I revisited a springtime ode I wrote to a particular variety of snap pea, Sugaree. Let's just say my love for her was short-lived, lol. Fortunately a variety I planted later, Sugar Ann, is sweeter and has more staying power.
Surely the most delightful ode to sugar peas ever written. And, as all gardeners come to find, our hearts will undoubtedly be broken through the season!
I went to a plastic bin under a bed and found the very first poem I ever wrote in seventh grade, an adolescent teen's perspective on the Vietnam War, or perhaps all wars. Our 7th grade teacher, Ms. Chandler was superb and brought out the writer in all of us. 57 years later, on the heels of the news of Robert Calley's death, he who led the brutal massacre at My Lai in Vietnam in 1968, the recently released report of our nation's Indian Boarding school system, which lasted 100 years into the late 1960's and the effects that linger longer, the bombs over Gaza, Ukraine, Lebanon and too many places on this earth, the verbal bombs emanating every day from our so called political discourse, and reading that young boy's plea in 1967, led to this poem.
“The colors between red, white, and blue” - what a beautiful line and what a beautiful, tender, aching, powerful poem, Larry! I love that you revisited something you wrote so long ago. I have a feeling you were a really special kid!
Thank you Lisa, and for the invitation to look into that vault. I think all children are special, and was a kid who sometimes saw through a particular lens, or as Thoreau says, “ moved to a different drummer.”
The depth of this post is remarkable. I truly love your prose poem and the path you took to writing it. Thank you for the prompt and invitation to go into the vault and revisit poems from another time. You always manage to take us home by another way.
Out of nowhere on a train platform on way home from work. Like it needed a resting point before the next perch. I can still feel its claws. Sure there’s a poem in there somewhere 😀
Thank you, Priscilla! I don’t know if I’ve told you this, but you are one of the very first people I ever shared a poem with, and your kindness was a lovely nudge to keep writing.
Then I wish you could go experience the actual tree! The roots reach way above my head and some of them have been carved by water and time into animal heads - wolf, moose, seal.
So very thoughtful and tender, Karri, honest and open. How deep the rifts in family can be, and how easily we shove things in a closed set, away from sight, sound and sorry. I like the juxtaposition of the two, and the evolution of what came between manifested in the second poem. 🙏🏻
prose poems? Couplets?
Got no clue.
Let me count on my fingers,
i'lll eek out a hiiii-kooo.
(sorry)
No apologies needed, Chuck! This is so fun.
I revisited a springtime ode I wrote to a particular variety of snap pea, Sugaree. Let's just say my love for her was short-lived, lol. Fortunately a variety I planted later, Sugar Ann, is sweeter and has more staying power.
.
So tender in the beginning,
she stilted, yellowed, and finally
snapped, shaking the house
as she fell. Germination
is only the first thing.
How do we grow?
Your poem is tiny and sweet as a pea with such a delicious crunch to the ending!
Indeed, how do we grow? (as I ask my big tomato plants that have yet to produce one tomato)
Funny, that's what my tomato plants are doing, too! So green and lush and scarcely fruiting. Hoping for a big September haul!
Surely the most delightful ode to sugar peas ever written. And, as all gardeners come to find, our hearts will undoubtedly be broken through the season!
I remember the Sugaree poem! I love this.
I went to a plastic bin under a bed and found the very first poem I ever wrote in seventh grade, an adolescent teen's perspective on the Vietnam War, or perhaps all wars. Our 7th grade teacher, Ms. Chandler was superb and brought out the writer in all of us. 57 years later, on the heels of the news of Robert Calley's death, he who led the brutal massacre at My Lai in Vietnam in 1968, the recently released report of our nation's Indian Boarding school system, which lasted 100 years into the late 1960's and the effects that linger longer, the bombs over Gaza, Ukraine, Lebanon and too many places on this earth, the verbal bombs emanating every day from our so called political discourse, and reading that young boy's plea in 1967, led to this poem.
Our Flag Was Still There
^
The rockets red glare
and bombs bursting in air
have lost their romantic lustre
in the shattered remains
scattered across the earth.
^
The tender young boy wondering
where his friends’ beloveds went;
Fathers, brothers, uncles, cousins
vanishing into the twilight
of our American dreams.
^
The emerging teenager
learned all too quickly
and vividly
the procession that led
Into the shadows.
^
This filmy eyed elder now sees
the truth behind the lies,
the facts buried under history,
the colors between
red, white and blue.
^
The rockets’ red glare
too many bombs bursting in air
the darkness of carnage exposed to light
under the flag that is still there.
In this midnight prison, a prayer.
“The colors between red, white, and blue” - what a beautiful line and what a beautiful, tender, aching, powerful poem, Larry! I love that you revisited something you wrote so long ago. I have a feeling you were a really special kid!
Thank you Lisa, and for the invitation to look into that vault. I think all children are special, and was a kid who sometimes saw through a particular lens, or as Thoreau says, “ moved to a different drummer.”
This is so powerful, Larry.
Hauntingly beautiful Larry!
Thank you so much, Karri!
The depth of this post is remarkable. I truly love your prose poem and the path you took to writing it. Thank you for the prompt and invitation to go into the vault and revisit poems from another time. You always manage to take us home by another way.
Thank you so much, Larry! I look forward to seeing what emerges from your vault!
Peace
Peace alludes
Even its definition is slippery
We seek it constantly
Yet it rarely graces our being
We long to hold it in our arms
It allows for but a fleeting moment
Then a vagus response, guttural,
Primal, definite
Chases peace from our consciousness
Fear and trepidation cozy up
And the new news cycles cycle
And our minds spin
As we lay awake
Staring into various shades of darkness
Trying to control our breathing
We notice clenched teeth
We feel full body cortisol flush
Small beads of sweat flow
Onto warm skin
Attempting to cool
To calm
Searching for peace
Evaporating into those various shades of darkness
We are finally able to rest
As the first light of dawn
Slips into the room
And with that
The gnawing anxiety floods back into my being
And I take the deepest breath
And start over
"Full body cortisol flush" - I love how those words sound but don't love the feeling! You capture the anxiety-insomnia loop so well here, Billy.
I love the ending of this, Billy. "And I take the deepest breath/ And I start over"
"Take the deepest breath and start over...." again and again and again.
Love this. Great last line. FYI - a crow once actually landed on my head.
Omg, that must have been quite startling! Unless you intentionally lured it in?
Out of nowhere on a train platform on way home from work. Like it needed a resting point before the next perch. I can still feel its claws. Sure there’s a poem in there somewhere 😀
That is so wild, and I’m sure you’re right about there being a poem in there. I hope you write it!!
Oh, I love this new one so much! What a great prompt, and what a great thing you did with it!
Thank you, Priscilla! I don’t know if I’ve told you this, but you are one of the very first people I ever shared a poem with, and your kindness was a lovely nudge to keep writing.
I’m so delighted, and honored, to have been invited in! The poems you’re bringing forth are gold.
Thank you so much, friend!
What an amazing experience and two worthy poems! I have yet to have a chance to act on this prompt but it will be a great exercise!
These are both wonderful, Lisa! I loved being able to read the newest and then see the original - so many beautiful lines in both.
Thank you so much, A! 💜
Both of these poems are outstanding. It is fun to see a photo or two and compare those to the imagery that your written word conjures.
Thank you so much! If only I had a picture of the hawk and eagle swooping in!
I look at this picture, and to me it speaks volumes. It is a marvelous vision the way I see it.
Then I wish you could go experience the actual tree! The roots reach way above my head and some of them have been carved by water and time into animal heads - wolf, moose, seal.
I took a poem from a year ago concerning a family rift and wrote an update rather than rewriting it. The original is first.
Punished Enough
You say you need more time and time is fine.
I wonder if you’re keeping score of slights,
And how will you know when the time has come
That I have paid the price for hurtful words?
Apologies I made were so sincere,
But you decided that they weren’t real.
So you can take your time and time is fine,
But please remember there’s a real good chance,
That I won’t be around when you decide,
That you forgive me and we can move on,
Because you decide that I’ve been punished enough.
07/29/2023
It’s painful to look back,
On that time,
It was dark,
We were wrong,
Every one of us.
Things that were said and written,
Still linger
In the air
If we think
About what happened.
Life’s back to normal now
As it will be,
The wound’s a scar,
It still remains,
Under the surface.
But we’ll take what we can get
Move along,
Form new bonds,
Life is short,
We’ll carry on.
08/04/2024
So very thoughtful and tender, Karri, honest and open. How deep the rifts in family can be, and how easily we shove things in a closed set, away from sight, sound and sorry. I like the juxtaposition of the two, and the evolution of what came between manifested in the second poem. 🙏🏻
Thank you Larry. Things are different than they were "before" - but in reality "before" was probably not all we thought it was either.
Very wise insight, friend.
This is so moving, Karri, especially seeing the original one before the other.