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Wednesday, October 21, 2015

Blue Sky in a Child's eye.....

Lying on my back, the cool, damp of green grasses caresses my skin.
When the wind blows, there is a rustle and a tickle.
I smell the sun. I share my sky,
In my dreams it is always with you.
Blue Sky in a Child's eye

Each cloud aggregates, mutates and disintegrates,
Bunnies, birds and dinosaurs evolve
into new species of imagination,
A cladogenesis of new characters and emotions.
Blue sky in a child's eye.

I wonder where you are and if your sky reveals the same sights,
The air, like sounds
And if the sun smells the same.
Does the grass tickle you too, when the wind blows?
Butterflies and dandelions drift as plankton in the air.
Blue Sky in a Child’s eye.

(I miss you)  PRP  (from "Cross my Heart  2011)

Monday, October 19, 2015

LITTLE WHITE LIES   (prp  2002)

You traded me for a white line I could not cross,
It seemed no loss
When breathing deep,
eluding sleep.

Although, unplanned,
the line was drawn here where I stand
A line longer than your love, wider than the sea
Dividing you farther and farther from me.

Wide awake? 
What was at stake for those open eyes that were no longer sleeping?
The deed stronger than your will
Consumes all you dream of still.
Was the barter made
one worthy of the keeping?

"Little White Lies" addresses a topic no one wants to "own".  Yet, everyone of us have been touched...sometimes SLAPPED by drug abuse.  We have lost loved ones, friends...made choices that destroyed our own pathways...burned bridges...ended relationships.  This poem explains the viewpoint of "collateral damage" those whose heart was broken by the choices of someone they loved.  An ultimatum was made.  Yet, both stood their ground.  The End.  Give this some thought.  Share it with someone who is choosing to draw that white line ....or is denying its existence with a little "white Lies".... prp

Friday, October 9, 2015

Albuquerque You... or What a wild ride

I do not have a poem, nor have I ever written a poem that is truly finished... Like the beautiful, creative, amazingly witty, down right funny Dorothy Parker said... "Time doth flit... Oh Shit!"...True Dat!.... so... as it flits... I get busy (or bored) and put a project down to be forgotten... sometimes... well .... Lets be honest ...sometimes it's years.  This poem began it's journey back in 2012 and I finished it today. It began like this.

"The hot dry wind whistled a soft whisper in his ear
whirling and unwinding a tiny wisp                                                                                                                   of unkempt sandy  hair.                                                                                                                                      He never felt it light upon his cheek.                                                                                                              Skin and hair fade into shade completing amber desert light
 How I longed to be the whisper in his ear all through the night."

This poem is a true story... accurate... (across the US in an husband was born in Albuquerque so we headed through there)  but it is not quite complete nor by any means the whole story... Do I believe all poems have to rhyme? ...of course not... my top two faves in the world.... "Echo" by Christina Rosseti and "The Storm" by Rod McKuen... don't rhyme... They are painted on a canvas with words...
So... a couple of years after penning the prose above... I pick up the computer looking for a quote from my one of my own poems...(I just don't understand why people think I can remember ALL of my poems, especially when I start them like that and they end up like this....) AND I stumbled upon this skeleton and decided to flesh it out a bit.  So I ended with this....
Every written thought is a journey to a crossroad.

Albuquerque You

Hot and dry, the desert whistled whispers in twilight
As tiny spheres scattered the sky ….to herald one more night.

Whirling and unwinding tiny wisps of sandy hair
Spiraled softly to his cheek and gently landed there.

He never felt it spiral, nor light upon his cheek

And a gust of wind stole way my breath, and I was fail  to speak 

Skin and hair fade into shade completing amber light

It was my heart of  whispers urging how to end the night.

The moon bore Pinion shadows in a cactus blossom sky

I savored their reflection in his Albuquerque eye.

He never felt it spiral, nor light upon his cheek

lips of sand and cactus hands  held all one needs to speak.

Oh and by the way...I first wrote  "Mesquite"....then my husband said (after I threatened to tie him to a chair and wallop him with a broom if he didn't listen)..... Pambo? Wouldn't "Pinion" a better choice.... I agreed and changed it again!