tag:marianv.blog.co.uk,2013-05-24:/MokoFeed2013-05-24T21:24:24+02:00tag:marianv.blog.co.uk,2013-05-19:/2013/05/19/sunday-wordle-whirl-16022954/Marianv2013-05-19T16:37:27+02:002013-05-19T16:37:27+02:00 <p>Interlude</p> <p>This is where my love and I<br> Touch and linger in the nebulous<br> Waters of today.<br> Today is all we have –<br> A vision bleak and empty<br> Hovers in the sky like a<br> Barrier opaque to all who dare<br> Disrupt the timing of the universe.</p> <p>We had joined the marchers,<br> Brave, torch-bearing<br> Leaving in their wake<br> Blazing villages, cut-throat<br> Traitors, all our enemies<br> Rotting on a slab , their<br> Bloated bodies a warning<br> No breath of treason to our cause</p> <p>How much longer can this cast<br> Of fools remain ? The enemy<br> Has tools to crush the bravest<br> Volunteer. Still we prevail<br> Our cause is justice and truth<br> Words come easy,<br> Easy enough to hide<br> The sad results of all our daring deeds.</p> <p>Words: opaque, breath, cut, timing, bleak, torch, blazing, vision.<br> touch, nebulous, hover, crush, slab </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://Marianv.blog.co.uk/2013/05/19/sunday-wordle-whirl-16022954/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p> tag:marianv.blog.co.uk,2013-05-18:/2013/05/18/poem-for-wwp-16013499/Marianv2013-05-18T21:10:24+02:002013-05-18T21:10:24+02:00 <p>From the Ground Up</p> <p>We used sharp, thin stones, pieces of wood.<br> We dug through the frozen crust of the earth<br> And found tubers, dingy and dirt covered, but<br> Ila, who was the leader of our work group and<br> A native of this land, showed us how to roast<br> These nuggets in the ashes of a fire so that<br> They grew soft and mushy and filled us with<br> Nourishment. We were able to survive<br> That winter of starvation and then the people<br> Of that land – those who had not starved<br> To death - rose up in rebellion against their<br> King. Now there was no more difference<br> Between captor and captive and we fought<br> Together for the fair allotment of the food<br> We grew .</p> <p>All of us were thin, with bones that stuck<br> Out, our breasts shrunken nd our stomachs<br> Swollen. My hair was lank and stringy and<br> I would stare into a pool of water and hate<br> The way I looked, but a young man who kept<br> Hanging around told me I was lovely. At<br> First, I thought he was crazy, then I began<br> To be anxious to see him. He popped up<br> often, usually with something to eat.</p> <p>So we nourished ourselves back to health<br> Together. His name was Etan, he came from<br> A royal family, but had been cast out . He<br> Had tried to show them where their greedy<br> Practices were leading them during that winter<br> Of starvation, and managed to escape with his<br> Life and join the rebels. He was my first<br> And only true love. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://Marianv.blog.co.uk/2013/05/18/poem-for-wwp-16013499/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p> tag:marianv.blog.co.uk,2013-05-16:/2013/05/16/poem-for-wwp-15988674/Marianv2013-05-16T02:50:52+02:002013-05-16T02:50:52+02:00 <p>When the Rain…</p> <p>In this country, they have a saying –<br> “When the rain comes, it comes to stay.”<br> And so it seems. Now I understand<br> The rush to bring the harvest into the barns.<br> Day and night, everyone, the owners<br> And the masters, the workers and even<br> The women and the children toiled<br> In the fields from the first gray opening<br> Of dawn until the moon set and took<br> Away its feeble light.</p> <p>The harvest is secure.<br> There is little rejoicing.<br> The King’s men have come and marked<br> All the choicest shares for the royal estate<br> No one knows if enough will be left<br> To feed everyone until the first harvest.</p> <p>I watched my brother leave with the party<br> Of hunters. That is my youngest brother.<br> I do not know what happened to the others.<br> Twila is still here. She plays with the other<br> Children, I can see them naked, laughing in<br> The rain. She is beginning to turn into<br> A woman. I see the old men watching her.</p> <p>I have had my first baby. I do not know<br> Where they took him, but they are pleased<br> He is a strong boy. If we ever should meet<br> Again, we will not know we are mother<br> And son. Perhaps that is best. The others<br> Have told me it is better not to think<br> About things too much. I can understand<br> That better, now that I have had a child<br> Of my own. Who I will never know.<br> And he will never learn that his birth<br> Mother is from the land of the enemy.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://Marianv.blog.co.uk/2013/05/16/poem-for-wwp-15988674/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p> tag:marianv.blog.co.uk,2013-05-14:/2013/05/14/poem-for-wwp-15974413/Marianv2013-05-14T17:36:21+02:002013-05-14T17:36:21+02:00 <p> The Great Celebration</p> <p>On the day of the great celebration<br> Ice formed in the basin where we washed our faces,<br> Everyone was too excited to care. I remember<br> Mother wrapping my leggings, She carried<br> You wrapped in her heavy shawl. Your eyes<br> Peeked out at me from beneath your hood.</p> <p>You don’t remember a thing, you were just a baby<br> But I was four winters and yes, I remember the<br> Parade of the brave heroes and the bands with<br> Their loud music and then, later, the dancing in<br> The streets, the donkeys and oxen tied to the<br> Door ways, people, people everywhere, the<br> Speeches and the cheering and at last, we, the<br> Littlest children – in our own parade. I was given<br> A small flag to wave , and I tried to keep it<br> Forever, you remember, I had it for the longest<br> Time – that was my memory of that day, the<br> Celebration of our great victory. How proud<br> We were! We believed our nation was the<br> greatest and no one would dare attack us<br> ever again!</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://Marianv.blog.co.uk/2013/05/14/poem-for-wwp-15974413/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p> tag:marianv.blog.co.uk,2013-05-12:/2013/05/12/sunday-whirl-wordle-15958131/Marianv2013-05-12T16:18:52+02:002013-05-12T16:18:52+02:00 <p>Quest</p> <p>The cave where dwelled the Mountain King<br> Halfway up the sun-scorched slope<br> Hidden by gravel and broken rocks<br> Mad men made a vow that they would bring<br> Some treasure or at least sign<br> That they had braved the circling vultures<br> And with their fists had opened up the space<br> Binding vines had covered through the years<br> Of sun and shadows, only sacred chants<br> From their own mouths had droned<br> Away the crooks and twisting paths<br> Where they could gain a foothold - even<br> Stand beneath the holy rock<br> Where slept the fury of the storms<br> A feat no man could dare to mock.</p> <p>words: binding, space, sun, circling, mouth, vow, broken, crook, fistr, chants, drone, cave </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://Marianv.blog.co.uk/2013/05/12/sunday-whirl-wordle-15958131/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p> tag:marianv.blog.co.uk,2013-05-05:/2013/05/05/wordle-15839341/Marianv2013-05-05T20:01:01+02:002013-05-05T20:01:01+02:00 <p>If You’ve Got it, Let Them Know</p> <p>A thunderous roar of applause,<br> A thousand cheers, an audience<br> Rising to its feet…</p> <p>Joanna in the front row,<br> In the dressing room after.<br> Sorting through the messages<br> The congratulations, the offers-</p> <p>Joanna of the red hair, the charm<br> “I can feel the talent, pulsing<br> through your fingers”, she<br> had told him.</p> <p>She had arranged the pictures<br> As he helped at the soup kitchen<br> Grateful people, the famous Pianist</p> <p>One old man who spit into his dish.<br> .He had been carefully edited<br> Out of the pictures. </p> <p>Never count the negative. He<br> Concentrated on the Rachmaninov,<br> The Lizst, the “Rhapsody in Blue”.</p> <p>Words: thunderous, count, spit, messages. Soup. Dressing, front,<br> Pulsing, charm, red, thousand, dish</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://Marianv.blog.co.uk/2013/05/05/wordle-15839341/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p> tag:marianv.blog.co.uk,2013-05-03:/2013/05/03/lost-all-is-lost-and-desolation-15822578/Marianv2013-05-03T19:31:49+02:002013-05-03T19:31:49+02:00 <p>sLost, all loss and desolation</p> <p>Have you already forgotten?<br> Surround by air, this empty air<br> That holds no sound, nothing<br> Familiar beneath the sky, this watered<br> Down milky sky that gives no rain, no clouds</p> <p>Do you remember the place where you entered?<br> The bright, hopeful signs , freshly painted with<br> The colors of morning – the road that you were<br> To follow, the singing of birds?</p> <p>But that was such a long time ago, was it not?<br> And time does not roll out in a single brush-<br> Stroked strip, it wavers and clumps together<br> In small ugly bunches.</p> <p>You try to remember a face, any face, your own,<br> Perhaps, once seen in a mirror, when you were<br> Young and still had pride. Pride, beauty, cleanliness<br> all the modest virtues of your society, taught to<br> you by your mother , as she had been instructed<br> And hers before her and all the women of that line,<br> Good, decent women that obeyed the rules of their<br> Tribe, their inheritance;. mothers who took pride<br> In the raising of brave sons.</p> <p>Ah, now, like a butterfly’s attempt to flutter its wings<br> The feeling returns in a shiver of pain, the tug on the nipple,<br> The turning away, the angry, frustrated wailing. What<br> Happened to that world, that line of brave women, that<br> Iine that lead to you?</p> <p>Like trees, their blossoms swept away by the wind before<br> Any fertilization, any husbanding, any kind of care.<br> This is the world as it is now, the world that no one<br> Will name , only in curses will its memory be invoked.</p> <p>And what of you, girl, pale flower, your treasure ripped<br> And stolen, you and your weeping sisters, and now - can<br> you hear them, on the other side of the mountain,<br> On their way to stand beside you in your orgy of woe,<br> Faces scarred and garments rent, days prayed into nights<br> and nights-- their never ending darkness your only place to hide.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://Marianv.blog.co.uk/2013/05/03/lost-all-is-lost-and-desolation-15822578/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p> tag:marianv.blog.co.uk,2013-04-29:/2013/04/29/poem-for-miz-quickly-s-pad-15806618/Marianv2013-04-29T19:56:59+02:002013-04-29T19:56:59+02:00 <p>Another Me</p> <p>My name is Carl. I am a boy. When I walk<br> Up to the plate and the bases are loaded, all<br> I hear is cheers. The cheers are even louder<br> When my line drive clears the bases. When<br> I throw the ball, no one ever groans.</p> <p>Pa and his buddies and their sons take me along<br> When they go to fish around the islands. We<br> Dive into water so clear you can see the perch<br> and whitefish & walleye and small crabs on<br> the bottom. Maybe a bit of algae for the fish.</p> <p>When I grow up, I play French horn in the<br> Cleveland orchestra and trumpet in my<br> Group. We play progressive jazz and I<br> Meet Dizzy Gillespie and Stan Kenton.</p> <p>After the end of World War II, there were<br> No more wars, so I never had to worry<br> About being drafted. I was able to publish<br> A few science fiction novels and several<br> Books of poetry. They are still in print.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://Marianv.blog.co.uk/2013/04/29/poem-for-miz-quickly-s-pad-15806618/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p> tag:marianv.blog.co.uk,2013-04-28:/2013/04/28/sunday-whirl-wordle-15800785/Marianv2013-04-28T16:26:07+02:002013-04-28T16:26:07+02:00 <p>The Soup Kitchen</p> <p>A harrowing experience<br> Cooking the soup<br> We had to borrow the marrow,<br> The broth was thin – almost<br> Transparent, we had to guess<br> Which rare seasoning to add in.</p> <p>We would use either beef or chicken.<br> No more grubs<br> We had taken an oath<br> Not to use them again.</p> <p>We saw our hungry<br> Neighbors march<br> Our ladles poised<br> Ready to begin<br> Serving the hungry<br> Our reward<br> To see the children smile again.</p> <p>words : transparent, marrow, thin, harrowing, borrow, grubs, either,<br> , oath, rare, guess, saw, march </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://Marianv.blog.co.uk/2013/04/28/sunday-whirl-wordle-15800785/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p> tag:marianv.blog.co.uk,2013-04-26:/2013/04/27/wild-columbine-15794507/Marianv2013-04-27T01:04:05+02:002013-04-27T01:04:05+02:00 <p>Wild Columbine</p> <p>Wings of the dove trembling on the stripped hillsides -<br> their stems , fragile as grass, lean over the<br> rocky slopes, ready to take flight.</p> <p>Bright red and yellow petals rise among<br> dull rocks and gravel shoals, these bird-<br> blooms sing out their happy news. Look!<br> Spring has come again to these bare<br> neglected hills. </p> <p>After the closing of the quarry, the narrow<br> lanes grew slippery ruts,<br> potholes reached down deep<br> brought up black water, smells<br> of ancient graves.<br> Only the rock was sacrificed here, the<br> Weeds and scrub remain.</p> <p>And in the spring, wild columbine,<br> dances among the stones..</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://Marianv.blog.co.uk/2013/04/27/wild-columbine-15794507/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p> tag:marianv.blog.co.uk,2013-04-25:/2013/04/25/no-more-15789291/Marianv2013-04-25T17:45:42+02:002013-04-25T17:45:42+02:00 <p>No More</p> <p>So we’ll go no more a’roving<br> The bars are all shut down<br> The traffic lights still flashing<br> silent is our town.</p> <p>Our footsteps on the pavement<br> echo through empty air.<br> The parking lots are vacant<br> since cars were towed from there.</p> <p>We’ll find a place for loving<br> in some small and stuffy room.<br> Through the empty store-front windows<br> coldly gleams the moon.</p> <p>· First line taken from “We’ll go no More” by Lord Byron</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://Marianv.blog.co.uk/2013/04/25/no-more-15789291/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p> tag:marianv.blog.co.uk,2013-04-23:/2013/04/23/a-late-spring-a-15781725/Marianv2013-04-23T15:53:05+02:002013-04-23T15:53:05+02:00 <p>A Late Spring</p> <p>Where the bluebells bloom each May<br> The robins build their nests and sing<br> A chorus of melodies, bright and gay<br> When the sun is shining, the woodlands ring.</p> <p>If winter lingers on the scene<br> Where the bluebells bloom each May<br> The buds will slowly reveal their green<br> When the winds blows south, spring’s on the way.</p> <p>Hurry, spring, please don’t delay<br> Your arrival in our woodland, bare<br> Where the bluebells bloom each May<br> With violets, ferns and trilliums rare.</p> <p>Go away, winter, don’t take all year<br> It’s time for spring, for a sunny day!<br> Turn on the warm, we need some cheer<br> Where the bluebells bloom each May.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://Marianv.blog.co.uk/2013/04/23/a-late-spring-a-15781725/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p> tag:marianv.blog.co.uk,2013-04-22:/2013/04/22/earth-day-15778351/Marianv2013-04-22T16:10:27+02:002013-04-22T16:10:27+02:00 <p>The Earth is Still Here and We are Still On It<br> (Earth Day 2013)</p> <p>For all the people new to this earth, we send a greeting.<br> We are the people of the US, not the largest spot on<br> The earth occupied by human beings, but certainly<br> The loudest, the most active, the quickest to consume<br> Every element the earth has available, and the one<br> Who manages to stir up the most contention (At<br> The same time, calling ourselves “Peacekeepers.)</p> <p>The earth might enjoy a spell of peace and quiet.<br> Perhaps the earth is tired of having her resources<br> Dug out and scattered, her air thicker and harder<br> To breathe, her climate altered by the activities<br> Of this bunch of advanced apes called “man”.</p> <p>Is there anything that ordinary people, like you<br> And like I can do to achieve this period of calm?<br> We could stop what we are doing now. We could<br> Make sure only clean air rises from our many cities.<br> We could track all of the species that are dangerously<br> Disappearing, find the problem and try to correct it.<br> We could show respect to all the other inhabitants<br> Of this third planet from the sun and make sure<br> No one is wasting or wantonly destroying the<br> Resources of this earth. We could begin with<br> Ourselves. We could realize the importance of<br> Working together . We could set an example of<br> Harmony and the peaceful working out of any<br> Differences that that may arise.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://Marianv.blog.co.uk/2013/04/22/earth-day-15778351/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p> tag:marianv.blog.co.uk,2013-04-21:/2013/04/21/sunday-wordle-15775265/Marianv2013-04-21T16:49:09+02:002013-04-21T16:49:09+02:00 <p>A Manifesto</p> <p>We expected to thrive in this, our promised land.<br> Already, we have built shelters against the winds<br> And storms and spent much energy clearing the land.<br> The first bomb was a shock to everyone. Did<br> The Infidels really hate us that much?<br> Now, our hearts have been hardened against them.<br> Our struggle will not end.<br> We have shipped the weaker ones to<br> A place of safety.<br> Resilience is strong among us.<br> We are ready to negotiate terms<br> That will let us live together<br> In peace.</p> <p>words: shipped resilience promise shelter harden, struggle infidels,<br> against shock spent land thrive bomb</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://Marianv.blog.co.uk/2013/04/21/sunday-wordle-15775265/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p> tag:marianv.blog.co.uk,2013-04-21:/2013/04/21/title-15775233/Marianv2013-04-21T16:37:56+02:002013-04-21T16:37:56+02:00<p> <small> <a href="http://Marianv.blog.co.uk/2013/04/21/title-15775233/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p> tag:marianv.blog.co.uk,2013-04-18:/2013/04/18/anniversery-of-transfer-of-london-bridge-to-arizona-15767252/Marianv2013-04-18T19:22:03+02:002013-04-18T19:22:03+02:00 <p>London Bridge is Tired</p> <p>All I wanted was to get away from the fog<br> The cold, the damp, My trusses will never<br> Be the same, but yes, this hot air has helped<br> I never thought I would be homesick for mist.<br> Yes, mist and the smell of the sea and the little<br> Shops along my edges and the people hurrying ,<br> and sometimes lovers making out in a hurry<br> but always the tides in the Thames, yes, I do<br> miss that stupid river, all we did was argue,<br> but I’ll tell you something. If anyone wants<br> to find out what the atmosphere of Hell is like<br> they can come right down here to the (ugh)<br> Arizona desert.</p> <p>Yes, the biggest mistake of my life! Retiring<br> Into a warm, sunny climate was not for me!<br> These tourists don’t even know that London<br> Is still there! They think the whole city<br> Disappeared into the sea of something and<br> Arizona gallantly offered to give me a home!<br> Some home! All right, I will admit to a bit<br> Of grousing about the rain and the damp and<br> That dreadful fog. Now, I hear, some measures<br> Have been taken (what, I have no idea) and the<br> Fog is not the heavy smoke-filled burden it<br> Used to be. NOW they tell me! Now, that I<br> Have been shipped halfway across the world<br> To this desert hell-hole with not even a<br> Puddle in sight and what is a bridge to do?</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://Marianv.blog.co.uk/2013/04/18/anniversery-of-transfer-of-london-bridge-to-arizona-15767252/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p> tag:marianv.blog.co.uk,2013-04-17:/2013/04/17/a-re-15764175/Marianv2013-04-17T20:22:44+02:002013-04-17T20:25:30+02:00 <p>A Re-Discovery</p> <p>Looking for an earring’s mate, my fingers<br> Scraped along the bottom of my jewelry<br> Drawer. And found something I had forgotten<br> All about - a silver penny dated 1943.</p> <p>I remembered how I collected them -<br> Eight years old in that summer of 1943<br> Everyone told me that by the time when I grew up<br> How valuable they would be.</p> <p>So I hoarded silver pennies and as I grew<br> I married and had children of my own.<br> My silver penny collection traveled<br> With me when I moved<br> But it was hidden away and soon I put<br> it out of mind</p> <p>:Little did I know that my children had discovered<br> my penny collection and that they spent with glee<br> every silver penny at the penny candy store.<br> The truth came out and we were sad because of the certainty</p> <p>We had lost a fortune in things that might have been<br> But we got over it and went on with our lives<br> Our children married and gave me grandchildren.</p> <p>And now this morning, my discovery<br> That not every silver penny had been spent.<br> I will not be rich, but I will leave a memory<br> Of silver pennies and old sentiment.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://Marianv.blog.co.uk/2013/04/17/a-re-15764175/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p> tag:marianv.blog.co.uk,2013-04-16:/2013/04/16/city-rain-15759957/Marianv2013-04-16T17:12:23+02:002013-04-16T17:12:23+02:00 <p>City Rain</p> <p>All day rain<br> Beginning in darkness<br> Without a sunrise only darkness turning<br> Into a dull gray.</p> <p>By the dimmed streetlights<br> Fine mist of drizzle<br> People with heads bowed down<br> Into umbrellas, hoodies,<br> Hurrying through – don’t get wet-</p> <p>Puddles growing<br> By street curbs, parking lots<br> Wet car keys,. Wet cars<br> Windshield wipers hurry, hurry<br> Brush away the droplets<br> We need to see</p> <p>Leaves uncurling<br> Lawns refreshing<br> Already green is creeping in<br> Where before our world was brown<br> Now everything is refreshed,<br> Trash, garbage floating away<br> Streets and sidewalks clean again<br> By this day of rain.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://Marianv.blog.co.uk/2013/04/16/city-rain-15759957/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p> tag:marianv.blog.co.uk,2013-04-14:/2013/04/14/sunday-wordle-15754936/Marianv2013-04-14T17:10:28+02:002013-04-14T17:10:28+02:00 <p>Survival</p> <p>That night, a slight rain fell<br> that did not saturate the ground.<br> A bold forecaster predicted more<br> rain before sunset. The planters<br> remained skeptical.</p> <p>A sigh of a breeze, more clouds forming,<br> Then falling apart without a drop of moisture.<br> The ground so hard, its crust could not be<br> Pierced with a sword. </p> <p>More clouds gathered at the threshold of<br> The horizon, then began to unwind into<br> Long streaks of gray. Might this be a<br> Sign of rain?</p> <p>The last quarter, the ninth inning, the ultimate<br> Chance that the out of control weather might<br> Decide to favor them again.</p> <p>Words: saturate, bold, control, skeptical, threshold, sigh, slight, unwind, might, ninth.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://Marianv.blog.co.uk/2013/04/14/sunday-wordle-15754936/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p> tag:marianv.blog.co.uk,2013-04-13:/2013/04/13/if-it-were-nt-for-bad-luck-i-d-have-no-luck-at-all-15753070/Marianv2013-04-13T21:58:50+02:002013-04-13T21:58:50+02:00 <p>If it Weren’t for Bad Luck, I’d Have no Luck at All</p> <p>Luck has a sense of humor -- as long as the<br> joke is on you. Yours is always the car<br> pulled to the side of the road for a safety<br> inspection when you are running late for work.</p> <p>I f you sneak a right turn on red when<br> The little arrow isn’t flashing, yours will be<br> the car the highway patrolman will turn<br> his siren on for and while he is standing<br> next to you, every car which drives by<br> will be filled with people you know.</p> <p>If you are waiting to turn left into the gas<br> station, the price of gas will rise several<br> cents while you are waiting.</p> <p>You will finally find a place to park at<br> the far end of the parking lot just as<br> the gray thunder clouds open up and<br> let loose their buckets of rain.<br> .</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://Marianv.blog.co.uk/2013/04/13/if-it-were-nt-for-bad-luck-i-d-have-no-luck-at-all-15753070/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p> tag:marianv.blog.co.uk,2013-04-12:/2013/04/12/blue-pillow-green-fern-part-ii-15750352/Marianv2013-04-12T22:19:34+02:002013-04-12T22:28:54+02:00 <p>Blue Pillow, Green Fern</p> <p>Blue. Everything must be blue<br> True blue, like my baby blue eyes.<br> Blue, the color of the sky when it<br> Was in a good mood. The color<br> Of Lake Erie when the sun<br> Was shining.</p> <p>The new color of my bed room walls!<br> How I examined those little dabs of blue<br> On the paint store’s chart.<br> Such names – baby-blue-eyes, forget-me-not<br> my lover’s gone away, blue memories,<br> ( And this was before Elvis)<br> For my birthday – blue ice-cream<br> And blue cake. </p> <p>Green was the color of trees and grass<br> And leaves and just about everything<br> In nature. I loved plants. I was impatient<br> For spring. My father and I always planted<br> Victory garden – even when the war was over.<br> My windowsills have always had a resident<br> Plant or two. They have several, now.</p> <p>Green Pillow, Blue fern</p> <p>Even when my baby’s blue cake was impatient, the war<br> Was in a good garden where the resident lovers examined<br> Just about everything. Elvis was in Lake Erie and little<br> Dabs of nature were gone away. Everything must be<br> Shining for the memories of the resident were over. I<br> Examined such names as my father’s blue. It was in the<br> Paint store when the garden was in a good mood.<br> Green was the color of my birthday and the color of the<br> Sky. I loved my windowsills when the sun chart had<br> A victory which I planted I also changed blue ice<br> Cream into a fern or two. In the spring, grass and several<br> trees had forget-me-not eyes.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://Marianv.blog.co.uk/2013/04/12/blue-pillow-green-fern-part-ii-15750352/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p> tag:marianv.blog.co.uk,2013-04-11:/2013/04/11/off-season-15746067/Marianv2013-04-11T16:51:24+02:002013-04-11T16:51:24+02:00 <p>Off Season</p> <p>Gray drizzle settling over vacant storefronts.<br> George hated this time of year<br> He hurried to the entrance of the coffee shop<br> A small oasis of light and activity<br> In this off-season desert.</p> <p>“Thank God it’s rain and not more snow!”<br> Hannah, the Real Estate saleslady was<br> Talking to Dawn at the register. Dawn<br> Was nodding, agreeing with Hannah’s<br> Complaints. Like most of the local<br> Business people, Dawn did not care<br> much for Hannah, but tried to stay<br> On good terms.</p> <p>George opened the door, letting in<br> A draft of drizzle and gray fog.<br> “Brrr!” Hannah cried, theatrically<br> clutching her arms. George<br> and Dawn nodded, then George<br> took a seat at the counter.<br> Dawn moved to the coffee maker<br> For a moment the shop was<br> filled with a mood that could<br> almost be described as warm<br> and cozy.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://Marianv.blog.co.uk/2013/04/11/off-season-15746067/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p> tag:marianv.blog.co.uk,2013-04-10:/2013/04/10/the-rise-of-power-15742876/Marianv2013-04-10T20:06:39+02:002013-04-10T20:06:39+02:00 <p>The Rise of Power</p> <p>Strange creatures, everywhere we look,<br> Their large round heads aglow<br> Patiently they wait,<br> Standing in a row</p> <p>Friends bearing gifts to us -<br> their gift is energy.<br> A fluttering flag says<br> “Here we are” – floats<br> high enough to see<br> From every corner of this earth-<br> Where’er our species be…</p> <p>The daily rising of the sun<br> That fills our freeways to the brim<br> And overflows into the dark<br> Two streaks of light that never dim.</p> <p>Power, speed grow stronger<br> Our nation leads the race<br> If we could steal the power of the sun…<br> We would never leave a trace.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://Marianv.blog.co.uk/2013/04/10/the-rise-of-power-15742876/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p> tag:marianv.blog.co.uk,2013-04-10:/2013/04/10/title-15742849/Marianv2013-04-10T20:03:34+02:002013-04-10T20:03:34+02:00<p> <small> <a href="http://Marianv.blog.co.uk/2013/04/10/title-15742849/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p> tag:marianv.blog.co.uk,2013-04-09:/2013/04/09/blue-pillow-green-fern-15737137/Marianv2013-04-09T17:13:50+02:002013-04-09T19:56:26+02:00 <p>A Blue Pillow, a Green Fern</p> <p>Blue. Everything must be blue.<br> True blue - like my baby blue eyes.<br> Blue, the color of the sky when it<br> Was in a good mood. The color<br> of Lake Erie when the sun<br> was shining.</p> <p>The new color of my bed room walls!<br> How I examined those little dabs of color<br> On the paint store’s chart.<br> Such names – baby-blue-eyes, forget-me-not,<br> My lover’s gone away, Blue memories …<br> (And this was before Elvis)<br> For my birthday – blue ice-cream<br> And blue cake. </p> <p>Green was the color of trees and grass<br> And leaves and just about everything<br> In nature. I loved plants. I was impatient<br> for spring. My father and I always planted<br> a Victory Garden -even when the war was over<br> My windowsills always had a resident plant<br> or two. They have several now.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://Marianv.blog.co.uk/2013/04/09/blue-pillow-green-fern-15737137/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p> tag:marianv.blog.co.uk,2013-04-08:/2013/04/08/poem-a-day-15732944/Marianv2013-04-08T17:33:12+02:002013-04-08T17:33:12+02:00 <p>What’s left is space, waiting to be filled</p> <p>They told me there wasn’t enough dirt.<br> The Tree-Service men, working on where<br> The beach used to be said that. I could have<br> Laughed, there had been more dirt around<br> This place than anyone could remember<br> And now I was supposed to find more?</p> <p>I took a pair of my late husbands’ old<br> Bib overalls and stuffed it around the<br> Heavy root of the willow that they said<br> Was too tough to get out.</p> <p>Their machines -too heavy for the sandy<br> Soil, in danger of sinking. Like the night<br> The old dance hall burned down and<br> A front-end loader spent almost half a<br> Year in the sand and muck until the<br> Ground froze solid so an even bigger<br> Truck could pull it out.</p> <p>Those men and their trucks. I remember<br> My boys, hands and knees crawling on<br> The kitchen floor with their toy trucks<br> Making all those baroom! Baroooom!<br> Sounds.</p> <p>I found one, a red one, the other day.<br> My eyes filled with tears. Damn!<br> I don’t want to turn into a sentimental<br> Old fool. </p> <p>It’s just the space where the willows used<br> To be and even that trashy old dance hall<br> They used in the 1940’s and all that Glenn<br> Miller sounding music weaving through the<br> Night mists and the sounds of the waves<br> Slapping against the dock, slapping, slapping<br> The way they do for all eternity, and the<br> Strong arms of the willows, holding it all together.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://Marianv.blog.co.uk/2013/04/08/poem-a-day-15732944/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p> tag:marianv.blog.co.uk,2013-04-08:/2013/04/08/an-acrostic-15732721/Marianv2013-04-08T16:34:10+02:002013-04-08T16:34:10+02:00 <p>While I write this poem, one of the maples on our lane is being cut down</p> <p>A tree is a wondrous work of nature.</p> <p>Trees, unfortunately can cause the property owner a lot of work.<br> Red maples open tiny buds in early spring that fall and stick to<br> Everything in sight.<br> Early in March, the sight of budding trees is a welcome one.</p> <p>In Spring, all new life is a cause for celebration, but<br> Seeds of maple trees can become a real nuisance.</p> <p>Called “Helicopters”.because of the way they spin as they fall<br> Under, around and on top of everything they<br> Touch, another job of raking and hauling away.</p> <p>During the hot days of Summer, the green shade of the Maples is welcome.<br> October arrives and the Maples turn brilliant shades of gold, orange and scarlet.<br> When the wind blows and frost arrives the leaves cover everything in sight.<br> November and all the property owners have raked their leaves into neat piles<br> that sit on the lawns and wait for the city trucks to come and haul them away.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://Marianv.blog.co.uk/2013/04/08/an-acrostic-15732721/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p> tag:marianv.blog.co.uk,2013-04-07:/2013/04/07/i-know-the-place-15729660/Marianv2013-04-07T17:36:54+02:002013-04-07T17:36:54+02:00 <p>I know the Place Where…</p> <p>New York City. Say the name and everything<br> Falls into place. How many times have I<br> Watched the background on TV shows,<br> Especially “Seinfeld” re-runs and dramas<br> With the action taking place in that only<br> Place where such things could happen.<br> The restaurant in “Seinfeld” where the<br> Friends gather and you can see the hurrying<br> Crowds, the building too tall to fit entirely<br> Into the screen – the nonchalance of the<br> Characters – all buildings are tall – and<br> Over the dialogue I spot glimpses of<br> The world’s greatest city</p> <p>I know Marblehead, the town, the peninsula,<br> The famous lighthouse in its classic light-<br> House style. Ask someone to draw a light-<br> House, any lighthouse, and most likely it<br> Will resemble the Marblehead lighthouse.<br> The tall, white tower, the searching beam.<br> Implied are the screams of the gulls, the<br> Buzz of outboard motors, perhaps some<br> Tourists calling back and forth. The<br> View of Cedar Point amusement park<br> Is unique, On a clear day, you can<br> Count the roller coasters, imagine the<br> Screams of the riders as they defy<br> The laws of gravity.</p> <p>Sometimes I like to imagine ancient<br> Athens when the philosophers in their<br> White robes strolled among the pristine<br> Marble buildings ---- every column perfectly<br> Grooved. Perhaps small tables and chairs<br> Were set out where the upper class people could<br> sip wine as they recognized Plato, maybe,<br> or Aristotle, and most certainly Socrates<br> How wonderful to see the Parthenon with<br> Every angle accurate, a perfect gem set<br> Among green fields and trees.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://Marianv.blog.co.uk/2013/04/07/i-know-the-place-15729660/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p> tag:marianv.blog.co.uk,2013-04-04:/2013/04/04/work-once-work-descended-upon-me-like-a-load-from-15718178/Marianv2013-04-04T17:35:59+02:002013-04-04T17:35:59+02:00 <p>Work</p> <p>Once work descended upon me like a load from a dump truck<br> All that work! Meals for 8 people every day! The garden!<br> The cleaning! The laundry! Feed the chickens! Sell the eggs!<br> Children grow up. All those hours working at the library<br> Gradually grew smaller. And smaller. All the kids drove<br> Cars. Some got married. Some joined the Service. Some<br> Moved to the other side of the continent. Hubby retired.<br> Spent lots of time leaving little messes here & there.<br> Learned to clean up after himself. Learned to clean up<br> After animals. He LIKED to clean up. He became<br> Mr. Clean. He liked cleaning the garden. The garage,<br> Compost pile, the chicken coop, the lawns, the truck.<br> Everything shone. My stuff was still a mess. Was<br> Returning to writing really a good thing? All that<br> Paper! The unfinished, the overflowing waste-baskets<br> Change the typewriter ribbon. A story sent in the mail<br> And never seen again. Grandchildren moving in and out.<br> The computer, hooray! No more paper all over the<br> Place. Wrong! More paper. Copy everything. Loose<br> It and copy again. And again. Write poems all over<br> The place. Pick them up. Put in order. Try to keep<br> Track. Do not send poem without writing where and<br> When. Piles of poems grow. Mostly awful. Throw<br> Away? No, might be a good line in there somewhere.<br> Hubby has passed. I live alone in a small house<br> With books and paper all over the place. Cat is no<br> Help. Need walker, wheelchair. Cheat and stay<br> On feet. Holding on to furniture. Computer is<br> Fun. Old stuff on TV is fun. Visits, shopping.<br> No life without work. Messes happen.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://Marianv.blog.co.uk/2013/04/04/work-once-work-descended-upon-me-like-a-load-from-15718178/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p> tag:marianv.blog.co.uk,2013-04-04:/2013/04/04/the-chatauqua-15714816/Marianv2013-04-04T02:09:47+02:002013-04-04T02:09:47+02:00 <p>The “Chatauqua”</p> <p>There it is, the grand hotel<br> In pure Victorian splendor<br> The gabled roof , more than a century’s<br> Worth of guests, all set upon a week<br> Or more of self improvement., the second<br> Best stars of stage and opera and later<br> Radio, all primed to enlighten, educate<br> The hoped-for masses and religion, too<br> Mixed with culture, one of these should take!</p> <p>The cottages lean together, comfortably<br> So many countless years have come and gone<br> The dance hall burned, the ruins borne away<br> Only empty gravel and the wheeling gulls<br> Squawling in anger when no food is found.<br> There are no dancers or no dance. The young<br> Rest behind the storage sheds and smoke a joint.<br> Carry their own music where they go<br> The nights are still as dark, the sound of waves<br> The same as when the big bands played</p> <p>Only the trees have thrived in their neglect.<br> Green foliage clusters over each leaking roof<br> Through quiet afternoon, the green shade chirps<br> As insects call from branch to branch to grass<br> The old sit behind their screened in porches.<br> Watch the latest craze that’s on TV<br> Complain that nothing’s like it used to be<br> The beat goes on.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://Marianv.blog.co.uk/2013/04/04/the-chatauqua-15714816/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>