Ascension Dissension ~ with audio

Ascension Dissension

He knows his body knows,
communicates when it states
its intentions, dissension
its main talking point.
Lest he forget, he will soon
regret letting desire trump
prior warning signs. Aches
will wake joints that protest
at his best efforts to continue
as if nothing has changed,
but range of motion is not
what it used to be. See,
Ken is no spring chicken.
You can bet that when
he tends to forget, something
like a six-mile hike will
remind him of what he should
already know. Take it slow.

The prompt from Peter Frankis at dVerse ~ Poets Pub, MTB – Let your words ring out, asks us to write a poem that combines sense with sound. I’ve used alliteration, assonance and internal rhyme to achieve that.

I spent most of yesterday hiking 6 miles through a National Forest. The repeated inclines across ridges, as I followed bluffs above a river, took a toll on my body. After dinner, I made a list of maladies and aches, wondering if I could somehow use them in a poem. Reading the prompt this morning answered that. Maybe I’ll describe my day in a photo blog this afternoon.

A Spoonful of Donald ~ with audio

A Spoonful of Donald
(Trumps the Virus Goin’ Round)

Coronavirus
Far from desirous
Worldwide, people fall like flies
Ignore fake news – Ignore those lies

It’s not too late
Promulgate
Be like me – I’m so great
Don’t let COVID dominate

Eradication
Medication
Big Pharma aiming for the moon
COVID cure can’t come too soon

Emphatic denials
Who needs drug trials
Presidential immunity
Be like me – I’ll set you free

Two words, “eradication” and “medication,” in a comment by Kim
on Ron Lavalette’s prosery (The Determining Factor) inspired this poem.

Shared with OpenLinkNight #276

Images
Top: Washington Post (© Steve Breen/San Diego Union Tribune)
Bottom: newsday.com (© Dave Granlund)

Making Their Own Breeze ~ with audio

Making Their Own Breeze

The water of the Moreau River,
as motionless as the leaves of the giant sycamore
half-submerged with roots projecting skyward,
victim of spring’s high waters but determined
to send nourishment to branches willing
those leaves to life, and as still as the air
on this hot August day as my kayak sits
under a stone ledge, too high for me to reach
when volume and current are stolen by the recent
lack of rain, still feels cool to the touch in this shade
I have found, shared by the bank swallows darting
to their nests and back into the sunlight, no breeze
needed for their aerial antics as they skim the water
for a drink, then rocket up, only to turn abruptly
to feed in flights that would make any bat proud,
all of this reflected in that still water of the Moreau.

This poem is my response to Poetics: Flight of Fancy,
the prompt from Laura at dVerse ~ Poets Pub.

Transition ~ with audio


 

Transition

Wait for the brink of the falls to touch the roiling waters at its base,

or the maple to bend its branches to kiss the leaves lying at its feet.

One drop will follow another, and the precipice remain.

New buds will open, and the tree stand tall.

But autumn leaves will crest those falls,

kiss the waters waiting below.

I will breathe the mist hanging motionless.

The moment will end.

My life will continue,

each moment on the cusp.

“Transition” originally appeared at Vita Brevis in October 2018.

Image: The American Falls at Niagara Falls ~ 13 August 2009, 10:26pm

Forbidden Fruit ~ with audio

Forbidden Fruit

Nothing like the birch, its slender height
bowing with the wind, its white skin peeling,
even floating delicately, your mother stands firm,
sometimes stout, spreading her arms in a canopy
that bears you, offers your delicacy to the world.

And what a delicious fruit you are. Sweet
or tart as any temptress could be, you cling
to the branch offering you, retaining a stem
that measures the promise you hold
with each twist. Each turn brings a luster
to your skin that seduces even as you blush
at the mere touch, inviting that first kiss.
Whether soft or firm, the flavor of your flesh
does not disappoint, is relished to the very end.

Ah, but then your connection to birch sets in
as you tickle my throat, and then my ears,
until I feel an itch even stronger than that
which tempted me to know your taste,
my tongue and throat swelling, begging
for relief. I resign myself to knowing
my sensitivity means you must feel
a fire inside of you, but isn’t it fitting
that it satisfies my passion for you,
your sweetness even richer as cobbler or pie?

Oral allergy syndrome is a reaction to the proteins in certain foods that mimic those in a pollen that causes allergies. My reaction to certain raw fruits and nuts (walnuts, almonds, apples, cherries, peaches, etc.) indicates that I am allergic to birch pollen.

The prompt for Day 24 of National/Global Poetry Writing Month
at napowrimo.net is to write a descriptive poem about a fruit.

Photo by Priscilla Du Preez on Unsplash

River Distancing ~ with audio

River Distancing

My kayak glides on the surface, the paddle
caressing the water in a smooth, easy rhythm,
while the sun glints off each ripple leaving the bow.

An oriole crosses the stream, is soon gone in the brush.
Woodpeckers and cardinals call out as crows
take flight. Turkey vultures circle lazily overhead.

Sunbathing turtles ignore my presence,
until my waves reach them, their plop into the water
one small part of the harmony surrounding me.

Closer to nature is my kind of social distancing.

Here’s my poem for the day, once more off prompt on Day 8
of National/Global Poetry Writing Month.
Shared at napowrimo.net.

Guiding Lights ~ with audio

 

Guiding Lights

Awake in this moment
our concerns far behind us,
we make our way,
reflecting on direction.

Beneath the gaze
of a thousand million souls,
guided by their light,
our path is chosen.

Our course made clear,
we embrace the calm
that descends upon us
going forward, together.

“Guiding Lights” was inspired by Vincent Van Gogh’s Starry Night Over the Rhone
and originally appeared
at The Ekphrastic Review in September 2018.

Image source: Starry Night Over the Rhone/Vincent van Gogh (Wikipedia)

shared emotion ~ with audio


 

shared emotion

thought, emotion
in a relay race
through body and mind
each lap igniting sparks
firing across synapses
instantaneous
love
spoken, unspoken

thought, emotion
facing a tsunami of
words
inundating
slowly seeping away
leaving behind
sodden ash
heartbreak

thought, emotion
in a dull glow
re-firing to
recover
bridge a gap
reconnect
commune with
the outside world

“shared emotion” originally appeared at bonnie mcclellan’s weblog
during International Poetry Month 2017, where the theme was
“Neural Networks: The Creative Power of Language.”

Morning in the Market ~ with audio

Morning in the Market

Children race across the square
hair flowing, skirts blowing.
Shopkeepers lower their awnings
and bring out their wares.

An apple falls from a cart,
bumping along the cobblestones,
evading the children as it tumbles
between a vendor’s legs.

Old women file into the square,
some with aprons, some without.
Kitchens await their return
with breads and meats for the day.

The air buzzes with conversation,
prices questioned, gossip shared.
Mid-morning finds the carts half-empty,
breads arrayed to fill the spaces.

An apple rolls from beneath a cart,
cool from lying in the shade.
Sunlight glints on red,
and the children spy their quarry.

The bustle lessens, somewhat,
the shoppers finding fewer choices.
A reminder of the mid-day meal,
the sun shines high overhead.

The day’s fare nearly gone, now,
the last remaining vendors close up.
Plans already set in motion
hint at tomorrow’s activity.

An apple lies, half-eaten,
the game long over.
The taste of nearby orchards plays
on the tongue of a laughing child.

This is my response to the prompt To market, to market!, from Sarah at dVerse.

Image source: Wikimedia Commons – Market Scene, by Pieter Aertsen

Ken G.

Too Many Variables ~ with audio

Too Many Variables

We had a theory, but we took it
for fact. What is a formula,
when there are no constants?

Not you.

Nor I.

There is no resolution
in a constant state of flux,
going forward like standing still,

a clean slate the only solution.

The prompt for Poetics: Theories of Everything and Anything,
from Merril at dVerse, is to write a poem about a specific theory,
or to write a poem that uses the word “theory.”
I chose the latter.