and I pick another flaming fight with my beloved
who simply wants to ease my stress, and night sweats
wake me most nights, I’m beginning to wonder
if it’s my fault. If it’s this damn prayer.

I don’t want to complain, but maybe it’s time
to ask for calm instead, to ask for a season
of couch-potato-smooth times. Maybe I need to loosen
the grip on my desire to grow. Is it wrong to want
to cool the fire a little, to want to find a way to live
with myself as I am instead of squirming under
the glass training on me the beam I’ve asked for?

Karen:: Good to know that it's still true that "PRAYER changes things". My father often quoted that to me> So good to hear the news of your father's status. I was diagnosed with lymphoma January 2001 with a brain tumor. Six doctors in 3 hospitals said I had only 6 months to live. Georhe Harrison the the Beatles was diagnosed with the very same cancer and told the same thing. In a news conference he statede he expected to die in six months===and he did. I was asked what I expected---I said I expect to live another 40 years. My 8 year old daughter PRAYED foir me "PLease God don't let Dad die" . I tolr I wouldn't, and I didn't. I had 4 bouts of remission to recurrence since then, lost all my hair under chemotherapy, spent weeks in and out of the hospital, lost weigth down to 100 pounds. Today I weigh 188 ponds at 6"2" have no cancer, my 8 year old dauhgte rwill turn 17 next week, and I plan to get married in the spring to a 26 year old at age 63 and have 7 more kids!!! Never give up on HOPE and PRAYER, Happy Thanksgiving
and happy Holidays to all. Keep plugging away and composing poems of enlightenment Rich A.

Dear Walt & Marie-Elena... Thanks for yesterday's mention - I'm a big 'fan' of synchronicity and collectiveness of your posting... I love the sense of community in these challenges...haven't had time for today's post yet... just finished reading yesterdays and have so many comments..I notice that as the challenge days begin to draw to a close we seem to be reaching out to each other even more ....! Well Happy Pre-Thanksgiving to all spent a good part of the day cooking and a good part of the day getting the smell of onions out of my hair...Will be back later :)

Happy Thanksgiving Everyone!

Robert, I'm sorry for this mass "dump", but your site won't stay up, I have to keep hitting "back." So it would take about a half hour to try and put these into each day. Thank you for the great prompts! Loving it.

Day 22 Emergency

Escape

Home
I have to get
Home
Back to
Roots
Back to
Family
Back to
Security
And far
Away from
Heartbreak


Day 23 Noise

Din-Din

Everyone yelling
All at once
Voices layering
Conversations
Circling
Pans clanging
Chairs scraping
Clattering
Never ever had
Such a din
Been part
Of my
Thanksgiving
Dinner





Day 24 Everybody says-Nobody says

Everybody Says It Won’t Work

It won’t work
Because
He’s Republican
He’s Latin
He’s Catholic
He’s Driven
But Nobody says
He’s brilliant
He’s tender
He’s creative
He understands
Me
Better than anyone
Ever has
And
That works
For me

Day 25 Temperature

Just Whistle

If I was a tea
Kettle
I’d always
Be whistling
Every time
He walked
By

Dear Laurie K.

Everyone will tell you, that you will be okay, and you will wonder how they know. Everyone will tell you that everything will be fine, that you will be stronger, happier, different in some way, some of that will be true. Everyone will tell you all sorts of things stamped with the imprimateur of bright yellow smiley faces. Everyone will know everything and nothing, ... you will be okay when you feel you are.
Sorry, I didn't get to you until now...my mother had breast cancer at age 46 she had that "cancer survivor" mentality that now so many talk about...bottom line was she was the daughter of a Welsch cop and all the stereotypes of a cop from more than eighty years ago ran through her blood... her reaction to her cancer was ...that she didn't "have time for it".... the night of her diagnosis she went to sleep my father stayed up the entire night...in the morning he was angry.. "How can you sleep? What kind of a person are you?" he was beside himself ... my mother's answer was "and if I don't sleep I won't have cancer?" Every one finds their own way. All my love to you. Pearl

Temperature (C) Rich Atwater Nov 25, 2009

The normal healthy temperature of the human body is 98.6 degrees Fahrenheit,
And this equates in Europe, and other places of the world, to 37 degrees Celcius,
The degree of hotness, or coldness, of anything, from tropical fever to frost bite--
May be determined by the higher mathematics methodology of analysis known as calculus.

If you calculate the temperature of "the Congo" at the equator in June you will find it very hot,
While to arithmetically compute the temperature of an arctic iceberg in February you will find it very cold,
But as for me, I prefer to circumnavigate "the globe" in balmy weather with "fair seas" upon my yacht,
And stay in love with my TEMPERATE travelling companion, a fair dear wife, "to have and to hold".

She is 98.6 degrees Fahrenheit in all kinds of weather,
And I am 37 degrees Celcius when I am in her arms,
So no matter what the temperature may be, "My Little Downy Feather"--
Is the sweetest lovely "Swan" to cool or warm me, "as the case may be", with her charms.

A Final Goodbye

I place my hand
on my father's brow
how warm he feels
I had expected cold
It had been two hours
by that point
We are escorted from
the warm room to
the cold outdoors
Left with our changed lives

TRIMMING THE TREE

Christmas Eve. It was two days ago, a golden
early winter’s afternoon, he disappeared.
Tree-cutting on the forest with his buddies.
They turned to ask him if this silver-tip red fir
would do – he wasn’t there. They chopped down
the fir and hauled it back to the truck. He wasn’t
there. They called and listened. Called 911.
Overnight the weather turned. By the time
we got there, it was pelting rain and sleet.
The sheriff sent us to the dropoff into river-
gorge. Never so cold. We found nothing;
debriefed and stood around a bonfire,
steaming the wet out of our Army woolens.
Ready for the next shift, when word came:
our tree-cutter hitched a ride back home
two days ago. Just saw himself missing
on the evening news. Merry Christmas.

#

THE LACE-MAKERS OF NOTTINGHAM

[for Elihu Burritt, 1864]

Your travels bring you here, to a factory
for dyeing, dressing, winding, and packing of lace
for market. You ascend to the upper story,
the “dressing-room,” where the temperature
must be maintained at one hundred twenty degrees.
A very delicate operation, you’re told. But who
could understand the details, in this heat?
The overseer, straight out of purgatory, his face
beaded crimson with sweat. The women
and girls who work here every day – what do they
call this place, where they prepare acres
of black lace, enough for weeds of mourning
for a million widows, mothers, daughters;
enough black lace “to drape the whole valley
of the shadow of death”?

Temperature

Passport
to a foreign land
beneath covers
sweet tea
with honey sipped
a book to read
the shimmery way
the light moved
from the window
across the floor
dust motes dancing
in the air
more sweet tea
cool washcloths
across eyes
that drifted
passage to
liquified day dreams
melting
colors
in a land
of perfect quiet
undisturbed
temperature
cradled in
its warm embrace
bringing as
a present sparkling
on a silver
tray with a white linen
napkin welcomed
respite from
the world
of childhood's
responsibilities
languishing luxury
in a first class suite
sailing endlessly
until that night
or the next
when temperature
cooled and
stamped the book
marched through customs
declared with no appeal
voyage over
home again

Frizz

When rising
heat and humidity
combine
with all rapidity

then my coiffure
with its allure
will soon become
capillature*!

Oh gosh – gee whiz!
My hair’s a-frizz.
What once was fine
no longer is.

* capillature - from the 1913 Webster's Dictionary: A bush of hair; frizzing of the hair.

Maximum/Minimum

I wanted to be a meteorologist
when I grew up. For my twelfth birthday,
I got a weather station kit
which I assembled and mounted
outside my bedroom window.
The anemometer caught its cups in the wind
and spun like a dervish, the weather vane
turned on gusty whims. But my favorite
was the maximum-minimum thermometer,
a U-shaped tube filled with mercury,
each side with a metal cylinder
that rode the daily crest of silver liquid,
pushing them up to indicate highs and lows.
I’d chart them, reset the markers with a magnet,
and get ready for tomorrow’s readings.
For over a year I recorded temperature changes,
but soon lost interest as my household
began its own climate shift, years of extremes,
hot and cold from room to room
as a storm front gathered in the west.

FLASHING PAST
a pantoum

Most days I’m fine, but then there are those other days
when hot flashes make me flush, remember I am
entering another stage of this finite life,
enjoy each day, try to keep my focus forward.

When hot flashes make me flush, remember I am
a product of all of those years. I proceed on,
enjoy each day, try to keep my focus forward.
I start looking at old people for role models,

A product of all of those years, I proceed on,
wonder what 80 will be like, if I make it.
I start looking at old people for role models,
suddenly cry, blistering tears of menopause,

wonder what 80 will be like, if I make it,
ache when I hear a song from my past, long for youth,
suddenly cry, blistering tears of menopause,
choke with the inability to reverse time,

ache when I hear a song from my past, long for youth,
Time wasted in self-indulgent lamentations,
choke with the inability to reverse time,
finally move past it, cherish what I do have.

Time wasted in self-indulgent lamentations,
entering another stage of this finite life,
finally move past it, cherish what I do have.
Most days I’m fine, but then there are those other days.

My 64 Box Beats All

It is a snow day
and school is closed
because I stayed up late
to finish a second map
of Africa.

The sun is my ally
refreezing icicles
forming roof daggers
that my snowballs
knock down.

I lick mine until
it forms a sharpened point
finally
allowing me to close in
on my older sister.

Revenge is stuck
to my mitten,
and will not
be tossed away.

Too Hot to Handle

Do not tempt me for I refuse
to be fierce.
Provoke me to anger and watch me smile.

I cried the fear and anger away and now I
can understand.

What hate has turned you into, love
will set me free.

My strength will not be
omitted.

Faith is searing.

BURN IN HELL

Icy stares so frigid they burned holes
in my face, in my sides, through my back
as I walked past, on by, to the front;
placed my hand upon the Bible and
swore "…nothing but the Truth…". Cold, hard facts
ignited the lukewarm jurors, then
lit the fire of Justice. The lawyer
erupted. "Your Honor, I object!"
"Overruled!" When excused, I stood up,
smiled warmly at the Guard. Once again,
the march of one branded, as traitor
of a "friend". No longer. Intense glares
seared my skin. Dry-ice looks. I sat down.
We waited, tempering. The verdict
delivered: "Guilty as you've been charged."
Heated words. Chilling thoughts. Armed escorts.
Lights. Sirens. "Running red". Then…silence.
I can live with myself. Very…cool.

Snow geese

Although a warm August breeze
wraps them in silken summer,
by the Baltic Sea wild geese
shift their feet on sun-warm rocks,
lift heads, half-spread their wings,
wait for the wind’s swing
to the North and the scent of ice
to send them carrying
the healing of sunlight
and water to the dry south.

Jenny Doughty

Victoria Rivas - I hear you, sister.

Robert: I'm thankful for what you do. Have a great Thanksgiving.
Nancy P: I could see Guenevere.
Salvatore: Way cool.
Daniel: Pax vobiscum.
Karen: YAY for your Dad! YAY for your family! YAY for you! HAPPY Thanksgiving!
Patricia W-J: What a warming vignette. Thank you.
Patricia F: You bro't back, very nicely, some "warm" memories.
Chev: Beautiful.
DA: Cool-ly clever.
De: I felt it.
Joseph H: I SWEAR I was at that "event". Good job!
RJ Clarken: "...Dressing..." - TOTAL crack-up!
Theresa C: Mama, I hope and pray you have a PEACEFUL Turkey Day.
Richard M.A.: You GO guy!
Marie Elena: Thank you for always being there for all. Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours.
Walt: Thank you for ...your words, your presence, your thoughts, your persistence, your inspiration...more than you will EVER know.
My heartfelt Thanksgiving wishes for a peaceful holiday season for everyone.

W

Tim thank you for the comment yesterday! :)

**************************************

HEATED INTERNALLY

Prickly heat creeps
its way across my
skin. Sunlight warms
my shoulders and neck,
one of my favorite
sensations of heat.
Sipping the salted
breeze and feeling
the heat from the
sand seep through
my feet. Individual
grains of warmed
coarseness. I shift
my feet, sifting the
sand with my toes,
moving to warmer
untouched particles.
My skin tingles in
waves of sun warmed
wind. Muted sailboats
flash at me brilliantly
through my sunglasses.
Wisp of cloud covering
creates a momentary shade.
Blast of pure energy and
light reaches me warming
me to the core, internally.

I just wanted to express how thankful I am for this poetic home. I wish everyone a Happy Thanksgiving, may the blessings abound this holiday and on through the year.

Have a wonderful day tomorrow everyone!

Thanks Hannah, you as well. Blessings to your family and Happy Thanksgiving to you and our whole Poetic Asides family. That's a lotta turkey legs!

(True Story)

My Temperature Rises

Brand new oven ruins cooking,
unfit for consumption by humans.
Even my dog, who has never turned
down any food that was not her own,
walks away miffed. Pies burn, meatloaf
sticks to non-stick pan; I scrape it,
then scrap it.

First repairman replaces sensor,
claiming it to be faulty. Afterwards,
the oven soars to one hundred
degrees over the temperature
at which it is set.

Second repairman declares
control out of whack; he orders
new computer. After installation
of compatible parts, on the third visit,
oven climbs to one hundred,
fifty degrees higher than set.

Fourth visit finds the repairman
stumped. Eventually he discovers
his tester is broken. The oven now
demands to be set twenty-five degrees
higher than the temperature needed.

I am told, in order to save energy,
the oven is programmed to rise
one hundred degrees above set
temperature, meaning, when bell rings,
you must add an additional twenty minutes
for the temperature to be off
by only twenty-five degrees.
I remain at boiling point.


Happy Thanksgiving to all!

Cool Breezes

Way up there,
the air was sweet and cool.
Down below,
people looked like insects.
From above,
he felt the sun’s warmth.
Down his arms,
wax trickled down feathers.
Up he looked
at a rapidly receding sun.
Down he fell,
dead cold from the god’s heat.

Temperature Deflated

Temperatures deflated
Bottoms falling out
That dirty little mercury ball
Again found its way out

Focus is on the bottom
No drifting side to side
Temperatures deflated
No venturing outside

Fill yourself with coffee
The fire we will light
Temperatures deflated
Tie that parka tight

Turn up that thermostat
Close tight, windows, doors
Temperatures deflated
It’s minus thirty- four.

Raymond Alberts

When she walked in
Heads turned and eyes rolled
As their voices were quickly quieted.
He had told them what
He wanted his people to believe.
His twisted version of reality
Was the story they replayed
Just like neon signs for rent
Across their empty foreheads as
She entered the hostile territory.

Unarmed but strong she diverted
Stares, rude comments, the same
Disrespect she had become
Immune to thanks to him
Throughout their years together.

They may have seen her as cold,
An Ice Princess if you will,
But she was actually boiling
Mad inside,
Furious she was exchanging
Pleasantries with the few of his
Blood relatives that would listen
To his lies.

She took the high road while
Aching for the moment her
Exit would start the gossipy
Bitches crying out once again
Because at heart,
She just didn’t give a care.

And when she drove away
Into the night despite the busy road
She smiled because she was
Finally saying goodbye in her
Own way and in her own time,
Uncontrolled by him.


It was her Thanksgiving and
Well deserved by this time.
She wasn’t crazy.
She was just truly thankful
For breathing free air.

She turned the radio up,
Opened the sun roof
And took it all in
Listening to the radio:

“God is great,
Beer is good,
And people are crazy.”

Yeah …

“Temperature”

Two cars ahead of me
were duking it out
for the dubious honor
of getting to the
onramp first.

The dull yellow cab
kept nosing its way
into the burgundy
minivan’s rightful spot.

Each move
telegraphed the rising
temperature of each
combatant.

Every time
the minivan inched forward
the cab countered
with increasing recklessness.

Each move brought them
impossibly closer
and I readied my cell phone
camera to capture the eventual
final blow.

Suddenly
the minivan stopped
letting the cab slide
in front of it
with a swift smug
glide.

The minivan pulled up
alongside the cab
and I could see
the female driver scream at
and flip off
the unrepentant cabbie

who returned the gesture
adding his own
undecipherable gesture

before both going
their separate ways
on this day
before Thanksgiving.

Temperatures Rising



Sleeping so soundly
Fire-breathing dragon smiles.
In his mind... ice-cream!

Fever

Little snowflakes, little chalky
wafers, you flutter outside my

window. I stick out my tongue but
still cannot taste your

chill. There is a cold I cannot
catch! If you could nip, or bite--

close your arctic fingers around
my throat. Not this, not

this falling down without
frostbite, without numb.

I'm weary of watching
you wobble, stark as

bone, lifeless as the
shavings of a fingernail.

I was only able to read a few today, but it seems like there is some exceptional writing for this prompt.

Daniel Ari, wonderful writing today.

De Jackson, great wording.

Cousins

Shifting from one hip
to the other, loll on the grass
in St James’s Park.
The cousins are an arm’s length
away, messing with a ball,
he laughs at her attempts to kick,
my kids are a little way off
in the opposite direction.
Eventually, after my brother
Gets back with sandwiches
there will be a thaw
and they will all play soccer
together.

Heart’s Condition

The temperature
Of an insensitive heart
Is said to be cold.

The temperature
Of a heart that is in love
Is said to be warm.

The temperature
Of a heart that is angered
Is said to be hot.

The temperature
Of someone who is heartless
Carries a grim forecast.

Now the circle is complete. A day couldn't stand up to its grueling commitment without your voice putting a punctuation on it. Have a Happy Thanksgiving Marie!

Fever Pitch

Bartholomew Foggerty, the brilliant weasel
Was worn to a frazzle at his easel
He churned out portraits by the score
And still the people wanted more
He hardly had time to sleep or drink
He worked like an engine and could barely think
He dashed off almost eight a day
And at times could be heard to say
In a loud voice as one sitter departed
Next! Hurry up! Let’s get started!
Enrique the mouse counted the cash
As Bart knocked out paintings at a dash
The money was certainly well received
But when each day was over he was relieved
At last it seemed the surge was easing
And Bart had time for bathing and teasing
His fur with his favourite teasel
A well earned rest from the easel
He made it a rule not to work weekends
And instead went out with his friends
That seemed to have grown in number now
And he often wondered why or how
He had become so popular
Or was granted a tab at every bar
Or eating house that he’d frequent
Although the bills nary made a dent
In the fortune he was amassing
He hoped he wasn’t just a passing
Fancy soon to be forgotten
For that would be simply rotten
Never the less he’d like to work
At a pace that wasn’t so berserk
He wanted to get back to normality
And live in some sort of reality
Instead of always being frenzied
(His old poor self he sometimes envied)
For in the process of getting rich
Bartholomew’s new life was fever pitch.


Iain

Willy - I wish you and your loved ones a peaceful Thanksgiving as well. Ours will be bittersweet this year, but it's okay; there is peace to be found even then. We will be together.

Thanksgiving blessings to all.

Family from out of town are sleeping throughout the house, giving me a moment to write to prompt #25, and scan through your work. Coffee is on, sticky buns are in the oven, and I need to get my shower before the troops are up. It bums me out when I don’t have time to stroll through your work and soak it in. I also feel like I’m letting you all down. :(

Happy Thanksgiving, all! I have much in my life for which to be thankful, and you all are included. The talent, prayers, and camaraderie can’t be beat. God bless you all!

Thank you, Willy and Pearl and others who said such kind things! :)

I’m thankful I caught the following: Laurie’s Prisms; Nancy’s Guenevere (have always loved that name); Barbara Mayer’s Winter Closes In; Chev; Daniel Ari; J. Hugh; De J. (Hey! Deejay! I like it!); Joseph Harker’s For the Fairest; Megan (Yummmmmmm…); Carla Cherry; Everything RJ, and everything Walt! That’s as far as I got … :(

Karen Phillips: I know you are thankful today. Blessings!

Hot and Cold

#1

I love heat, hate cold,
always take a jacket
into a restaurant
in summer. Just in
case. Too warm
is fine with me, but
when cold I can think
of little besides how
to get warm!


#2

She is an unmelting ice block,
without a shred of caring,
love, or compassion.
Her mouth is frozen, smileless,
her eyes hardened in icy stare.
Dressed in shimmery silver, she
is hard in her unbending stance.
She brings shudders to
all in her range and shivers
to those that feel her touch.

I am so enjoying the work shared here. I've struggled with some of the prompts, have had some that didn't "prompt" right away, but have tried to stay open to the topic.

Robert, thank you for the push to pursue the muse, for the challenge to write daily, on command, within a community of like-minded poets.

Thank you to the poets posting their poems, I love reading through and discovering where the prompt took each of us.

Jeanne




The Journey: Day Twenty-five: a temperature poem


His touch exhilarates, excites,
fueled by love and lust
and an hour late enough for reruns
to flicker from the television screen.
His hands caress, wander,
and I turn off my electric blanket,
unnecessary now, heat a promise
of history, a destination of desire.

I know one thing--I've saved the world from a lot of robots!

Here's hoping you all have a wonderful Thanksgiving holiday.

Jeanne

“A soothing hand on my brow”

A soothing hand on my brow.
Gentle words that ask me how
I feel just now.
Better thanks, so good you’re here,
But why are you crying, dear?
I have no fear.
Now that you are with me,
I can face eternity.

To

Marie Elena, Walt, Hannah, Chev, Buddah, Pearl, Jeanne, Mary Kling, Iain, Theresa Cavicchio, Kate, Linda H, Christina Hile, Tanja, Laurie K, Patricia Frolander, Nancy Posey, Salvatore Buttaci, Maryann Younger, Daniel P., Pamela Gordon, Barbara Mayer, Kumari, Connie, Patricia PM27, Karen, Ellen Black, DShawn Watts, Debbie O., Patricia Wellingham-Jones, Banana, Janet, Daniel Ari, De, J. Hugh MacDonald, Sheila D., Joseph Harker, Rachel Green, Susan B., Laura, Megan, Carla Cherry, Sally Jadlow, Mary R. LM T.Richardson, Rose Marie Streeter, Cara Holman, Rick Blacow, Melanie Kerr, Debra Elliott, Carole Katsantoness, Barbara Y., Giulietta Spudich, Ann Malaspina, Amanda Fall, Marie-Elizabeth Mali, Richard-Merlin Atwater, Sarav, Kim Marie Jakway, Taylor Graham, Bruce Niedt, Victoria Rivas, Patricia A. Hawkenson, Sammy, Willy, Jenny Doughty, Sara McNulty, J. A. Jensen, Raymond Alberts, Patti Williams and (of course) Robert and Tammy – and all your friends and family...

Best wishes for a joyous, safe, happy (and yummy!) Thanksgiving!

It's a fun adventure here - and I'm thankful for all of you in this joyous and supportive commmunity!

Cheers!

RJ

PS - and if I forgot anyone, I am so sorry, but it's not intentional!

=D

Happy Thanksgiving to my poetry friends!
May you be blessed on this Thanksgiving Day!
Debra

Big group turkey hug to everybody. Happy Thanksgiving. You're all included under the "to be thankful for..." category. Friends and family always the best today.

What a gift it is to connect with you here! Thanks and Happy Thanksgiving to all of you who have chosen to make Poetic Asides a home for our poetic voices. I am also thrilled to have the opportunity to connect with some of you who are also allowing me to friend you on Facebook. By getting a different glimpse into your daily lives, photos especially, I seem to get more connection with your words here. If you are not on Facebook yet, I am hanging out there - waiting to be your friend! Robert has a fan page there and probably needs one more fan! - you! Happy Eats. Help clean up. (More than one meaning there! -my favorite poetic element.)

Happy Thanksgiving, amazing writing friends! I'm thankful for the gift of your words, shared here. May God bless you today, and through this beautiful season.

Day 25 – Temperature

Nobody told me
When I got older
That I would have
A built in heater

It’s not like it shows up
When I am cold
I’m already warm
And shedding my clothes

When the flashes come
And my face turns red
I throw off the covers
And leap out of bed

Open the window
Though it’s 40 below
And take a few breaths
Of that air so cold

Then I’m freezing, what gives?
Is there no regulator?
Why can’t I determine
When I need this heater?

I guess it’s a small price
To pay for this age
Too bad I can’t bottle this
Would be all the rage

Menopause heaters
Your very own thing
I’d make millions
I’d even invest in some bling

It would be for the over
Fifties I think
Our very own trinket
It would sell like stink

And the rappers and boarders
And punks a la mode
Wouldn’t get one you see
Cause they are not old

Perfection is the Mother
of Accident

How often does custom
follow necessity?
History follows us
gives us relentless worry
and relentless pleasure.
Who stored the first wine
in a dark cave? Turns out
that the perfect way
to keep wine perfect
is to store it in the dark,
at a tempoerature of 55 degrees
Centigrade (13 degrees Celsius)--
the temperature of caves
in the hills surrounding
the vineyards of France.

A SHOT OF RHYTHM AND BLUES

This place jumps,
these guys play eight to the bar,
here where the tunes are the star,
it's a wonder how music so hot,
can be played by cats so cool.

Thanks for Giving!

To the November PAD group.
Thank you for giving each poem,
Each day,
In your own way,
To say,
What,
You see,
Feel,
Notice,
And understand of life.

On this Thanksgiving,
I pray for all good things for you,
And those you love, whether they,
Can be with you now,
Or not.
There is so much gratitude,
For knowing you all on these pages!

For those family members,
Friends,
Children,
Spouses,
Co-workers who need,
Love, support, care and just,
Healing,
Because they matter to you,
Prayers are out for all,
They can best receive,
On this Thanksgiving!

Thank you, Robert,
For all the time and effort,
You have given to all of us,
Throughout this November PAD!

What a great time we have all,
Had!

Blessings to all and to all,
A good night!

HAPPY THANKSGIVING WITH LOVE

Cold House

Since most everyone seems to stare at me
with impunity, I stare right back until they
drop their eyes, embarrassed. I've developed
tough skin. Mastered the art of ignoring rude
little boys and their sad eyed mothers, thankful
that I am not their chld. So when my sweet
man took me home to meet his parents, my
reception felt frigid. Cold faces stared over me,
shocked. Their athletic little boy picked me
to wheel around his life. They couldn't
understand this attraction marring their perfect,
long-legged world. They couldn't see past
the faint dream of grandchildren warming
their laps as it faded into the distance.

Rising

Falling through clouds
wind chill on skin
at first a pleasant coolness
then spiralled down
collapsing on itself
the spirit floats in freefall…
there is a pause in sentience.

When the muse awakes, burned
in the fire of creative thought
its centre follows outward to the sun,
images forged in white-hot heat
expanding into the universe.
Thoughts gone supernova.
Temperature rising.


Carol A. Stephen
November 25, 2009

Dressed for Winter

Pungent woodsmoke
latches onto a fallen maple leaf
flaming red and gold months ago,
now dressed in a brief
brownish-orange coat,
shredded and quickly fading.

Summer’s blaze
remains unfazed. July’s
glorious, naked heat drapes
the smoky robe around her,
waiting for the maple leaves
to reappear on barren trees.

I know this vernal nymph ~
blindingly glorious to behold ~
how she will spin ecstatically
out of winter’s shrouded hold,
sun-stunning beauty unfolding
from a cold and covered winter.

Thanks, RJ, Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours!

Marie-Elizabeth

TEMPERATURE

When I think of you,
my temperature rises.

A fever comes over me,
and my heart beats
with a passion
I haven’t felt in ages.

The air fills with excitement,
warmth surrounds me,
and I can’t catch my breath.

I feel your tenderness,
your affection.

Your love engrosses me;
your gentle ways
return to my memories.

The heat of our relationship,
the desires we once shared,
connect us once again,
as my temperature rises…
and I know you feel it, too.

@ Melanie Kerr - I have been there, in your wonderful, short poem. It is a painful place. To you, and all the wonderful sharing poets on these pages, day in and day out, Happy Thanksgiving. I am thankful for you.

Temperature Poem


Blue Heart

She has a cold heart
made of ashes and smoke
from a fire she stamped out herself
along with the pictures and the memory of you
that she shredded long ago
broken
painful to bear, the end of a love affair
when love grows cold and we grow apart
we don’t share a conversation or the morning paper
and we turn our backs when we say good night
how did it come to be this way?
you might tell me that she never gave you a chance
she shows you no affection now
and it is so much better with someone else
they give you what she never could
i’ll tell you that you’re wrong
she didn’t always feel that way
neither did i
my blue heart isn’t frozen
it’s just a little numb
can’t you tell the difference?

Temperatures

The street was cold
The dog and I walked.
As dinner cooked
Each step we took
We near our return home.

The kitchen was warm
The turkey was in oven.
Then I fell asleep
From the meat
I ate on this grateful day.

Temperature moves
Like the stirring heart.
A well known path
Will sooth the pace
As the walk will seem the same.

November 26, 2009

Roses in the Snow
Snow was deep as a horses’ belly that year
Grandpa had known enough winters
In the north. Time to head on up further now.
Within ten years Mama… and then four more
Followed, cancer claimed them too
Roses strewn in December, Grandpa’s legacy

BATTLEFIELD

My family life is like the Civil War.
Our Gettysburg comes every December.

I stand, a lone fife player, overlooking
a field of dead bodies.

Beside me, my brother, the little drummer boy,
holds his sticks still, unable to tap out the time.

Will one of the Confederate soldiers roll up
off the ground and wink at us like our father?

Will a Union nurse trudge toward us through this
muddy, bloody battlefield with a world-weary look on her face?

We cannot hallow, we cannot consecrate, this
ground: as the snow begins to fall, the cold

truth settles into our bones.

Jane Beal
sanctuarypoet.net

Why Live in Minnesota

I’m waiting for the cold
Waking up to blurry, frosted everything
Distinguishable but softened
And muted
I’m waiting for the cold
An excuse to pile on clothes
Wear socks to bed
Quilts, electric blankets
Snow would be ok too
The big cover-up, excuse our appearance
A dazzling layer of water over
The land-locked world
I’m waiting for the cold
And the dark nights that make
Me hibernate and dither around the house
Rather than drive anywhere
Rather than make any plans.

Temperature Poem

Blue Heart

She has a cold heart
made of ashes and smoke
from a fire she stamped out herself
along with the pictures and the memory of you
that she shredded long ago
broken
painful to bear, the end of a love affair
when love grows cold and we grow apart
we don’t share a conversation or the morning paper
and we turn our backs when we say good night
how did it come to be this way?
you might tell me that she never gave you a chance
she shows you no affection now
and it is so much better with someone else
they give you what she never could
i’ll tell you that you’re wrong
she didn’t always feel that way
neither did i
my blue heart isn’t frozen
it’s just a little numb
can’t you tell the difference?

:Rules for change:

Think of the singed fringes, the wind
that roars while walking against the nip
of a tempered slide. Think of things to steep:
steep chills in sleeves, steep sweaters in flames,
steep bites on tongues. Breathe heat by the river,
and watch it melt, watch it renew its flow. Watch it
change in bitter degrees, because the waters love
to freeze. Watch for the frost. Then feel the burn,
the passion of ice. Think before drinking in the rising steam.

Still playing catch up . . . still have a ways to go. :-O


Opposites Attract, But Likes Last


Her temperament, calm and cool, proved
too much temptation
for his hot-headed nature to ignore

He applied persistent heat, certain her demeanor
was just a disguise,
a smoke screen erected to protect a tender heart

Polar opposite magnetism presents
the perfect balance for a period; ice
melts in steam soothing a fiery heat

The perfect combination, for a while
but over time, things change
atrophy, entropy

Who could foresee
such a fierce start
could have such a tepid end?

The Flight of Snowbirds

They call them
snowbirds,
those sometime
New England
species
that head
due south
not long after
the raking
is bagged

Can you call
yourself a
New Englander
if you skip out
when the going
gets tough,
when shovels
and salt move back
to the top
of the list?

Is the reward of spring
less sweet
when you haven’t suffered
as New England
seems to demand?

Flew to Florida
last May
(it was only
cardigan weather
back home)

The wall
of warmth
that hit
when I emerged
from airport doors,
the balmy breeze
carried on it
empathy
for the
snowbirds’ flight

The temperature is dropping outside,
but here inside the temperature is
rising steadily as we wrap
ourselves around each other and
fold into ourselves under
soft blankets.

Hot. Warm. Cold.

At this point it's all about temperature
The cold sheets that turn to smolder some time in the middle of the night
so I peel one layer than the other then the other
and the sleeping cap must come off
(sweetest gift I ever got that makes me cry and keeps me warm)

The outside, where the leaves fall, warmer than the inside
by far. Perfect day.
The inside - I can see my breath.

In each assessment of warmth, some question of
"am I loved?"

When its warm:
I think so, sure, yes
Lucky, lucky life

Too warm:
I think I can't breathe
I think I must leave
find a new house, new country, new everything
furniture, boots, name, past.
I must go. Soon

Too cold:
I don't know if I can do this
all by myself
get warmer
here, inside,
all by myself

Reverie

Frozen in ice
of memory,
the sweaty days
of vanished summers
haunt my present tense



Chill


Leaves compost beneath bare branches
shivering in November cold.
Children muffled, scarf and mittens,
don't dawdle on their way to school.
Heavy skies settle into rain.
Horses huddle, backs to the wind.
Burrowing creatures curl to sleep.
Old folks peer out their windows and
shiver. One more endless winter.

Desert Heat
By: Meena Rose

She stirs from her sleep.
She awakens to sensations
Of wetness and clinginess.

She sighs.

She gets up to change
Her sleepwear;
Now soiled with her
Night time sweat.

Her body, now liberated
From its cotton sheath,
Rejoices at the feel
Of the slightest breeze.

She stills herself.
She senses she is
No longer alone.

A cool finger traces
A line on her back,
Causing waves of
Joyful tremors
Throughout.

Desperate for the touch,
Desperate for the coolness,
She leans her body back.

But there is no one.

Her desert angel of the night
Has left without a trace.

She heads back to bed
And lies upon it with her
Brazen nakedness hoping
For return of the angel.

.
been trying to post this for a few nights now.. };(
..........................................................



By Degrees


Beside me tonight
in the kitchen cooking
you were not yet aware of
my reveling in the radiance
of your glowing bodily warmth,

you thought it was the aroma
of your pecan pie tantalizing me
and the heat of the oven that I so
sought when we were standing still
together close to counteract the chill
of darkness after another sunless day,

and you thought that it was because
of that fire burning in hearth instead
of the golden emberings of heart that
I pulled you over to the heated flames
whispering vespers of a nocturnal fire,

telling you that I am already thankful
even before the holiday feast tomorrow
thankful for an entire upcoming season
with temperatures dropping by degrees
for cold evenings to warm each other by
fulfilling them beyond physical hungers.




.......................................


Hannah really loved

'My skin tingles in
waves of sun warmed
wind'

good stuff Everyone!

Happy Thanksgiving Everyone!

Wavy Heat

Pinang Island was mostly jungle then,
not factories for plastics as now;
a paradise of dripping green, shock
of colours against pale sun.
Heat covered like satin slip, always
a sheen between skin and whatever
cotton thing I wore. So much heat
we rested from two to four, one hundred
and twenty in the shade. We stayed in a
Victorian hotel on the Indian Ocean,
where I played in the pool's crystal cool,
sunset a wound behind silhouettted
palm-edged sea wall.

Wavy, the view lit electric underwater,
wavy, the view lit with heat above.

Some Like it Hot

When the going gets tough the tough get hot,
they turn their thoughts to war.
When the tough turn their thoughts
the temperature soars, the planet roars,
and the rest get pulled along.
Our thoughts confused we follow the ruse
of the enemy within or without,
we scream and shout,
we get devout.
We cannot keep our cool.
It completes the rot,
turns up the hots
and everyone's a fool.
So before you say nay this is a fool's essay,
just take a pause, ain't no escape clause.
The tough aren't over there
in uniform, so don't give disdain
to those who pay our pain,
just look here inside
your tough overheated little brain.

Snow Bird

I love the weather here in the mountains in November
It’s cool and crisp and I witnessed my first snowfall of the year
late in the night of Thanksgiving.

I love the weather here in the mountains in the summer.
Cool nights no matter what the days are like. It’s never so
hot that its hard to breathe.

But come winter I’m like all the other snow birds
winding my way to warmer grounds in Florida,
loving the freedom of flight.

Choices: Day 25: Temperature


Exception to the Rule

Icy. I want my water
teeth-hurting cold. Let me sip
liquid frigid enough to shock
warm flesh. Don’t give me
spitwarm water. Lukewarm spew.
I want my water cold enough
to shiver me.

Unless, of course, I’m walking
Garrapeta Beach, Big Sur coastline
unshrouded in fog, water bottle
carried under California sun. Let me
sit, then, on the sand, face salted
by wavespray, tide curling
aquamarine in afternoon rays.
Let me sit and swallow, drink it
in. Any water, then, will do.

Too Hot to Handle and Too Cool for Words

No wonder the kids are confused, she thinks
When looking good equates to looking hot
But can quickly descend into looking slutty
The line between hot and trashy seems to move
Depending on age, place, time - person...

And when did looking hot also mean being
Cool? Had she missed that fashion bulletin?
Or maybe not – her kids delight in telling her
That she is “the cool mother” but letting her know
That one of their guy friends say she’s “hot”?
Not so delighted

She’s with them there, that’s just creepy
In a weird flattering creepy kinda way,
She confesses to herself when not
Even her conscience is paying attention
Hey – six decades on the planet, she’ll take
The heat where she can find it, thanks
And savour it when she’s feeling every
One of those decades.

Jungle Cat or Arctic Bear

How do Panthers
with their coat of black,
survive the heat
of the jungle track?
And Polar Bears
with their coat of white,
keep nice and warm
through the winter’s night?
I’m not real sure
who’d I rather be,
humans adapt
as the seasons flee.
Jungle cat or
arctic bear,
it’s all black and white
so there!

Dropping Temperature

The ring slips off her finger
As it gradually shrivels up
The shivering is not so bad
Now that her muscles have stopped
The cold is now comforting
Her mind growing quiet
And her breathing is shallow
Her breath barely makes a cloud
As her temperature drops to freezing

I am Thankful

I am thankful I awake each day
in a world full of extraordinary beauty
The sky always seems different in some way
Now and again it’s grey and pink and gold
at times it’s an unfathomable blue
protecting the world it encompasses
The trees are a kaleidoscope in the forest
with flowers and leaves relentlessly changing
Then at night, the moon emerges
and if the clouds allow, stars shine
sometimes in formation and
from distances some cannot comprehend
The Earth is miraculous and mysterious
and for that I am Thankful

OPPS! Of course the above post is for day 26, sorry.

Lukewarm

It doesn't matter.
You choose.
It's up to you.
Whatever.
I have no special
preference one way
or the other.
It's not cool to get
all hot about something
since we both know
I don't care.

smell the hot, rich baking smells
as the oven door opens
but take in in slowly
bend down to see too quickly
and scald your face in steam

The temperatures of love

All love has a degree of heat or lack thereof.
From torrid romance to cool friendship
Warm embraces to chilly reception
Sultry glances to frigid icy stares
Any relationship good or bad
Demands words of heat or cool
In order for us to understand.
Yet our hearts can always measure
Temperature without a single word.

Soupsicle

Last night's soup
left on the porch
to cool under
the January moon,
then forgotten,
is this morning's
soupsicle

Day 25

I use to have a passion the burned whit hot
The flame so intense I fear it burned itself out.

Your passion, your body warms me
I fear that repeated denial of your affections
Will lead you to younger more willing flesh
My love has only grown
From the warmth of your embrace
Yet life’s demands drain
The little energy I have
At the end of the day
It’s in your arms I wish to lay
Until sweet slumber sails me away
On the sea of dreams
Where I am the object of your desires
I do not trust
You will not betray my heart
Lust calls to you far louder
Than you wish to concede

Hand in hand we stand
Through this life together
I watch from the corner of my eye
Heart on a precipice to be lifted to a place of security
Where my soul is worth more to you
than my anatomy.

From Their Eyes

The warmth rises
Touches the heart
Creates a reason
Connects the soul
Mirrors the other
Lights the fire
Brings the meaning
Of words unsaid

When the Mercury Dips to Zero

When the winter winds howl
and the snow begins to fly;
when the mercury dips to zero,
it's time to stay inside.

Bears have the right idea;
hibernating is the way to go.
But what wonders we would miss
if we couldn't play in the snow.

Sliding and slipping on icy roads,
turning your collar to the cold;
can't compare to the beauty and fun
of being with ones you love to hold.

Sleigh riding with the one you love,
sitting by a warm fire on a cold night;
these are just two of the things
along with the beautiful sight.

Even though the snow is pretty,
I prefer the warmth;
I'll just sit under my palm tree
and look at pictures up North.

Extremes

The heat of passionate dreaming is what allows
one to fathom the unthinkable is what drives
people to accomplish anything, everything,
to plot uncharted courses and follow through,
yet to proceed with abandon and without restraint
makes for chaos that can end in the embers of
failure.

The chill of death penetrates even the thickest
cloud nine experience when the one you want
to turn to for honest critique lies six feet under,
and were it not for that very fact, your plans,
emblazoned as they are with hope, would be
nothing more than fantastical daydreams,
impossible.

The temperate platitudes offered by well wishers
do not take the edge off the cut of cold reality
or sooth the searing agony of decay’s radiant heat
Finding the line between ambition and appraisal
of what one seeks to accomplish is more like
washing with a hot rag full of biting cubes of
ice.