Water #poetry #drought #Uganda

one blue cup each

flows easily through her hands

dry river beds

laughter’s pure reflection

sing song they learn A B Cs

*

so young to be old

internal Acholi’s strength

Nile clouds my vision

*

If I share a handful of their giggles, would you share a handful of precious water?

This week’s  Word Press photo challenge is Reflections

and Reflections at Weekly Tanka Prompt

Uganda Montage #atozchallenge #Acholi #Uganda

Pop the bubble

passages of time

stop on the Nile

heart memories rewind

not much more can be said about this beautiful place and the people we love!

Thank you to A to Z challenge for giving the opportunity to share about Uganda and the Acholi people.

Freedom’s Dawn #Easter #Poetry

breaking through clouds look through storm clouds

beauty to behold

colors of the rainbow

mercy to unfold

hold not to the dark

open up your heart

before the Lord seek freedom

make a fresh new start

*

nightingale’s song

 lily raises its pure face

morning glory

*

Easter is a time to be reminded of Christ’s sacrifice and renewed. But we can hold back and lay roots of rot and resistance. It is not God who holds back His goodness. We are the ones who chose not the beauty of salvation’s grace.

 

Time Passing #poetry #writing #photography

childs viewpoint

The next generation buzzed about

one pre-adolescent squawked off-key

trying their hand at being grown up

our children even in sorrow bring us glee

stories of when they were young

little gazes adoration filled

I miss little hands in mine

I still hear a faint giggle

we are here to honor our father

how many gatherings did he watch

things will never be the same

 the family’s protective hawk

we share laughter and tears

they fledge and time passes

parents impotent to protect

the merry go rounds go faster

we sit thinking of the past

telling stories of when they were young

look behind one brief moment

his shadow all alone

*

I wish you knew him

broken people held in rough hands

maintained order

Poets United Midweek Motif is “Parenting.” We just spent the past weekend celebrating the rich life of my father-in-law who spent his life serving in international disaster relief. We knew many of the stories still it was good to hear that he was loved and respected no matter where he went. We had lots of time for reflecting on the past and parenting as the children circled our chairs.

 

 

Life’s A Beach… #poetry #summer

 plans for picnic takes a child’s mind

whole wheat  slathered with mayo

fresh turkey, lettuce, tomato

a pickle happily on the side

*

golden potato salad, olives and egg

savory tastes never sweet

in my favorite penguin bowl

no one’s looking, sneak a taste

*

where did my picnic manners go?

I look for right utensils and plates

blue and white check for occasions

tied up in a red ribbon bow

*

grab the basket, can’t be late

2 many memories,  meld just 1

run down 50 stairs

I’m hurrying please wait

*

singing songs in the back seat

new Mustang with the top down

wind whips our hair in a tangle

anticipating a day at the beach

*

Orange disk Frisbees fly

sand castles lose the seige

caught in the  sea’s undertow

too sunny a day to cry

*

Hungry, I crunch mayo and sand

those pebbles (like ants ) unwelcome guest

nothing can ruin this day

replay it in my eight track again

 

On a warm day where the air conditioning is our natural sea/bay weather, most of civilization seems to jump in the car for the beach. As a child (and adult) nothing can ruin the day.

Poet’s United is packing their baskets for fine poetry about – Picnics.

What kind of picnic memories do you have?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Without You #mothersday #poetry

azalea

 

some children fall in the cracks

swept up in loving arms

(for you) mothering comes easy

loving is never a “task”

Grandmothers take small hands

steer us clear of life’s storm

water their little one’s garden

never says “can’t” always “Can”

her memory flows over sweetly

wishing she still was near

heaven is ever the richer

Grandmother your love was so dear

*

In my discussions with people, I rarely find someone whose grandmother wasn’t an influence in their lives. Some of us were raised by our grandmothers and our mothers were either out of the picture or were more concerned about their own lives. To the women who in their elderly years dusted off their tennie runners and game playing skills and most of all loved us for who we were.

 

Sharing this with Poet’s United today!