an ode to the summer: because all good things must come to an end

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the hazy glow of summertime has nearly reached its end

though the sweet taste of ice cream is still on our lips

 

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the fairy wings of summer are put away

memories full of music and laughter echo but fade

we can still remember the idle hours of yesterday

as we return to the steady rhythm of today

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we reached for the stars and gazed at the sun

(carefully)

 

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we ran wild, we danced without a care.

howled at the moon and posed with a bear.

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we languished idly when the moment felt right

as it often did.

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but now we’ve memed all the moments

 

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we’ve plunged all the depths

we’ve plenty of chlorine to rinse from our tresses

the beach bags are empty

the sunscreen’s run out.

we know what this means:

school’s in, summer’s out.


I’m linking up with Mama Kat’s Writer’s Workshop. I chose her first prompt this week: Your summer recap in a poem and pictures. Head to her blog for more fun!

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summer: poetry in motion

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summer looks like wet beach towels, hung to dry

sand covered feet, salty sweet air, water slides

blisters from long walks at the amusement park

sticky faces from too much birthday cake

there’s no such thing as too much birthday cake

exploring new places and visiting old favorites

posing with stone statues that know us well

curling up with a good book, pitching an old tent

bright blooms and loud booms that bring

an explosion of color

long days on the road, lazy mornings in bed

big accomplishments, small victories

bonfires and golden brown marshmallows

family game night and movie marathons

life in excess is the motto of summer

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Find the prompts here.

He’s talented, too: MM may be the next e.e. cummings

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My son is learning about poetry in school right now. I’m not sure how much of a hand his teacher had in helping the kids write these, but I’ll choose to imagine that my son is simply the next e.e. cummings and I should start working on helping him publish his first anthology, stat.

Here are some poems he’s written for class. I was kind of blown away when I read these.

Dad

Working, busy

Works all day

Always kind and happy

Father

 

Mrs. [P]

Organised, sweet

Watching, helping, reading

Wife, teacher, reading, english

Teaching, writing, helping

Helpful, giving

Teacher

 

Up high

The sun is so hot,

the sky is so high, high up,

so I can’t reach them.

Unch

We will munch

Monday’s brunch.

I have a hunch…

Rain

There

was a knock

at the door.only a

rain drop was there.

More drizzled on

the door.  

Copyright MFE © 2015, obviously. Don’t be a jerk and steal my son’s amazing poetry.

Music vs. Poetry.

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We’d spent the afternoon explaining The Beatles and Yoko Ono to the kids. The casual lecture lingered on throughout dinner to cover peace activism and the Civil Rights Movement because we’re huge nerds who have a hard time staying on topic. We watched Imagine by John Lennon on Youtube, followed by BNL’s You Can Be My Yoko Ono and talked about communism and the Cold War. Once we’d thoroughly bored our four and eight year old, we headed into the kitchen to clean up the dishes from dinner.

The BNL lyrics continued to linger in my mind and I sang softly as I rinsed dishes, my husband joining in. Hopefully I sounded better than Yoko Ono, but this is not confirmed. After I’d sung one of the lines, he laughed and commented, “You don’t hear the music in your head when you sing, do you?

It wasn’t a jab or a criticism really, just a comment on how differently our brains work. One clear distinction between my husband and I (apart from the height difference and the facial hair) is that when it comes to music – the actual instrumental stuff is what’s most important to him at the end of the day and for me it’s about the lyrics.

I commented that night that without the lyrics, Imagine by John Lennon wouldn’t be remembered and appreciated by the general public, thus lyrics win. Dan argued that without the music it wouldn’t be remembered either, that poetry is not as widely followed as music, thus music wins. I heartily disagreed so he asked for examples of poetry that one would assume EVERYONE knows. At which point I turned into a sarcastic 4th grader.

Sally sells sea shells by the sea shore! I stammered out awkwardly, to which he argued that this was a linguistic something or other big words here and not a real poem.

Roses are red, violets are blue, I countered. A nursery rhyme he insisted, it doesn’t count.

How much do I love thee? Let me count the ways! Hah! I thought, good luck ignoring Elizabeth Barrett Browning. He ignored it. I continued.

There once was a man from Nantucket!

I was making his point for him and I knew it so started quoting e.e. cummings, a favorite of mine, even though I know that his poetry is nowhere near as widely followed as John Lennon or The Beatles (though no less extraordinary) but who cares?? Poetry is music, it’s just more subtle – you have to find the rhythm on your own.

[i carry your heart with me(i carry it in]

BY E. E. CUMMINGS

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
                                                      i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

What do you think? Poetry or music?

What’s your favorite poem?

What’s your favorite song?

poem: apologies (to my children, on behalf of the world)

A couple weeks ago I shared with you a poem I wrote, inspired by a writing prompt at Real Women Real Songs. This week their writing prompt was apologetic. After reading through their provided definitions and quotes I once again found myself inspired. What follows is a poem to my children, apologizing for the harsher realities of this world. It’s a work in progress, as ever, but possibly as good as it’s going to get.

Apologies

I’m sorry my dear
that the world is not
crystal clear for you.
That the path is long and winding
changing, restraining, containing
and never explaining.

I apologize
for this world of smoke and
mirrors, pretense and lies.
For people who say yes
but mean no, for answers
that always hide.

I know it is not easy
to navigate a world with no
clear direction, no one
destination with which to
aspire. I perspire at the
thought of you going it alone.

I’ll hold your hand if you
want me to, for as long as
you want me to…
I will walk this road with you.
But I know that one day
you will walk it alone.

We all walk alone one day.
We all feel this pain, I maintain…
We all wish this world would explain, my love.
We all want to complain to Eyes Above.
We all whisper in vain, my love.
We all make our own way.

Feel free to leave any thoughts in the comments section, but again please be kind or at least respectful. Per usual, this poem was written in a largely stream of consciousness  style – there were a few lines I mulled over, a few syllables added in, lines tidied up a bit, but as they say… What you see is assuredly what you get.

poetry corner: did you know? momma writes poetry!

You don’t mind if I go all Sixteen Year Old Girl on you and share some poetry I’ve just written? I used to write poetry all the time back in the day – a lot of tormented love poetry by a girl who didn’t understand love and a few poems about pigeons for good measure. When I got married, poetry got harder because I wasn’t so tormented. Happy poetry apparently doesn’t do it for me. It’s probably been years. But this morning I was reading a post at Real Women, Real Songs, a little song writing challenge with weekly prompts & themes. This week’s theme was patience and as I flitted through a few quotes on patience that they provided for inspiration, I read this:

“She was always waiting, it seemed to be her forte.”
― D.H. Lawrence, Lady Chatterley’s Lover

And okay, forgive the dorkiness, but of course my brain instantly went to Doctor Who and Amy Pond, the girl who waited. And Rose Tyler – the girl who waited first and in my mind, the more tragic of the Whovian companions even if she did well, okay, spoilers, nevermind. Anyhow, I all of a sudden felt like I might be inspired to write, not about my perfectly contended, perhaps boring love life but about fictional love lives. It’s like fan fiction except poetry and only very loosely based in the universe of Who. A jumping off point if you will, and this was the result…

She was always waiting.

love lingers idly
waiting for a moment
in time
where stars align

he tips his hat
she flutters lidded eyes
a coy whisper
nothings, sweetly said

they might walk in the rain
or dance under stars
travel to the moon and back
or farther.

Tomorrow she will wait
he always returns
if it takes hours, weeks, decades
for their moment to resume

she is love, lingering
with perfect Faith in his return
patiently she dreams of him
and watches falling stars.

Feel free to leave any thoughts in the comments section, but please be kind or at least tactful and respectful. There are a few lines I’m still unsure about but on the large I’m pretty pleased with the result. I’d like to tell you I sat there for hours analyzing every line, but that’s never been my style. I spent a few moments considering the lines where my mind struggled a bit, but for the most part this is stream of consciousness like most of my work. What you see, as they say, is what you get.