Bleeding Heart

 

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Never knew why she walked away

Left me in the lurch // communication cut off

Was it that first attempt at a kiss?

Or deep-seated hurts from the past?

**

I thought we seemed to be a great fit

I was smitten // head over hills in love

Yet she broke my heart // stabbed it with silence

Left me to wonder for the rest of my life

**

Glad now that it did not work out

Met the love of my life who became my wife

A life time together proves that it’s right

First love doesn’t have to be last the last love

**

Today at d’Verse, Dora asked us to write a poem about being left in the lurch! This poem is about my first heartbreak in 1966 that never had closure.  Takes me to Garth Brookes’s song: “I Thank God for Unanswered Prayer”.

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Photo: Dwight L. Roth

 

 

 

 

 

Resolve

Christmas 2023

One year ago, another year slipped by

As the scales showed me creeping // I was about to cry

Another set of zeros was trying to slide by

**

I remained in denial // it was never the time

It wasn’t that bad a few pounds were fine

Until the scales reached another 99

**

Getting bulky, my clothes were tight

Getting up when down was a difficult fight

Looking in the mirror was a scary sight

**

Realization hit me like a ton of bricks

I refused to continue on this humpty-dumpty flip

It would take work, but I had to get a grip

**

Giving up bread and pizza about made me cry

But the starches and butter would have brought my demise

So, I cut back on volume and tried to eat light

**

Amazingly, pounds slowly began to drop

In time my belt tightened // up to the third notch

First ten, then twenty, and my clothes became baggy

**

Today, when I watched the scale dial spin round

It showed that I lost a good twenty-five pounds

Now I feel better, I can get up off the ground

**

I am proud of my accomplishment, without any gain

It went on a little by little // is coming off the same

Saturday is my birthday // And now I ‘m not ashamed

**

Today at d’Verse, Punam asked us to write a Selfie Poem, about some aspect of ourselves. I was going to wait till Saturday to write this by since this came up I decided to go ahead and share my weight loss journey.

Last year a couple of things came together to bring this about. As you read in the poem, my weight was getting out of control. Cindy G. asked me to review her new book, in which she wrote that change only comes when we own it. Michelle had a contest prompt asking us to share how we keep active by moving, which I did and was chosen as one of the winners.

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Re-Create and Celebrate (Book Review)

Keep Moving

Finishing Lunch

cats and feathers -

Five furry felines together

Enjoyed lunch in Spring weather

As they licked their chops

One said, “This meal was tops!”

“But what shall we do with the feathers?”

*

Artwork by Luis Wain

Posting for Melissa’s d’Verse prompt on Luis Wain’s Cat drawings. We were to choose one of the pictures and write a poem about it. But, we cannot use the word “Cat” in our poem We may use synonyms.  I decided to do a limerick about the Cats that ate the bird.

Nothing Lasts Forever

Nothing Lasts Forever they say, but sometimes I wish it would

The house where I was born still stands having good bones,

it’s now almost a hundred

*

But like me its shell is not what it used to be

Worn and run down it still sits stately in the weeds

Time has taken its toll as new residents came and went

*

When I look in the mirror, I think to myself

“He had good bones but look at him now!”

“What happened to all that hair… too much  Brylcream, I guess!”

*

I remember living in that house when I was a child

I would love to walk through it once more with my brothers

visiting each room sharing indelible memories.

*

I can see my mother rolling out pie dough on the table

Crawling up on the chair, I watched intently snitching a piece to taste

Can’t you smell it baking with sweet apple juice oozing out?

*

There is my father sitting in the big chair working on his sermon

The plywood board he made that lays across the wide arms

It had a Cardinal applique on one corner and a Bluejay on the other

*

The stairs were steep with a strong banister I slid down

Upstairs, my mom sat in the rocker reading books to us before bed

Gathering around in our pjs we listened intently

Epilogue:

Sadly, this is meaningless to my children and grandchildren

I wish I could give them a tour telling of each special memory

But without the memories, for them it would only be a kind gesture

*

But nothing lasts forever and neither will my vivid memories

They are just ghosts that haunt me from time to time but soon gone

I heard it said that when a person dies, a library of information dies with them

*

It does make me sad to think how life moves on

bringing its joys and sorrows fresh and new to each generation

but soon they too will be lost with the coming of then next

*

Nothing in this life lasts forever

*

Photos: Dwight L. Roth

Today at d’Verse, Sanaa introduced us to Maggie Smith’s conversational style of poetry. She shared some of her poems with us and asked us to write one of our own.  My reference to Good Bones is a nod to her poem of that title.

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My Box

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My box is made of flesh and blood

wrapped around a framework of bones

tied together with muscle and ligaments

once young and strong // now aging and weak.

It is a box that is ever changing

as it moves toward the culmination of life

diminishing // like a raisin in the sun

*

My box contains a soul // a spirit // a breath of life

Totally separate from the shell of flesh on bones…

A medium beyond the physical //yet tied together

in a codependency of light and darkness

where Light and darkness seem to live side by side

often exchanging places as events in our lives take place

in an ongoing struggle for dominance.

*

My box has served me well through the years

A medium of love and caring for others in my life

Bruised and battered at times // yet resilient and strong

feeling the power of Light // finding my way through the dark.

As my soul struggles to be set free, my aging shell hangs on

My mind knows this box will decay in time

while my spirit will return to its creator // unencumbered

Kim at d’Verse introduced us to Welsh poet, Gillian Clark, and her poem, My Box here. She asked us to write a similar poem about our own personal box, either real or metaphorical. I decided to write about my physical self as my box.

Responding to Karla Hales last post about the eclipse, I came up with the thought about light and darkness residing together in our being, so I included that in my poem.

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Impatient Soul

Orion Nebula

Photo by John McKaveney: The Orion Nebula.

All her life she asked

“Are we there yet?”

Always impatient to arrive

Excited by what was to come  

*

Now

Lying there

Waiting to draw her last breath

Her echoes float among the stars

“Are we there yet?”

*

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Photo from the family album

Reflecting on my sister, Priscilla, one year later

Posting a second poem for d’Verse Poets Pub Prompt, Out of this World.

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Missing Loved Ones

Orion Nebula

Photo by John McKaveney: The Orion Nebula.

Today is the birthday of my father and my sister. My father passed away back in 1982 and my sister passed just a year ago, before her 81st birthday. They both are greatly missed. It is hard to believe that a year has passed already.

As I look at this photo of the Orion Nebula, I am remined of how small we are and how vast the universe is in the world beyond our tiny planet Earth.

Family members pass

Memories celebrated

Spirits soar beyond

Today at d’Verse, Lillian gave us four photos taken by a friend of hers, John McKaveney, who loves astronomy. She asked us to choose one of the photos and write a poem in any form.

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Contours of Nature

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Nothing compares to smooth contours of Nature

Lavendar petals softer than a silk negligee

Perfectly shaped into tongues of perfection

Hiding golden treasures

Calling bees to dare to wander

Into delectable wonders she willingly shares

Found only in Nature’s contours

Identical twin iris blooms

*

Photo: Dwight L. Roth

Lisa at d’Verse asked us to use the word contour for our Monday Quadrille. This afternoon I had another surprise in my bed of purple iris. This beauty was a light lavendar color. I could not help but be in awe of Nature’s creation.

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Shadows (haiku)

“The shadows have their seasons, too.” – John Updike

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Long winter shadows 

give way to Spring flowers

as sun climbs higher

 

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Photos: Dwight L. Roth

Posting for Sanaa’s d’Verse mini prompt for open link night. She gave us a line from John Updike’s poem, Penumbrae – “The shadows have their seasons, too.”

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