Stars

Stars
“Dwell on the beauty of life. Watch the stars, and see yourself running with them.”
― Marcus Aurelius, Meditations

I remember riding in the backseat of the car
while my father drove mama and I
home from a trip.
I would look out the back window
at the blackness of the night.
I was always amazed at the way
the stars followed us home.

Bloodstains

A Prosery for Bjorn’s prompt at dVerse Poets Pub, for this spooky season. A true ghost story. I rewrote this from a poem I posted for Real Toads.  Since some of you have missed the glhostly blood and that the staines will always remain, here is the link to the original poem. I hate writing prose! https://kanzensakura.wordpress.com/2019/10/26/the-floor/

Bloodstains
“At least 600,000 men died in the Civil War. Major battles numbered the dead in the thousands; even minor skirmishes killed hundreds… Mass death numbs the mind and heart as it numbers its vast toll”…Philip Shaw Pauadan: The True Story of the Civil War

When I first moved to Richmond,  a friend took me on a tour of some of the old buildings down in an area of town known as Shockoe Bottom.  During the American Civil War, some of the old tobacco warehouses were used as hospitals and morgues.  It is said the blood from the wounded and dead dripped steadily on the floor, the wheels from gurneys rolling through the blood.

This is the barreness of harvest or pestilence.  Now over a hundred years later, the floors are still splotched with blood.  The floors are cement and tile now but…the stains of blood still seep up and are seen.  It is said by people that work in the renovated buildings  still see the bloodstains and sometimes see the ghosts of those long gone soldiers wandering through the halls.  The stains are removed by bleach and are only gone for a few hours before they reappear.  The people now walk over or walk on the stains as if they were not there.

bloodstained floor RTD photo

The Helmet

For Carrie’s Sunday Muse BlogSpot.

The Helmet
“The mark of your ignorance is the depth of your belief in injustice and tragedy. What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the Master calls the butterfly.” – Richard Bach

inside the helmet the human has turned to sticks.
radiation has obliterated human life.
only the butterflies remain
trying to see inside.
what a wonderful world with butterflies
instead of humans.

 

Song of Us

Song of Us
“One way or another, we all have to find what best fosters the flowering of our humanity in this contemporary life, and dedicate ourselves to that.” – Joseph Campbell

Under a magnificent autumn sky
lives people,
people that
feed the hungry,
adopt and save animals,
visit and care for the elderly,
read to children in libraries,
help their neighbors with their lawncare
when their neighbors are suffering from cancer,
people who volunteer at animal shelters,
stand up for a child that is being bullied,
try to save the environment,
take a meal to a neighbor in need,
keep bees,
give their seat on a bus to a pregnant woman,
take a bullet for their law enforcement co-worker,
take a teen under their wing and love them,
babysit for a young couple so they can have a night out,
plant gardens to beautify and to feed,
feed the cats in the alley,
comfort a dying dog,
play with puppies at the shelter,
teach children how to read,
teach adults how to read,
bake something for the church or school bake sale,
call the police when there has been an accident,
try to do the right thing by all people,
share love and happiness with all…
this is the song of us.

copyright Toni Spencer

Sailing

For Kerry’s Prompt at Real Toads, Art Flash, an American Sentence.  An American Sentence is exactly 17 syllables and is a complete sentence. It is not necessary to rhyme it as it is Allen Ginsberg’s version of a haiku.

Sailing
“Hark, now hear the sailors cry, Smell the sea, and feel the sky, Let your soul and spirit fly, into the mystic.” –  – Into the Mystic   Van Morrison

The moon sails on an ebony ink lake like an argent Lucifer.

commissioned piece  https://www.instagram.com/mc__monster/

Roll On

For Carrie’s Sunday Muse #74

Roll On
“Time is like a river…” – Stephen King, ‘Salem’s Lot

the gull knows.
the gull knows the river flows on forever
from the drops of rain to the mighty ocean.
the old man plays his organ
connected by a long heavy duty electrical cord
and he plays for himself.
he sings,
roll on mighty river, roll on.
the gull flaps its wings
and gives a raucous caw.
it likes to sing along.
roll on mighty river,
roll on.

For John Wick

For Sanaa’s Wild Friday Prompt – finish a Sappho Poem

For John Wick
“You want a war, or you want to just give me a gun?” John Wick to the Bowery King

In my eyes he matches the gods
In my eyes he matches the gods, that man who
sits there facing you–any man whatever–
listening from close by to the sweetness of your
voice as you talk, the

sweetness of your laughter: yes, that–I swear it–
sets the heart to shaking inside my breast, since
once I look at you for a moment, I can’t
speak any longer,

but my tongue breaks down, and then all at once a
subtle fire races inside my skin, my
eyes can’t see a thing and a whirring whistle
thrums at my hearing,

cold sweat covers me and a trembling takes
a hold of me all over: I’m greener than the
grass is and appear to myself to be little
short of dying.

But all must be endured, since even a poor
assassin such as I.
Watching you glide through the Continental Hotel
I envy those who have gone up against you,
especially those that have not survived.
It is glory to die beneath your hand
but even more,
it is glory to be pressed against you,
to be stroked like your dog
whom you love above all.
I load my gun,
I sharpen my sword.
I am ready to die now beneath your glance.

Hoshizora

For my Wednesday Muse Prompt.  Boketto is one of those Japanese words that has an odd meaning.  It can mean to daydream, to go gaze out at the distance with an empty mind, to stare at the landscape or the stars.  I am asking people to write poems in accordance with the word.

Hoshizora
“Not just beautiful, though–the stars are like the trees in the forest, alive and breathing. And they’re watching me.” ― Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore

lying back on the dew wet grass,
I lay and watch the stars
turning slowly in their courses.
It wasn’t until I was 20 or so
that I realized the stars were gazing back at me.
I watch them.
They watch me.
and stars don’t fall.
not really.
a grain of sand,
a piece of trash from a comet
is set on fire as it enters our atmosphere.
I watch the fire burning burning.
the stars watch me
lying on the dew wet grass
and smile.

hoshizora – Japanese word for stargazing

Little Lion

For Carrie’s prompt over at Sunday Muse BlogSpot.

 

Little Lion
“How we behave toward cats here below determines our status in heaven.” – Robert A. Heinlein

I hated dolls when I was a child.
I preferred my stuffed animals,
our cats and dogs.
I dressed the cats and dogs in
the clothes of the dolls,
rode them around in the doll carriage,
had tea parties with them and
read stories to them.
I loved them dearly.
To this day I remember them all.
I remember I wept bitterly when they died.
I know my cat Pugsley who
was euthanized three years ago,
I kissed him before the vet
administered the shot.
I kissed his sweet face and whispered,
sleep well little lion, sleep sweet.

Frozen

For my Sunday Muse blogspot, Wednesday Muse prompt, A non-music music prompt. “Don’t let the sun go down on me”.

Frozen
“When stars collide, like you and I, no shadow blocks the sun” — Elton John“The One”

Frozen here on the ladder of my life
I stand at the gate
watching you board the plane –
back to Japan.
You changed my way of life.
From an awkward woman –
Bookish and shy
To a tiger of a woman
wielding a wakizashi,
Writing seasonal poetry
And respecting self.
You returned to Japan.
You left me drowning in the sunset
colors of a melting sun –
You left me – frozen in time.

Union Blood

cotton mill workers 1902

 

Union Blood
“Where trade unions are most firmly organized, there are the rights of the people most respected.” Samuel Gompers

We were a union family – from 1900 to current. My grandmother along with her two older sisters (orphaned when the oldest was 15 and my grandmother was 10) got work in the old Erwin Cotton Mills in Durham, NC. The two sisters went to work with my grandmother looking after them until she went to work in the mill at age 12. They lived in a boarding house. Life was good though. The Erwin Mills community took care of their workers providing medical treatment and a store for the workers. They also provided housing – identical row houses along about a dozen streets, abutting the Duke University East campus. The Boarding House was a tall gothic style house along Carolina Avenue.

My father when he got out of the Army, went to work at Dan River Cotton mills in Danville Virginia. He met my mother and moved to Durham. He had his first major heart attack standing at the weaving machine. Cotton Lung Disease.  The Erwin Mills community, by then Burlington Industries, took care of him and his family. They provided his medical care and nurses and everything, at Duke University Medical Center – one of the premier medical facilities in the world. He died finally after a septupal bypass. As was the custom, the mill closed for the funeral although my father hadn’t worked for several years at the mill.

I escaped that world when I was 18, going to university where I obtained my BA, BS. MS, and PhD degrees. My aunt, another overeducated southern woman, obtained her BS, MS, PhD, and MS in Nursing and MS in Hospital Administration.  Burlington Industries paid for our education until we went into higher than BS or BA. I remember the picnics they had for the employees, the barbecues, the fish fries. At Christmas, Thanksgiving, and Easter every family was provided with turkeys, hams, fruit baskets, several bags of special holiday groceries. Workers worked hard but they played harder and always ate well.  Growing up in a tight mill, union community was a privilege. I am still a union believer although I haven’t worked in a union shop for many years. I will argue vehemently for the trade and industrial unions.
seasons come and go –
lungs become muddy with cotton lint –
union pays for all

Durham NC aerial view of Erwin Mills, Duke University, surrounding homes ca. 1930

The Glory of the Sun

For the prompt, Glory, Mid-week Motif on Poets United.

The Glory of the Sun
“The beauty of that June day was almost staggering…The sunlight was a benediction.” Dan Simmons, Drood

My mother lay in her bed
slowly murmurming.
She was now in a skilled nursing
facility after being taken care of
at home by me.
But Alzheimers, seizures, weakened heart, failing kidneys caused the doctor
to recommend the care in a skilled nursing facility.
Visiting every day, pushing her
around the facility in a wheelchair,  taking her
to meals and special events.
One day she had a severe seizure
and she became non-verbal and bedridden.
One morning she quietly died.
I looked at her peaceful face
reflecting the glory
of the early June sun
streaming in from the window
by her bed.

my mother on her deck in Florida 10 years before her death