Passing Fantasy

Passing Fantasy

There is a small tree

within the wood, along the rail line

which has not lost its’ golden coin leaves

even in the grey weather of this rainy day

Beckoning the fae - I’m sure

they are protected by some great magic;

the retirement accounts glitter for all to see

making me wonder about where they, the fae may go

Do they travel south, become snowbirds

like the swallows of Capistrano? Or do they crave

to be engulfed in Monarch wings in Mexico? Some might

choose cooler climes - investing in the crystal north

Even in the grey weather of this rainy day

golden coin leaves flutter - blink and the scene passes -

In the woods between the stations...

There is a small tree...

(c) JP/davh

We Write Poems 195: weather report prompt

http://wewritepoems.wordpress.com/2014/01/09/prompt-195-weather-report/

tropic of cancer or latitude in attitude

warmths stirs within the volcanic heart

sometimes the burnt ashes of memories

that should have remained settled mix

with the fluid pounding of emotional unrest

and even with attempted restraint there is

no stopping the natural course of what will be

and the sky is dulled with the words that could

not be choked back and swallowed yet again...

they just want to be heard - but when the other

mountains of cold stone refuse to listen

attention must be, should be, has to be drawn -

even if only with chalk that will once again be

erased with the tears of misunderstanding

so we can go back to our different coastlines

and mubble at how unfair the other is, was, can be.

how can two siblings be so different?

each at one point wanting what the other has -

and yet when stepping back are quite grateful

for who and what they have become...

no sense in pointing fingers unless you really

are ready, willing and able to actually bend

and lend that hand extended from your arm...

let the dragon sleep - that storm that will come

there will be no stopping it, nature only provides

the instruments it is the players who beat the drums,

blow the horns, and pluck all the strings so that the sky

is either clear with balmy and soothing goodness or

well we all know that or, the oar that thrashes in the

tumultuous sea that blinds common sense and leaves

us wanting what we could never have had...

or at least that is what we sometimes think.

©JP/davh

Baked - Not Quite Fried

Baked - Not Quite Fried

When pieces of the whole stop working

You know eventually what is broken...

Like poor ‘Ole Humpty Dumpty - ‘it’ cannot be fixed

It is the waiting; that ticking time bomb clock

That is and its’ constantly repeating -

“Did you put the chicken wings you brought me in the frig?”

As the body loses functions some slower than others

We witness how it might be for us who remain

Straining at our own seams - struggling with our hopes -

While depending on whatever faith we might have remaining;

While attempting to hold up our partners as well as bringing

Ourselves up by our own sagging boot straps...

Plans have to be rearranged, altered, - have been changed

Responsibilities rendered, by those in attendance -

There is no room to ‘chew the fat’ -

There is no timetable, rhyme or reason - There is no

Escaping the winter season as darkness looms... It doesn’t

Matter how warm it is outside or how short the ride might be

We have to clasp each others hands walking as a united unit

Being satisfied at being able to fulfil others needs before our own

Wishes - as we fill the center of the generational ‘sandwich’

©JP/davh

Attending Attention

Inspired by K.A.B.

Attending Attention

Being aware is the tricky part... Every snowflake has a lesson.

The light fluffy ones and the ones full of a heaviness that could weigh us down,

But we have to shift their presence in order to make our own path safe...

And so there I was all layered and bundled, getting snowed on as well,

Taking a swath of a mixture of frozen water, white fallen clouds given substance

And weight - only thinking in the moment to clear the double wide drive...

The steps to the door, and the side walkways...push, settle the mass

Into the shovel and heave ho - sailing without a ship in the winter’s atmosphere

All concentration focused with only the slight distraction of a few passer-bys.

And that is how I was for about an hour; cloaked, scarfed, hatted, mittened, booted;

All before breakfast, because I didn’t know that school had been canceled -

So the grandchildren wouldn’t be traveling - and most folks shouldn’t have either...

Driving in that morning mess white knuckles grasping steering wheels - only creeping

Twenty miles per hour on roads not yet plowed thinking that they had no other alternatives -

But life is always choices, and safety and self preservation needs full recognition.

©JP/davh

Winter Limericks for Mad Kane

http://www.madkane.com/humor_blog/2013/12/08/round-limerick-off-monday/

Winter Limericks for Mad Kane

I

A rumor was going around

That the sun was going to astound

But all those white flakes that fell

Made winter a very cold living hell

That left too many of us house bound!

II

A woman was running around

With layers of clothing was bound

Being a devout nudist

As well as a Buddhist

She tried hard to not make a sound

III

A fellow whose body was round

Took himself to the reindeer compound

Red suit with white trim

And no thoughts to be slim

Chuckled merrily as Rudolph was found

©JP/davh

Stuck on a feeling...

With thanks to K.A.B.

Stuck on a feeling...

Waking up is hard to do...

especially when you aren’t there,

and the old alarm clock finally bit the dust.

Even though I replaced the battery.

The time advances rapidly as if it were a high speed train

that plans to never stop...until unplugged.

Daydream believer...

that’s what’s on the agenda after a long yesterday

trying to forget night dreams that weren’t quite nightmares

but weren’t clues to buried treasure or illuminated points of inspiration.

The bills are alive...

with the sound of ‘Pay me’

waiting there on the table eyeing the checkbook like a lover.

Need to pick up the ‘grands’ this morning...

the little boy asks; “What are you doing?”

as Daddy buckles him in his carseat.

Grama says; “We are going over the river and through the woods...”

Still more than half asleep the boy says; “But we did that yesterday.”

Extra, extra - read all about it!

Pick up the paper before getting the ‘children’ out of the car -

that was tossed on the drive, that you ran over on the way out...

because you didn’t see it because it was still dark.

Not quite seven, or impossible. Just things, normal things...

day to day replay - until the coffee is brewed and the brain

takes over the rote and routine functions that the body has

chosen to believe are important tasks for surviving the day.

©JP/davh

Just Brilliant

with thanks to C.K.

Just Brilliant

Being in the sunset of her years

she no longer wishes to read the daily paper

our gift to her, because there was nothing else she needed

So now I’ll have to remember to

keep tabs on that box of favorite cookies that

she said was her favorites...though one can never be sure

And serendipitously replace them

so when she wants a little sweet treat...she might

also remember the first time she ate one and thought, mmm, good.

Even if that was over several decades ago

when she didn’t need anyones help to run and play

when she wasn’t helping her parents or teachers or siblings...

With only one eye now it is perhaps

just a tad more difficult to focus on the limited view

that seasonally changes from her little homey box of a room

So we take turns, those of us that live in a less

restricted world to make the one she lives in as comfortable

as can be - augmenting the menu with home cooked meals she enjoys

Being in the sunset of her years

I can only wonder how often she might reflect on

all of the wonderful colors she has added to others lives

©JP/davh