*Photo credit: Keith R. Good.(Photos by Keith Good Facebook Community Page)
THIS IS YOUR POEM. WRITE WHAT IT SAYS TO YOU.
MARIE ELENA’S ATTEMPT
TRAWL
Ice melts away Gray sheds to gray Man feeling tinned Casts worth to windWALT’S PHOTOGENIC POEM
Dead Poet Tree
Rooted but barren,
rotted and dead,
poet’s muse refuses
to live; a slow death ensues.
*Feel free to post this photo on your site, with proper photo credit. Thank you.
January 13th, 2013 at 1:59 AM
As usual, I love both of these!!
January 13th, 2013 at 2:00 AM
I guess mine’s about winter in general. Maybe I’ll be back later with one a little more particularly about this picture.
It Begins To Slip
Winter spreads her icy fingers,
Seizing earth in her frosty grip;
Cold winds sigh through barren treetops,
Summer’s last hold begins to slip.
January 13th, 2013 at 7:33 AM
Erin, this is lovely and gripping. It IS about the photo, if this is what the photo has urged you to write.
Marie Elena
January 13th, 2013 at 7:56 PM
Thanks Marie! That’s all good then… ❤
January 13th, 2013 at 3:03 PM
b-r-r-r! Vivid imagery! Well done Erin.
January 13th, 2013 at 4:02 PM
Yes, I Felt it!!
January 13th, 2013 at 6:21 PM
Erin, your poems does a good job of reflecting the photo.
January 13th, 2013 at 7:04 PM
Cold!!!
January 13th, 2013 at 7:57 PM
Thank you for the comments everybody. It means a lot to me. I’m glad you liked the poem.
January 13th, 2013 at 2:55 AM
Surrounded, Yet…
Does
he just
wish to be
alone with thoughts…
…alone… ?
January 13th, 2013 at 7:34 AM
Insightful.
Marie Elena
January 13th, 2013 at 3:54 PM
OhMyGee… thank you, Meg… tho I must tell you that I can’t really be held responsible for what wakes me up and tumbles out in the middle of the night… I barely remember waking up
!!
January 13th, 2013 at 10:23 AM
always enjoy the questions a picture evokes – nice
January 13th, 2013 at 3:55 PM
Thank you, Jane (see above comment
)
January 13th, 2013 at 3:03 PM
ah, it’s that fisherman thing, isn’t it;) ?
January 13th, 2013 at 3:56 PM
Hee, hee… I wish I knew
! Thank you, Janet!
January 13th, 2013 at 4:34 PM
very nice, that was somewhat what I took from it, does he wish to be alone, or resigned to the fact…
January 15th, 2013 at 10:07 AM
Thank you, Mark!
January 13th, 2013 at 6:19 PM
H, Your poem reflects a nice idea.
M
January 15th, 2013 at 10:08 AM
Thanks, M!
January 13th, 2013 at 7:05 PM
So thoughtful!
January 15th, 2013 at 10:09 AM
Thank you, Patricia, sleepy thoughts…
!
January 13th, 2013 at 7:59 PM
I love the simplicity, yet beauty, of this piece. Thanks for sharing, Hen!!
January 15th, 2013 at 10:10 AM
Aww… thank you, Erin!!
January 15th, 2013 at 10:49 PM
❤
January 13th, 2013 at 3:55 AM
http://roslynrosssmallstones.blogspot.com/
January 13th, 2013 at 7:30 AM
Good morning Roslyn! Hauntingly soulful poem. Please do credit the photographer on your site, as above. Thanks much!
Marie Elena
January 13th, 2013 at 4:07 PM
Oh!! He is holding a fishing pole! ?
January 13th, 2013 at 6:14 PM
I thought he was out walking his dog!
January 15th, 2013 at 10:12 AM
Isn’t it interesting how we only see what our very own eyes see… ?
January 15th, 2013 at 3:01 PM
I noticed the pole and remembered some of our family jaunts to fish alone in cold weather. Definitely not a fair-weather fisherman! lol
January 16th, 2013 at 7:03 AM
!!
January 13th, 2013 at 7:31 AM
Great start, ladies!
Marie Elena
January 13th, 2013 at 6:17 PM
Marie – could you please translate EKPHRASTIC?
I realize we are to do a poem based on the photo, just wondering exactly what ekphrastic means.
January 13th, 2013 at 10:50 PM
Hi Marjory! Ekphrasis means writing about another art form. For instance, writing poetry about a photograph or painting.
Marie Elena
January 14th, 2013 at 1:48 AM
Thanks, It was not in my dictionary.
January 13th, 2013 at 7:46 AM
Winter—when those days
of black and white TV haunt.
Lord, color the winter of my soul.
January 13th, 2013 at 7:51 AM
Love this excellent little surprise piece, Connie!
Marie Elena
January 13th, 2013 at 10:25 AM
love the mix this evokes of both black and white with color
January 13th, 2013 at 7:06 PM
well put!
January 13th, 2013 at 3:06 PM
This is an evocative photo! Walt and Marie, I was immediately inspired as I read your poems this morning. I return to find so many beautiful takes on it! Connie this is simply. stunning.
January 13th, 2013 at 4:09 PM
Last line, especially… Beautiful!!
January 13th, 2013 at 6:23 PM
Very nice, Connie
January 13th, 2013 at 8:44 PM
I really like this, Connie.
January 13th, 2013 at 8:11 AM
Would you huddle lone man with friends as the cold river ran?
Or do you glance alone at the bridge yonder and hope that spring is near
January 13th, 2013 at 8:19 AM
SYBIL!!! I did a double-take when I saw your name. I didn’t know you wrote – though it surprises me not in the least. Your words SPEAK. Beautifully penned, my friend.
Marie Elena
January 13th, 2013 at 8:42 AM
Thanks Marie:)))
January 13th, 2013 at 9:01 AM
my English teacher from school back home would be very upset with my utter lack of punctuation.
January 13th, 2013 at 8:21 AM
Do you happen to recognize this spot, Sybil?
January 13th, 2013 at 8:39 AM
I dont recognize it Marie. Is it swan creek? That used to be my most favorite place in Toledo
January 13th, 2013 at 8:41 AM
Close. Sidecut in Maumee. That bridge you write of is the bridge to Perrysburg.
January 13th, 2013 at 8:45 AM
It will be 15 years since I left school. Haven’t been back since then. Time gallops:(
January 13th, 2013 at 5:30 PM
Goodness, Sybil. That IS hard to believe.
Marie
January 13th, 2013 at 10:27 AM
like the way your poem continues my own wondering
January 13th, 2013 at 3:07 PM
You capture this photo perfectly, Sybil.
January 13th, 2013 at 4:11 PM
Oh, I Love this!
January 13th, 2013 at 6:25 PM
Interesting thoughts.
January 13th, 2013 at 8:56 AM
Winter Ends
(A Pantoum)
Whites, grays and blacks
Pennsylvanian winter
Iced-over river cracks
Icicles drop and splinter
Pennsylvanian winter
Trees black silhouettes
Icicles drop and splinter
Gray cloud threats
Trees black silhouettes
Snow crunches underfoot
Gray cloud threats
Coal furnaces scatter soot
Snow crunches underfoot
Wet cold chills to the bones
Coal furnaces scatter soot
Crows caw in raucous tones
Wet cold chills to the bones
Icy water struggles to be free
Crows caw in raucous tones
Earth and sun disagree
Icy water struggles to be free
Days grow long
Earth and sun disagree
Spring sings its song
Days grow long
Buds form anew
Spring sings its song
Grass pokes through
Buds form anew
Sky blues and greens replace
Grass pokes through
Waters quicken their pace
Sky blues and greens replace
Whites, grays and blacks
Waters quicken their pace
Iced-over river cracks
January 13th, 2013 at 9:07 AM
Connie, you are so talented. I love this.
January 13th, 2013 at 3:08 PM
Gorgeous! Both the form and the words coloring over the gray.
January 13th, 2013 at 4:13 PM
Yes, I loved the way it just moved right along.
January 13th, 2013 at 5:31 PM
I love the way you expressed this, Janet, so I’ll simply add my AMEN. Talented indeed, Connie!
Marie Elena
January 13th, 2013 at 8:45 PM
Oh, how creative!
January 13th, 2013 at 8:59 AM
UNTROUBLED
There is a place I go.
I close my eyes,
release my mind,
and my heart flies
to a destination
of beauty and peace.
That is how I survive.
January 13th, 2013 at 10:28 AM
enjoyed the flight you lifted me to with this one, Linda
January 13th, 2013 at 5:58 PM
I enjoy the photo prompts too Jane. Thanks.
January 13th, 2013 at 3:09 PM
Linda, this is why i enjoy photo prompts so much! It evokes such emotional writes/flights! Love this.
January 13th, 2013 at 4:15 PM
“…to a destination of beauty and peace…” <3 !!
January 13th, 2013 at 5:32 PM
Peace-inviting. Thank you Linda.
Marie Elena
January 13th, 2013 at 6:28 PM
Well stated.
January 13th, 2013 at 9:11 AM
What I Enjoyed in January:
Time alone
to let the world drift ~
Let my line linger
feed the fish.
Air so quiet
roadways far away
where others search for
yet unfound ~
Soft silence
in a winter day,
I content inhale
sufficiency.
I feed fish ~
offering my breath
as this world hums in
solitude
Jane Penland Hoover
January 13, 2013
Poetic Bloomings: Picture by Keith R Good
January 13th, 2013 at 3:11 PM
Jane, I love January too, and you have painted its beauty…’Soft silence’, ‘as this world hums in solitude’. so peaceful!
January 13th, 2013 at 5:33 PM
Yes. Lovely, Jane.
Marie Elena
January 13th, 2013 at 4:17 PM
That third stanza!!
January 13th, 2013 at 6:00 PM
I hate January, but your poem helped me to like it a little better. Lovely Jane.
January 13th, 2013 at 6:30 PM
Soft silence
in a winter day,
I think that says so much of the beauty part of winter.
January 14th, 2013 at 2:13 PM
such delight in my morning – reading your comments – all – thank you
January 18th, 2013 at 5:51 PM
This is very good. Good word choices/phrases.
January 13th, 2013 at 10:09 AM
THE SIN OF NATURE
Barren winter trees
prefer not to don snow coats:
Pride after the fall.
#
January 13th, 2013 at 3:11 PM
They really are quite shameless and innocent. aren’t they?
January 13th, 2013 at 4:20 PM
Wonderful!
January 13th, 2013 at 5:34 PM
Sal, I’ve never thought of it this way. Such poetry!
Marie Elena
January 13th, 2013 at 6:01 PM
Awesome!
January 13th, 2013 at 6:31 PM
January 13th, 2013 at 8:01 PM
Interesting thought…I like it!
January 14th, 2013 at 2:13 PM
both clever and bright
January 18th, 2013 at 5:52 PM
a simple three lines that says so much, Sal
January 13th, 2013 at 10:59 AM
AWAITING SPRING
Faith, frozen.
Hope lies dormant.
Love, unseen.
One day at a time,
awaiting the promise
of Spring.
2013-01-13
P. Wanken
January 13th, 2013 at 3:12 PM
…spring, I repeat the ending over and over realizing it is one of the beat words in the world! Simply beautiful, P.
January 13th, 2013 at 4:25 PM
Your poem soo reminds me of a song by Michael Tomlinson called “Trace the Sky” … <3!!
January 13th, 2013 at 5:40 PM
Paula, every phrase has deeply layered meaning. BRAVO.
Marie Elena
January 13th, 2013 at 6:39 PM
Spring will be all the more beautiful because of the winter world that runs before it.
January 14th, 2013 at 3:09 PM
I too await that promise. I agree with Marie Elena completely!
January 13th, 2013 at 10:59 AM
[...] by Poetic Bloomings #90: Ekphrastic Poetry 2013 – Photo Prompt #1; and posted for Day #71 for the “100 Days [...]
January 13th, 2013 at 3:00 PM
By the way, Walt…loved the play on words in your title.
January 13th, 2013 at 11:08 AM
Scenic Pleasure
prayerful pose
with fishing pole
a riverside
to soothe your soul
peaceful moment
to feel free
a dream wind blows
through winter tree
along the bank
hunger yearned
lifelong lesson
Siddhartha learned
silent treasure
is moment spent
scenic pleasure
without dissent
© ~ Randy Bell ~ 2013
January 13th, 2013 at 3:14 PM
…sigh…I want to be there! and I almost am. ‘silent treasure
is moment spent
scenic pleasure
without dissent’ Gorgeous, so, SO gorgeous!
January 13th, 2013 at 4:30 PM
Beautiful, Cloud!
January 13th, 2013 at 5:41 PM
One of my favorites today, Randy. As Janet says, so SO gorgeous.
Marie Elena
January 13th, 2013 at 6:42 PM
Well said, reflective, inviting.
January 13th, 2013 at 11:09 AM
[...] PROMPT #90. Ekphrastic Poetry – 2013 Photo Prompt #1 [...]
January 13th, 2013 at 12:08 PM
Huh, I didn’t know that what I did so often had a specially designated name, given to it 2000 years ago. Thanks for cluing me in guys. I have only the one today–like I ever have time to write more. Hope everyone enjoys it. I’ll be back later to do comments.
Promise
Amid willows and water maples,
Sycamores and birch,
Stands a promise
To self and those who share
The simple passion
Of dangling line
In stream’s slow current,
Wanting only contentment,
Only the promise of a
Gastronomic delight.
Built of reel and cast,
The fisherman teases
His dinner with lures of
Vintage make, ignoring
The busy world of others who
Travel far and fast but seldom
Pause to listen to slow thoughts
Gained from time spent alone
Amid willow and water maples,
Sycamores and birch.
January 13th, 2013 at 12:42 PM
Lovely, Clauds. I particularly like the form, with the repeat at beginning and end, and the specific tree names.
January 13th, 2013 at 3:10 PM
Thank you so much, Kate. I’ve seen scenes like this all my life and participated in many of them. The prompt said so much about where I’ve been and where many continue to go.
January 13th, 2013 at 3:16 PM
It was like being there! Even with no picture we can picture it! Beautiful.
January 13th, 2013 at 3:17 PM
That’s so nice to hear. Thank you so much, Janet.
January 13th, 2013 at 4:33 PM
Yes! Captured!!
January 13th, 2013 at 6:49 PM
Thanks, Hen, so much.
January 15th, 2013 at 10:16 AM
You are very welcome, Clauds!
January 13th, 2013 at 5:44 PM
Clauds, if there was no visual photo for this prompt, I would envision one surprisingly like it. Your words painted this photo. As Hen says, CAPTURED.
Marie Elena
January 13th, 2013 at 6:44 PM
For sure, Clauds.
January 13th, 2013 at 6:50 PM
Thank you, Marjory. Everyone is being so kind.
January 13th, 2013 at 6:47 PM
Aw, thanks, Marie. I’ve stood on a river bank much like this during winter. Keith captured a memory moment and I just relayed it.
January 14th, 2013 at 12:24 AM
Claudsy you reeled me in with “sycamores and birch”!
January 14th, 2013 at 2:21 AM
Bless you, Patricia Anne. They’re two of my favorite trees along creeks and rivers. I’m glad you liked it.
January 19th, 2013 at 8:03 AM
“reeled me in”
Marie Elena
January 14th, 2013 at 2:15 PM
oh claudsy – this draws the parts so fully into the whole – just fabulous
January 14th, 2013 at 6:54 PM
Oh, my. Thank you so much, Jane. That’s quite a compliment.
January 15th, 2013 at 9:52 PM
Brilliantly captured!!
January 15th, 2013 at 9:54 PM
Thank you, Erin.
January 15th, 2013 at 10:04 PM
You’re welcome. I loved how you started it with trees! It fits the setting.
January 15th, 2013 at 10:10 PM
Without them, the poem wouldn’t have felt the same and wouldn’t have had the same impact. At least I don’t think so.
January 15th, 2013 at 10:41 PM
I agree!!
January 18th, 2013 at 5:55 PM
Ah, yes. You’ve captured the glory of fishing. I used to love fishing with my father. That peacefulness and time to “be”.
January 18th, 2013 at 7:53 PM
Ah, thank you, Linda. I’ve spent many days along streams, waiting for some wily fish to get stupid.
January 13th, 2013 at 12:22 PM
[...] Poetic Bloomings Prompt #90. Ekphrastic Poetry – 2013 Photo #1 [...]
January 13th, 2013 at 12:26 PM
A FISHERMAN’S TALE
Mac and I fished that river bank for years.
Deep into our thinning greys. Hair that is.
One day over black coffee that steamed
from tin cups, he told me that the noise his kids
made, all eight of them, ratcheted up his nerves
until he wanted to squeal like a smoke alarm.
He said it was a persistent, shrill-ringery,
insistent pitch that clenched your jaw
and begged you wince. So for some quiet
and relief, he’d drop his line in the river,
and like the postman, he was there come rain
or shine, sleet, snow or hail. Standing there
every day, his rod in hand, his line being dragged
long with the current, and always without
bait on his hook. One day Mac said to me,
“Now make not a mistake. I love me woman.
Can’t keep me hands arf hur. I’m meaning
I love hur eight times mur than me should,
but God help me ears … “ and he rapped
the edge of his fishing pole with his thumb …
“I don’t even like fish.”
2013 (c) Misky
January 13th, 2013 at 12:40 PM
Ha! “I don’t even like fish.” Wonderful.
January 13th, 2013 at 3:19 PM
Oh, this is too good, the ending absolutely brilliant. Thank-you for the laughter! I think this is why my dad liked to milk;) He has 10.
January 13th, 2013 at 4:36 PM
Aaaahahaha!!! Misky!!! Thank you, once again!!
January 13th, 2013 at 5:47 PM
Oh, Misk … You’ve outdone even yourself with this one!
Love your style, lady!!
Marie Elena
January 13th, 2013 at 6:46 PM
January 13th, 2013 at 8:49 PM
You tell the best stories in verse with the most interesting characters!
January 14th, 2013 at 6:59 PM
This is the third reading my me and I still travel through the words in appreciation, only to laugh at the end.
January 15th, 2013 at 2:43 PM
Thank you everyone for your lovely and kind comments. You’re all such an inspiration!
January 18th, 2013 at 6:02 PM
Hey, Misk. It looks like we were thinking on the same wave-length with the line about never liking fish.
January 18th, 2013 at 6:10 PM
Yes, so it seems, Linda!
January 13th, 2013 at 12:34 PM
[...] PROMPT #90. Ekphrastic Poetry – 2013 Photo Prompt #1 (poeticbloomings.com) [...]
January 13th, 2013 at 12:35 PM
The fisherman waits…
his line searches the silence;
patient in his craft.
January 13th, 2013 at 3:19 PM
Another beaut!
January 13th, 2013 at 4:38 PM
Such patience.
January 13th, 2013 at 5:48 PM
“his line searches the silence”
Wow.
Wow.
Marie Elena
January 14th, 2013 at 2:17 PM
“) oh yes
January 14th, 2013 at 7:08 PM
Thanks, everyone, for response to my Haiku.
January 18th, 2013 at 6:03 PM
that sums it up well
January 13th, 2013 at 1:07 PM
Thaw
Beneath the ice,
currents flow;
water life stirs
rising to light
or burrows into mud
on river floors.
Fishermen rely
on hunger
lying just
beneath an
icy face,
everything—
trees, earth,
stones, water—
holding
its breath
for spring
thaws.
January 13th, 2013 at 3:20 PM
This is so lovely, I esp. love the ending!
January 13th, 2013 at 4:40 PM
I like that I am now thinking about what is happening beneath the ice…
January 13th, 2013 at 5:50 PM
“Fishermen rely
on hunger
lying just
beneath an
icy face,”
Jane, this so becomes you. Beautifully penned.
Marie Elena
January 15th, 2013 at 10:05 PM
Beautiful, Jane!!
January 18th, 2013 at 6:05 PM
Oh, my. The more posts I read, the more I am amazed. This is excellent, Jane. “Fisherman rely/on hunger/lying just/beneath an/icy face”. That is perfectly poetic. This might now be my favorite of all. But thank goodness I don’t have to choose. Lots of good material here this week.
Good luck!
January 13th, 2013 at 1:16 PM
Below the bridge –
An old man
hoping the water
is not as barren
as the landscape.
January 13th, 2013 at 2:54 PM
Michelle, this is PERFECT! 5 stars:)
January 13th, 2013 at 4:44 PM
I like how you captured his thought…
January 13th, 2013 at 5:51 PM
As our Hen would say … CAPTURED.
Marie Elena
January 15th, 2013 at 10:18 AM
<3 <3!!
January 13th, 2013 at 6:49 PM
..
January 18th, 2013 at 6:06 PM
Excellent, Mik. A powerful use of brevity.
January 13th, 2013 at 2:55 PM
Fishing for Answers
If you had not left
then perhaps I would hear
more than the whisper
of time disappear
and I would hear gladly
those feet in the park
instead of standing
here sadly
fishing
in the dark
If you had not left
would the tide cease it crying?
would gray day
not murmur
the color of dying?
If you were still here
to cast, next to me
your beautiful dream
would the sun
shine suddenly?
…or will this river swell
with the gathering of tears,
of birch-leaf and moments
lost in yester-years?
If you had not left
would we fish together
and would every day
be
perfect weather?
January 13th, 2013 at 4:45 PM
Oh, Janet… this is sadly Beautiful!!
January 13th, 2013 at 5:53 PM
“would gray day
not murmur
the color of dying?”
-and-
“or will this river swell
with the gathering of tears”
My-oh-my, Janet. My-oh-my….
Marie Elena
January 13th, 2013 at 6:49 PM
Janet, “fishing in the dark” stirs up so many images. The questions are so apt!
January 14th, 2013 at 3:12 PM
Tears…this touched my heart.
January 16th, 2013 at 3:11 PM
Wonderful images–especially “would gray day/not murmur/the color of dying.” I love the mix of sight and sound.
January 13th, 2013 at 4:32 PM
VISIONS
She dreams dreams of peace,
pain free periods when joy
reigned. Memories crowd
reality, white walls and machines
replaced by visions of being
naked in paradise.
“Don’t worry,” she tells him.
“The garden is beautiful.”
He carries on, does what
he has always done,
while waiting patiently
for visions of being
naked in paradise.
January 13th, 2013 at 4:47 PM
Beautiful, Mark… it’s so nice to hear your voice again!!
January 13th, 2013 at 5:54 PM
Amen. On both counts. Welcome back, Mark.
Marie Elena
January 13th, 2013 at 8:48 PM
Thank you both, it is good to be in the Garden again!
Hopefully time will allow more participation
January 15th, 2013 at 10:19 AM
Wonderful!!
January 16th, 2013 at 3:07 PM
This is beautiful, and so touching. Thank you.
January 13th, 2013 at 6:10 PM
BENEATH
Beneath a baron, windswept branch,
in shadowed pond reflecting thought,
one finds a special resting spot
as sunny rays, do slow advance
to settle on the pond and dance.
In shadowed pond reflecting thought,
beneath a baron, windswept branch,
this wanderer can take a stance,
and come to find what she had sought,
thus she can clarify her thought
and then rise up, go forth to march,
beneath a baron, windswept branch.
January 13th, 2013 at 7:24 PM
What a lovely use of form, Marjory. Nicely done!
Marie Elena
January 14th, 2013 at 2:07 AM
Thank you, Marie.
January 13th, 2013 at 8:56 PM
Maybe it should be our minds that we listen to but I know that’s not going to happen. I live by feelings more than logic.
January 13th, 2013 at 9:00 PM
Sorry, Marjory, the above comment was for another poem and I don’t know how to delete my reply. YOUR poem :
You captured everything in this poem so perfectly. I can see the woman going to the shadowed pond for reflection even without the photo.
January 14th, 2013 at 1:54 AM
Thank you Judy, I am sure I was with her.
January 15th, 2013 at 10:24 AM
This is Lovely… “…thus she can clarify her thought…” yes… sometimes those thoughts come from a “well” so deep, that I must step back and discern…
January 18th, 2013 at 6:09 PM
Great poem. Which form is this?
January 23rd, 2013 at 2:24 AM
Sorry Linda, not to catch your question sooner.
It is the Rondel which showed up as a prompt in PA a few weeks ago. 8 beats per line, 13 lines rhyme =
ABbaabBAabbaA I especially like the AB then BA turn-around.
January 13th, 2013 at 6:12 PM
Cascade of You
Should
I just
move on like
the river flows…..
No……….
January 13th, 2013 at 6:56 PM
Why Not?
…well
because
they say to
Listen to your
Heart…
…and
those eyes
continue
to haunt my Heart
now…
January 13th, 2013 at 7:25 PM
How clever, Hen … and lovely …
Marie Elena
January 13th, 2013 at 8:53 PM
Oh my gee… WHAT has come over me???!!!
Thank you, Meg, I have a feeling this is going to be a Long night… !!
January 14th, 2013 at 1:35 AM
Flowing Right Along…
But…
you may
have nothing
in common…Do
you?
…Tell
it to
my heart then
’cause my mind checked-
out…
January 14th, 2013 at 1:57 AM
H. Sometime the best thing to do is simple write what comes.
These are good to see and read. Hugs, M
January 15th, 2013 at 10:29 AM
Yes… I can’t even Begin to explain Where this dialogue came from… I simply let it flow (like that river…) Thank you, my friend! <3!!
January 15th, 2013 at 10:09 PM
❤
January 15th, 2013 at 10:10 PM
These are all so beautiful and flowing, Hen!!
January 16th, 2013 at 7:17 AM
Oh, thank you, Erin… <3!!
January 13th, 2013 at 6:46 PM
Charcoal Days
Memory glimpses – stark,
a charcoal sketch. I see
the scene, bare trees,
dormant, death reaching up.
Grass, just shreds of itself,
green gone, done, dark,
dead.
I said Mama, the grass died.
Heart sick, I look to her.
She said not dead, it comes
back. Years of winter disbelief -
but spring came and I did
see.
I live in a place where grass
does not die, doesn’t give up,
where trees leaf all year.
Hope of Spring comes,
brings expectation. I wait
for winter to give up.
I wait for my son to come
home.
January 13th, 2013 at 7:01 PM
You had me at your title, Judy.
Marie Elena
January 13th, 2013 at 10:03 PM
**hugs** to you Judy!!
January 14th, 2013 at 2:00 AM
She said not dead, it comes
back. Years of winter disbelief -
but spring came and I did
see.
What a beautiful concept to share with a child (and adults).
January 14th, 2013 at 7:21 AM
This needs to be read slowly…the ending a complete breath-stealer! Oh, the patient pain of love.
January 15th, 2013 at 10:32 AM
… yes…
January 16th, 2013 at 3:04 PM
… and yes from me, too. That last sentence…
January 18th, 2013 at 6:11 PM
oh, Judy. This is a tear-jerker and so well-written.
January 13th, 2013 at 7:01 PM
JANUARY THAW
I saw Joe by the bank of the river
The neighbour said he had plum disappeared
But I knew he was only gone fishin’
Of no swift flowing current was Joe a-feared!
January 13th, 2013 at 7:27 PM
So sweet! Love the use of — what’s the word I’m looking for? Colloquialism?
Marie Elena
January 14th, 2013 at 12:21 PM
Thanks, Marie. Think that is the correct word!
January 15th, 2013 at 10:33 AM
!
January 13th, 2013 at 7:42 PM
WATCHING FROM THE WOODS
She watches, stealthy as a druid, hidden by the trees
Wondering at his need for isolation; is alone the same
As lonely… she ponders, following the arc of his casts
Each one more perfect than the last – the line caught
Momentarily against the clouds, a thread connecting
Him to otherness, a link telling her he is not so alone
After all, content with her deductions, she fades to blue
January 13th, 2013 at 8:55 PM
Terrific way to tell the story–the watcher in the woods. Love the final phrase.
January 13th, 2013 at 9:06 PM
A different take and perspective. I’m drawn to this piece, Sharon.
Marie Elena
January 14th, 2013 at 2:02 AM
is alone the same
As lonely…
My answer would (is) no, they need not be the same.
January 14th, 2013 at 7:28 AM
Marjory, coincidentally, this poem is in my in-box right now from Your Daily Poem…Port of Call
by
Afzal Moolla
Barefoot on a talcum beach,
alone, not lonely,
with the breath of the ocean a caressing balm,
soothing pained memories away,
to the swaying of a solitary palm.
Barefoot on a talcum beach,
alone, not lonely,
feeling the brushing away of all past turmoil,
on a quest for solace, ever so hard to find,
yet comforted by the crashing of the waves,
as the tide cleanses all pain,
and leaves despair far, far behind.
Barefoot on a talcum beach,
alone, not lonely,
drenched in a sea-breeze of mist,
that hushes the ache of bygone moons,
tasting the salty tang on my lips,
as the burnished sun,
over the distant horizon,
swoons,
and dips.
Barefoot on a talcum beach,
alone, not lonely,
searching, ever searching,
for a slice of solitude,
as memory bids a final adieu,
reaching under the sea so vast,
and seeking comfort in the depths,
while embracing,
the tomorrows to come,
wishing that they be true.
Barefoot on a talcum beach,
alone, not lonely,
seeing my truths drown,
as they slip beneath the turquoise waters,
feeling my heart ablaze,
with a passion that rarely falters.
Barefoot on a talcum beach,
alone, not lonely,
yet knowing that I am home at long last,
wishing the waves would wash away,
the defences that once stood,
like an impregnable wall.
Barefoot on a talcum beach,
alone, not lonely,
I have found, at long last,
my final port of call.
© by Afzal Moolla.
Used with the author’s permission.
January 14th, 2013 at 3:34 PM
Thank You for sharing that (Afzal and Janet) – My place of peace and renewing is at the beach which is a half mile from home. It is by being ‘alone’ I can refill my pitcher and can thus give to others.
January 15th, 2013 at 10:44 AM
Me too, my friend, “It is by being ‘alone’ I can refill my pitcher and can thus give to others”… Me too, my friend, me too… <3 It takes a special kind of person to understand this… they are few and far between…
January 15th, 2013 at 10:41 AM
OMGee!!! This is GORGEOUS!! I need the sea again!!!
January 14th, 2013 at 7:25 AM
I don’t think any of us took this view-point. Brilliant and evocative. Your opening line draws in the reader…’a link telling her he is not so alone
After all, content with her deductions, she fades to blue’. WOW! Soulful and bittersweet!
January 15th, 2013 at 10:38 AM
Yes!! “…After all, content with her deductions, she fades to blue.”
January 15th, 2013 at 10:08 PM
I love the different point of view on this one, Sharon! Wonderful!
January 18th, 2013 at 6:12 PM
Great work, Sharon.
January 13th, 2013 at 8:40 PM
“Lifting weights”
He leaves the world
a million miles away—
a man weighted in heavy fog
invisible and mute.
casting reddened page upon page
into the current
cold.
and the river whittles the debris of days.
and the rolling current scrolls
harsh slaps into soft
unseen trails until evening.
It is but a moment.
and he whistles
to the mourning doves
on the long stroll home.
January 13th, 2013 at 9:08 PM
Yet another different perspective. BEAUTIFUL, visual, emotive.
Marie Elena
January 15th, 2013 at 10:46 AM
“… and he whistles/to the mourning doves/on the long stroll home.” Beautiful!!!
January 18th, 2013 at 5:48 PM
Very nice work.
January 18th, 2013 at 6:13 PM
I like this. Nice ending.
January 13th, 2013 at 11:03 PM
[...] PROMPT #90. Ekphrastic Poetry – 2013 Photo Prompt #1 [...]
January 13th, 2013 at 11:04 PM
Ekphrastic (in haiku).
Joy in solitude-
he sings of Amazing Grace;
bridging winter blues.
Copyright © Hannah Gosselin 2012
January 14th, 2013 at 2:04 AM
OH, Yes, I am with you on this.
Beautiful.
January 15th, 2013 at 10:49 AM
Oh soo Beautiful!!
January 15th, 2013 at 12:05 PM
Thank you, Hen!! <3
January 16th, 2013 at 7:20 AM
!! <3 <3 !!
January 15th, 2013 at 12:28 PM
Beautiful, Hannah! I love your last line especially. And bringing Amazing Grace into it is perfect!
January 14th, 2013 at 7:24 AM
Daddy liked winter fishing. Me, not so much.
River
Here, rivers are slow lakes
pooled behind big, low dams
designed for flood control. Six hundred
and fifty-two miles long, the Tennessee swells back
nine times: Fort
Loudoun, Watts Bar,
Chickamagua, Nickajack,
Guntersville, Wheeler, Wilson,
Pickwick Landing,
and Kentucky and we bleed it of power
at every rebar-
reinforced concrete
tourniquet
until it spurts oddly North to make a wider wide Ohio.
January 15th, 2013 at 10:51 AM
…so sad… so true…
January 16th, 2013 at 2:37 PM
… and I love the effect of that long, long second sentence.
January 19th, 2013 at 8:15 AM
“and we bleed it of power
at every rebar-
reinforced concrete
tourniquet”
Your mind’s eye sees things mine does not, and pens them in ways I cannot. The power of the poetic mind — it leaves me in awe. Wow.
Marie Elena
January 14th, 2013 at 10:56 AM
Eyesore
It doesn’t matter
what you do, a concrete bridge
will never blend in
with a natural landscape.
Not even in black and white.
January 14th, 2013 at 3:38 PM
January 15th, 2013 at 10:52 AM
… yes
January 18th, 2013 at 6:15 PM
very, very true
January 19th, 2013 at 8:51 AM
Can’t argue that, Andrew.
Marie Elena
January 14th, 2013 at 1:26 PM
In the Zone
If he looked to the east, the spread of the city could claim him, its muted industrial roar not so vibrant on this designated day of rest. He could ignore the traffic zipping along old route 2, pay no attention to the panes lowering in preparation for landing at the not so distant airport. Civilization in the form of highways, bridges trapping the air above the river ice , vibrating in the earth beneath his feet – he could simply rise above its breath as he walked the river walk, trawling, the way people ignorant of all he was trying to avoid did for how many untold generations. His eyes were on the river, its sheets of skim ice waiting to trap the foolish. His attention was to the edge, the reedy junction of land and water, the half submerged clay a refuge to creatures who tried to sleep the winter away.
A few frozen stalks bristled at his footsteps, otherwise, he was ignored. His eyes, however, penetrated the zone where only blips on the surface announced the presence of other creatures, like himself, living and breathing the cold winter air.
January 15th, 2013 at 10:54 AM
I Love the depth of this…
January 18th, 2013 at 6:16 PM
lovely work
January 19th, 2013 at 8:26 AM
Marian, do you remember Buddah Moskowitz? He used to post at Poetic Asides regularly. It’s been a long while since I have seen his work, or been in touch with him. He has a “virtual poetry reading” site, where we may actually phone in our poetry, and hear the voices of poets’ readings. I would love to hear you read this piece in your own voice. Please give it consideration, and let us know if you decide to do it. Here is the url: http://www.virtualpoetryreading.com/.
Marie Elena
January 14th, 2013 at 4:09 PM
Landscape
The landscape was bleak, barren, sere.
My breath floated like a small cloud
across the chilly air. I vowed,
with all my heart, for all this year
to find the good. I was sincere.
In a sure voice, both clear and loud,
my breath floated like a small cloud.
The landscape was bleak, barren, sere,
but by this rill I shed no tear.
Instead, resolved, I had allowed
myself to cast off winter’s shroud.
At the shoreline, this did appear:
no landscape was bleak, barren, sere.
###
January 15th, 2013 at 10:58 AM
“…I had allowed/myself to cast off winter’s shroud…” !!
January 19th, 2013 at 8:29 AM
Yes. My eyes involuntarily closed at this line, as my heart repeated it.
RJ, you always amaze.
Marie Elena
January 16th, 2013 at 2:35 PM
“I vowed,/with all my heart, for all this year/to find the good…”
Yes. I found myself nodding as I read this–well done.
January 14th, 2013 at 4:33 PM
Winter Bliss
soft breaths paint the sky
words unspoken
a contented sigh
troubles drift
with passing time
patience grows
his thoughts unwind
silence reaches
spans the bank
fills up branches
and barren space
nothing else in the world exists
simple
perfect
winter bliss
January 14th, 2013 at 8:36 PM
Gorgeous! You had me with that glorious opening:)
January 15th, 2013 at 10:59 AM
“…simple/perfect/winter bliss…” <3!!
January 15th, 2013 at 1:49 PM
You have painted a beautiful poem. It breathes joy into my soul.
January 16th, 2013 at 2:32 PM
Beautiful flow, delightful concept, perfect word choice.
January 18th, 2013 at 6:17 PM
this flows nicely
January 19th, 2013 at 8:31 AM
Shannon, it absolutely delights my heart to see your return to poetry! Warm smiles to you!
Marie Elena
January 15th, 2013 at 1:47 PM
Bridge Appears
We bemoan that leaves fall,
And dread staring at forsaken branches
But only when they are stripped bare
Can we see bridge in the distance.
Youth was full of green growth
Spring was alive with energy
Fall was busy keeping up with fallen debris
But only in winter can I see so clearly
January 16th, 2013 at 7:23 AM
OH! “…But only in winter can I see so clearly” !!
January 16th, 2013 at 2:29 PM
I love this. Presently I am busy keeping up with fallen debris, but I do look forward to seeing so clearly as you!
January 19th, 2013 at 8:32 AM
I love the metaphor of this lovely piece, Iris!
Marie Elena
January 19th, 2013 at 4:35 PM
Thanks Marie. Photos do that to me. What a great pic that your hubby took. I think these photo prompts will be fun.
January 15th, 2013 at 8:48 PM
FRIGID MEMORY
An image of him
remains frozen
in memory,
frozen in time.
Just as the lake
was frozen
that last day.
January 16th, 2013 at 7:27 AM
“An image of him…” So gorgeous a memory… and you know… No One can take that moment away from me… ~ <3 <3 ~ Thank you for this Paula!
!!
January 16th, 2013 at 2:11 PM
Such a sad but also a lovely and comforting image–nicely done, and nicely compact, too.
January 19th, 2013 at 8:34 AM
Yes. Paula, we can always count on you for saying much in few words.
Hugs …
Marie Elena
January 18th, 2013 at 6:18 PM
Paula, this one is perfect.
January 15th, 2013 at 8:57 PM
[...] by Poetic Bloomings #90: Ekphrastic Poetry 2013 – Photo Prompt #1; and posted for Day #73 for the “100 Days [...]
January 16th, 2013 at 12:17 AM
Watchful Sentinels
Fishing alone,
Peaceful, quiet
Stillness surrounds
Icy water,
Fringed by bright white
After snow fell;
Whilst trees stand round,
Watchful sentinels.
January 16th, 2013 at 7:34 AM
Oh… those beautiful sentinels…
January 19th, 2013 at 8:35 AM
Lovely, Erin!
Marie Elena
January 16th, 2013 at 12:23 AM
Here’s one for your husband, Marie. ❤
Keith’s Picture (a Lune)
Scene of gray winter,
Skillfully
Captured by his hand.
January 16th, 2013 at 6:53 AM
Oh, how sweet you are! I’ll be sure to show him.
Marie
January 18th, 2013 at 6:40 AM
<3!!
January 16th, 2013 at 2:07 PM
(I am in awe of how you all can write such wonderful poems so quickly. Brava, bravo! Here is my tardier attempt, and now I will go back to comment… )
Wakening
Winter-gray, but colors will come: from
hints of brown in mud and bark, stark
twigs will launch a haze of green, seen
soft against a vibrant sky. Shy
buds will burst, each ruby shell swell
open to the brightening sun. Run
wilder, stream—the fish will wake! Make
ready now. New spring is near. Hear
how it sings: “I’m here. I’m here! Drear
winter, be gone for yet another year.”
January 16th, 2013 at 3:12 PM
Time well spent. The hints of spring are all around and beautifully captured with your words.
January 18th, 2013 at 6:43 AM
“…Shy buds will burst…” such a delicate phrase <3!
January 18th, 2013 at 5:47 PM
Oh, my. I simply love this one. It is so beautifully written. I like your choice of words and the singing voice of Spring. Good luck!
January 19th, 2013 at 8:40 AM
So skillfully penned, with lovely rhyme and flow. Like our RJ, you “do” both light humor and deep beauty with great skill. Sooo glad you are posting regularly here with us, my friend!
Marie Elena
January 19th, 2013 at 11:33 AM
Thanks, everyone. I’m looking forward to tomorrow’s prompt, Marie Marie!
January 19th, 2013 at 12:49 PM
Yay, yay, KatiePie!
Walt has a doozie in store for tomorrow. 
Marie Marie
January 16th, 2013 at 10:12 PM
I can’t wait to get back here to post, but had to point out that this could be the banks of the Shoal Creek where I fished with my grandparents and great grandparents. If I can find one of my photos, I may send it to you, Marie. Back soon.
January 19th, 2013 at 8:41 AM
Just a reminder, Nancy, if you get the chance. I’d love to see it.
Marie Elena
January 17th, 2013 at 8:44 AM
Old Man/River
drifting into twilight
the cold chills to the core
broad of beam
slow and sedate
memories like bridges into the past
cloaked in mist
far deeper than perceived
teasing the young fishermen
who would pluck delicious morsels
from the depths
and take them for their own
still the masses pass on by
taking for granted
always there
always has been
drifting into twilight
Iain
January 18th, 2013 at 6:45 AM
Oh, Iain… gorgeous!!
January 18th, 2013 at 9:20 AM
Thanks Hen
January 18th, 2013 at 5:43 PM
This is excellent, Iain. If I were the judge, I would pluck this delicious morsel as a beautiful bloom. Good luck!
January 19th, 2013 at 3:48 AM
Too kind Linda <3
January 19th, 2013 at 8:43 AM
There are some poets that seem to never pen less than greatness. Iain, you are one such poet.
Marie Elena
January 18th, 2013 at 1:39 PM
The Worms
The worms were for the fish.
Even in the grayness of the setting sun
he would watch the bobber as
his feet sank further and further
into the ground.
The worms were for him
to have and to hold
and to trade for the catch.
They were warm and wet
and dirty but they were
his only hope of something better.
He dreamed of a boat
and a very large net,
but there was far too much
water under the bridge
and at the end of the day
he was for the worms.
By Michael Grove
January 19th, 2013 at 8:44 AM
Oh my — the deep metaphor of this. Well done, Mike!
Marie Elena
January 18th, 2013 at 5:28 PM
Beyond the Love of Fishing
Grandpa’s hands were old and gnarled
like the bark of the trees surrounding him,
yet in the thick of winter he clutched
his fishing rod, gloveless hands exposed
to the elements, patiently waiting
for a fish to nibble at the bait,
determined to provide for dinner.
Though the bounty of the river
was plentiful, he’d often spend hours
down by the water for one reason
or another—the need to reel in a second
catch because the first was too meager
for a proper meal, or fragile Mr. Wilkens
would stroll by and knowing the unfortunate
state of both his health and his finances,
Grandpa would offer the fish to him.
More than once his generosity resulted
in he and Grandma having a simple meal
of potatoes that evening, but Grandma
never complained. Not only did she love
his selfless acts but she loved every
little thing about him—that slightly
crooked smile of his just before he
recited the punchline of a joke,
the way he whistled church hymns
while he planted the garden in Spring,
the stray curl of a hair that always
flew out of place right next to his left
ear when wet. She noticed every tiny
detail, good or bad, and loved him
with all her heart. It was that love,
so deep and true, that allowed her
to get through any Sunday meal.
On the day of his funeral as we shared tales
of his life, we spoke of those year-round
Sunday fishing trips. A lump formed
in my throat as I thought of this tradition
ending and solemnly swore to do my best
to catch a fish the coming Sunday.
A sweet smile replaced her teary eyes
as she replied, “Don’t bother, dear.
I always hated fish, but he so loved
to fish and I couldn’t break his heart.”
January 19th, 2013 at 8:50 AM
Linda, you’ve captured so much here. The depth of love is evident. The ending — oh my –
Thankful for your presence here, and hoping you’ll find time and muse to share your talent often.
Marie Elena