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Posts Tagged ‘poem’

"I think the next best thing to solving a problem is finding some humor in it." –Frank A. Clark

My first attempt at writing a limerick

(A rhyme with a rhythm AABBA)

The critics who know everything
are like birds who fly with one wing.
As they drop from the sky without knowing why
that’s when other folk hear what they sing.



public domain drawing with major adjustment

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Any fool can know. The point is to understand. –Albert Einstein

Strawberry Pie Quatern
Your handwriting in purple ink
resurrects you ten years after
your death when a recipe card
falls from a forgotten cookbook.

Tart, sweet, secrets sneak through curves of
your handwriting. In purple ink, 
with bold color, you claim knowledge,
if only how to bake a pie.

Mom, you were taught to stay hidden
in the background of a man’s world.
Your handwriting in purple ink
trembles to be more than pie dough.

I apologize years later
for asking so little of you.
I long to see your soul shared through
your handwriting in purple ink.

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If you're to choose to paint your life today...What will it be? Remember, you're the artist, not the canvas. (Val Uchendu)

Color. A celebration because I see.
Can I discover what is inside each tree
flower, blade of grass, bird on a branch?
Darkness and light, or a lack of privilege?
I close my eyes and picture the scene 
outside my window, every leaf, every bend
in the branches, dark and light greens
depending upon the favor of the sun.
Color, simple yet complex.
Complex, yet asking no more
than to exist.

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"A family is a risky venture, because the greater the love, the greater the loss... That's the trade-off. But I'll take it all." — Brad Pitt

FAMILY VALUES

Nephew flinches as Uncle drops a fork 
onto a china plate. It responds with a quick high-pitched cry. 
Uncle grumbles, There’s dried dog food on these tines.

The waiter steps away from an adjoining table
where a young woman feeds
a girl in a wheelchair.

No excuse for this, Uncle says.
The waiter offers to get him fresh silverware. 
Nephew sends the waiter a silent eye-rolling apology.

He cuts his salad into small bites,
his focus on beans and rice while
Uncle speaks about how the nation has lost

family values, allowing abortion clinics, 
gay marriage, welfare for fools. Uncle slices filet mignon
and complains about the quality of his chardonnay.

Uncle leaves a two-dollar tip.
Nephew drops a twenty on top of it. Uncle smirks. Insane.
You don’t have the funds to support a hamster.

Nephew nods toward the adjoining table. 
Meet the waiter’s wife and daughter.
They live in the apartment behind mine.

"See you at the next town hall meeting, Lyle,"
he calls to the waiter. 
"Family values," he whispers to Uncle.
 


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Living on earth may be tough, but it includes a free ride around the sun every year. (Author unknown)

Nature’s Creations

A young boy clasps a crayon with his fist
and draws an oblong, orange sun
with long uneven spokes.
He scribbles a
blue-clouded sky.
His big brother points out
the real sky
with patterns his kindergarten
colors can’t imitate.
The boy wads his drawing into a ball
and throws it at his sibling.
Their mother grabs the crumpled paper.
She tells her sons
that nature creates superb designs.
But the sun is too hot
and too far away
to fit on their refrigerator.
Could the smaller child please try again.
And would Big Brother
please edit 
another artwork Nature has provided.
The lawn needs to be cut.




illustration made from colored paper, chalk, and colored pencil, with paper towel clouds

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“It is character that should be the sole measure of judgement in the society of thinking humanity, and nothing short of that would do.” 
― Abhijit Naskar, We Are All Black: A Treatise on Racism

CONTRAST

The news broadcasts the story in an infinite loop.
Nine people killed, one an unborn baby.
Boy or girl, identity as unknown
as the reason for the bullets that stopped them.
I listen to commentary
about hate and racism while a winter-pale 
goldfinch travels from tree to wire, 
a place where robins perch.  
The wire is long with plenty of room.

Perhaps, there is no genuine connection.
Only a brief metaphor. And yet 
I wonder if change can begin
with subtle movements toward peace.




bird illustration made from public domain photo, colored pencil, and chalk


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 “Children are like wet cement: whatever falls on them makes an impression."
 Haim Ginott

World Traveler

Her guests gather at the garden party,
admirers, distant family, anyone who
has heard about her glorious travels. 


Her words fit 
like jewels set in fine gold,
impeccable, precise.
All listen mesmerized as
Arabia, China, Australia, Egypt
find space among the common
folding chairs.


She waves her hands
and the pyramids
seem to appear
from the tips of 
long, tapered fingers
as she describes the exotic
with a practiced voice.



A toddler tugs at her skirt
“Mama. Up. Now?”
 

The traveler looks into
the  small arena. Ears 
catch a tale touting the
memory of elephants.


She begins a story
about the dangers of desert,
dry, miles of hot sand,
no water, no human contact    
for miles, or days.



The child, silent,
seeks the lap of a stranger.
The stranger understands.
She strokes the girl's head,
and imagines stroking her own.


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“Guard well your thoughts when alone and your words when accompanied.” 
― Roy T. Bennett

Thoughts, Cracked and Imperfect

small thoughts wander through small minds
the way grains of sand move inside a plastic water bucket

EXAGGERATED THOUGHTS CHARGE THROUGH INFLATED MINDS
WITH THE CLAMOR OF BLINDED DRIVERS SPEEDING THROUGH ORANGE BARRELS

DisJointed tHoughtS haZZard tHrough ScaTTered miNds
LiKE  a hUndrEd lOsinG lottery TicKets FloatinG in a fLoodeD STreaM.

Clear thoughts carry possibilities,
confined by human limitations.

small, EXAGGERATED, and DisJointed fraGmentS impoSe
upoN clariTy. 

May I keep my mouth shut
until clarity wins.

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The narcissist mentioned in the following poem is obvious.  However, it could refer to many dangerous historical figures. The following quote presents a massive challenge.

“The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy.” ~ Martin Luther King, Jr.

 Bag of Wind

 

Wind lifts a white plastic bag

and carries it with

bat-swift gusts from the street

to the base of a tree.

 

The bag appears to be

moving on its own, breathing,

mimicking a

living creature.

 

An illusion. I think

about people fed

hot, even dangerous air,

led to follow the whims

 

of a narcissist who claims,

“I will be there,” words made of

vague promises. A breeze arrives

and lifts the bag to a sharp branch.

 

Misled followers leak air.

They blame enemy design.

I pray the truth saves all.

Before the tree dies.

 

 

previously published in For A Better World

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“Wrinkles should merely indicate where smiles have been.” – Mark Twain

No Clapping Zone

Dupuytren’s Contracture in my left hand
joins with an arthritic thumb to create
its own clumsy five-digit island.

On my right hand, a long-ago 
partially healed broken middle finger
refuses to bend. And avoids vulgar messages.

None of the ten appendages chooses 
to juggle anything more challenging
than a dose of Tylenol.

On one point both hands agree.
No clapping possible.
We look like drunk spiders.

And yet, both left and right concur
in more important matters.
In everyday places.

Let’s cook a meal. Ignore the spills.
Or type this poem, or send a message
to someone who needs support.

Let the larger audience carry
the greater approval for performances.
These hands will offer gifts. Just give them time.


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