Monday Poetry Post

I derailed from the poetry train a long time ago, so instead of trying to board it again, I’ll just do an occasional Monday poetry post.  Today’s is courtesy of the weather.

Rain clatters on tin roofs,
puddling in the front yard.
Dogs hide under beds.

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Happy Memorial Day

I hope you all are having a wonderful holiday with your family and friends.  I’m taking today off from a regular post (Monday Poetry Train) since I don’t feel like I have anything suitable for this day.

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Sorry

I tried to get the Monday Poetry Train post up last night, but for some reason, WordPress wasn’t working with me. Instead of trying to do it today when I’m snowed under with day-job stuff, I’ll just wait until next week and hopefully have it worked out then.

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Monday Poetry Train

Paris, April 1998

“Pardonnez-moi, monsieur,” I say.
We’re in France and lost our way.
He nods and smiles.  “Just continue.”
There we see it: Our lost venue.

Somber umbrellas block the rain.
We walk on, our joy plain.
Napoleon is buried where?
L’Hotel des Invalides, over there.

At Notre Dame, gargoyles
Climb the spire; clouds roil
Overhead, turning dark.
Nothing spoils our spring lark.

We don’t rest.  On the move,
Our next stop: The Louvre.
The Venus de Milo
And the Mona Lisa smiles so.

We have only eight days.
Walking along the Champs Elysees,
We see beggars poised as statues
Displaying human virtues.

Whirlwind of time goes fast.
Before we know it, it’s all past.
When we’re in the plane, in the air,
We know we’ll go again and don’t despair.

——–

(Take a ride on Rhian’s Poetry Train, no reservation required.)

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Monday Poetry Train

(No title yet.) 

Anxiety –
Sharp as knives –
Stabbing my heart and lungs…

Breathe.

(Take a ride on Rhian’s Poetry Train.  No reservation required.)

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Monday Poetry Train

Here’s another partial poem.  It’s the first canto of a 3 canto poem.

PAST LIVES

1. Priestess:

Daughter of Brighid,
Keeper of the Eternal Flame,
invoking the muse
in obeisance to Her.
Reading fortunes,
minding the house,
student of herbs and health
healing with words and writing
as opportunity comes.
Provider of creativity,
She assists my writing,
or not, as She sees fit.

High holy days
celebrated universally,
though not all know it.
Imbolc, Beltaine, Lughnasdah, Samhain, Yule.
The Wheel of the Year
keeps turning.
Where will we be next year?
Or tomorrow?
Why tempt the fates
with questions such as these?
Trouble arrives fast enough
without adding to it.

Guide to the lay people,
I meditate on how to lead.
Renewing my connection with the Earth,
I vow never to be lead astray again,
striving only to be true to myself.
This Daughter of Brighid
removes her mask she has shown the world.
For far too long
aiming to be the good girl,
to be what is expected by her family
I cast my own cards,
calling myself a priestess.

And the cycle continues:
Birth. Life. Death.

(Take a ride on Rhian’s poetry train, no reservation required.)

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Monday Poetry Train

This is a snippet/partial poem that I don’t have any further plans on for now.

Beauty shop chatter
revlves around
changing lives
and politics.
Beauticians act
as sympathetic
bartenders do
for men slamming
back brewskies
too late at night.

Take a ride on Rhian’s Monday Poetry Train.  No reservation required.

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Monday Poetry Train

This one has been one of my personal favorites.  I don’t know why.  It just is. 

 

Bonfire

Fire faeries
pirouette on flaming logs,
spin underneath wood,
play in the embers.
Groups of five and six
spark off,
fly into the night sky.

Bonfires
crackling, popping,
giving ample
playground to the fire faeries,
sparking with their joy,
their unique magic,
playing amid the flames.

(Take a ride on Rhian’s Poetry Train, no reservation required.)

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Monday Poetry Train

When it comes to holidays and crunch time, I forget about the Monday Poetry Train.  Sorry this particular car has been derailed for a while.

Let’s see what’s waiting in the vault….

An oldie, but (maybe?) a goodie.

FINANCE DANCE

Abe Lincoln
wants to two-step.
Sally Mae
wants to waltz.
Visa comes in
trying to tango.
But rent overwhelms
them all with the twist.

Money talks.
Money dances.
Debt cries.
Debt prances.
Loan struts in,
The be-all end-all cure
for my financial sin.

(Take a ride on Rhian’s Poetry Train.  No reservation required.)

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Monday Poetry Train

Woo-hoo!  The Poetry Train didn’t get derailed this week. 

This one is relatively recent.  I think it’s from May this year.

Cacophony

Calls of the birds
All around the cabin
Claim my auditory
Orifices, no longer
Permitting me to sleep
However much I prefer it.
One in particular consistently
Nags me to wake up even though I
Yearn the cacophony to silence.

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