The Gift of the Crumpled Flower #poetry #photography

 

lone daisy

“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

 

framed hand with flower

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

Edgars desk

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

rushing water

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

Deep is Winter #poet #winter #sorrow #Akhmatova

golden sunrise 2

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.

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)
winter scene
 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

sandpipers
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”
sun and wave foam
 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.
poets united

All I Have Are Ashes #Akhmatova #poet #societalcancer

 winter scene

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.