Scottie Dogs

Two little dogs / one white and one black

Childhood entertainment when the service went too long

Carried in my mother’s purse

with Juicy Fruit gum and a silk handkerchief

A magnetic pair in a little white box

Imaginative fun for one little boy

Today is Quadrille Monday (only 44 words) at d’Verse. De asked us to write about magnetism in any way we chose. I was taken back to pre-school days when my mom would carry the magnetic Tricky Dogs in her purse to entertain me at church. I loved playing with them. If you put the like poles together they would spin around and connect from opposite poles. They were great entertainment for me.

Join us at: https://dversepoets.com Then click on the Mr. Linkey box to read other poets’ work.

Photo from bing images.

Because You’re My Sister

I saw this sign in an old cabin when we visited friends in the mountains a few years ago. It made me smile. It could also apply to our parents. We can’t pick our family members, but we can learn to respect and love them.

My sister was five years older than me. I always looked up to her because she was smart and well liked by all of her teachers. She took time to read to me some of the stories she was reading, and brought me left over pizza from her dates. I am sure I was an aggravation to her from time to time, but we have always maintained a good relationship, even when we disagreed over the years.

Sisters are special

One of a kind friends for life

Smile / she’s stuck with me

Photo: Dwight L. Roth

Photo: Family Album

Me and my sister and little brother.

Carolina Girl

Today we decided to visit Dogwood Park. On the way back to our car we passed a cute little high school girl. We discovered she was parked right next to us. I had to smile when I saw her front plate: Carolina Girl… Best in the World.

The younger crowd who likes to go to the beach often find themselves shagging to a beach music band. The Shag is a dance that is very popular on the Carolina beaches. One of the songs they sing goes, “Carolina Girls, best in the world…” The You Tube clip gives you a taste of Beach Music…

Photos; Dwight L. Roth

Your Roots

Beneath every tree are roots

Holding… interlocking… feeding

Bringing strength foundation

Roots the source of all beauty we see

looking at a tree

You’ve heard, “Behind every successful man

is a good woman.”

My mother was that good woman

holding interlocking our family

feeding… caring for each one.

My father was a pillar of the community

on strength and nourishment

of my mom who was always there for him.

An unsung hero

she was the roots of our tree.

Without her none of us would be

standing as we are today.

My Father and Mother on their 40th

My father died at age 70. My mom lived to be 93!

Photos; Dwight L. Roth

The Headless Horseman of the Apocalypse

I wrote this wild poem four years ago as a response to the upcoming election between Donald Trump and Hillary Clinton. The conversations then were not that unlike what is being said now, as many could not imagine that Trump could win the election. As we all know he did win and is now trying once more. Only time will tell. It is amazing how the muck of politics goes on and on and the alligators in the swamp keep getting fatter and fatter.

Riding through the dark night of the soul

Comes a headless horseman on a golden steed

Snorting fire and ashes he rides with great speed

No one can stop the galloping Spector

No Donkey nor Elephant, not Fox nor Hound

No one dare be so bold

As the ghastly night round him grows cold

He defies all those who would slow him down

Many have tried and been left on the ground

Some have screamed and some have yelled

But nothing can stop the apocalyptic wail

Out of the swamp through the fog of night

Rides the horseman of the apocalypse

leaving all in a fright

He comes charging the bridge in full moonlight

Not a myth not a tale nor a short lived wail

Will rise up to challenge with ghastly pale

The pending disaster that rides on his tail

In the morning sun he’ll surely be restricted

It was not true as many souls predicted

He’s here for now and he’ll be for a spell

This wild man with no head has tales to tell

The powers tried to slow him down

In that midnight hour as he rode into town

But the pumpkin wielding warrior

Simply brought scare and horror

To politicians far and wide

Bringing chaos and confusion now all is lost

He won’t stop till that last bridge is crossed

********

Painting: Dwight L. Roth

The God Perspective

“You know,” he mused, “Some folks don’t believe there is a God. They get all tangled up with religion and theological arguments about who is right and who is wrong, and miss the bigger picture.”

Grandpa always did have a unique perspective on life. He was wise beyond his years, but only shared his wisdom if asked.

“Aren’t your afraid of catching Covid and dying,” I asked?

“You know son, there are a lot worse things in living than in dying. Death is knocking on all of our doors!”

“I believe there is a God who is the source of all life, and that my life will continue on long after this old pain-ridden body is gone.”

I thought about what he said, as he continued, ‘We look at him through the wrong end of the long telescope of Time’.

“God’s Love is eternal!”

***********

Painting By Dwight L. Roth

Today at d’Verse, Kim is having us do Prosery. This is when we write a prose piece of flash fiction (144 words) that includes a random line form a poem she chooses for us. She gave us this line from the D. H. Lawerence poem, Hummingbird:We look at him through the wrong end of the long telescope of Time’. I decided to write my piece as a conversation.

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All is Lost

‘Twas with storm and October gale she ripped the sail

Shredded last threads flapping / faceless flag without stripes

Into the gale / fearless calm / face of moon-ash-pale

Fate assured / as many feared the Orca axed rock’s sharp scrape

*

Tsumami waves… his pall bearers strong / buried him deep

neath igneous rocks, casket solid, lasting a thousand years

Pale moon shredding tears / hidden from all in view’s keep

Fate assured / guiding light / riding gears of hopeless fears

*

Now each October 31st she walks / cold quartz beneath her feet

Pale Moon brightly shines / smiles / mist kissing her ashen face

This night her last walk / gang plank of sand / calls from the deep

Assured fate / drawn to his siren song / moon follows her last trace

Waves wash the chalkboard clean….

Spectors walk hand in hand in the full moon’s light….

Painting: Dwight L. Roth

Today at d’Verse, Lucy is the guest host and asked us to write a dark ballad. October has many aspects of this ending with Halloween. I am not into murder, blood, or gore, so I wrote my ballad about a salor lost in a storm and his love who cannot take the loss any longer! Hope you enjoy it along with my painting that I entitled “All is Lost”.

Join us at: https://dversepoets.com Then click the Mr. Linkey box to read some of the other poets poems.

The Herring Net

Painting by Winslow Homer – The Herring Net

This old canvas board print came through the Habitat Restore where I volunteer two afternoons a week. It was in pretty shabby shape, worn and in need of cleaning. I found that it was a painting by Winslow Homer. It was about ready to be thrown out, so I said I would take it home and see if I could restore it. I went back over the painting with the original colors and brightened it up. I am very happy with the results.

Old canvas board dirty

worn ready for the dumpster

Restoration shines

***

Painting restoration – Dwight L. Roth

Putting on a Hug

Our disposable society has a lot of downside and excess baggage that comes with it. I believe we lose so much these days because we are too quick to discard what we once held dear. Whether it be friends or family or spouse, everything these days is dispensable. Commitment and vows seem to be archaic confinements in this generation. We seem to forget that in relationships we will have differences; things that may hurt deeply, but forgiveness is always a part of life. Without forgiveness, we will go on repeating our same mistakes and adding more and more baggage to our life’s load.

She tells me it’s time to throw it out

Faded and worn // button missing

But to me it is something special

A security blanket of sorts

Putting on this old shirt is like

putting on a hug

*

Just like a long-time friend

with all our quirks and flaws

We are something special

A security blanket of sorts

Having you as a friend is like

putting on a hug

*

Photo: Dwight L. Roth

Sharing this one on open link night at d’Verse.

Join us at: https://dversepoets.com Then click on the Mr. Linkey box to read from the different poets.

Hoof-beats

A Dunkard Brethren church once sat at the top of the ridge overlooking Willow Run. Now in crumbles of brick and mortar, flowering honeysuckle invite bees to commune at their cups of sweetness. Blacksnakes slither through the rubble looking for a toad or rat residing there.

It was in this church where itinerant preachers on horseback brought fiery brimstone, forgiveness, and grace to the faithful who gathered. Souls were saved and dunked all the way under in Willow Run.

On the hillside the full moon reflects off of a few protruding graveyard stones. Most have long since been overgrown and broken. The names on the stones kiss the ground, above the deceased as “In their dreams they sleep with the moon.”

Tales are told by the ancients, who still live nearby, that at midnight’s full moon rise, horses pounding hooves echo through the night!

Photos: Dwight L. Roth

Today at d’Verse, Merril introduce a prosery prompt. This is a short story of no more than 144 words that can be flash fiction, true, or far out imaginary. It must include a random line from a poem that she shared with us. Her line was from a Mary Oliver poem, (Death at Wind River),“In their dreams they sleep with the moon.” My story is flash fiction, based on a little church from my home town. My two brothers and I visited there two years ago, and I took a bunch of photos. These are a couple of photos from there. The story is made up.

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