Original photo by Madison C May.
Toe the Line
Reply
Asking Bella
From where did you come,
and where did you go
before you came here to me?
What happened to make you fear
crates and loud noises and the prospect of
being left alone?
Who put you in a cell
with bars and bare cement floors
and people parading by to stare?
How did you choose me
to be the one you would enchant
with your soulful chocolate eyes?
When will I have done enough to thank you
for the privilege of walking this path
with you?
I can imagine answers to my questions,
but I will never truly know.
Of course, some questions have no answers,
and that’s okay. What matters is that
you are the answer to me, and
I am the answer to you.
For Emily and Bella
Sermons and Seeds
The dVerse poetry prompt today is all about the pantoum poetry form. As explained by Gina on the dVerse Poetry blog, the pantoum is a series of interwoven quatrains and rhyming couplets. I won’t elaborate further than that (‘cuz I’d just confuse myself), but you can read Gina’s description of the form here.
Below is my attempt at such a poem.
When bored with a sermon of a Sunday morn,
To the graveyard next door I would go.
Among the gravestones I’d play and roam;
Decorum of death I did blithely not know.
To the graveyard next door I would go
To escape stale air and the pastor’s drone.
Decorum of death I did blithely not know;
Off I would dance over rotting bones.
To escape stale air and the pastor’s drone,
I’d blow dandelion puffballs to free the seeds.
Off they would dance over rotting bones,
Then land between tombstones and weeds.
I’d blow dandelion puffballs to free the seeds
Among the gravestones. I’d play and roam,
Then land between tombstones and weeds,
When bored with a sermon of a Sunday morn.
Law of Nature
Mankind v. Gaia
without blame or forgiveness
justice will be served
Football Players
On the sideline, I sip warm cocoa.
On field, giants grapple.
Sweat and curses fly.
Shoulder pads crunch.
Whistles blow.
The players lumber toward benches,
spitting mouth guards and blood.
Halftime.
My turn.
Likewise an athlete,
I heft my tuba and sprint on field.
Wall of Shame
“Here in America, we don’t give in to our fears.
We don’t build up walls to keep people out.”
~ Michelle Obama
Season’s Greeting
Spring came early.
Daffodils sent up blunt shoots.
Yellow buds perched atop short stalks.
Pushing right through autumn’s detritus,
spring defied winter’s chilly winds.
But winter sent a heavy-handed greeting:
a caress of snow, an icy kiss of welcome
and – most likely –
of goodbye.
Invisible
You didn’t see me.
You watched my reflection
turn in a direction
you chose not to see.
You didn’t hear me.
You thought I was sleeping.
In fact, I was weeping.
You chose not to hear.
You didn’t touch me.
You thought I might crumble.
You thought you might stumble.
You chose not to feel.
You didn’t miss me.
You thought I had left you,
came not to my rescue.
You chose to move on.
I vow to be seen,
and heard and respected;
my path self-selected;
invisible no more.
Alone Time
Chules is sick today. I can hear his tummy roiling from across the room. He’s been in- and outside at least a dozen times since morning. When I let him out, he beelines to the side yard fence, and tries to eat the taller grass to ease his stomach pain. Not an easy task for a canine whose teeth are not suited to grazing on plants.
Back inside, Chules disappears into my bedroom to rest in solitude. He likes alone time, even when he’s feeling well. After a couple of hours I go looking for him, and find him on the bed, resting his head on my pillow. This is atypical of him; he usually naps on the floor behind my rocking chair. I sit with him and gently pull my fingers through his soft fur. He doesn’t move, but his watery eyes close drowsily. I kiss his head and leave to let him sleep.
In the living room, I retire to the couch with a mystery book I’ve been reading. I like my alone time, too, but today I can’t relax. Soon I hear Chules padding down the hallway. He hops up on the couch and curls up next to me. I pat his backside and return to my book, feeling more at ease now. Sometimes, it’s just better to spend alone time together.
stunted winter grass
green, though growth eludes the eye
grazers are not fooled
Weekend Wildcard: Groundhogs and Vital Bogs
Yesterday was Groundhogs Day in the US and Canada, and megastar (among the rodent crowd) groundhog Punxsutawney Phil purportedly did not see his shadow, which is said to be a harbinger of an early spring this year.
While not the most reliable diagnostic tool of the atmospheric sciences (the groundhog has about a 39% accuracy rate), it is nonetheless a quaint tradition from simpler (climatically speaking) times.
A bit lesser known in the US – okay, a LOT lesser known – observance on February 2nd is World Wetlands Day, a day designated to bring awareness to the importance of wetlands in balancing global ecosystems.
The house where I lived as a youth was situated on a sand hill that was basically surrounded by wetlands (back then designated simply as a swamp). The first signs of spring for me were the green shoots of skunk cabbage that emerged from the murky waters of the swamp. These quickly grew into wide, flat, shiny leaves and bright yellow flowers that emitted the musky odor of their namesake. I loved the cheery sight of them, and I actually found the earthy, slightly sweet smell to be somewhat pleasant (in small doses and from a distance).
The sounds of croaking frogs were prevalent on warm evenings, and every once in a while a beaver or nutria would find their way into our lower yard. Mosquitoes abounded. We pretty much stayed out of the swamp and let it do its thing of living and dying, sprouting and rotting, flooding and receding. I thought it was kind of cool to live within the wetland, but I had no appreciation of its importance as an ecosystem.
The last time I visited that area, I found that the swamp had been filled in and houses lined both sides of the low road that used to define where our yard ended and the swamp waters began. It was a sad sight. The adage “You never know what you have until it’s gone” comes to mind.
It’s too late for “my” swamp, but other wetlands can be restored, preserved and protected. Let’s do it!
Infographic taken from WorldWetlandsDay.org
