Swing In A Tree: 2011-03-13

Saturday, March 19, 2011

"An Ending Begins"

Standing on the edge looking back—

So many decisions gone wrong

So many decisions proved right

No way of tracing patterns

The child longs for easier ways—

Rainbows, buttercups under the chin

Seeking security

Returning to the womb

Standing on the edge looking ahead—

So many unknowns

So many possibilities

No way of seeing patterns

The youth longs for challenge—

First love, free falling from the sky

Embracing life

Escaping tight bondage

Standing on the edge looking inward—

So many “what ifs”

So many “if onlys”

No way of changing patterns

The elder dreams on of new beginnings

Second chances, another step into sunshine

Gathering warmth

Longing to be young again

Thursday, March 17, 2011

"The Stream"

The stream of people flowed

in and out of museums

up and down hundreds of marbled steps

Laughing loudly,

children dashing around the Mall

Vendors with ice cones,

lemonade, chips and pretzels

We flowed with the stream

hot and tired

from walking all day

Our voices rose on the summer’s breeze

happy, vibrant, alive

Then we came to The Wall

with mirrored surface

and name after name after name

after name

The stream slowed

it ebbed

Voices hushed to soft whispers

butterfly touches

caressing the carved names

We stood,

fingers woven together

searching through our reflected images

for another reflection

The stream stopped

losing its motion

it shimmered in the silent

deep pools

Our heads bowed

we sighed

Our breath caused motion

and the stream trickled

onward

slowly

It flowed past the wall

and spilled onto a

grassy area

where past and present

water the future

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

When the day’s troubles weigh me down, Ireland calls to me. I hear the lilt of her voice over the drudgery of my days. In a second, I time travel back to Dublin’s streets where we dodge cars and raindrops in pursuit of museums and castles, where I hear the wild tales of Viking conquerors. I’m stretched out on cool sheets, with windows thrown open to the soft laughter of children in a park, dreaming of a magical past. I’m sleeping in the castle where Bram Stoker once lived. And I’m writing a novel in my head.

In Trim, we experience the arms-wide-open hospitality of our hosts, and the loveliness of long idle walks through the ancient cemetery. We skirt around the River Boyne’s treasures. The ancient burial mounds gentled by time, pique my creativity. Another poem, another story, another world to create. Newgrange and Tara, passages into my own imagination. From the parapets of ancient Trim Castle, I view rolling hills dressed in a patchwork of green. Clamoring down the steep circular stairs, I become the servant or the soldier. On another day, from the mist, steps a Frenchman with the key to another adventure. And we enter Ireland’s womb, hear her heartbeat, embrace her warmth as she shelters us from autumn’s cold tears. Over hot tea, we chat with locals before walking through gardens filled with ageless yews. The rain pats softly, now, against our umbrellas.

Our travels take us on, toward the coast and the music of Doolin. Mingled with voices, fiddles, and guitars comes the murmur of the Atlantic. Her song blends with bird and man in perfect harmony. On the Burren, we scramble across rock, zigzag along the coast, and stand on the edge of the world. With ocean spray slapping our faces, we cross over to Aran Island, spending our day in a buggy, our horse on his last trip before retirement, our driver born to this island of rock wall and small pastures. With pride, he introduces us to his dog, and takes us by his cottage before leaving us at the pub. Our “ride” home takes us to the Cliffs of Moher, where my heart aches over the beauty. Our nights fill with food, drink, and song from the local pubs. Our mornings with bright breakfast talk from others who want Ireland as their mistress, too.

"Questions Without Answers"

Questions without answers

Echo lazily through my mind

Wondering what I’m after

Wondering what I’ll find

Searching like Odysseus

Through the oceans of my life

Wondering where I’m going

Wondering about my strife

Questions without answers

Echo lazily through my mind

Wondering what I’m after

Wondering what I’ll find

Touching upon land

Finding ground and sky above

Wondering if it’s forever

Wondering if it’s love

Questions without answers

Echo lazily through my mind

Wondering what I’m after

Wondering what I’ll find

Reaching all the solutions

By sharing what is real

Wondering about answer

Wonder at what I feel

Questions without answers

Echo lazily through my mind

Wondering what I’m after

Wondering what I’ll find

Rhyme, rhythm (or meter) gave many of my 7th and 8th grade students problems. They'd often get a rhyme scheme down, but understanding the importance of having a steady "beat" wasn't easy for them. I wrote this simple poem to help them with both. Althought a little obvious, for budding writers having an obvious model proves the best help.

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

"Greedy Little Men"

Greedy Little Men

Like slithering serpents in the Garden of Eden

twisting the world with their lines

constricting around our minds

sucking us dry of laughter, warmth, desire, love

biting with the sharpened fangs of need

poisoning the world with their avarice

Greedy Little Men

The more things change, the more they stay the same. This poem, written in response to the political climate fourteen years ago, still applies to today's world.

"Goblin" by David Chapman

pencil/Photoshop

Monday, March 14, 2011

"Silhouette"

reflecting on glossy screen

delving into the mirrored universe

holding onto reality through voyeurism

crawling through a web in search of just-the-right-word

looking through the window-or

stepping through the doorway

choosing motion over inertia

fearing stillness’s unbearable pain

losing myself within eternal bytes

entrapping my soul within the glass

Sunday, March 13, 2011

"News"

Beyond tears

Voices silenced by shock

Waves of disbelief

Tumble over and over

Beyond belief

Words echo uselessly

Sorry, so sorry

Murmured over and over

Beyond comprehension

Minds shutting down

Help—hold on

Whispered over and over