My Hair Eats Everything ~ new poem by Barbara Harris Leonhard published

Imagine carrying your life history with you every day. We all do! Are yours as revealing as those in this poem by Barbara Harris Leonhard?

Extraordinary Sunshine Weaver

I’m delighted Spillwords Press published one of my poems.

My Hair Eats Everything

My Hair Eats Everything

Silver pelage. Static cling

Velcro mouth gulping my life.

My hair, a pantry of my days.

Famished patron of my past.

It shows in my sheen, the shine

Of a clean plate.

Baby hair matted with egg,

Pureed peas, sour milk, spaghetti sauce,

Bits of cereal. Mom’s cleansing spit

Over my crown. Kisses planted

In the soil of my hair. Luster of life

Grows into a hungry coif.

The long stems of flowers

Woven into braids. My first perfume,

Splashes of hot lavender baths,

Swashes of wet polish, and Dippity-Do

Cling to my curls and create a crown

Of a complex banquet.

Grandpa’s musty garage, his yard

Of lake breeze. The smell of sand

Tangles my hair into my mouth.

The steam of Grandma’s fried sausage, rising dough,

Stewed chicken, spilled honey from…

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all around me, inside and out ~ Kerfe

I know that many of you recognize the mad poetic and artistic skills of Kerfe Roig, as seen on the blog “method two madness” that she shares with her friend, Nina, so I’m sure you’ll want to check out her recent posts on a side-blog she has created during Nina’s hiatus.

K.

all around me s

I am one with the waters
with colors with sounds with winds
that shimmer me with light–
I fill myself with waves

with colors with sound with winds
with skies reflected from deep within–
I fill myself with waves–
I am inhaling the salt and the sand

with skies reflected from deep within–
covered by the sun’s blanket
I am inhaling the salt and sand–
I close my eyes and soar

covered by the sun’s blanket
that shimmers me with light–
I close my eyes and soar–
I am one with the waters

a solitary figure on a beach against a wide ocean.

Another pantoum, for Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above.

all around me close up s

I am posting at this site while Nina is on hiatus.  But I’ll be back at MeMadTwo when she returns.

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Colleen’s 2019 #Tanka Tuesday #Poetry Challenge Recap No. 122, Poet’s Choice of Words

You’ll find a great selection of poetry in Colleen’s recap of her Tanka Tuesday Poetry Challenge, where some guy named rivrvlogr was named Poet of the Week, for the week Feb. 4 – Feb. 10.

Word Craft ~ Prose and Poetry

Welcome to the Tanka Tuesday Poetry Recap featuring the work of poets from around the globe. If you would like to participate in this challenge, you can learn the rules in the menu item calledColleen’s Weekly Tanka Tuesday Guidelines.

PLEASE NOTE: Don’t forget to count your syllables. Use this site: howmanysyllables.com.Click on the workshop tab. Then, copy and paste your poem into the box, and click “count syllables” at the bottom.

One thing I will need your help with is the images containing your Haiga poetry. My intent was to add your images to the Recap. The ones that I could, I’ve added. If you see (#Haiga) and there is no image, you must click on the link and visit the poet’s website to get the true impact of their poetry. If possible, make your image accessible, so that I can just do a quick “save as”…

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The history of my way through water

I don’t re-blog the poetry of others very often, but this is awesome.
I think that many of us know how this feels.

Poems from in between

Does water remember
as I make my way across her
on this diagonal again?

I clear a wake,
paddles’ light splashes,
this side, then the other.

She self-heals
in a moment or two,
yet I wake-splash on.

Tomorrow it will be the same –
me launching out,
she self-healing.

I like to think
she takes a history down
as the ancient scholars would

and passes it to the next paddler
on this path
if ever that should come to pass,

and if never,
recalls my wake-splashes
as a gift

it could not hold
any other way
but in memory.


Inspired by Ian Stephen’s line (which is the title of this poem) quoted in Robert Macfarlane’s The Old Ways.

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Riesling and Raisinets

A mood imposed on us in these times, sadly.
(please visit)

The Mystic Fool

The sound of bombs is thunder;

and as a storm front passes

I am medicating my nerves

with chocolate-covered raisins

and wine,

to distract myself from the thrumming rain

on the rooftop,

and the steady pinging of tweets

susurrating Syria.

The cats, of course, are ignorant,

and blissful, in that state,

spotlight eyes blinking slowly,

so that I imagine, for now,

in my grape and cacao cloud,

that they represent the public mind,

concerned only for their dinner

and a dark spot to nap,

somnambulant, belly-full of false advertising,

unaware of any dogs at all

outside their immediate purr-view,

much less ones that are wagged

by their own tails.

(c) RCGA, 2018

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New year, new star

I’m sure that many who follow me in their reader also follow Jane, but I want to share this, regardless. Her writing can take many different directions (all of them good). In this, I find myself thinking of my life as one minuscule part of all that surrounds me, yet as an integral part of that greater whole, and that is a good thing.

Jane Dougherty Writes

This tanka is for Frank Tassone’s New Year challenge.

1024px-Orion_Nebula_-_Hubble_2006_mosaic_18000

Stars, sky-spangles shift,

slow and stately, wheels turning,

through time and cold space.

Each new year, another light

in the endless firmament.

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