TRUST

Translucent thoughts and feelings,

Resting in the hearts of

Unassuming others who

Simmer with their thoughts,

Triumphant that together,

They will remain as one,

In love and hope and freedom,

Trust, once again, has won.

Precious Linda, c. 2013

Apparitions of Ice

Alien sounds of creatures in distress

accompany the mysterious growth and

sudden eruptions of crystalline shards

of needle-like formations of ice.

People stop in their tracks, mystified,

observing this strange, alien invasion

and to capture it on camera, as they

experience this unusual phenomenon,

bursting forth, spreading prickly

tentacles of cascading apparitions,

here today and gone tomorrow,

along the shores of Medicine Lake.

Precious Linda, c. 2013

To see pictures and a video of this strange phenomenon, see: http://www.theepochtimes.com/n3/30145-lake-ice-needles-filmed-in-minnesota-lake-video/

MUSIC - an acrostic poem

Melodious tunes

Uses chord collaboration

Sometimes tickles the emotions

Intriguing movements that touch the soul

Creates a pulsating beat through me

Precious Linda, c. 2013

Checkerboard Colors - Haiku

Checkerboard colors
Red and white geraniums
Exploding in bloom

Precious Linda, c. 2013

My Teddy Bear and I

I have a pink, Teddy bear,

I hold her close and tight,

To comfort her from memories

Of days gone by and fright.

She needs the comfort of my arms,

I hold her close, you see,

To keep her safe from all alarm,

To know she’s safe with me.

She isn’t able on her own

To settle down in peace.

She needs the comfort of my arms,

In slumber, to release.

Her memories are different

Than mine would ever be.

I can’t believe the things she says,

It never would be me!

And yet, my body says a lot,

With frightened feelings, too,

And then I hold my Teddy bear

And tell her, “I love you!”

The wounds and fears, the great big tears,

The little ones, as well,

The scary thoughts that come our way,

That drag us right through hell,

Remain no longer buried deep,

But move along to find

The way back from the recesses,

From deep within our mind.

I wonder if the things she feels

Will ever feel like I,

Right now I cannot fathom them,

Nor see them with my eye.

No matter what tomorrow brings,

My bear and I will try,

Together to become as one,

One person, she and I.

Precious Linda, c. 2013

The Sunset – a terza rima poem

the western sky shot colors from the sun

with hues of orange and pinks and dazzling shapes

reflections on the water never done

vibrating colors like some bobbing grapes

a spectacle of beauty and delight

tossed by the waves, with many diff’rent shapes

a grandiose display of brilliant light

that takes away one’s breath, with gasps and awe

and forms some salty tears that mar one’s sight

this vast array begins to drop the jaw

and with a mouth wide open catches flies

which may end up inside a person’s craw

no matter what, the person never lies,

majestic beauty overflows his soul

and whispers that he’s found a special prize

igniting passion, deep within, he’s whole,

and will again begin his blessed stroll

Precious Linda, c.2013

I used the prompt of writing a terza rima today. The description is as follows:

“The literal translation of terza rima from Italian is 'third rhyme'. Terza rima is a three-line stanza using chain rhyme in the pattern A-B-A, B-C-B, C-D-C, D-E-D. There is no limit to the number of lines, but poems or sections of poems written in terza rima end with either a single line or couplet repeating the rhyme of the middle line of the final tercet. The two possible endings for the example above are d-e-d, e or d-e-d, e-e. There is no set rhythm for terza rima, but in English,iambic pentameter is generally preferred." 

Quotation from: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Terza_rima (2013-04-25)

The Kitchen Table

yesterday, left behind,

with a table filled with yesterday,

thirteen orange juice bottles,

standing, side by side

filled with aging water

for the fish aquarium,

repotted geranium plants,

pruned from winter growth,

beginning to blossom,

a book and photograph,

a gift from a friend,

visited yesterday,

a plastic bag, filled with

an assortment of bandages

and supplies, a container

of Vaseline to cover

a recent skin biopsy,

a library book

to be returned,

3-hole punch paper,

in a wrapper, on its way

from storage to the office,

a home-made wristband

made from a sock

to hold gauze on the wrist,

but it didn’t work,

two more pieces

of the cut sock,

waiting to find its purpose,

an empty box of

Playtex Living Gloves,

extra long gloves, used

to wash dishes by hand

without getting the

wrist wet

one look at the table

with clutter overtaking,

stirred up within her

feelings of

overload

overtired

overstressed

overworked

rising up to

overflowing and

overwhelmed

needing rest from

a tiring day before,

she went to lie down

with thoughts and feelings

swirling through her

heart, mind, and soul,

filling her head

and all extra spaces,

with no place

to just be

free

and then,

she sensed

the Lord

speak to her,

Will you clear off

your table, please,

making room

for Me

and

will you share

a cup of tea

with Me?

she smiled at the idea,

went out to the kitchen

and looked again

at the mess,

scribbled a poem,

tired as she was,

and began to

prepare a cup of tea,

cleaned off a small

place on the table

and began to feel

real again,

in the present moment

of grace,

to spend time

with the Lord,

in spirit,

face-to-face,

with nothing

more important,

to distract her,

for those few

sacred moments

of time

together,

sitting at her

kitchen table,

in sweet communion,

with her Lord.

Precious Linda, c.2013

Frozen in FEAR, Once Again

The door SLAMMED

and, once again,

the young child

froze   

in

fear

not knowing

what would happen next,

anticipating

shouting, yelling,

penetrating reprimands,

a cold shoulder with frozen silence,

sharp eyes of disapproval,

permeating everywhere,

filling her heart with

overwhelming terror,

leaving no room

for love,

mistakes, accidents,

or immaturity,

always promising disapproval,

sporadic expressions of love,

and the hopelessness of

never being fully accepted,

as her little,

immature

self,

but rather

annihilated,

in spirit,

once

again.

Years later,

she didn’t know,

if the wind had

blown the door shut,

or a person had shut it,

accidentally loud,

without malice or ill intent,

but she froze,

out of habit,

accepting

the blame

and subsequent

shame,

as her own,

once

again,

until

her body began

to release those

old, old feelings,

turbulent, at times,

and, then, as a

cleansing

wave

washing

her soul.

Precious Linda, c.2013

I Was Raised to Be a Clone

I was raised to be a clone

with no sense of self,

like an appendage,

controlled by another.

Anything that didn’t measure up

to their beliefs, ways, or thoughts

was quickly smashed,

along with me.

I was never free

to become

uniquely

me,

in

their

presence.

And now,

I still have memories

of the pain of being

different and not

measuring up,

of needing

to be

exactly

the

same.

I’ve tried to blend in,

chameleon-like,

but that is death to me.

My sense of self

comes creeping up,

like a shadow coming alive,

but then, I become afraid

and try to stomp it out,

just like what

was done

to me.

I don’t want to be a murderer,

but I am so afraid,

that if I am so different,

I will be rejected,

again and again,

as I have been,

from time immemorial.

I’m continually told,

I should be different,

fit this mold,

or else,

I will not love you,

I will not be with you,

I will not talk to you,

I will not hug you.

Apparently,

the choice

to be

me

is

very,

very,

very

lonely.

Precious Linda, c. 2013

SLUMBER – Acrostic Poem

Senses sleeping

Living dreams

Unconscious awakens

Memories explode

Body rests and restores

Eventually, spirits show up

Restless commotion, inside

Precious Linda, c.2013

Icing Laced on Trees - Haiku

Icing laced on trees

Daffodils covered with snow

Spring is hiding here

Precious Linda, c. 2013

I Saw a Blind Man Walking

I saw a blind man walking,

I know that he was blind,

He had a white stick, tapping.

Was he out of his mind?

At first, I wondered, maybe,

He really had some sight,

Because he stopped and turned his head,

Turning left, then right.

But then, he started tapping

And moving, stealthily away,

The ground, uneven beneath his feet,

And he began to stray.

I noticed, from within my car,

While waiting at the light,

He turned this way and that way

And my muscles became tight.

I watched him slowly maneuver through

An overgrown, abandoned street corner,

Bypassing a building and crumbling driveway,

Snow-covered clumps of grass, and more.

The poor fellow kept a-going,

I truly know not how,

He dodged trees and a signpost

With two, tall stakes in the ground. Wow!

My light turned green and I went on

And stopped at another red.

I truly hoped he’d make it  

To wherever his journey led.

I drove onto the highway,

As tears began to fill my eyes,

Remembering the man who could not see

With his very own, two eyes.

When times get tough and painful

And sorrows come my way,

I hope I’ll remember the courage

Of the blind man I saw today.

Precious Linda, c. 2013

Turtle, a Cinquain Poem

Turtle

Loves sunbathing

Moves laboriously

Always enjoys feeling at home

Nomad

Another cinquain - a poem with five lines with 2,4,6,8,2 syllables, and a few other requirements.

Precious Linda, c. 2013

My Occupation

I’ve been a homemaker,

a stay-at-home mom,

I’ve loved it and found it

fulfilling,

until

the kids

left

home

housework can be a drudge,

I’d rather make fudge and eat it,

but then, I’d have to buy

new clothes to fit in again

tax time has come,

my husband filled out the forms,

then he informed me

that he did something new

I wondered and asked him,

he said he filled out my occupation,

not the usual way, as homemaker,

but wrote, writer, instead

I asked why and told him,

I don’t make money that way,

his reply, it’s not about

how you make money,

you made no money

being a homemaker, either,

it’s about what occupies

your time and, therefore,

you

are

a

writer

Precious Linda, c. 2013

Floundering - A Poem from Words Unknown

Here from this valueless life I have fled

And now, I find myself lost

There are places to go and pad around

Scary places but there is no room

With only my hands and feet,

And all of myself, I go, blown by the wind

There are several paths and tunnels to take

But nothing makes sense to me

The god or God, where are you?

You are like a wind, I cannot see

My only choice is to lie down in the grass

Pleading for you to find me, this one time I ask.

Precious Linda, c. 2013

The poetry prompt for Day 16 of the National Poetry Writing Month was to take an international poem, in a language not known to me, and use the words and shapes of the words to write my own poem, without looking at the translation. The above is my attempt at doing so. I knew the original poem was entitled, “Escape,” and I wrote without reading the translation.

The original poem and the translation, provided with credits to the author and translator, are listed below:

ONTVLUGTING

Uit hierdie Valkenburg het ek ontvlug
en dink my nou in Gordonsbaai terug:

Ek speel met paddavisse in 'n stroom
en kerf swastikas in 'n rooikransboom

Ek is die hond wat op die strande draf
en dom-allenig teen die aandwind blaf

Ek is die seevoël wat verhongerd daal
en dooie nagte opdis as 'n maal

Die god wat jou geskep het uit die wind
sodat my smart in jou volmaaktheid vind:

My lyk lê uitgespoel in wier en gras
op al die plekke waar ons eenmaal was.

© 1956, Ingrid Jonker Trust
From: Ontvlugting
Publisher: Culemborg, Cape Town, 1956

ESCAPE

From this Valkenburg have I run away
and in my thoughts return to Gordon’s Bay:

I play with tadpoles swimming free
carve swastikas in a red-krantz tree

I am the dog that slinks from beach to beach
barks dumb-alone against the evening breeze

I am the gull that swoops in famished flights
to serve up meals of long-dead nights

The god who shaped you from the wind and dew
to find fulfilment of my pain in you:

Washed out my body lies in weed and grass
in all the places where we once did pass.

© Translation: 2007, Antjie Krog & André Brink
From: Black Butterflies
Publisher: Human & Rousseau, Cape Town, 2007, 9780798148924

http://www.poetryinternationalweb.net/pi/site/poem/item/11227

A Patch of Blue

A patch of blue caught my eye

from cloudy grays and whites

and darkened silhouettes of bark,

damp from the snow-filled nights.

The grays and whites unending,

until one day appeared,

a burst of color, a patch of blue,

in a black and white world.

The patch of blue was welcome,

to let me know the sun

was shining just a little bit

and springtime soon would come.

Precious Linda., c. 2013

The Synergy of US!

Synergy

between

two unique

beings,

hot-wired

together,

sparks fly

connections

adjust

juices flow

it comes alive

the creation

of us

US is born

Together,

we grow,

adjust some more,

become 

two-in-ONE

WE!!

Precious Linda, c. 2013

Safe Am I

Cloaked and hidden,

enshrouded with fears,

tears locked up,

unknown for years

Body shaking,

beginning to cry,

tears overflowing,

not knowing why

Memories surface,

exposing deep pain,

beginning to feel,

sorrows and shame

Feel the feelings

let them flow,

freely like waves,

then, let them go

Freed, once again

to smile, until

a trigger erupts

another minefield

Will this pain

ever come to an end,

or, will it repeat

again and again?

Knowing I have been

through this before,

I know how to ride

the waves once more.

Courageously, I face the pain,

wave upon wave rolls by,

old, buried feelings pass

once again. Safe am I.

Precious Linda, c. 2013

Ice Cream - A Cinquain

Ice cream

Colorful dream

Too many scoops went plop

Delightful joy, turned to sadness

Street paint

I thought I'd try a cinquain today.

Precious Linda, c. 2013

Captivated by Moving Grace

mesmerized,

her body glided

across the stage

moving lithely

with grace

a pirouette,

twirling and

spinning,

unbelievable

outstanding

extending her leg

above her head,

arching her back,

she fell faultlessly into

his awaiting arms

gently raising her body

above his head,

he twirled her,

a human arch,

delicate

balanced

beautiful

with controlled tension

and beautiful grace,

he gently lowered her body

to the floor

and the two

danced

as one

back and forth

across the stage,

stepping lightly,

barely touching

the floor

or the other’s hand

breathlessly,

I watched

the two

dance as one

from the depths

of my being

I applauded,

with tears of

   joy

    delight

         awe and

            amazement

streaming

   down

       my 

          face

captivated

by the beauty of

beholding

two

become

one

in the

movement

of

grace

Precious Linda, c. 2013