are made, not with wishes,
but by moments lived, understood.
Let those moments pass untouched
and you will never know them.
Let no one say you can’t take it with you.
Once experienced, those memories are yours.
This poem is my response to Poetics: The Proverbial, the prompt from Merril at dVerse ~ Poets Pub, which asks us to incorporate a proverb into a poem.
Two left feet that can’t dance
know their task is at hand.
You take mine as the band
plays our song. All is grand.
Little girl now all grown,
there’s a truth that’s well known.
I would dance all the night
just to be in your light.
But this dance that we share
on this night leads to where
your full heart must now go,
to the heart of your beau.
Look now deep in my eyes
and I know you’ll surmise
that this old father’s love
welcomes your own truelove.
Meter is not my forte, as I feel I tend to force it, but this is my response (anapestic tetrameter?) to Meet the bar waltzing from Björn at dVerse ~ Poets Pub. We’re asked to “let the dance be your poem.”
Yes, I have two left feet. Two months before my daughter’s wedding, I spent a week in Buffalo so we could take a couple of dance classes together. I then drove back home and practiced the waltz every night with my wife so I could give my daughter her father-daughter dance. It went off without a hitch. (Except, of course, for the ceremony earlier in the day!) The picture above is from that moment.
Silent, Like Sleep
Within the depths of my dreams lies the comfort
found in my mother’s arms, the same offered
in return, no words needed, when she was in need
in the last years of her life. While no soul is
ever truly silent, hers was gentle to the end,
and so she appears in my dreams.
The short poem is my response to Twiglet #227 from Misky, which offers this line as a prompt: “silent, like sleep.” Unable to adequately care for herself, my mother lived with me for the last two years of her life. Although it was a difficult time, I don’t regret a moment of it.
with the years that have passed
greater than those left to come
moments once frozen in time
blend one into another
as memories become a blur
This gogyohka is my response to Colleen Chesebro’s #Tanka Tuesday
Weekly #Poetry Challenge No. 226 #Ekphrastic #Photoprompt,
with the photo provided by Trent McDonald.
Gogyohka (pronounced go-gee-yoh-kuh)
~ a form of Japanese poetry pioneered by Enta Kusakabe in the 1950s
~ 5-line poetry ~ like tanka, but with freedom from restraints
~ no fixed syllable requirement
~ no conventions regarding content
~ brief lines in keeping with the tradition of Japanese short verse
Time cannot diminish the luster of frosted glass
Or silence the voice that is the beauty within
Water and stones sift through my fingers
And that beauty shines through
Elusive memories touch the light of day
Have their say, then retreat
Time moves on
Images: beach glass & the shore of Lake Ontario
09 November 2020
Shared with Open Link Night #278 – Rejoice! at dVerse ~ Poets Pub.
Black and White Stories
My darkroom phase wasn’t as much about learning
to see in black & white or teasing the image
out of a negative as it was about nostalgia.
Learning the details of a photo by tracing
my finger over the lines and shades
of a colorless image was like a journey
into the past. My past, and yours.
My early years were captured
primarily in black & white.
Now, as then, I find a story
in those gray shades.
Each time I view the one photo I have of you
as a child I discover new details.
A photo of us, together, says as much
about your life as it does about mine.
And my favorite photo of you, taken
during my darkroom phase.
I trace those lines and find stories.
The photos here are mine
My father (3 years old?)
Sitting on my father’s lap
My father, in the 1980s
This is my response to dVerse Poets: 9th year Anniversary, and the prompt from guest host Brian Miller, which is to write a poem that captures a moment
in a way that evokes memories and experiences.
The prompt for Carpe Diem #1789 The Winter Trees (Crossroads)
starts with two haiku by Yosa Buson (in blue) to be used
to create a “fusion” haiku which is then to be the base for a troiku.
cutting into with the ax,
I was surprised at the scent.
the winter trees.
unfolding at the
hand of the glass polisher:
beauty of the grain unfolds
respecting treasured heirloom
held in loving hands
beauty of the grain unfolds
revealing further treasures
reminders of days long gone
held close to the heart
A troiku is three haiku, with each of the three lines from a suggested haiku as the first line of each haiku in the troiku. It’s not always possible to have a 5-7-5 format in the second haiku, due to the limitations of the suggested haiku. The name of the form is derived from “troika,” a sled or carriage drawn by three horses harnessed side-by-side, an iconic symbol of Imperial Russia.
Image source: wikimedia.org (troika)
Tiny currents brush the edges of my mind.
Random details, trivial and not-so-
minor, flutter, teasing my thoughts.
Never clear in their intent. Prodding me
to remember, or struggling
to break the tethers imposed
by those details, always out of reach?
This is my response to Reena’s Exploration Challenge #113,
which offers a variety of images for inspiration.
Image source: pexels.com / Anthony
Do you still keep those memories
we once held dear, now that we have
nothing else to share? The one thing
we could not divide between us
dwindled away for me, once we went
our separate ways, leaving nothing
but faint memories of memories.
This is my response to Quadrille #91 – Keep — the prompt from Kim at dVerse, which is to use the word keep in a 44-word poem that does not require meter or rhyme.
On Visiting Lost Waters
It was his heart that took him away, but his heart still missed the waters flowing through a canyon of green that would explode with color when the first frost found its home in leaves that could bring light to the grayest day.
Trails that bordered the rim of the majestic gorge and paths that descended to follow the shore of the winding river had called to him often over the years, and many were the times he had answered that call.
But love had taken him to a distant place, and years had passed since last his footsteps had fallen in this forest, since his eyes had seen the splendor of the river’s descent, and his face had felt the mist rising from the falls.
Sadly, with these thoughts on this brief visit, he knew these memories were left here with the trees.
Prosery is a form devised at dVerse, and the challenge is to write a piece of flash fiction with a 144-word limit (144 words, here). Included in the bit of prose is to be a complete line from a poem. With Prosery: Memories with the Trees from Merril, the line to be included is “These memories were left here with the trees” from Joy Harjo’s “How to Write a Poem in a Time of War.” While that poem speaks of the lost or stolen beauty of a homeland, my piece describes Letchworth State Park, a place I often visited when I lived in Western New York (revisited this past week).
Middle and Upper Falls – Genesee River at Letchworth State Park, Portageville, New York
~ left: 09 Sept 2019 & right: 19 Oct 2010 (note the old train bridge in 2010 photo) ~
(click image for larger view in new tab)