Tiny Bug and Me

What’s tiny has its point of view.
It casts a lovely shadow, too.
Although we won’t be here for long
While here we’re both each moment new.


Photo: “Colorful Bug” by the author and linked to jasenphoto’s Tuesday Photo Challenge — Bugs.

One-Liner Wednesday — Talking About Love

You can say something new about love forever and still have something new to say.


Linked to Linda G. Hill’s One-Liner Wednesday.

#1linerWeds badge by Dan Antion
#1linerWeds badge by Dan Antion

The Interior of the Puddle

Inside the puddle there’s a sky.
The clouds up high
Are now below
But muddied so.

I walk and bring along my mind.
We love to find
What’s likely true
And joyful, too.

A fantasy made from the light
Still isn’t night.
It’s truly day
Revealed this way.


Photo: “The Interior of the Puddle” by the author linked to K’lee and Dale‘s Cosmic Photo Challenge with the prompt “Interiors”.

I am linking this also to the imaginary garden with real toads’ Tuesday Platform.

The Bed in the Forest — #writephoto Peace

Two lovers lie upon their bed
Made from a tree. They rest their heads
While in the distance there is strife.
They safely rest, imagine life
Without those worries and it’s then
They find their love alive again.

But when to them the fighting nears
They arm themselves in spite of fears
And fight defending what they know
Of good, of truth to help them grow.
Whatever happens that is when
They find their love alive again.


Linked to Sue Vincent’s #writephoto prompt Peace.
Sue Vincent provided the photo for the prompt.

Sue Vincent's #writephoto icon
Sue Vincent’s #writephoto icon

The Message — #writephoto Flight

Bernard lived with his aunt, a widow without children, for the spring semester of the third grade. He was familiar with his aunt’s home where she held Christmas Eve parties late after Midnight Mass. His parents enrolled him in the nearby parish school.

His aunt would send him on errands to the grocer. On his first errand he brought back a loaf of bread, among other items as requested, and his aunt frowned. “See how you’ve pressed this loaf? It is ruined. How can I toast it? You think my money grows on trees! You’re selfish!” On future errands he paid special attention to the bread.

Realizing Bernard didn’t have a rosary, his aunt gave him one. She pointed out the five sets of ten beads for the Hail Marys separated by a bead for the Our Father. She explained the three sets of five mysteries that one had to think about when reciting the prayers. Although eager to learn and fascinated with the beads’ magic, Bernard was confused. He had more questions than his aunt had time for. One night he walked into her bedroom holding the rosary. “I don’t know if I skipped one. My fingers slipped. Does it count? Do I have to start over?” She told him to go back to bed and not bother her. The next day he was sent to the rectory after school.

In the rectory Bernard was told that his aunt wanted the priest to talk to him about “scruples”. Bernard was embarrassed and he didn’t remember what the priest said, but this was his first realization that the magic was very deep. Over the decades he came to understand that it was not just Catholic or Buddhist rosaries or Hindu mantras. The magic included every single word humans said or even thought to each other. He looked back on that five-minute visit with a parish priest as a life-changing miracle.

After that semester, his parents took him back to his old school. The parties at his aunt’s stopped. In a few years, his aunt moved to a drier climate for her health. He did not see her again, except unexpectedly once many years later when Bernard rented a house with five other graduate students.

As Bernard was heading toward the kitchen, he saw the top half of his aunt appear about ten feet in front of him. She was walking away as she turned to him. Her words appeared in his mind: “I’m sorry.” What could she be sorry for? Bernard remembered the deformed bread. He mentally thought, “It’s OK.” She vanished.

Three days after seeing his aunt, his mother called him. She told him his aunt died a few days ago. They were just informed. His aunt did not want his father to drive the distance to the funeral and what little she had she left to the church.

Bernard told his mother that his aunt appeared to him. He didn’t tell her about his aunt’s message. He never told his parents about that damaged loaf of bread and he didn’t want them to think badly of her now. Simply saying he saw a ghost would be enough of a shock and maybe worth a joke the next time they met. He didn’t mind. He was too old to be sent to the priest.

I met Bernard when he was retired living in a high-rise condo. Looking out the window at a party, we saw two pigeons playing like children over the tops of houses as the sun set deepening the shadows. They reminded him of his father and his aunt, now both deceased. He found it hard to imagine either of them as children although now he had no problem imagining them as birds. It occurred to Bernard that maybe his aunt’s message wasn’t for him but for his father, her brother, and he failed in his task that day to pick up the phone and tell his dad that he should give his sister a call.

After hearing this story from Bernard, I teased him. “Hey! Did all this really happen?” He thought for a while and said, “I suppose this story is a mixture of truth and fiction. The part I can’t forget, and the part you probably found unbelievable, is the part that actually happened. The rest, the parts you probably found believable enough, are the parts I can’t remember so well. It is as close to the truth as I know but telling the full truth about anything is thankfully impossible and unnecessary.”


Linked to Sue Vincent’s Flight #writephoto.
Photo provided by Sue Vincent for the prompt.

Sue Vincent's #writephoto icon
Sue Vincent’s #writephoto icon

July Challenge and Alien Artifacts

Jillys2016 offered a July Challenge for collaborative poetry.  One poet writes the first half of a poem and then another poet finishes it.  My four line poem “Home Tour” may be used for this challenge.  Pretend it is supposed to be an eight line poem and write the second half.

Here I try to complete Charley’s first half.  Charley’s part is in bold red.  It is a quadrille, a poem of 44 words.  He provided the first 22 words.  I have to add the next 22 words of the poem.


The bird broke
my concentration
when he pecked
the door.

“Anatomy of Melancholy”
from my fingers fell.

Closed, it hit the floor.

The bird came in.
He said, “Lenore.”

I said, “What?”

“Nevermore.”

“Never mind?”

“Anymore.”

I boot¹ the bird
and shut the door.


¹Some may argue that what I should have written is “I shoot the bird”, because it sounds better and that is what they would have done, but I will refrain from comment.

Photo: “Ever Growing” by the author linked to K’lee and Dale‘s Cosmic Photo Challenge on the topic of alien artifacts. I am hoping the pots will serve as alien artifacts where we are the invaders and plants are seeing if they can make use of our advanced technology.

Home Tour

Let us climb these well worn stairs,
Light above and peace throughout.
Heart tells mind, “Don’t worry here.
Love will show us all about.”


Linked to dVerse Open Link Night hosted by Björn.
Photo: “Going Up” by the author. Linked to jasenphoto’s Tuesday Photo Challenge where the prompt is “steps”.
I am also linking this to Jill Lyman’s July Challenge. Consider this an eight line poem of which I’ve written only the first four lines.

I’m exploring medieval lyrics.  I think the above might be called “trova romantica” with form and style related to the troubadours.  I’m trying to use the Portuguese Redondilha maior meter, a seven syllable line with the last syllable accented, but I might be missing something.


Announcement

The Spring issue (Vol 97, No 2) of The Lyric Magazine, “the oldest magazine in North America devoted to traditional poetry”, arrived in the mail.  It contains my poem, “Chutes and Ladders”.  I am grateful to the editor, Jean Mellichamp Milliken, for selecting it.