The Gift of the Crumpled Flower #poetry #photography

 

“a flower was offered to me…” *

crumpled, once wild and free

the little one that gave it

an orphan was he

I looked in his eyes

a clear blooming love

I gathered some stars

and joy from above

 brief mere moments

were all that we had

but flowers are like that

petals in our hands

***

Memories like flowers

spring fragrance on winter’s winds

petals on a page

 

Some poems write themselves. This came as I remembered a precious orphan who gave me a flower because I had smiled and spoke to him (in very poor Russian). This    week’s prompt from Poets United – begin our poem with ” A flower was offered me”

(* William Blake)

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A Dark Night #noir #poetry #EdgarAllenPoe

Gather my last notes

sleep never so desired

always more elusive

more muddied in the mire

against eyelash moth fluttered

taunting at my face

stopping for full moments

slumber could not erase

those errant memories

pass me, you and I

never have I slept

since the day you died

 fingers momentary

clasp about my throat

end this misery

 “goodbye” all you wrote

 my end you had predicted

 tables then were turned

shot in desperate dark

the killer in hell will burn

fresh white like a lily

purest scent I’d known

now a dusty red

stained the step toward home

your whisper doth entice

it draws me near the fire

wings might easily ignite

lay next to you my desire

work must yet be done

before I lay my head

I gather darkest dream

you villains breathe in dread

We celebrate your gift of using the pen to write Noir. Thank you Edgar for your inspiration to many writers

Happy Birthday

Found By Words #poetry

Like a waterfall

on a hidden retreat

or the gravel that crunches

beneath weary feet

poetry jangles the soul

like a brass bell

that has been pulled

never tires of the toll

there are times

 my words wont work together

a spirit all their own

seems to collude and gather

making me…

younger, stronger

greener, wiser

Free

“The Joy of Poetry” is this week’s prompt at Poets United Midweek Motif

“Poetry is an echo asking a shadow to dance.” 

Carl Sandburg

“Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words.”

Robert Frost

Words on Walls #poetry #photography #travel

Words of weary travelers

 voices long ago

the things inscribed on walls

ink from tomorrow’s

 past

Deep is Winter #poet #winter #sorrow #Akhmatova

Memory of the Sun

Memory of sun seeps from the heart.
Grass grows yellower.
Faintly if at all the early snowflakes
Hover, hover.

Water becoming ice is slowing in
The narrow channels.
Nothing at all will happen here again,
Will ever happen.

Against the sky the willow spreads a fan
The silk’s torn off.
Maybe it’s better I did not become
Your wife.

Memory of sun seeps from the heart.
What is it? — Dark?
Perhaps! Winter will have occupied us
In the night.

by Anna Akhmatova

Anna what would you say of your people’s strife in Ukraine today? You who understands such chilling silences and loud absences of loved ones. You speak of a winter that you know too well.

I am just learning about this Ukranian/ Russian poet.  Anna understood the pain of having a pen that spoke for her and those she loved died because of the ink that never got a chance to dry.

Her life is winter

icicles cling to the forlorn

 spring – an idea

*

Mdw

(out of love for Anna)

 On the 8th the world celebrates Woman’s Day. What better way to do so than to share the work of a strong poet who suffered much at the hand of communism. I share her words with Poet’s United as well.

Your Poem on the Wind #poetry #loss #photography

Finger traces words

pages escape in the wind

poetry never dies

*

I clasp the memories

near to my heart

those warm days

and you and I

chasing shore birds

we dance in the sea-foam

our laughter joins with the sea’s chorus

“come frolic with us in waves of eternity

just beyond the sun”

A tear muddies the poem

the one you wrote

of your love

tied in a bundle

with so many others

invisible fingerprints

caress the ribbon

that has untied your sentiments

too many times to count

brown and brittle are the pages now

a piece breaks off

and is caught by the breeze

I scorn its warm glow

it too wants a bit of you

finally I crumple your treasures

to brown papery dust

setting you free for the last and final time

a silent petition I raise:

“let me join you

to frolic in the waves of eternity

just beyond the sun”

 This poem is inspired by Anna Akhmatova a woman who knew the glow and loss of love.

Today at Poet’s United Midweek Motif the theme is “A Woman’s World.” One thing women have long known is the value of love and the weight of loss and yet we endure.

All I Have Are Ashes #Akhmatova #poet #societalcancer

 

I’ve cried for seventeen long months,
I’ve called you for your home,
I fell at hangmen’ feet – not once,
My womb and hell you’re from.
All has been mixed up for all times,
And now I can’t define
Who is a beast or man, at last, 
And when they’ll kill my son.
There’re left just flowers under dust,
The censer’s squall, the traces, cast
Into the empty mar…
And looks strait into my red eyes
And threads with death, that’s coming fast,
The immense blazing star.

~above is an excerpt from “Requiem ” by Anna Akhmatova*

Tears mingle in the dirt
whose ashes are these?
they look familiar
momentarily my tears sparkle in the mud
“oh yes that was my first love
he died at the hand of Lenin
my son is still awaiting my tears”
the ashes have worked their way
into the fabric of one shoe
clinging to memory
“please God  give my frailty a purpose”
this shoe I ask that they not take 
I must cling to it for warmth
when the winter breezes dry my once fresh skin
kiss my cheek with remnants of him…
~mdw

(my echo of a poem to this Russian woman who knew such pain)

Anna Akhmatova is known as one of Russia’s finest female poets. She lived during a time when freedom of artistic expression was unwelcome. Her losses were many…

This is being shared with Poets’ United Midweek Motif the topic Cancer.

This recent poem Winter’s Accusation deals with cancer the disease. I write occasionally about it but I usually try to stay clear of those doors.

Borrowing Sleep’s Step #haiku #tanrenga #photography

borrowing sleep

from the scarecrow’s sleeves
midnight frost

© Basho (Tr. Jane Reichhold)

 

sleepwalker’s nightly path

no one knows where you go

~mdw

 

 

I am reminded of my son’s odd sleepwalking habits. He seemed to have a path that he always followed (it always ended on the stairs). It got longer as he got older; The neighbors would often find him asleep on their stairs.

 

The Carpe Diem prompt is to write a Tan Renga using Basho’s fine haiku.