900 Followers…Welcome Little Literature

https://wordpress.com/read/blogs/149381873

I’ve been looking for my #900 Follower.    The honors go to  littleliteraturekc.    I don’t know anything else about this person except that they write great poetry!     Have a peek, its like popcorn reading this collection,—ya can’t stop at just one.

 

 

 

 

Farewell the Muse

… and yet again with an oldie from “back in the day.”

SOMETIMES

I’ll never write another word
–ever– I think, maybe a bit longer.

The Muse has left me, alone and mute
singing quietly inside…but it isn’t writing
not bringing forth words of rhyme
or golden thoughts or phrases that soar
with the uplifting quality that speaks of fulfillment
of the annunciation of the soul
(if that is even the right word.)

What does that mean?   My Muse does not respond.
Silence echoes across the lines, across the fields,
rich and full, and absence of sensation…or character.
There is no solution, no evolution…no rhythmic flow
of syllables, or stanzas, flights of fancy…
clever ways to express a notion
…or just to form  a simple phrase–
no silver tinged sunsets,
no tales from the depths of despair…
no soaring ecstasy of the bliss of a kiss.
Words which once were at the edges of my
repertoire –within easy reach of the empty…

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New Title…update on post about assonance poems…examples from poets like Edgar Allen Poe (re-blogged from yourdictionary.com )

http://examples.yourdictionary.com/examples-of-assonance-poems.html

 

Yesterday’s post reminded me of how much I enjoyed the poetry classes I and about a thousand other bloggers participated in last year.   The classes were so popular they had to shut enrollment down…I think.    The moderators presented us with some really obscure, to me anyway, terms and forms of poetry.    I dimly remember poetry classes in school back in the dark ages, the days of my lightheadedness and depth of my soul combined to write really bad poems about lust and love and despair at ever experiencing either.

Having re-read my favorite nonsense poem about the anteater and the eel, my contribution to the assignment for the day, which was Assonance.    Reading the poem again I realized that I had no clue as to exactly what assonance was, so I googled it.  The link that came up is just marvelous…and made me SO jealous of the famous zealots that wrote and wrote their hearts out back in their day.

One word of guidance…poetry that rhymes and/or possesses a metric cadence just cries out to be read out loud, line by line, not mumbled silently and skimmed for meaning.

I belabor the obvious here, again, and state that I am not a poet.    I respect poetry, I do, and although I understand the agony of who are dead serious about writing and rhyming.   For me the main rule is that any piece of writing, poetry or novel, song or joke…needs to have meaning.

A bit of toe-tapping helps get in the mood.    Jumping rope always sets the pace too…   “Dan and Susie sittin’ in a tree, k.i.s.s.i.n.g….”    sorry, I wasn’t well enough coordinated to jump rope effectively.

http://examples.yourdictionary.com/examples-of-assonance-poems.html

[This is a good article, and fun to read…even for those who don’t give a fig about what assonance means.]

Direct Line…reblogging myself again

Here is another of my early poems from back in the day (Oct. 2015 in this case…
Redundancy intended.)

Direct Line

The Moon, far away as it is bright
dims the brighter light of the stars
My eye sight follows the path of that light
passing the light-years between

Knowing full well the facts of the Moonlight
reflecting the light of the Sun,
it nevertheless leads me to imagine
that the Moon makes its own light from within.

Even if Galileo himself, who charted the Sun,
were to explain with patience and tact
I still would ignore him and blissfully say:
“Please don’t confuse me with facts.”

©Sometimes, 2015

Stranger than Fiction: again

This is one of my personal favorite assignments from writing class last year…in response to rules that the work be a limerick and contain certain other attributes of writing poetry.    I had great fun writing it—

THE DONALD’S MARCH TO INFAMY

There once was a boy named Donald
Who wanted to be rich, and grow up to be President
ha ha! said the people as he started to
stump
but he knew what he was doing and had all the cards he needed to
trump,
and win the game
opponents screamed like angry cat matrons
and picked on his hair and his noisy patrons
but Donald just said they should “lump it!”

“You haven’t a chance, you’re not one of us,” they wailed
“is that so?” said Donald as he placed a standing order for tea and crumpets
to serve to his fans to keep them from starving on the campaign trail
His crowd of the faithful grew and grew
’til they filled the land
so they bought him a very big trumpet.

© Sometimes, 2015

Why are we here? Why do we Blog?

 

Why Blog?

All it takes to write in a Blog
Is a Writer who is a Blogger
and a Reader who reads Blogs.

If someone is reading that Blog
–even if the blog is about nothing–
then all the components are there:

the Blogger blogs,
and the Reader reads.
And IF he is reading,
and she is blogging,
then there is a connection…
a piece of her mind
–for good or for bad–
is read and ingested
and taken to heart

.So what if the Post is about Nothing?

If its being read… someone is interested,
this is obvious right from the start.
The Key to blogging may be
not so much clever phrases
or figures of speech
as simply a communication.

So, if a blog is about Something
then it can’t be about Nothing.

What does that all mean?

If one is blogging…
well, they are blogging.
and if Reading?
Thank you for reading along!

©Sometimes, 2015

Welcome 2018! Pondering resolutions for the New Year…

 

ONE resolution: this year SOMETIMES (THE BLOG) will return to the my Top, #1, Main Pursuit…..every day.

Last year, 2017, was not my best year for writing and working on my blog.    Current events interfered with my goal, which was to put writing with a capital W at the top of my “things to do list.”      Oh sure, my postings were more or less regular, but heavy on the Re-blogs borrowed from other bloggers.

Also, over the year 2017  I posted a lot of my own posts from past years, and many photos gleaned from my hobby of photography, dear to my heart and fairly popular with followers.     The pursuit of bright flowers and trees, and the odd-ball occasional photo that inspired and illustrated the blog entries.       And Poetry…a newfound love thanks to WordPress courses which brought quite a number of acquaintances and blog-friends in trading our poetic masterpieces.    It was in these groups that I found the joys of writing Haiku, and other fancy poetic forms, and my favorite– “free-form” poetry.

So I pledge to follow my true love of writing into the Y2018.    Instead of whining and thinking up reasons why I can’t write, I will just DO it.     Just sit down and write.    Also, I spend a lot of time writing in notebooks….and on envelopes, scraps of newspaper, any handy source for writing on.

I’m already a day late with the “every day” pledge.   My post featuring Marilyn Monroe and Ella Fitzgerald…singing “Tropical Heatwave” should go a ways to redeem my lagging sagging New Year Resolutions.

So… see ya all on the blogosphere.   How’s that for “trite?”   🙂

 

Betrayal in Utah—a Sad Poem

Bears Ears—Listening in Pain

Sacred are the lands once protected
by more honorable men…
betrayal stings by smiling lies

Navaho gods are weeping,
for the fork-tongued leader
has betrayed their hearts

Let thunder crash as the deed
becomes known in shameful terms—
greed and deceit are the law of the land

Drums echo in the desert valleys,
vibrating the monuments of the ages
now damp with tears of the betrayed.

As the horrors and heartbreak meet
where arrows once flew…perhaps again?
Fate twists the work of Evil… to wreak revenge.

©Sometimes, 2017

 

The Art of Flirting, a Wordle from MLMM

It’s been awhile since I published one of my Wordle attempts.   MindLoveMiseryMenagerie regularly presents these Word-puzzles, in which a list of words is provided, to be crafted into a poem or other form of writing.     This Wordle is    #157.  (*see word list below.)

The Art of Flirting

We have reached a stalemate…you and I
in our playhouse of make-believe,
avoiding muse-thieves in cahoots vis-à-vis
in competition for cleverness … a turn of a phrase.

I bite my tongue in affected semaphorism
… a flicker of eyelashes with a knowing smile,
a hint of a shared secret, imaginary  interlude
“remember the willows…?” a tentative glance…

To know or not to know becomes the quest
we wonder: are we on the same page?
Do we deserve to solve the paradox
of saying nothing…while expressing it all?

©Sometimes, 2017

*Word list: bite, smooth, open, deserve, paradox, semaphorism, stalemate, tension, playhouse, Neptune, thieves.   (I was unable to work in two of the words: Neptune and tension, but did manage to incorporate the prerequisite ten words—including Semaphorism — a conversational hint of something personal to say; a half-told anecdote; one of those comments we slip into an otherwise unconnected conversation, such as an aside which has no apparent meaning other than between two specific people; a private joke.

 

 

 

desert echoes

            Echoes

hark! hear the rumble
across the desert;
my soul remembers

the great movement of stones
and great boulders
and simmering sand

mighty Saguaros loom
above tiny desert creatures,
gifting water and sun shade

a death rattle threatens
beware!  … fangs at the ready
— find another way

my soul remembers
from layers deep within
the baking sun at mid-day.

foot-prints soon cover
with impressionable sand…
but the desert remembers me

©Sometimes, 2017

 

blessing for voters, a Wordle

Bless the blue and the red
those who tirelessly stump for votes
among the hopeful and hopeless
grabbing at sticks and straws
as they burn bridges behind them
and always conceal how they ran the race
the votes they cast—win or lose—
behind the locked curtain.

©Sometimes, 2017

Wordle #273, November 11, 2016 … by MindLoveMisery

the words:   blue, burn, lose, race, red, lock, grab, bless, stump, vote, conceal, stick.

now…and again, in verse

DSC09451

Fall encroaches on Summer
not an ending
… a new season dawns.

© Sometimes, 2017

DSC09952.JPG QUEEN ANNE

Fall gently nudges
as Summer takes a bow
opening a new show in town.

© Sometimes, 2017

VERY GOOD DANDELION CLOSE

the culmination of flowers
not faded…but making room
for the next generation

© Sometimes, 2017

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Beginnings, a poem re-blogged from Paul F. Lenzi’s poseypluspolemics

 

One of my favorite poets, Paul F. Lenzi, of poesypluspolemics blog, included the Reblog button with his fascinating and most inspiring works of sheer genius of words…no need to ask me twice.  🙂  The Hubble Telescope shot is also breathtaking. Thanks Paul.

Poesy plus Polemics

pillars “Pillars of Creation” – Photo by Hubble Telescope

Secrets of creation hide deep in conflation
Of science with faith, of corpus with wraith,
Discrete bits of essence, immune from senescence,
That mark each warm creature, or cold lifeless feature,
Of all the known world, plus those unknown, thus hurled
Through vastness of space, push-pulled in their chase
By grave forces, unseen, save by eyes utmost keen
As detectors of naught, who find nothingness caught
By the physics of sleight, in mathematical light,
Racing outward, away from a focal array,
From a radiant heart that outburst apart
With the first stroke of time, Divine in its prime.

Before that release, all was soundless still peace,
When all matter, all dust, was consigned to the trust
Of that heart, then mere speck, the one salient check
Against stark eternity, charged with modernity,
Then, slowly it swelled, its inertia unquelled,
Now a tumescent…

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A poem by Australian poet Dorothea Mackellar

Here is a lovely, lovely poem recommended to me in response to my chatting about the Pershing at the Front poem which I published a couple of days ago here on Sometimes.     My new blogger friend, ACFlory mentioned her own favorite poem…with which I was not familiar (which isn’t unusual, I’m no expert on poetry or poets.)   I googled the title, and located this charming site dedicated to the Australian poet Dorothea Mackellar.

My own roots, some of them, are in Australia…thanks to my grandfather, who when he left Australia at the age of 16, he was already himself a third or fourth generation Aussie.   I never have been there, by the time I decided I wanted to go, I had no funding to finance a trip, and so missed the opportunity.

So I am posting the web site I found honoring the poet, and her poem…

https://www.poemhunter.com/poem/my-country-17/  (A reading.)

My Country

The love of field and coppice,
Of green and shaded lanes.
Of ordered woods and gardens
Is running in your veins,
Strong love of grey-blue distance
Brown streams and soft dim skies
I know but cannot share it,
My love is otherwise.

I love a sunburnt country,
A land of sweeping plains,
Of ragged mountain ranges,
Of droughts and flooding rains.
I love her far horizons,
I love her jewel-sea,
Her beauty and her terror –
The wide brown land for me!

A stark white ring-barked forest
All tragic to the moon,
The sapphire-misted mountains,
The hot gold hush of noon.
Green tangle of the brushes,
Where lithe lianas coil,
And orchids deck the tree-tops
And ferns the warm dark soil.

Core of my heart, my country!
Her pitiless blue sky,
When sick at heart, around us,
We see the cattle die –
But then the grey clouds gather,
And we can bless again
The drumming of an army,
The steady, soaking rain.

Core of my heart, my country!
Land of the Rainbow Gold,
For flood and fire and famine,
She pays us back threefold –
Over the thirsty paddocks,
Watch, after many days,
The filmy veil of greenness
That thickens as we gaze.

An opal-hearted country,
A wilful, lavish land –
All you who have not loved her,
You will not understand –
Though earth holds many splendours,
Wherever I may die,
I know to what brown country
My homing thoughts will fly.

Dorothea Mackellar

Sunday Sonnet! Re-blogged from Autumn Ambles

Thanks to friend Bushka for including the “re-blog” button. This poem is appropriate and timely now, and it is my honor to post it here on SOMETIMES for my readers!

Autumn Ambles

IMG_1962(WP)

🦋

Freedom of thought let no one disallow,
The stuff of progress, true, thereof is made;
No wholesome fruit is borne on broken bough,
Nor truth survive if censure speech forbade;
Thought with impunity precedes the word,
Utterance of which to ownership commits;
Denial, then, must surely be absurd,
Lest to hypocrisy a fool admits;
Inebriated hauteur can seduce,
A shallow-bottomed mind, to verbalise
Unconscious reservoir of vile abuse,
Which, in the end, leads to his own demise.
Uncultivated, barren, rocky field –
Much to be done afore it fruit can yield!

©Meanderings 2017

🦋

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