yellow swallowtail
yellow swallowtail
jigs from blossom to blossom—
nature’s riverdance
Hour 11: Nature’s Song
Come join with words,
Make melody.
Come now and sing,
Heartfully free.
Bind me to friends,
And family
Bring me to life
By natures breeze.
Come rivers small,
Come mountain glee,
Clap thunder clouds,
Sing all with me
Mountains
Rivers,
Oceans
And trees,
Join in the chorus,
Make melody.
Fountains,
Song birds,
Raptors,
And bees,
Join in the chorus,
Make melody.
Rushing water,
Wind in the trees,
Children’s laughter
Come sing with me.
Crickets,
Frog croaks,
Rain drops,
Sea waves,
Make melody.
Come sing along,
Make melody.
Giggledy Jig
When we hung the babies from the door jamb,
Perched in a canvas seat, their turkey drum sticks
With plump sticky toes decorating the bone, leapt,
Pushed off the Pledge-polished wood floors, with the
Strength of an Olympic dead broad jumper in flight.
There, they’d pop up and down, jolly as Irish jiggers,
Songs I often clapped in time to their rhythmic throes.
And so, when I hear fiddle and penny whistle squares,
Baroque hints of ornate mantles and powdered wigs
And gardened promenading intrigue, I see red waddles.
Not the terraced, mossy ridges or jutting rocks on plains,
Not the low clouds, cushioning the sky for its safe landing,
Heavy with burden, nor Shetland sheep grazing meadows,
No, not the smell of salt and sea, as the swallows return,
But the scent of talcum and apples, the toothless grins
Of guileless giddy girls in flight, the heart of a giggled jig.
Six-Word Memoir Poem
Woke up, fell down, exited sideways.
A new memoir every five years.
My second grade teacher was right.
Rather sing than stay to chat.
Someone had to pay the bills.
Didn’t fit in then, still don’t.
I love my lady…and bacon.
Buried gold long ago, can’t find.
Later-life serendity led to Authorland.
A man, a plan, hot damn.
* Found poem. Randomly grabbed a book from my shelf, opened it, and found a jewel. 🙂
Living Color
Living Color
Which color will you choose to paint your bathroom?
Harbor gray? Egg-shell white? Paled turquoise?
Is its color so important?
What color is your skin?
Ghost white? Baby powder? Linen?
Is its color so important?
What about her skin?
Amber? Beaver? Buff?
Is its color so important?
What about your soul? What color is it?
Teal? Chartreuse? Amethyst?
Is its color so important?
When is color so important?
When you can choose it?
Or when you cannot?
Teases Me
The golden goal teases me from a-far
Taunting me like tower upon wispy mar
Holding light high I wade through muck
Better to rely on sweat than blind luck
Country Girl
Blue eyes, red lips and that yellow sundress
she stares back across the table
like a goddess of dawn
Prompt #11 (Inspired by Swallowtail Jig j.r.m©)
There she stood
in the middle of the maze.
The maze was the rhythm
on and on
it commanded
threatening to conquer
my feet surrendered.
Every other sound took to backstage
it was as if the violin took the center stage.
Frolicking in the grassy fields of
Scottish air.
Running hands through the
dewy blades of grass.
The rhythm curled up
my tongue smitten
to its charm
every chord rolled off
so smoothly like butter…
my dreams took to a different place.
The rhythm is infectious
its ways are contagious
twisted monotonous
hypnotic beckoning of celebration
oh! you sound sweet.
My feet are barely catching up.
-j.r.m©
Spiderman
Spiderman
web crawl
data crawl
search
search
search
never stop
be the robot
locate
index
browse
A Place Where
A Place Where
I often reminisce about my red-brick row home
on pencil-thin Sylvester Street where there still is
a nearby concrete alley where all the
neighborhood children used to gather, a place
of seemingly-infinite security where
we played in peace few of us fully appreciated when
we were young, a place in time I am sure you
would like, a place where even today you’d have
fun playing catch while listening to
rock n’ roll music on the radio. I go
there annually to relive my past. One year, there
were some childhood friends I met there. They
shared their fond memories with me. Have
you such a place in your past, a place to
return to when you need to wax nostalgic? Take
mental inventory of the places you
lived as a child, places where you knew you fit in.