Showing posts from December, 2014

Bird Seed--Twitter Poems

Tweetspeak Poetry, the fullsome webspace curated by the gifted LL Barkat, was borne out of Twitter poems, concise lines of poetry confined to 140 spaces.  I only attempted this beginning last Spring and finished my last poem in the Fall.  Many of these lines are responses to photo prompts ('Starry Night' and so on), others just me trying to wrap words around my life. It's way too much fun--you should try it. ~~~~~~ Apr 29 Jump rope skipping wide door open fragrance wafting blue sky calling children laughing Spring kinda day.
Apr 21 (After Easter) The day is empty tomb new wide open and blazing white with possibilities.
Apr 14 Here's to all the women walking busward bags in hand, kids in care, hard work and hope on the horizon.
Apr 1 Grey girders gash against the crowded sky, filling my birds eye blue view with dollar signs on a horizon of diminishing returns.
Mar 26 Spring...death come to life, beauty buried in bark against a blue sky, dreaming of green
March 23rd Trapped in educatione…

What the Birds Say-A Winter Poem

You could say
(and you would be correct)
the mottled, colorless sky
leaves one bereft of brightness
this time of year.
You could say (see above)
the empty, lifeless branches
are dull, dormant gray/brown
slender swords against
said mottled sky.
You could say
(well, you know) 
there's little beauty 
in such poor adornment,
small pleasure in the drab and drear view.

On the other hand, consider~
this backdrop reveals the birds best,
awakens ones eyes to their
blazing joy
as they dive into their days
zooming messages across the sky
and voicing these words
with their flying song,
"Faithful, faithful, faithful."
I'm beginning to think Winter is my favorite season as I watch the birds.  Merry Christmas!

Show and Tell

Write the world a story
--one of your very own--
with a beginning like no other.
Paint a picture only
you can paint
with brushes dipped in days
and nights of  liquid life
when it pools and puddles.
Illustrate the middle and 
tell us how it is,
with all the color, the light,
the dark and all the in between.
Catch the drips and let them dry,
make the most of the mistakes.
The last of the story is yet to come,
awaiting a frame
and at last the view 
as we step back and behold 
the work of art
that is your life and The Artist's
signature which says,
'The End'.

This poem was inspired by a note on my daughter's refrigerator which I snapped during our recent 11 hour painting marathon at her house.