Real Toads – “Watch the Corners”

For Marian’s Prompt over at Real Toads: http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2017/07/watch-corners.html

public domain image – Woodstock 1969

By the time I got to Woodstock…”

“turn on, tune in, drop out” Timothy Leary, 1967

I was 18 and rebellious and totally into
Peaceloverocknrollsexanddrugsandrocknroll –
I drove a faded green VW that had those hideous
Flower decals all over it –
Yes ma’am, you read that right.
I had been to the Haight a couple of years earlier
And come back
Changed, De-ranged. Re-arranged –
1969 and I drove the VW to NJ to pick up
My cousin Billy – we looked like bro and sis –
Long wavy dark hair, headbands, bellbottomed jeans
My top had embroidery and tiny mirrors
He wore a black tee shirt –
We hit Woodstock and to be honest –
I don’t remember very much.
The announcement came over the intercom
Don’t take the brown acid man – it’s a BAD TRIP
Billy and I looked at each other –
So like, now they tell us.
When I finally returned home
and fell out of the car onto the front lawn
my mother went and got the water hose
and began to hose me down
and then she gathered my clothes
from the back seat and burned them.
My poor father cried.
My cat laughed.
Peace.

Public Domain Image – Haight Ashbury 1967

Real Toads – Winter Haiku

Kerry is hosting Open Link day over at Real Toads. – Because it is too darn hot (to quote Cole Porter), I decided to post a bunch of my winter haiku. http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2017/07/the-tuesday-platform_18.html  They are also celebrating their 6th anniversary this week as well.  Happy Anniversary!

copyright kanzensakura

l.
a hawk glides over
skeletal trees – winter blue
sky shows no mercy
ll.
silent neighborhood –
distant crows break the silence –
cold and still today
lll.
the grass is brittle and
frost covers everything –
at noon no melting
IV.
dead leaves carpet ground
beneath bare trees – end of
fall…winter begins
V.
bitter cold morning –
quick whiff of wood smoke before
nostrils become numb
VI.
spits of icy rain
bitter wind tossing tree tops
spring seems distant dream
VII.
brown hillside – splashes
of green cedars – small creatures
find food and shelter
VIII.
bitter winter night
first light of day first snow falls –
branches bloom white
IX.
midnight: snow flowers
spiral down and quickly die
on my outstretched hand

Copyright Kanzensakura

Memories

This is written for Magaly’s prompt at Real Toads.  The first picture and phrase “fragile things” brought to mind my mother who recently died from complications relating to Alzheimer’s.  We are to use one of the pictures with a phrase for the picture and to write a poem with three stanzas.  http://withrealtoads.blogspot.se/2017/07/fragile-natural-wild-with-magaly.html

Memories
Where do memories go?
When a wife looks at her husband of fifty years
And sees only a stranger…
Memories are such fragile things.

Do memories go on walkabout?
Do they leave and go to places unknown
And then return – a different memory.
Memories are such fragile things.

Why do some memories stay and others leave?
A pet from childhood is remembered but
A daughter from today is forgotten.
Memories are such fragile things.

by Robert Draves@draves.robert

Dreaming Corn

for Michael at Read Toads.  http://withrealtoads.blogspot.se/2017/07/get-listed-july.html    I am doing my first prompt for Real Toads using some of the words listed.

Dreaming Corn
rows of corn dream under
the peach ice cream moon.
crickets drone and birds sleep.
the sun begins to rise in shades
of raspberryorangelemon sherbet
and already at 6:00 a.m. it is 90 degrees
worth of heat. Birds begin to
sing, talking to one another
as they fling themselves to the blue sky
and back to the corn.
the stalks of corn form a cathedral
built of tall green towers
and music of rustling leaves.
birds tell each other of ants on this stalk,
crickets hiding under a fallen stalk
and flying bugs buzzing about.
ripening ears listen to the gossip.
the heat is a sweat of moist green.
until at dusk the birds discuss sleep
and slowly grow silent.
rows of corn dream under
the peach ice cream moon.

Quadrille Monday #32

At dVerse Poets Pub, De is hosting our quadrille. A quadrille is a poem of 44 words exactly, not including the title and usually includes a prompt word. Today the word is “echo”. this is my last post for awhile as my mother is not doing well and I am taking a hiatus away from dVerse Poets Pub. Blessings on all of you. I will be seeing you all again next month. http://dversepoets.com/2017/05/08/quadrille-32/

Room 214
the elderly woman sits in her wheelchair
looking out the window at the birds
on the birdfeeder.
her mind is filled with echoes and shadows
of years, times, and people past.
her daughter brushes her hair.
voices echo from other rooms.
she drifts asleep.

dVerse Poets Pub – Open Link Night

It is Open Link Night at dVerse Poets Pub. You can submit any one poem of your choice on subject and form. Come join us!

I hope
night falls gently in mid-May –
the sun fades but it is still bright
yet muted. birds sing their night songs
and the cardinal on the wire
serenades his territory –
Thweeeeee purty purty purty!
honeysuckle drifts on the gentle breeze.
the world is preparing for sleep.
I hope it is a restful night for all
I hope it is a night with sweet dreams
and full stomachs and hearts full of love.
but I hope. I hope.

Haibun Monday: Tramps Like us Were Born to Survive

It is Haibun Monday over at dVerse. I am hosting the prompt for this. I want us to write about music – singing along with the radio, driving and singing, working and singing…a fun prompt after all the heavy prompts. Come join us!

I Love This Song
I sit in the car in the parking lot of the airport. I had been sitting there for a couple of hours, remembering. You were on your way back to Japan. I was returning to a new apartment without any memories of you. We sold our house, split the money; divided the stuff. My heart felt like it was being pulled apart by rats, ravaged over, leaving it bloody and in pieces. Finally I turned the key in the ignition and headed back to town. I pulled up in front of the apartment. Now I was sitting in the car, on the street, under the fully leaved trees of summer. I made myself go into the apartment but I sat down on the couch. “Damn you” I whispered. “Damn you” I shouted. “Damn damn damn you!”. I smoked a joint and felt soothed, the rough edges smoothed out. I looked around the bare no-personality apartment. I walked over to my stereo deck and popped in the cassette and cranked it up to full blast. Gloria Gaynor belted out, I will survive. I played it again and again and again. I will survive. I began to dance around the room.

green leaves of summer
rustle in the breeze – birds sing
outside my window

Previous Older Entries

%d bloggers like this: