The Poetry Marathon

(Response to Gigan challenge)

Summer swelters beyond my exhausted window

hot inside air pulled outside where it belongs.

I’m comfortable here at my computer –

a cool cat writing poetry,

sporting a beret back in a 1950s café.

When I was nine to thirteen, I loved Maynard G. Krebs,

the Beatnik poet on Dobie Gillis.

He broke all the rules my parents lived by –

the ones I knew I dare not break.

Strange the memories that surface while

summer swelters beyond my exhausted window?

When I was nine to thirteen, I loved Maynard G. Krebs,

at fifteen had a crush on a poet friend in high school,

discovered I was bound by societal rules of engagement.

Then, at eighteen, I broke the rules, got pregnant, had an illegal abortion –

a decision many of our American sisters may have to make again.

Based on the photo prompt

There’s no greater pleasure

than time spent with you

your arm wrapped around me

as we take in a view.

The warmth of your body,

pressed close to my side,

shows all around us

a love we won’t hide.

The touch of your hand

makes me tingle inside;

I’m a woman in love

my heart true and tried.

Please keep on sharing

your views of this life,

for working together

we can live free from strife.

I fall into a swoon

at the sight of the moon

like a romantic tune

or the call of a loon.

Though singers will croon

about love coming soon

of the Strawberry moon

appearing in June,

at night I cocoon

at home in my woon

and commune with the moon

my life to attune.

Woon definition – domicile, residence, home, abode (place of living) residence.

IMAGE: Muskoka Moonlight copyright Wendie Donabie

Pick 5 words from the list in the prompt:

space,  wine glass,  pavement,  sunflower,  oak

In the space,

between the pavement

and the bomb-levelled home,

the oak tree clung to life,

its limbs splintered

by shrapnel.

Beside it a solitary sunflower

its face bent in sorrow

looked down at a wine glass,

shattered.

Nature grieves for us,

yet hopes

for an end to war.

IMAGE: Sunflower copyright Wendie Donabie

(inspired by the photo prompt)

I wandered one day in the forest,

feeling as if I was led,

when I heard what sounded like music

from a piano somewhere up ahead.

I followed the strains of the melody

drawing me deeper into the wood.

The song strangely haunting, familiar –

inspired by evil or good?

The trees seemed to gather around me,

the path I had trod turned to sand

when there in a clearing before me

stood a decrepit, upright grand.

How had this tired old fellow

come to this desolate glade

his torso filled with dry, brown leaves

his keys no longer played?

I felt a presence answer me

as I cautiously lingered there,

“I’ve called you to be with me

I’m the love you’ve sought elsewhere.”

A chill ran through my body

when I heard the specter speak.

I turned to run away from there,

my lungs let out a shriek.

I raced out of the forest

escaping from that hell,

I still could hear the music

coming from the haunted shell.

I look back on that frightful day

and question, was it real,

as I sit here with my lover

tickling ivories with zeal.

There’s a beautiful rhythm to our lives,

an easy ebb and flow

like a pair of mellow cellos

playing on our heartstrings

We sway and bend like willows,

stand firm and strong like oaks,

coo and neck like doves,

to the music we compose.

When apart, our rhythm broken,

we long for one another.

Our duet performance

more melodic than any solo.

A Glösa created the first stanza of Frost’s poem

I’m headed out into the snow

A moonless night, as home I go.

Firs and pines all laden white;

whose woods these are, I think I know.

I muse this land belongs to Joe –

a man I’ve never cared to know.

He’s never seen from year to year.

His house is in the village though.

Alone at night, I have no fear

that he might suddenly appear.

He’ll be abed in his home, so

he will not see me stopping here.

I’ll linger midst what trees here grow,

as feathery flakes blow to and fro.

He’ll never know I paused tonight

to watch his woods fill up with snow.

I envy you, water lily

quietly floating along the shallow shore.

Your pearly white petals open

to welcome the day,

sunlight bursting forth

from your golden heart.

Like hands raised in varada mudra

you spread kindness

emanating the peace

I so desperately seek.

Painting: Waterlilies painted on canoe paddle, Copyright Wendie Donabie

12 poems in 12 hours, here I come!  Excited to be participating again this year.

Good luck everyone and have fun!

Rock, Paper, Scissors

(Inspired by my painting, ROCK, PAPER, SCISSORS)

They challenged us.

Rock, Paper, Scissors, a game of competition,

create a painting with this theme.

Being one who dislikes competition

and the oft arising conflict,

I determined a way

to unify these disparate parts.

Scissors formed trees.

Stones became rocks.

Paper created ground texture

and paint detailed and unified the whole

Are we capable of re-writing our conflicts in this way?

Can love and acceptance provide the paint

and our actions be the brushes

to unify us,

to bring all people together?