.
Hello person or persons reading my blog. The next post is for a marathon poetry reading in honor of poetry month.
(April is poetry month.)
Since I happen to write poetry, I thought maybe it might be fun to participate.
Thursday, April 19, 2012
____
When you find that you're in danger
When you're threatened by a stranger.
When you think that you might take a licken
There is someone you can call
No matter what the time at all
Just bwaaak for Super Chicken
Bwaaak for Super Chicken.
-----
Soft
Work in Progress
I feel as if I'm in the dark with my eyes wide open but I can not see
It's not a frightening dark
It's a soft, liquid, slightly out of focus dark
As I move through your mind
_____
Everything is soft
Like down pillows and down comforters
Soft
Like feathers falling from the sky
Snow flakes
Soft
Like a whisper of a wisp
When I stumble and I fall?
I fall into clouds
_____
Soft
Wisps of clouds like dust swirl up around me as I fall into the emotion
That's how this afternoon felt
Words like
"meloncholy"
"velvet"
"wisp"
and
"whisper"
Sad...because a friend was leaving
A smile -- because another friend had stayed
The day soft
_____
I wrote the sorrow away from my heart
The emotions coraled into a box of words
Put back into Pandora's Box
Only this time Hope
Outside the box
____
Free
____
Falling up
As I move through the soft in slow motion
Soft word on the lips
My mind's eye comforted
Writing in slow motion
My heart sings
Please don't be angry with me
All unintentional
I have to write
You
Soft
Author Ann
21 October,2008
______
Hello.
a Haiku.
Dogs bark this morning.
Telling of a guest to be;
Good story at supper.
@@@@@@@
Flutter of a dove's wing.
Snow falls softly on her lashes
Dogwoods bloom in May..
@@@@@@
Imagine Spring in a Kook-a-licious Pink.
a butterbean seed in the dark
Slowly
a tiny white shoot begins
two halves begin to move
Slowly
a seed grows to a lovely young plant
a butterbean seed
Coming into its own.
@@@@
.
My heart walked alone to get here.
Across deserts and time.
Waited like the seed of the Rose in the Desert.
Waited until the rains to bloom.
This world makes me fierce to survive
But my head on your shoulder
Your kiss on my cheek?
I am soft and new again.
My breath, your laughter
Alive in my heart
Husband of my Heart c anne ford
@@@@@
Walk of The Free
At the end of the road.
Two steps past the Budweiser can.
She does the Dance of the Free
Behind the Deadend road sign.
And next to that patch of Shasta Daisies going to seed
The one with the beginnings of those new yellow flowers that look like Coreopsis next to it
Just two steps further
Freedom
.
3 years, 11 months, 2 weeks, 6 days, 8 hours, 45 minutes, and assorted seconds ago.
When two steps past the door seemed like miles?
She had no idea what two steps past that dead end sign looked like
Now she does.
On short walks.
Then longer walks
Then hikes
In the sun, the heat and the rain,
Just so she could find out what was two steps farther.
________________
He told her she could go further than that if she wanted.
It took a while for her to believe him
Then one day she did
Believe him
So she did.
Walk two steps more
Then two more after
To the end of the other road.
And then back pretty quick because the ligtht there was so bright.
And the freedom was so much.
It kind of scared her.
Like the Mockingbird she saw flying out of the nest one morning
The baby one that was fledging
The first flight where intuition took that bird futher than it's mind had gone.
Faith.
Flying higher and higher,
Then nearly falling when it realized where it'd gone to.
A bumblebee who'd just been told that by all the laws in science?
It shouldn't fly
So it makes a beeline back to the nest
To sort it all out
She runs back.
"Too much."
-------------------
He was right.
Just two steps further.
Just two steps further than what the map said was a dead end?
Wasn't a dead end at all.
It was a beginning.
for Joseph
"Read me."
It said.
So Alice did.
Scratched her head,
Closed her eyes,
She raised a kid,
She couldn't see,
So she thought she hid.
Said the strange, furry cat,
"Well she sat quite still.
(Fell to the bottom of her glass.)
Found wisdom in a pill."
Left what was "left" of her mind
on the top of a hill.
And promptly became
a Republican?
"Strange days." sighed the cat.
To which the Blue Footed Booby of Time said,
"Pull my string. Please"
.
.
For Elizabeth G and her Mooses
The words do come fully formed
Like a lovely yet sometime weedy garden
Only I get to decide what are the weeds
And which are the flowers.
So I caught that poem by it's tail
I swug it round and round
Threw the words against the wall
Then stomped them on the ground
No pit of dark and deep dispair
Would beat my story down
Gentlly it would rise up
From the mire upon the ground
The words they rose like the butterfly wings
Round and round my head they'd fly
To live in some enchanted land
Then come back. I don't know why.
Then weave themselves into a cloak
The color of a summer sky
Or deeper blue. A blue berry blue
From the oceans of tears I'd cried
So here -- it's yours to keep you warm
Traveler's coat with faery wings.
To fly you to ephemeral lands
Where imaginations sing.
c ford 2-11-09
Something written for Aunt Elsie.
Shadow Bird
I could see the shadow of a bird outside my door
fragile bird yet strong enough
not frightened of human form.
I wondered what was in your heart
on this cold, grey winter's morn
by IC/ 3.3.08
For Court Street Fountain
From Good Moring Starshine
Songwriters: J Broussolle, Galt Macdermot, James Rado, Gerome Ragni
"Good morning, Starshine
The earth says, "Hello"
You twinkle above us
We twinkle below
Good morning, Starshine
You lead us along
My love and me as we sing
Our early morning singing song..."
Morning Symphony
The time between when the Moon sets and the Sun rises.
It is a good time of day.
Peaceful.
To watch the day unfurl gently.
Like music.
A flute.
A gentle violin.
A question by the flute.
An answer back by the violin.
A playful oboe opens it's eyes then closes and yawns.
An industrious trumpet.
Then another as they wake and head off to work.
Then quiet with a very soft tympani roll that builds to only a soft yawn. Again the violin and flute duets.
They drink their coffee and get ready for the day.
Picolos underfoot funning round in a frantic.
Collecting books
And boots.
A quick bite of something on their way to school.
End the first movement.
Morning.
c ford
For Cool Beans
Romance at our house
Roses are expensive
And violets are too
Here's a dozen fence posts.
Happy Valentine's Day to you
@@@@
My Right Toe of Ann is inflamed.
I just went out in the yard and got red ants on my Tao.
Kind of pizzed them off so they bit it.
Tomorrow? I'm going to explore the Tao of Amdro..
Stings like heck.
May the force ( of Amdro) be with you.
Author Ann
The Neti Pot and me.
...drip...
...drip...
...drip...
If my nose drips one more time I will scream.
Mucus from my nose doth stream
I can not take another day
From allergies that come from hay
I live beside a great big field
With tons of pollen it doth yeild.
All conspire to bring me pain
Unless perhaps the sky will rain
Oh hurry rain do not delay
Rid my air of pollen hay
If you don't then in misery I
Will be with out the rainy sky
If it don't rain I'll have to choke
On saline water from this little boat
Shaped Netie pot. Which is all I have.
This durn Netie pot is just as bad.
As the post nasal drip I have.
The only difference I can see
Is the length of my allergy misery.
We aren't sure why this is happening.
But there is alligator in my toilet."
Channel 5 News @ 10
Silly Season for Tryork
)
Do we keep her?
Do we feed her"
Do we give her to the zoo?
She's really very special.
She's playing a kazoooo.
We aren't sure how she got here.
Yes we're sure she is a she.
I remember clear Wild Kingdon.
Where they "sexed" them on tv.
Well that and she has a girdle
And she is dressed to impress
And there's lipstick on her lips
And she is wearing a frilly dress
Yes I know that doesn't make our lovely alligator female.
I learn from watching Late Late show
There are also folks called "shemales"
But she says her name is Allie
And she's most definate a girl
She just made a wrong hand turn
While out in our human world
So we aren't sure what to do now
You see we're used to cows
So we thought we'd call you zoo guys
Yes we thought you'd tell us how.
To remove this Allie from our toilet.
See it's causing quite a mess
And well it's not doing great things
For Allie Alligator's dress.
The End
For Tryork
From Haiku Kudzu
Haiku.
Poems like butterflies.
A hand full of life.
Flutter in my heart.
Drift on the breeze.
Flash color like the cardinals wing.
The words.
Bloom.
4-19-12
c anne ford
We were out on the fence line. One of the guys building the fence asked me what I did. "I write. I write poetry - short stories." Next thing I knew we were talking about poetry. I mention Hiaku and he asks me what that was. It took a while to find the answer.
I found out that hiaku's Americanized format suited my life out here in the country.
The following were written about life here on the farm.
-----
Acres of open pasture
Cresote posts, t post, and barb wire--
Civilized meets the free world
------
Fingers fly on strings
Notes fly on a spring breeze-.
A string breaks mid song.
-------
Why I Like Poetry And Know How To Spell The Word "cacophony"
by Ann 5 November, 2008
The words.
Even the dark angry ones.
Are music.
A storm out in the Gulf.
They swirl around me like the wind.
They wet me like the rain.
I'm soaked to the bone with the thought of it.
I dance to the music wild.
Thunders loud in my ears.
I vibrate.
The air alive.
Howling.
I dance in the middle of all this sound.
Thrill to it.
Free.
One day I will be drawn up into the vortex-- this cacophony of life
And be delivered into the heavens.
Home
----------------------------------
CACOPHONY (cack-AH-fuh-nee or cack-AW-fuh-nee)
Discordant sounds in the jarring juxtaposition of harsh letters or syllables which are grating to the ear, usually inadvertent, but sometimes deliberately used in poetry for effect.
so okay I might could have used the word
@@@@@
More Haiku Kudzu
Cucumber's new leaves.
Smell of garden soil in March
State fair prized pickles
--------
Young dogs tend cows.
Fast and sure they herd the flock.
Old dogs run in dreams
----------
Jonquils sway and birds sing.
Sunlight dances through Spring rains.
Winter memory.
@@@@
.
Regret Hannah Murphy 15 June 2008
My life is flowing past you.
What will you do if there is no more me?
What will I do if there is no more you?
We do grow older.
And life can be so unexpected.
I watch you grow older.
Your river flowing past me.
Someday a memory of things past is all I'll have.
The ability to form new memories gone.
The ability to heal old wounds gone.
Snatched by senility or death from our hands.
Regret and loss are inadequate companions.
Talk to me again or not.
Remember me again or not.
That's up to you.
But forget this lesson?
Of loss.
Please do not.
I wouldn't wish regret of things unsaid on you for all the tea in China.\
Swallow your anger and pride.
Call.
--------------
Author's note (Regret by Hannah Murphy, 15June,2008
The poem, Regret, is written to be both from the point of view of the parent and child who are estranged in the parent child relationship.
@@@@@
So I took a walk just to clear my head.
It didn't help.
I made a list of the pros and cons.
I tossed the list.
I waited on the side of the road for enlightenment.
But in the end all I got was a numb butt.
I did what my mama always says a person should do in this situation.
I stayed out of trouble, stayed home, and cleaned something.
Sure enough I had something to show for my time spent only I didn't have an answer.
A clean closet?
Yes
An answer.
Nada
I watched The Devil Wears Prada and Because I Said So
It was entertaining and got my mind off of it for a bit
But still?
Nothing.
Then I did what I should have done in the first place.
I wrote about it on the internet.
I asked complete strangers what I should do.
Put the comments in the "on" but hidden mode.
Then I took another walk because it really was lovely outside.
I waited for the answer.
@@@@@@@
I wish that I could show you.
All our moments together
Points of color
They take flight like birds on the beach.
Points on a computer screen.
A swirl of color with no rhyme
Then like birds they settle down to form a picture.
A memory
If only I knew how to say
Then those restless colorful birds are points again
Taking flight.
Only to settle down into another pattern
Another picture
Another memory of our life.
We'd walk though the maestrom.
Those birds minutes flying around us free.
Surprises
A friend told me along time ago about his walk on the beach. He was walking along the beach at night. He could hear the Irish sea but what he saw was inky black. No moon or light. That was how he came upon what happened next. One minute he was in his thoughts and the next minute he was in the middle of whirring. All around him the sound and feeling of birds flying. All around him? Confusion.
He was roused from his waking dream *
****
Good slumbers and happy dreams
With faery kisses bring soft breezes
May your worries be less than they seem
And may tomorrow bring a day that pleases
@@@@@
Twilight at the Gate
Sunset
The dogs barked.
And there he stood at the gate
Like magic
Grey hair and older
His eyes still the same colour
When he laughed
Or told a story
I could see him there inside
Like yesterday
Younger and full of it
When I could stand close and hear his breathing in the dark
But for six feet I could be there again
His heart next to mine
Such a long way six feet
Decades in the measure
____
The path divided.
Common sense standing at the gate
Saying,
"This way is folly.
The wind sings wicked here
These songs should sound of breaking glass and hearts to you.
Go home to your responsibilities and leave this place."
And yet I measure the distance between the here and there
Consider the possibilities.
Look for any purchase.
Measuring the joy with the peril.
Distance measured in years of loss and regret
Refugees in our on skin
No home till the moment
You once again stand at my gate singing ...
"We're on our way home."
Who could after all this time
After all those years of being true and honorable to our responsibilities?
Deny us the last rays of this sunset. *
@@@@
Stranger in a Strange Land
I am a stranger in a strange land.
And now I sit here wondering what to do.
The world that had before been my home-- forever changed.
I am now not belonging anywhere.
But there are no tlethons for me.
No actresses or actors with my cause on their wrist.
Only bills and more bills
And children to be fed.
It was just yesterday that the world was warm, and I
had a home to go to.
Now I don't recognize the world anymore.
A stranger in a strange land.
c ann ford
.
We Are Nomads Of The Sea.
Hannah Murphy. 17 August, 08
We are nomads of the sea.
Restless souls looking for peace
Never putting our heart's feet on dry land
Like a stone our spirits skim across the salty Gulf
The songs of Wind lull us to sleep
Rocked in the arms of the wreckage
The souls of waterbabies rocked in the waves...
The tears of angels rain down upon us all.
As they look into the eyes of God
Praying,
"Give them back their home."
**********************************
Looking into a hurricane sky
is like looking into the eyes of God.
Hannah Murphy
17 August, 2008
@@@@@
****
I've been trying to remember.
Trying to put my memories into words in this journal.
Imperfect snap shots of barely tangible emotions
Graceful like the smoke from a candle
I watch the words bend and form
Gentle swirls
But when I try to hold them?
Mercy
*****
Husband,
What breath have I drawn that didn't have your name on it?
Today I wrote to you and it vanished into air.
Stolen words. My words. Taken by one who Fate says is more deserving.
"Stolen words...."
I am here.
My words.
Twisted.
Bent in ways to satisfy another
Like a bent paper clip.
Well hear these words.
Home.
You don't steal words and then be deserving of them.
You aren't a prize to be won at the carnival.
You are the extrodinary man who I love.
You are the sound of snoring from the other side of the bed.
Or you should be.
You're where the road leads.
Where my feet trod.
Where my heart lives.
I stand on flat feet
*****
The dogs of war howl outside my heart.
The dogs who are relentless.
The dogs of war and hell.
Do you hear them?
They are feet mired in the mud of Earth.
They could wash the mud from their feet.
But instead they chose to stay mired.
My father did not raise this woman to be prisoner of the mud.
I washed the mud from my feet long ago.
Washed the mud from my spirit.
From my heart.
I won't look down again.
Fierce I am.
Fierce I'll be.
Your love is in my heart.
....
Insult in 5 languages
Ode to the values of polite discourse
by IC 5/12/2008
He can insult in 5 languages
Such a skill is sure to impress
To belittle and make feel small
Is certainly a skill to posess
At least in salons and cafe society
He's thought of as quite urbane.
No matter which language he insults in --
To me?
He's a jerk all the same.
@@@@
From The Time of Huricanes
The Next Day
Hannah Murphy August 18, 2008
He rolled over
Stood up
Unsteady
Everything hurt.
His head, his side, his heart.
Night long and sleep short.
Passing the night
Waiting for the world they knew to pass away
Without really "seeing" just how bad it could be
Only darkness, flashlights, and candles in the wind
While outside the wind roared
Like some banshee in labor
Her nightmare child born
****
A poem for my Uncle
Running
I knew a man whose wife and children left him.
Their hearts poisoned like a well.
For the rest of his life he kept moving.
Oh the stories he could tell.
But all of his posessions.
Everyone of them he'd sell.
For just a little kindness
A little happiness as well.
Under the trees we sat there.
I asked him, "What's your name?"
He looked at me with sad, sad eyes.
The pain it was quite plain.
"I've walked a million footsteps
I've sailed the deepest sea
I never have stopped running
From the pain tha's after me."
The devil of it all
What don't seem to set him free
The life that he's been running from
Is the life you want for me.
So get away you old devil
Get far away from me
I've no time for all your nonsence.
Keep far, far away from me.
AuthorAnn 1-12-09
.The next poem is about being far away from home and missing your home.
Homecoming
I'm dreaming of tomatoes and summer.
I'm dreaming of the Gulf of Mexico.
I'm dreaming of the sailboat.
The sky blue.
The sails full.
My father at the helm.
Everyone happy.
Everyone's hearts free.
I want to go home.
To my home.
This is not my home
Everyday I will say this
Every.
Single.
Day.
It's not cozy.
It is cold.
It is wet.
It is dreary.
I'm not ungrateful.
Yes, there are worse places I could be.
Famines. No water at all.
I count my blessings. But...
It's not right to tell a lie correct?
I can function and have functioned in all kinds of places.
Have been through great storms and known dark loneliness.
I am lucky to have survived such things.
I am grateful to have a kind place to be.
But still when the sky is blue or a breeze picks up.
When I close my eyes and hear my father laugh.
Even in the midst of great beauty?
When I dream?
I dream of home.
AuthorAnn
1-12-09
@@@@@
Flowers in Summer
by hannah murphy 7-12-08
Flowers in summer
The heat of noon
Ice tea and salads
The smell of roses fills the room
Ladies drift in cool summer dresses
Hat and gloves
We speed through this life in armor and steel
Hardened and wise in steel high heels.
But ladies who lunch in those cool summer breezes
Haunt like a ghost
Gosemer ghosts who float on the breeze.
Glide through my mind
On this hot, dusty road.
Like the ghost of a gentle mirrage
@@@@@
Orange Skies of Mars
Thought any other way and my heart grows green
Sickly with the forced responsibility of this love.
Chained to a rock my heart. Dusty relic on the shelf.
Each rare laugh the efforts of Hercules.
The sound shatters and falls to the ground.
Shards of brittle laughter are all around me.
My body in turns hurling and creeping towards death
Towards the edge of light and shadow
My mind. banshee, howling cross oceans
Waiting for the sound that doesn't come.
Home
Waiting and calling
Longing for the soul that long since found it's home elsewhere.
Crying for husband
Still waiting like a ghost trapped in twilight.
Banshee cries home.
Hannah Murphy 8 July, 2008
@@@@@
Its a Monday morning thing
You and me
The nuts and bolts of love
The work horse of emotions
As in the world we go
To our lives and jobs
Separate in our lives
And yet I know
You're there.
Not a Friday night adventure
Or a Saturday night affair
Those fleeting, flitting creatures
Who shun the light of day.
Capricious, ephemeral
Entertaining
But not much in the long run
Momentary silly things.
But Monday morning relationships
Stalwart grown up things
Like good friends.
Don't flit like silly Saturday
But dance elegant through our life
They waltz us through
The drudgery
Of our Monday morning days.
-------
Hannah Murphy. 6/10/2008
Hannah in Blogland
c2008 Ann
@@@@@@
Poem for my son
My son asked me what is Love. To explain I wrote this.
What is love?
He asked me in such a serious tone
Had to close my eyes to think.
How to answer?
Then in my mind
I saw him 5 years old again.
He was eating oranges on a bright blue beach towel.
Covered in juice
Sand on his feet.
Sticky sweet in his hair and on his face
There were watermelon slices on his plate
But he would only eat the oranges
Used the rind for yellow orange "teeth"
Said that the wedges made his eyes cross
Because they were sour as well as sweet
"Just like you Sunshine"
I told him and then ruffled his hair
He laughed
And the sun shone brighter because of it
What is love?
I looked into his somber eyes
Many miles and years later.
"Love is sticky sweet oranges on a bright blue beach towel."
"Love is you."
@@@@@
@@@@@@@
At sunrise we begin.
The journey at times light but often not.
The craftsman measures the journey.
With skill honed with years of practice.
In earnest he builds his legacy.
Working to see
That at the end of the day his life is square with his brothers.
But at the end of the day all is not work.
For there in the twilight.
He lays down his tools of work.
And begins to sing of company and joy.
So sing and be merry this night.
Sing of a day well lived.
Drink a toast to the kindness of the days before.
.
A toast.
Woman.
One look at you and I know for certain God exists.
For only an artist with divine talents could create.
Fair face.
Quick step.
A flash of eye and intellect that moves mountains with a brief wink.
Man crashes and thrashes about the Earth.
While you?
With one whisper, quiet the beast and humble him.
Iron wills in velvet.
We are blessed with your company.
Salute.
.
Poem/toast two
Man, how does one tame the wind.
Civilizations rise with you might.
The sound of your fierce nature trembles in the mountains.
Blessed with your noble call.
We answer.
Salute.
three toasts by c anne ford 25 Jan, 2012 in honor of Robert Burns night.
.
.
When you find that you're in danger
When you're threatened by a stranger.
When you think that you might take a licken
There is someone you can call
No matter what the time at all
Just bwaaak for Super Chicken
Bwaaak for Super Chicken.
-----
Soft
Work in Progress
I feel as if I'm in the dark with my eyes wide open but I can not see
It's not a frightening dark
It's a soft, liquid, slightly out of focus dark
As I move through your mind
_____
Everything is soft
Like down pillows and down comforters
Soft
Like feathers falling from the sky
Snow flakes
Soft
Like a whisper of a wisp
When I stumble and I fall?
I fall into clouds
_____
Soft
Wisps of clouds like dust swirl up around me as I fall into the emotion
That's how this afternoon felt
Words like
"meloncholy"
"velvet"
"wisp"
and
"whisper"
Sad...because a friend was leaving
A smile -- because another friend had stayed
The day soft
_____
I wrote the sorrow away from my heart
The emotions coraled into a box of words
Put back into Pandora's Box
Only this time Hope
Outside the box
____
Free
____
Falling up
As I move through the soft in slow motion
Soft word on the lips
My mind's eye comforted
Writing in slow motion
My heart sings
Please don't be angry with me
All unintentional
I have to write
You
Soft
Author Ann
21 October,2008
______
Hello.
a Haiku.
Dogs bark this morning.
Telling of a guest to be;
Good story at supper.
@@@@@@@
Flutter of a dove's wing.
Snow falls softly on her lashes
Dogwoods bloom in May..
@@@@@@
Imagine Spring in a Kook-a-licious Pink.
a butterbean seed in the dark
Slowly
a tiny white shoot begins
two halves begin to move
Slowly
a seed grows to a lovely young plant
a butterbean seed
Coming into its own.
@@@@
.
My heart walked alone to get here.
Across deserts and time.
Waited like the seed of the Rose in the Desert.
Waited until the rains to bloom.
This world makes me fierce to survive
But my head on your shoulder
Your kiss on my cheek?
I am soft and new again.
My breath, your laughter
Alive in my heart
Husband of my Heart c anne ford
@@@@@
Walk of The Free
At the end of the road.
Two steps past the Budweiser can.
She does the Dance of the Free
Behind the Deadend road sign.
And next to that patch of Shasta Daisies going to seed
The one with the beginnings of those new yellow flowers that look like Coreopsis next to it
Just two steps further
Freedom
.
3 years, 11 months, 2 weeks, 6 days, 8 hours, 45 minutes, and assorted seconds ago.
When two steps past the door seemed like miles?
She had no idea what two steps past that dead end sign looked like
Now she does.
On short walks.
Then longer walks
Then hikes
In the sun, the heat and the rain,
Just so she could find out what was two steps farther.
________________
He told her she could go further than that if she wanted.
It took a while for her to believe him
Then one day she did
Believe him
So she did.
Walk two steps more
Then two more after
To the end of the other road.
And then back pretty quick because the ligtht there was so bright.
And the freedom was so much.
It kind of scared her.
Like the Mockingbird she saw flying out of the nest one morning
The baby one that was fledging
The first flight where intuition took that bird futher than it's mind had gone.
Faith.
Flying higher and higher,
Then nearly falling when it realized where it'd gone to.
A bumblebee who'd just been told that by all the laws in science?
It shouldn't fly
So it makes a beeline back to the nest
To sort it all out
She runs back.
"Too much."
-------------------
He was right.
Just two steps further.
Just two steps further than what the map said was a dead end?
Wasn't a dead end at all.
It was a beginning.
for Joseph
"Read me."
It said.
So Alice did.
Scratched her head,
Closed her eyes,
She raised a kid,
She couldn't see,
So she thought she hid.
Said the strange, furry cat,
"Well she sat quite still.
(Fell to the bottom of her glass.)
Found wisdom in a pill."
Left what was "left" of her mind
on the top of a hill.
And promptly became
a Republican?
"Strange days." sighed the cat.
To which the Blue Footed Booby of Time said,
"Pull my string. Please"
.
.
For Elizabeth G and her Mooses
The words do come fully formed
Like a lovely yet sometime weedy garden
Only I get to decide what are the weeds
And which are the flowers.
So I caught that poem by it's tail
I swug it round and round
Threw the words against the wall
Then stomped them on the ground
No pit of dark and deep dispair
Would beat my story down
Gentlly it would rise up
From the mire upon the ground
The words they rose like the butterfly wings
Round and round my head they'd fly
To live in some enchanted land
Then come back. I don't know why.
Then weave themselves into a cloak
The color of a summer sky
Or deeper blue. A blue berry blue
From the oceans of tears I'd cried
So here -- it's yours to keep you warm
Traveler's coat with faery wings.
To fly you to ephemeral lands
Where imaginations sing.
c ford 2-11-09
Something written for Aunt Elsie.
Shadow Bird
I could see the shadow of a bird outside my door
fragile bird yet strong enough
not frightened of human form.
I wondered what was in your heart
on this cold, grey winter's morn
by IC/ 3.3.08
For Court Street Fountain
From Good Moring Starshine
Songwriters: J Broussolle, Galt Macdermot, James Rado, Gerome Ragni
"Good morning, Starshine
The earth says, "Hello"
You twinkle above us
We twinkle below
Good morning, Starshine
You lead us along
My love and me as we sing
Our early morning singing song..."
Morning Symphony
The time between when the Moon sets and the Sun rises.
It is a good time of day.
Peaceful.
To watch the day unfurl gently.
Like music.
A flute.
A gentle violin.
A question by the flute.
An answer back by the violin.
A playful oboe opens it's eyes then closes and yawns.
An industrious trumpet.
Then another as they wake and head off to work.
Then quiet with a very soft tympani roll that builds to only a soft yawn. Again the violin and flute duets.
They drink their coffee and get ready for the day.
Picolos underfoot funning round in a frantic.
Collecting books
And boots.
A quick bite of something on their way to school.
End the first movement.
Morning.
c ford
For Cool Beans
Romance at our house
Roses are expensive
And violets are too
Here's a dozen fence posts.
Happy Valentine's Day to you
@@@@
My Right Toe of Ann is inflamed.
I just went out in the yard and got red ants on my Tao.
Kind of pizzed them off so they bit it.
Tomorrow? I'm going to explore the Tao of Amdro..
Stings like heck.
May the force ( of Amdro) be with you.
Author Ann
The Neti Pot and me.
...drip...
...drip...
...drip...
If my nose drips one more time I will scream.
Mucus from my nose doth stream
I can not take another day
From allergies that come from hay
I live beside a great big field
With tons of pollen it doth yeild.
All conspire to bring me pain
Unless perhaps the sky will rain
Oh hurry rain do not delay
Rid my air of pollen hay
If you don't then in misery I
Will be with out the rainy sky
If it don't rain I'll have to choke
On saline water from this little boat
Shaped Netie pot. Which is all I have.
This durn Netie pot is just as bad.
As the post nasal drip I have.
The only difference I can see
Is the length of my allergy misery.
We aren't sure why this is happening.
But there is alligator in my toilet."
Channel 5 News @ 10
Silly Season for Tryork
)
Do we keep her?
Do we feed her"
Do we give her to the zoo?
She's really very special.
She's playing a kazoooo.
We aren't sure how she got here.
Yes we're sure she is a she.
I remember clear Wild Kingdon.
Where they "sexed" them on tv.
Well that and she has a girdle
And she is dressed to impress
And there's lipstick on her lips
And she is wearing a frilly dress
Yes I know that doesn't make our lovely alligator female.
I learn from watching Late Late show
There are also folks called "shemales"
But she says her name is Allie
And she's most definate a girl
She just made a wrong hand turn
While out in our human world
So we aren't sure what to do now
You see we're used to cows
So we thought we'd call you zoo guys
Yes we thought you'd tell us how.
To remove this Allie from our toilet.
See it's causing quite a mess
And well it's not doing great things
For Allie Alligator's dress.
The End
For Tryork
From Haiku Kudzu
Haiku.
Poems like butterflies.
A hand full of life.
Flutter in my heart.
Drift on the breeze.
Flash color like the cardinals wing.
The words.
Bloom.
4-19-12
c anne ford
We were out on the fence line. One of the guys building the fence asked me what I did. "I write. I write poetry - short stories." Next thing I knew we were talking about poetry. I mention Hiaku and he asks me what that was. It took a while to find the answer.
I found out that hiaku's Americanized format suited my life out here in the country.
The following were written about life here on the farm.
-----
Acres of open pasture
Cresote posts, t post, and barb wire--
Civilized meets the free world
------
Fingers fly on strings
Notes fly on a spring breeze-.
A string breaks mid song.
-------
Why I Like Poetry And Know How To Spell The Word "cacophony"
by Ann 5 November, 2008
The words.
Even the dark angry ones.
Are music.
A storm out in the Gulf.
They swirl around me like the wind.
They wet me like the rain.
I'm soaked to the bone with the thought of it.
I dance to the music wild.
Thunders loud in my ears.
I vibrate.
The air alive.
Howling.
I dance in the middle of all this sound.
Thrill to it.
Free.
One day I will be drawn up into the vortex-- this cacophony of life
And be delivered into the heavens.
Home
----------------------------------
CACOPHONY (cack-AH-fuh-nee or cack-AW-fuh-nee)
Discordant sounds in the jarring juxtaposition of harsh letters or syllables which are grating to the ear, usually inadvertent, but sometimes deliberately used in poetry for effect.
so okay I might could have used the word
@@@@@
More Haiku Kudzu
Cucumber's new leaves.
Smell of garden soil in March
State fair prized pickles
--------
Young dogs tend cows.
Fast and sure they herd the flock.
Old dogs run in dreams
----------
Jonquils sway and birds sing.
Sunlight dances through Spring rains.
Winter memory.
@@@@
.
Regret Hannah Murphy 15 June 2008
My life is flowing past you.
What will you do if there is no more me?
What will I do if there is no more you?
We do grow older.
And life can be so unexpected.
I watch you grow older.
Your river flowing past me.
Someday a memory of things past is all I'll have.
The ability to form new memories gone.
The ability to heal old wounds gone.
Snatched by senility or death from our hands.
Regret and loss are inadequate companions.
Talk to me again or not.
Remember me again or not.
That's up to you.
But forget this lesson?
Of loss.
Please do not.
I wouldn't wish regret of things unsaid on you for all the tea in China.\
Swallow your anger and pride.
Call.
--------------
Author's note (Regret by Hannah Murphy, 15June,2008
The poem, Regret, is written to be both from the point of view of the parent and child who are estranged in the parent child relationship.
@@@@@
So I took a walk just to clear my head.
It didn't help.
I made a list of the pros and cons.
I tossed the list.
I waited on the side of the road for enlightenment.
But in the end all I got was a numb butt.
I did what my mama always says a person should do in this situation.
I stayed out of trouble, stayed home, and cleaned something.
Sure enough I had something to show for my time spent only I didn't have an answer.
A clean closet?
Yes
An answer.
Nada
I watched The Devil Wears Prada and Because I Said So
It was entertaining and got my mind off of it for a bit
But still?
Nothing.
Then I did what I should have done in the first place.
I wrote about it on the internet.
I asked complete strangers what I should do.
Put the comments in the "on" but hidden mode.
Then I took another walk because it really was lovely outside.
I waited for the answer.
@@@@@@@
I wish that I could show you.
All our moments together
Points of color
They take flight like birds on the beach.
Points on a computer screen.
A swirl of color with no rhyme
Then like birds they settle down to form a picture.
A memory
If only I knew how to say
Then those restless colorful birds are points again
Taking flight.
Only to settle down into another pattern
Another picture
Another memory of our life.
We'd walk though the maestrom.
Those birds minutes flying around us free.
Surprises
A friend told me along time ago about his walk on the beach. He was walking along the beach at night. He could hear the Irish sea but what he saw was inky black. No moon or light. That was how he came upon what happened next. One minute he was in his thoughts and the next minute he was in the middle of whirring. All around him the sound and feeling of birds flying. All around him? Confusion.
He was roused from his waking dream *
****
Good slumbers and happy dreams
With faery kisses bring soft breezes
May your worries be less than they seem
And may tomorrow bring a day that pleases
@@@@@
Twilight at the Gate
Sunset
The dogs barked.
And there he stood at the gate
Like magic
Grey hair and older
His eyes still the same colour
When he laughed
Or told a story
I could see him there inside
Like yesterday
Younger and full of it
When I could stand close and hear his breathing in the dark
But for six feet I could be there again
His heart next to mine
Such a long way six feet
Decades in the measure
____
The path divided.
Common sense standing at the gate
Saying,
"This way is folly.
The wind sings wicked here
These songs should sound of breaking glass and hearts to you.
Go home to your responsibilities and leave this place."
And yet I measure the distance between the here and there
Consider the possibilities.
Look for any purchase.
Measuring the joy with the peril.
Distance measured in years of loss and regret
Refugees in our on skin
No home till the moment
You once again stand at my gate singing ...
"We're on our way home."
Who could after all this time
After all those years of being true and honorable to our responsibilities?
Deny us the last rays of this sunset. *
@@@@
Stranger in a Strange Land
I am a stranger in a strange land.
And now I sit here wondering what to do.
The world that had before been my home-- forever changed.
I am now not belonging anywhere.
But there are no tlethons for me.
No actresses or actors with my cause on their wrist.
Only bills and more bills
And children to be fed.
It was just yesterday that the world was warm, and I
had a home to go to.
Now I don't recognize the world anymore.
A stranger in a strange land.
c ann ford
.
We Are Nomads Of The Sea.
Hannah Murphy. 17 August, 08
We are nomads of the sea.
Restless souls looking for peace
Never putting our heart's feet on dry land
Like a stone our spirits skim across the salty Gulf
The songs of Wind lull us to sleep
Rocked in the arms of the wreckage
The souls of waterbabies rocked in the waves...
The tears of angels rain down upon us all.
As they look into the eyes of God
Praying,
"Give them back their home."
**********************************
Looking into a hurricane sky
is like looking into the eyes of God.
Hannah Murphy
17 August, 2008
@@@@@
****
I've been trying to remember.
Trying to put my memories into words in this journal.
Imperfect snap shots of barely tangible emotions
Graceful like the smoke from a candle
I watch the words bend and form
Gentle swirls
But when I try to hold them?
Mercy
*****
Husband,
What breath have I drawn that didn't have your name on it?
Today I wrote to you and it vanished into air.
Stolen words. My words. Taken by one who Fate says is more deserving.
"Stolen words...."
I am here.
My words.
Twisted.
Bent in ways to satisfy another
Like a bent paper clip.
Well hear these words.
Home.
You don't steal words and then be deserving of them.
You aren't a prize to be won at the carnival.
You are the extrodinary man who I love.
You are the sound of snoring from the other side of the bed.
Or you should be.
You're where the road leads.
Where my feet trod.
Where my heart lives.
I stand on flat feet
*****
The dogs of war howl outside my heart.
The dogs who are relentless.
The dogs of war and hell.
Do you hear them?
They are feet mired in the mud of Earth.
They could wash the mud from their feet.
But instead they chose to stay mired.
My father did not raise this woman to be prisoner of the mud.
I washed the mud from my feet long ago.
Washed the mud from my spirit.
From my heart.
I won't look down again.
Fierce I am.
Fierce I'll be.
Your love is in my heart.
....
Insult in 5 languages
Ode to the values of polite discourse
by IC 5/12/2008
He can insult in 5 languages
Such a skill is sure to impress
To belittle and make feel small
Is certainly a skill to posess
At least in salons and cafe society
He's thought of as quite urbane.
No matter which language he insults in --
To me?
He's a jerk all the same.
@@@@
From The Time of Huricanes
The Next Day
Hannah Murphy August 18, 2008
He rolled over
Stood up
Unsteady
Everything hurt.
His head, his side, his heart.
Night long and sleep short.
Passing the night
Waiting for the world they knew to pass away
Without really "seeing" just how bad it could be
Only darkness, flashlights, and candles in the wind
While outside the wind roared
Like some banshee in labor
Her nightmare child born
****
A poem for my Uncle
Running
I knew a man whose wife and children left him.
Their hearts poisoned like a well.
For the rest of his life he kept moving.
Oh the stories he could tell.
But all of his posessions.
Everyone of them he'd sell.
For just a little kindness
A little happiness as well.
Under the trees we sat there.
I asked him, "What's your name?"
He looked at me with sad, sad eyes.
The pain it was quite plain.
"I've walked a million footsteps
I've sailed the deepest sea
I never have stopped running
From the pain tha's after me."
The devil of it all
What don't seem to set him free
The life that he's been running from
Is the life you want for me.
So get away you old devil
Get far away from me
I've no time for all your nonsence.
Keep far, far away from me.
AuthorAnn 1-12-09
.The next poem is about being far away from home and missing your home.
Homecoming
I'm dreaming of tomatoes and summer.
I'm dreaming of the Gulf of Mexico.
I'm dreaming of the sailboat.
The sky blue.
The sails full.
My father at the helm.
Everyone happy.
Everyone's hearts free.
I want to go home.
To my home.
This is not my home
Everyday I will say this
Every.
Single.
Day.
It's not cozy.
It is cold.
It is wet.
It is dreary.
I'm not ungrateful.
Yes, there are worse places I could be.
Famines. No water at all.
I count my blessings. But...
It's not right to tell a lie correct?
I can function and have functioned in all kinds of places.
Have been through great storms and known dark loneliness.
I am lucky to have survived such things.
I am grateful to have a kind place to be.
But still when the sky is blue or a breeze picks up.
When I close my eyes and hear my father laugh.
Even in the midst of great beauty?
When I dream?
I dream of home.
AuthorAnn
1-12-09
@@@@@
Flowers in Summer
by hannah murphy 7-12-08
Flowers in summer
The heat of noon
Ice tea and salads
The smell of roses fills the room
Ladies drift in cool summer dresses
Hat and gloves
We speed through this life in armor and steel
Hardened and wise in steel high heels.
But ladies who lunch in those cool summer breezes
Haunt like a ghost
Gosemer ghosts who float on the breeze.
Glide through my mind
On this hot, dusty road.
Like the ghost of a gentle mirrage
@@@@@
Orange Skies of Mars
Thought any other way and my heart grows green
Sickly with the forced responsibility of this love.
Chained to a rock my heart. Dusty relic on the shelf.
Each rare laugh the efforts of Hercules.
The sound shatters and falls to the ground.
Shards of brittle laughter are all around me.
My body in turns hurling and creeping towards death
Towards the edge of light and shadow
My mind. banshee, howling cross oceans
Waiting for the sound that doesn't come.
Home
Waiting and calling
Longing for the soul that long since found it's home elsewhere.
Crying for husband
Still waiting like a ghost trapped in twilight.
Banshee cries home.
Hannah Murphy 8 July, 2008
@@@@@
Its a Monday morning thing
You and me
The nuts and bolts of love
The work horse of emotions
As in the world we go
To our lives and jobs
Separate in our lives
And yet I know
You're there.
Not a Friday night adventure
Or a Saturday night affair
Those fleeting, flitting creatures
Who shun the light of day.
Capricious, ephemeral
Entertaining
But not much in the long run
Momentary silly things.
But Monday morning relationships
Stalwart grown up things
Like good friends.
Don't flit like silly Saturday
But dance elegant through our life
They waltz us through
The drudgery
Of our Monday morning days.
-------
Hannah Murphy. 6/10/2008
Hannah in Blogland
c2008 Ann
@@@@@@
Poem for my son
My son asked me what is Love. To explain I wrote this.
What is love?
He asked me in such a serious tone
Had to close my eyes to think.
How to answer?
Then in my mind
I saw him 5 years old again.
He was eating oranges on a bright blue beach towel.
Covered in juice
Sand on his feet.
Sticky sweet in his hair and on his face
There were watermelon slices on his plate
But he would only eat the oranges
Used the rind for yellow orange "teeth"
Said that the wedges made his eyes cross
Because they were sour as well as sweet
"Just like you Sunshine"
I told him and then ruffled his hair
He laughed
And the sun shone brighter because of it
What is love?
I looked into his somber eyes
Many miles and years later.
"Love is sticky sweet oranges on a bright blue beach towel."
"Love is you."
@@@@@
One Day
Kids grow up.
They out grow the careful construct that we've spent year assembling
They look us dead in the eyes.
Inform us of all the things we've done wrong.
Without one word about what we've done right.
Enough
I hide in the bathroom and do grown kid Lamaze
Breathing to deal with the stress.
It's like labor.
Only this kid is bigger than 9 pounds.
I keep breathing while he's outside the door,
Then I faint.
The last word?
"Enough"
..."
c anne ford
6-30-12
@@@@@@@
At sunrise we begin.
The journey at times light but often not.
The craftsman measures the journey.
With skill honed with years of practice.
In earnest he builds his legacy.
Working to see
That at the end of the day his life is square with his brothers.
But at the end of the day all is not work.
For there in the twilight.
He lays down his tools of work.
And begins to sing of company and joy.
So sing and be merry this night.
Sing of a day well lived.
Drink a toast to the kindness of the days before.
.
A toast.
Woman.
One look at you and I know for certain God exists.
For only an artist with divine talents could create.
Fair face.
Quick step.
A flash of eye and intellect that moves mountains with a brief wink.
Man crashes and thrashes about the Earth.
While you?
With one whisper, quiet the beast and humble him.
Iron wills in velvet.
We are blessed with your company.
Salute.
.
Poem/toast two
Man, how does one tame the wind.
Civilizations rise with you might.
The sound of your fierce nature trembles in the mountains.
Blessed with your noble call.
We answer.
Salute.
three toasts by c anne ford 25 Jan, 2012 in honor of Robert Burns night.
.
Britta
My love is writ on her face.
The pink flush of new roses on her cheeks.
The blue of her eyes?
Is it wisteria or violets?
Depends.
Rare does she stare into my eyes.
Soon as the rose blooms.
She looks away.
In Spring she's dressed in periwinkles and the green of clover.
In winter?
Soft fluzzy sweaters like snow.
C Ann Ford
1-25-12
All rights to this poem owned by the author which means if you rip it off with out giving credit you are either going to get diseases OR you're going to go blind, it's going to shrivel up, and then?
Fall off.
.
So pay up or give credit.
.
Ms. Burnside's Ode to a Stinky Rose
Ah love, you're like a big red nose.
On a clown.
(You are a nutter.)
Or maybe like that Brando scene.
The one with all the butter.
Big it is.
Your sorry azz.
What brays it's delusional song.
It brays and brays and brags it's length
While in fact it's short not long.
Oh I will sing a song my dear
Until the seas go dry
It's not the length nor breadth
My dear
It's the humor of the guy.
LOL.
I love poetry.
Another Day In Denial - dise
tee hee
tee hee
oh woe
Is me
I think
That I
Should single be
For I have seen
The "promised land"
And I'll tell you ladies
It's ain't that grand.
I hear the tales.
Of length and breadth
That rival oceans.
Deep, deep depths.
But truly
Bring a microscope
If you're to have
Any hope
of seeing this
supposed wonder.
Heralded by all this thunder.
It's not that grand.
This boastful plunderer.
Please, don't blink.
Or you'll miss what's under.
c anne ford
1-25-12
for RBurns' night revels.
LOL
Finally
I hear that soon t'will be Valentine's Day or as I like to call it VD
And so?
An Ode to Valentine's Day
It tells us all.
How it pleases?
From what I hear?
It spreads diseases..
I hear that soon t'will be Valentine's Day or as I like to call it VD
And so?
An Ode to Valentine's Day
It tells us all.
How it pleases?
From what I hear?
It spreads diseases..
I think -
No I'm sure that it's Eve's fault.
And Adams.
Stupid apple.
Stupid Snake.
On second thought stupid Eve.
Whomever? We've been paying for it ever since.
Maybe I'm wrong.
Maybe the cold has me sullen.
I've always been a Optimistic Pessimist.
Will think on it.
No I'm sure that it's Eve's fault.
And Adams.
Stupid apple.
Stupid Snake.
On second thought stupid Eve.
Whomever? We've been paying for it ever since.
Maybe I'm wrong.
Maybe the cold has me sullen.
I've always been a Optimistic Pessimist.
Will think on it.
written by
c anne ford
January 22, 2012
Strong women open their own doors.
They open their own jars and squash their own spiders because no one else will.
Because the world still turns and someone else has to.
They pick up hay bales because they can and they've too much integrity to con a guy into doing it.
Then they wonder why they spend Saturday night watching a rental movie with their dog.
Alone.
Kind of makes me sad.
Such lovely independent souls with rough hands.
Sightly disheveled and frayed around the edges.
Telling lovely stories about the adventures they've been on.
They live interesting lives and tell interesting stories.
Then they die alone.
They open their own jars and squash their own spiders because no one else will.
Because the world still turns and someone else has to.
They pick up hay bales because they can and they've too much integrity to con a guy into doing it.
Then they wonder why they spend Saturday night watching a rental movie with their dog.
Alone.
Kind of makes me sad.
Such lovely independent souls with rough hands.
Sightly disheveled and frayed around the edges.
Telling lovely stories about the adventures they've been on.
They live interesting lives and tell interesting stories.
Then they die alone.
.
I'm sitting here in the middle of all my failures.
They're "screaming" from all points.
The untidy parlor.
The dishes in the sink.
The un made bed called "My Life"?
My husband sits sullen in his chair.
Then it's upstairs in bed with the lights out.
He pretends to be asleep but I know he's not.
Better for us both that I keep up the ruse.
Lest we fight.
My daughter.
Fruit of my loins is somewhere.
She asked for money and I said no.
So she shut her "door" too and went into the night.
Bonnie girl.
I sit here on the couch in the dark and listen to all my failures screaming "You idiot."
It changes from my mothers voice, to my husbands, to my daughters, and then -
Into mine.
I cry.
Because I read in a poem that strong women do.
But in my heart I know.
That while these may be tears of failure,
They are not tears of strength.
..."
1/22/11
c anne ford
all rights reserved by the author.
They're "screaming" from all points.
The untidy parlor.
The dishes in the sink.
The un made bed called "My Life"?
My husband sits sullen in his chair.
Then it's upstairs in bed with the lights out.
He pretends to be asleep but I know he's not.
Better for us both that I keep up the ruse.
Lest we fight.
My daughter.
Fruit of my loins is somewhere.
She asked for money and I said no.
So she shut her "door" too and went into the night.
Bonnie girl.
I sit here on the couch in the dark and listen to all my failures screaming "You idiot."
It changes from my mothers voice, to my husbands, to my daughters, and then -
Into mine.
I cry.
Because I read in a poem that strong women do.
But in my heart I know.
That while these may be tears of failure,
They are not tears of strength.
..."
1/22/11
c anne ford
all rights reserved by the author.
...
"...
I think -
No I'm sure that it's Eve's fault.
And Adams.
Stupid apple.
Stupid Snake.
On second thought stupid Eve.
Whomever? We've been paying for it ever since.
Maybe I'm wrong.
Maybe the cold has me sullen.
I've always been a Optimistic Pessimist.
Will think on it..
,,,"
Note:
Except where noted, all work in this post by the author and poet, c anne ford, 22 January, 2011, all rights reserved by the author.
..."
LOL. I can write. Just have alot of that life stuff happening.
I think -
No I'm sure that it's Eve's fault.
And Adams.
Stupid apple.
Stupid Snake.
On second thought stupid Eve.
Whomever? We've been paying for it ever since.
Maybe I'm wrong.
Maybe the cold has me sullen.
I've always been a Optimistic Pessimist.
Will think on it..
,,,"
Note:
Except where noted, all work in this post by the author and poet, c anne ford, 22 January, 2011, all rights reserved by the author.
..."
LOL. I can write. Just have alot of that life stuff happening.
..
Ack.
And it's Friday the 13th.
And my feet are cold.
Really and truly cold.
I haven't had sex in forever.
I do not like being celibate.
It's sucks more than having cold feet.
Ack.
Ack.
Crap, out of buttermilk, have to add get butter milk to today's to do list.
I hate to do lists almost as much as putting "" around things.
Yes, I do know better.
No, I'm not. I'm supposed to be slacker. See. Up there in the title. It's says, The Slacker Chronicles. That's me. Slacker.
I'm suposed to be slacking not running round checking things off my "to do" list.
Again ack.
And it's Friday the 13th.
And my feet are cold.
Really and truly cold.
I haven't had sex in forever.
I do not like being celibate.
It's sucks more than having cold feet.
Ack.
Ack.
Crap, out of buttermilk, have to add get butter milk to today's to do list.
I hate to do lists almost as much as putting "" around things.
Yes, I do know better.
No, I'm not. I'm supposed to be slacker. See. Up there in the title. It's says, The Slacker Chronicles. That's me. Slacker.
I'm suposed to be slacking not running round checking things off my "to do" list.
Again ack.
...
"...John has eyes.
Not like limped pools.
Not like jade or cinnamon or the blue skies of a June day.
These eyes are small.
The color of
Sad.
And they change colors like a mood ring.
You do know what that is? A Mood Ring? ...."
Not like limped pools.
Not like jade or cinnamon or the blue skies of a June day.
These eyes are small.
The color of
Sad.
And they change colors like a mood ring.
You do know what that is? A Mood Ring? ...."
....
Sons and Daughters of Panarchy v.2
Unicorn pandemic and tales of panarchy?
Flame throwing tanks and nekkid peace nicks?
All ending up around the pheonix fire?
Tales of paying forward and random kindness.
While economic disaster howls at the door.
Peace nicks clutch tickets that cost more -
More than rent.
More than a weeks groceries.
More wear and tear and cost of fuel to get there only to find that the only cars allowed are in the art work.
All on a piece of land with the same name as a security contractor in Iraq.
Imagine that.
Yesterday?
We turned off the television.
It wasn't because we wanted to forget.
It was because.
The thing is.
In our heart?
Love?
Is the only antidote for the sadness of this world.
A little candle.
Sometimes it flickers in the darkness.
But it's still there for someone to see.
Just in case someone needs a hand.
So we turned off the tv.
And we went to get some ice cream.
Trying hard to block out the world of sad memories.
But life happens.
As it will.
Yesterday, I stopped trying to block out the Sun and the rain.
Yesterday, I entered the river and did my best to help.
.
Unicorn pandemic and tales of panarchy?
Flame throwing tanks and nekkid peace nicks?
All ending up around the pheonix fire?
Tales of paying forward and random kindness.
While economic disaster howls at the door.
Peace nicks clutch tickets that cost more -
More than rent.
More than a weeks groceries.
More wear and tear and cost of fuel to get there only to find that the only cars allowed are in the art work.
All on a piece of land with the same name as a security contractor in Iraq.
Imagine that.
Burning Man.
c anne ford 9-13-11, from Sons and Daughters of Panarchy. A Collection of Stories and Poems the New Millenium
c anne ford 9-13-11, from Sons and Daughters of Panarchy. A Collection of Stories and Poems the New Millenium
,,,,
Si iff ti bed my dear sweet one.
Smile a smile.
No be so glum.
The star horsers swim in the moonlights reflection
A pale recollection of our own dear Sun.
Tommy horses winny.
Impatient for sleep.
Sea stars shimmy.
In the milky way deep.
I love you.
I love you.
One million times penny.
I love you til stars
There's not a one. Any.
Close please your eyes.
Until the morn comes.
Then it's up and a ridin
With morning Sun.
Good night, I love you. Sleep tight. Little one.
c anne ford
from Sleepy Sleep Hey O
9-13-11
Smile a smile.
No be so glum.
The star horsers swim in the moonlights reflection
A pale recollection of our own dear Sun.
Tommy horses winny.
Impatient for sleep.
Sea stars shimmy.
In the milky way deep.
I love you.
I love you.
One million times penny.
I love you til stars
There's not a one. Any.
Close please your eyes.
Until the morn comes.
Then it's up and a ridin
With morning Sun.
Good night, I love you. Sleep tight. Little one.
c anne ford
from Sleepy Sleep Hey O
9-13-11
,,,
"...The next day the Sun shone bright.
Brighter than the day before
The birds sang and the morning sky was blue.
How could they be so mean.
Didn't the Sun know that the world had stopped.
Birds.
Hold still your voice.
There is a shadow on my feet.
A hole in my heart.
Dark cataracts cover my eyes.
I tear my hair and throw myself to the ground.
Cover my ears to the sounds of life.
How can you sing
when my heart lies in the ground with the ones I love."
c anne ford
9-12-11
,,,,
September 11th
Yesterday?
We turned off the television.
It wasn't because we wanted to forget.
It was because.
The thing is.
In our heart?
Love?
Is the only antidote for the sadness of this world.
A little candle.
Sometimes it flickers in the darkness.
But it's still there for someone to see.
Just in case someone needs a hand.
So we turned off the tv.
And we went to get some ice cream.
Trying hard to block out the world of sad memories.
But life happens.
As it will.
Yesterday, I stopped trying to block out the Sun and the rain.
Yesterday, I entered the river and did my best to help.
.
.
Sons and Daughters of Panarchy
Unicorn pandemic and tales of panarchy?
Flame throwing tanks and nekkid peace nicks?
All ending up around a pheonix fire?
Tales of paying forward and random kindness.
All for tickets that cost more -
More than rent.
More than a weeks groceries.
More wear and tear and cost of fuel to get there only to find that the only cars allowed are in the art work.
All on a piece of land with the same name as a security contractor in Iraq.
c anne ford 8-29-11, from Sons and Daughters of Panarchy. A Collection of Stories and Poems the New Millenium
Unicorn pandemic and tales of panarchy?
Flame throwing tanks and nekkid peace nicks?
All ending up around a pheonix fire?
Tales of paying forward and random kindness.
All for tickets that cost more -
More than rent.
More than a weeks groceries.
More wear and tear and cost of fuel to get there only to find that the only cars allowed are in the art work.
All on a piece of land with the same name as a security contractor in Iraq.
c anne ford 8-29-11, from Sons and Daughters of Panarchy. A Collection of Stories and Poems the New Millenium
.
Be. Here. Now
In this moment.
Not in the future time.
Or in the past.
But now.
Right now.
No. I don't care if it sounds willful.
i only care that it sounds.
That it makes the sounds that you will understand the urgency of the message.
Be
here
now.
I can hardly see the words on the page and even the subconscious in my fingertips is trying to shout the words.
I'm tired of "maybe's" and "some days".
NOW.
...
time to get some sleep.
g'night.
.
.
I'm thinking Zooey Daschenel singing and the melody? I Want a Woman Who Won't Drive Me Crazy.
I want a president who won't drive me crazy.
I want a president who isn't insane.
I want a president who is a grown up
I want a president who'll take the blame.
My son and I were talking about the coming presidential election. With all the talk of Romney vacations traveling with the family dog in a crate on top of the car. Then this news that Obama ate dogs and grasshoppers as a kid, he's thinking that Ron Paul looks like an elder statesman. We were talking about how all the spin is making both men look nuts.
And that was before Ted Nugent got into the mix.
I know that you can do write in candidates and well- after seeing the Tupac video above, we're thinking that ther might just be a better way.
We're writing in Tupac for president.
Think about it.
To my knowledged there is nothing in the US Constitution that says a holigram can't run for president. True, you can't marry a holigram (at least not in my state) but I don't think there's anything in the rules that say you can't run it for president. The candidate has to be born in the US and over a certain age. Plus lets face it. In a world where statesmanship is being replaced by thugs? We would have the baddest of them all.
If Holigram Tupac had been around? I don't think that anyone would mess with President Tupac.
Just imagine the State of the Union Speeches.
Or maybe? We could just have an American Idol Picks the Idol for President call in competion. We could all call in and vote for our favorite Holigram for President.
I'm hoping for a Micky Mouse version.
:D .
.
.
I'm thinking Zooey Daschenel singing and the melody? I Want a Woman Who Won't Drive Me Crazy.
I want a president who won't drive me crazy.
I want a president who isn't insane.
I want a president who is a grown up
I want a president who'll take the blame.
My son and I were talking about the coming presidential election. With all the talk of Romney vacations traveling with the family dog in a crate on top of the car. Then this news that Obama ate dogs and grasshoppers as a kid, he's thinking that Ron Paul looks like an elder statesman. We were talking about how all the spin is making both men look nuts.
And that was before Ted Nugent got into the mix.
I know that you can do write in candidates and well- after seeing the Tupac video above, we're thinking that ther might just be a better way.
We're writing in Tupac for president.
Think about it.
To my knowledged there is nothing in the US Constitution that says a holigram can't run for president. True, you can't marry a holigram (at least not in my state) but I don't think there's anything in the rules that say you can't run it for president. The candidate has to be born in the US and over a certain age. Plus lets face it. In a world where statesmanship is being replaced by thugs? We would have the baddest of them all.
If Holigram Tupac had been around? I don't think that anyone would mess with President Tupac.
Just imagine the State of the Union Speeches.
Or maybe? We could just have an American Idol Picks the Idol for President call in competion. We could all call in and vote for our favorite Holigram for President.
I'm hoping for a Micky Mouse version.
:D .
.
.
Poetry continued.
Twilight at the Gate
Sunset
The dogs barked.
And there he stood at the gate
Like magic
Grey hair and older
His eyes still the same colour
When he laughed
Or told a story
I could see him there inside
Like yesterday
Younger and full of it
When I could stand close and hear his breathing in the dark
But for six feet I could be there again
His heart next to mine
Such a long way six feet
Decades in the measure
Common sense standing at the gate
Saying,
"This way is folly.
The wind sings wicked here
The sound of songs should sound of breaking glass and hearts to you.
Go home to your responsibilities and leave this place."
And yet I measure the distance between the here and there
Consider the possibilities looking for any purchase.
Measuring the joy with the peril.
Distance measured in years of loss and regret
Refugees in our on skin
No home till the moment
You once again stand at my gate singing ...
"We're on our way home."
Who could after all this time
After all those years of being true and honorable to our responsibilities?
Deny us the last rays of this sunset. *
****
But for Three Words
Sunset
The dogs barked.
And there he stood at the gate
Grey hair and older
His eyes still the same colour
When he laughed
Or told a story
I could see him there inside
Like yesterday
Younger and full of it
When I could stand close and hear his breathing in the dark
But for 12 inches I could be there again
His heart next to mine
Such a long way 12 inches
Decades in the measure
Common sense standing at the gate
Saying,
"This way is folly.
The wind sings wicked here
The sound of songs should sound of breaking glass and hearts to you.
Go home to your responsibilities and leave this place."
And yet we measure the distance between the here and there
Consider the possibilities looking for any purchase.
Measuring the joy with the peril.
Distance measured in years of loss and regret
Refugees in our on skin
No home till the moment
You once again stand at my gate singing ...
"Were on our way home."
Who could after all this time
After all those years of being true and honorable to our responsibilities?
Deny us the last rays of this sunset. *
But for three words.
*****
My Right Toe of Ann is inflamed.
I just went out in the yard and got red ants on my Tao.
Kind of pizzed them off so they bit it.
Tomorrow? I'm going to explore the Tao of Amdro..
Stings like heck.
May the force ( of Amdro) be with you.
Author Ann
****
So I took a walk just to clear my head.
It didn't help.
I made a list of the pros and cons.
I tossed the list.
I waited on the side of the road for enlightenment.
But in the end all I got was a numb butt.
I did what my mama always says a person should do in this situation.
I stayed out of trouble, stayed home, and cleaned something.
Sure enough I had something to show for my time spent only I didn't have an answer.
A clean closet?
Yes
An answer.
Nada
I watched The Devil Wears Prada and Because I Said So
It was entertaining and got my mind off of it for a bit
But still?
Nothing.
Then I did what I should have done in the first place.
I wrote about it on the internet.
I asked complete strangers what I should do.
Put the comments in the "on" but hidden mode.
Then I took another walk because it really was lovely outside.
I waited for the answer.
****
July.
Morning on the River Jordan
Arms and legs tanned.
Hair bleaching silver like driftwood in the sun
Barefoot and drowsy
We sit.
Watching for daylight.
Like eating a peach
Sweet...
Our day unfolds.
Author Ann 8 July, 2009
all rights reserved by the author.
^^^^
My Bonnie Nell has wings.
She's flying through the air
My Bonnie Nell flies through the night
Without a want of care
Through silver seas she's flying
Her joy can't be contanted
Her sails they dance among the stars
The Moon? She calls her name.
from the Voyage of the Bonnie Nell
June 17, 2009
Author Ann
All rights reserved by the author.
*****
pause. I found this cover of a Simon and Garfunkle song.
.
At the end of the road.
Two steps past the Budweiser can.
She does the Dance of the Free
Behind the Deadend road sign.
And next to that patch of Shasta Daisies going to seed
The one with the beginnings of those new yellow flowers that look like Coreopsis next to it
Just two steps further
Freedom
.
3 years, 11 months, 2 weeks, 6 days, 8 hours, 45 minutes, and assorted seconds ago.
When two steps past the door seemed like miles?
She had no idea what two steps past that dead end sign looked like
Now she does.
On short walks.
Then longer walks
Then hikes
In the sun, the heat and the rain,
Just so she could find out what was two steps farther.
________________
He told her she could go further than that if she wanted.
It took a while for her to believe him
Then one day she did
Believe him
So she did.
Walk two steps more
Then two more after
To the end of the other road.
And then back pretty quick because the ligtht there was so bright.
And the freedom was so much.
It kind of scared her.
Like the Mockingbird she saw flying out of the nest one morning
The baby one that was fledging
The first flight where intuition took that bird futher than it's mind had gone.
Faith.
Flying higher and higher,
Then nearly falling when it realized where it'd gone to.
A bumblebee who'd just been told that by all the laws in science?
It shouldn't fly
So it makes a beeline back to the nest
To sort it all out
-------------------
He was right.
Just two steps further.
Just two steps further than what the map said was a dead end?
Wasn't a dead end at all.
It was a beginning.
*****
Hey ya.
Hey yah, yah, yo
You should see me race
You should watch me go
I got the fastest boat that you'll ever know
Singing hey yah, hey yah, yo
When I was born
The Doc looked at me
He said this one was born to sail the seas
She's got a mind that strong
And a heart that's free
Sing hey yah, hey yah, yo.
Sing hey ya
Hey yah, yah, yo
You should see me race
You should watch me go
I got the fastest boat and crew you know
We sing hey yah, hey yah, yo.
Sing hey yah
Hey yah, yah, yo
You should see me race
You should watch me go
I got the fastest boat
We go, go, go.
Sing hey yah, hey yah, yo
On the river
Or over the sea
Any kind of water don't matter to me
I got angel wings. I'm sailing free.
Sing hey yah, hey yah, yo
Sing hey yah
Hey yah, yah, yo
You should see us race
You should watch us go
We got the fastest boats.
That you'll every know
Sing hey yah, hey yah yo
Sing hey yah, go, go, go...
Lyrics and melody by AuthorAnn c 2009 all rights reserved.
***
brb
When beavers get old do they all turn into cougars?
well?
.
Twilight at the Gate
Sunset
The dogs barked.
And there he stood at the gate
Like magic
Grey hair and older
His eyes still the same colour
When he laughed
Or told a story
I could see him there inside
Like yesterday
Younger and full of it
When I could stand close and hear his breathing in the dark
But for six feet I could be there again
His heart next to mine
Such a long way six feet
Decades in the measure
Common sense standing at the gate
Saying,
"This way is folly.
The wind sings wicked here
The sound of songs should sound of breaking glass and hearts to you.
Go home to your responsibilities and leave this place."
And yet I measure the distance between the here and there
Consider the possibilities looking for any purchase.
Measuring the joy with the peril.
Distance measured in years of loss and regret
Refugees in our on skin
No home till the moment
You once again stand at my gate singing ...
"We're on our way home."
Who could after all this time
After all those years of being true and honorable to our responsibilities?
Deny us the last rays of this sunset. *
****
But for Three Words
Sunset
The dogs barked.
And there he stood at the gate
Grey hair and older
His eyes still the same colour
When he laughed
Or told a story
I could see him there inside
Like yesterday
Younger and full of it
When I could stand close and hear his breathing in the dark
But for 12 inches I could be there again
His heart next to mine
Such a long way 12 inches
Decades in the measure
Common sense standing at the gate
Saying,
"This way is folly.
The wind sings wicked here
The sound of songs should sound of breaking glass and hearts to you.
Go home to your responsibilities and leave this place."
And yet we measure the distance between the here and there
Consider the possibilities looking for any purchase.
Measuring the joy with the peril.
Distance measured in years of loss and regret
Refugees in our on skin
No home till the moment
You once again stand at my gate singing ...
"Were on our way home."
Who could after all this time
After all those years of being true and honorable to our responsibilities?
Deny us the last rays of this sunset. *
But for three words.
*****
My Right Toe of Ann is inflamed.
I just went out in the yard and got red ants on my Tao.
Kind of pizzed them off so they bit it.
Tomorrow? I'm going to explore the Tao of Amdro..
Stings like heck.
May the force ( of Amdro) be with you.
Author Ann
****
So I took a walk just to clear my head.
It didn't help.
I made a list of the pros and cons.
I tossed the list.
I waited on the side of the road for enlightenment.
But in the end all I got was a numb butt.
I did what my mama always says a person should do in this situation.
I stayed out of trouble, stayed home, and cleaned something.
Sure enough I had something to show for my time spent only I didn't have an answer.
A clean closet?
Yes
An answer.
Nada
I watched The Devil Wears Prada and Because I Said So
It was entertaining and got my mind off of it for a bit
But still?
Nothing.
Then I did what I should have done in the first place.
I wrote about it on the internet.
I asked complete strangers what I should do.
Put the comments in the "on" but hidden mode.
Then I took another walk because it really was lovely outside.
I waited for the answer.
****
" You know " said the Walrus as he looked ahead,
"The worst of life is this awful dread.
But once you get around it.
Put it out of your head.
It's all smooth sailing...."
..
"Fingers fly on strings
Notes fly on a spring breeze-.
A string breaks mid song."
Notes fly on a spring breeze-.
A string breaks mid song."
Author Ann
1/3/09
.
^^^^
My Bonnie Nell has wings.
She's flying through the air
My Bonnie Nell flies through the night
Without a want of care
Through silver seas she's flying
Her joy can't be contanted
Her sails they dance among the stars
The Moon? She calls her name.
from the Voyage of the Bonnie Nell
June 17, 2009
Author Ann
All rights reserved by the author.
*****
pause. I found this cover of a Simon and Garfunkle song.
.
At the end of the road.
Two steps past the Budweiser can.
She does the Dance of the Free
Behind the Deadend road sign.
And next to that patch of Shasta Daisies going to seed
The one with the beginnings of those new yellow flowers that look like Coreopsis next to it
Just two steps further
Freedom
.
3 years, 11 months, 2 weeks, 6 days, 8 hours, 45 minutes, and assorted seconds ago.
When two steps past the door seemed like miles?
She had no idea what two steps past that dead end sign looked like
Now she does.
On short walks.
Then longer walks
Then hikes
In the sun, the heat and the rain,
Just so she could find out what was two steps farther.
________________
He told her she could go further than that if she wanted.
It took a while for her to believe him
Then one day she did
Believe him
So she did.
Walk two steps more
Then two more after
To the end of the other road.
And then back pretty quick because the ligtht there was so bright.
And the freedom was so much.
It kind of scared her.
Like the Mockingbird she saw flying out of the nest one morning
The baby one that was fledging
The first flight where intuition took that bird futher than it's mind had gone.
Faith.
Flying higher and higher,
Then nearly falling when it realized where it'd gone to.
A bumblebee who'd just been told that by all the laws in science?
It shouldn't fly
So it makes a beeline back to the nest
To sort it all out
-------------------
He was right.
Just two steps further.
Just two steps further than what the map said was a dead end?
Wasn't a dead end at all.
It was a beginning.
*****
Hey ya.
Hey yah, yah, yo
You should see me race
You should watch me go
I got the fastest boat that you'll ever know
Singing hey yah, hey yah, yo
When I was born
The Doc looked at me
He said this one was born to sail the seas
She's got a mind that strong
And a heart that's free
Sing hey yah, hey yah, yo.
Sing hey ya
Hey yah, yah, yo
You should see me race
You should watch me go
I got the fastest boat and crew you know
We sing hey yah, hey yah, yo.
Sing hey yah
Hey yah, yah, yo
You should see me race
You should watch me go
I got the fastest boat
We go, go, go.
Sing hey yah, hey yah, yo
On the river
Or over the sea
Any kind of water don't matter to me
I got angel wings. I'm sailing free.
Sing hey yah, hey yah, yo
Sing hey yah
Hey yah, yah, yo
You should see us race
You should watch us go
We got the fastest boats.
That you'll every know
Sing hey yah, hey yah yo
Sing hey yah, go, go, go...
Lyrics and melody by AuthorAnn c 2009 all rights reserved.
***
brb
When beavers get old do they all turn into cougars?
well?
.
.
So this is what it's come to.
I am going to read what I've wrote. An entire hour.
The exception?
This poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: `Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear --
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.'
and this song
Good mornin' starshine, the earth says hello
You twinkle above us
We twinkle below
Good mornin' starshine, You lead us along
My love and me as we sing
our early mornin' singin' song
Glibby gloop gloopy Nibby Nabby Noopy La La La Lo Lo
Sabba Sibby Sabba Nooby abba Nabba Le Le Lo Lo
Tooby ooby walla nooby abba nabba
Early mornin' singin' song
Good mornin' starshine
There's love in your skies
reflecting the sunlight
in my lovers eyes
Good mornin' starshine, so happy to be
my love and me as we sing
our early mornin' singin' song
Glibby gloop gloopy Nibby Nabby Noopy La La La Lo Lo
Sabba sibby sabba nooby abba nabba Le Le Lo Lo
Tooby ooby walla Nooby abba nabba
Early mornin' singin' song
***musical interlude***
Can you hear me?
Singin' a song, hummin' a song, singin' a song
Lovin' a song, laughin' a song, singin' the song
Sing the song, song the sing
song song song sing, sing sing sing song
Song song song sing, sing sing sing song
Sing sing a song sing a song
yah, you can sing sing song sing a song
Sing sing a song, sing a song
The rest?
Where to begin?
Haiku Kudzu
Dogs bark this morning.
Telling of a guest to be;
Good story at supper.
.
For Elizabeth G and her Mooses
The words do come fully formed
Like a lovely yet sometime weedy garden
Only I get to decide what are the weeds
And which are the flowers.
So I caught that poem by it's tail
I swug it round and round
Threw the words against the wall
Then stomped them on the ground
No pit of dark and deep dispair
Would beat my story down
Gentlly it would rise up
From the mire upon the ground
The words they rose like the butterfly wings
Round and round my head they'd fly
To live in some enchanted land
Then come back. I don't know why.
Then weave themselves into a cloak
The color of a summer sky
Or deeper blue. A blue berry blue
From the oceans of tears I'd cried
So here -- it's yours to keep you warm
Traveler's coat with faery wings.
To fly you to ephemeral lands
Where imaginations sing.
c ford 2-11-09
...
Morning Symphony
The time between when the Moon sets and the Sun rises.
It is a good time of day.
Peaceful.
To watch the day unfurl gently.
Like music.
A flute.
A gentle violin.
A question by the flute.
An answer back by the violin.
A playful oboe opens it's eyes then closes and yawns.
An industrious trumpet.
Then another as they wake and head off to work.
Then quiet with a very soft tympani roll that builds to only a soft yawn. Again the violin and flute duets.
They drink their coffee and get ready for the day.
Picolos underfoot funning round in a frantic.
Collecting books
And boots a
And a quick bite of something on their way to school.
End the first movement
Good morning!
....
Poem for my son
My son asked me what is Love. To explain I wrote this.
What is love?
He asked me in such a serious tone
Had to close my eyes to think.
How to answer?
Then in my mind
I saw him 5 years old again.
He was eating oranges on a bright blue beach towel.
Covered in juice
Sand on his feet.
Sticky sweet in his hair and on his face
There were watermelon slices on his plate
But he would only eat the oranges
Used the rind for yellow orange "teeth"
Said that the wedges made his eyes cross
Because they were sour as well as sweet
"Just like you Sunshine"
I told him and then ruffled his hair
He laughed
And the sun shone brighter because of it
What is love?
I looked into his somber eyes
Many miles and years later.
"Love is sticky sweet oranges on a bright blue beach towel."
"Love is you."
....
The following if from my hiaku junk yard. So are variations of a theme.
-----
Acres of open pasture
Cresote posts, t post, and barb wire--
Civilized meets the free world
------
Fingers fly on strings
Notes fly on a spring breeze-.
A string breaks mid song.
-------
Cucumber's new leaves.
Smell of garden soil in March
State fair prized pickles
--------
Young dogs tend cows.
Fast and sure they herd the flock.
Old dogs run in dreams
----------
Jonquils sway and birds sing.
Sunlight dances through Spring rains.
Winter memory.
Husband of My Heart
My heart walked alone to get here.
Across deserts and time.
Waited like the seed of the Rose in the Desert.
Waited until the rains to bloom.
This world makes me fierce to survive
But my head on your shoulder
Your kiss on my cheek?
I am soft and new again.
My breath, your laughter
Alive in my heart
.
More hiaku
-------
Sad dogs howl at night.
The sound echos through winter trees.
Joyous, run through summer fields
--------
Seed in spring garden,
Sleeps and grows. Soon to be life.
June brings happy memories.
---------
Bud on a bare branch.
Winter winds and spring rains fall--
Flowers in the summer
*****
Rainbows in the sky.
Sunlight dances through raindrops-
Dark night memories.
------
Sweet dreams and good sleep.
Children's laughter on a spring say
Only memories in a war zone
------
The old dog can hunt.
Running with the younger males.
Hunts rabbits in dreams.
****
Tomato plant's leaves.
The smell of garden soil in March--
December's winter chili
------
Pumpkins in the Fall
State fair pickles and jelly.
Smell of March's garden soil.
...
Riding in Moonlight
The sound of the hooves
Across the terrain
Those hooves kept the rhythm
His heart did the same
Explorer, he thrilled
At each vista quite new
Lighter than air
Through the night sky they flew
Each hill and each valley
More wild than the moors
Or the oceans he'd sailed
Or their wild craggy shores
He sang out the lyrics
Her hooves the refrain
Till they came to the chorus
Voice one and the same
The Heavens did tremble
When hooves came to ground
Explorer met valley
With a thunderous sound
Cold air and wild mountains
The moors at the dawn
Riding in moonlight
From gravity unbound
by
AuthorAnn c ann ford
12-21-08
"Read me."
It said.
So Alice did.
Scratched her head,
Closed her eyes,
She raised a kid,
She couldn't see,
So she thought she hid.
Said the strange, furry cat,
"Well she sat quite still.
(Fell to the bottom of her glass.)
Found wisdom in a pill."
Left what was "left" of her mind
on the top of a hill.
And promptly became
a Republican?
"Strange days." sighed the cat.
To which the Blue Footed Booby of Time said,
"Pull my string. Please"
Something I wrote about my Great Aunt
Shadow Bird
I could see the shadow of a bird outside my door
fragile bird yet strong enough
not frightened of human form.
I wondered what was in your heart
on this cold, grey winter's morn
by IC/ 3.3.08
.Imagine Spring in a Kook-a-licious PinK
Imagine Spring in a Kook-a-licious Pink.
a butterbean seed in the dark
Slowly
a tiny white shoot begins
two halves begin to move
Slowly
a seed grows to a lovely young plant
a butterbean seed
Coming into its own.
******
Husband,
What breath have I drawn that didn't have your name on it?
Today I wrote to you and it vanished into air.
Stolen words. My words. Taken by one who Fate says is more deserving.
"Stolen words...."
I am here.
My words.
Twisted.
Bent in ways to satisfy another
Like a bent paper clip.
Well hear these words.
Home.
You don't steal words and then be deserving of them.
You aren't a prize to be won at the carnival.
You are the extrodinary man who I love.
You are the sound of snoring from the other side of the bed.
Or you should be.
You're where the road leads.
Where my feet trod.
Where my heart lives.
I stand on flat feet
*****
The dogs of war howl outside my heart.
The dogs who are relentless.
The dogs of war and hell.
Do you hear them?
They are feet mired in the mud of Earth.
They could wash the mud from their feet.
But instead they chose to stay mired.
My father did not raise this woman to be prisoner of the mud.
I washed the mud from my feet long ago.
Washed the mud from my spirit.
From my heart.
I won't look down again.
Fierce I am.
Fierce I'll be.
Your love is in my heart.
Fate can rip me to pieces, scatter those pieces to the ends of the Universe, to be eatten my crows... Each piece of my heart will tell those crows of our love. Those crows will be so sad that they will fly from the ends of the Universe. With each piece covered in stardust they will sew the pieces together.
And in the center?
...Our heart...
******
Regret Hannah Murphy 15 June 2008
My life is flowing past you.
What will you do if there is no more me?
What will I do if there is no more you?
We do grow older.
And life can be so unexpected.
I watch you grow older.
Your river flowing past me.
Someday a memory of things past is all I'll have.
The ability to form new memories gone.
The ability to heal old wounds gone.
Snatched by senility or death from our hands.
Regret and loss are inadequate companions.
Talk to me again or not.
Remember me again or not.
That's up to you.
But forget this lesson?
Of loss.
Please do not.
I wouldn't wish regret of things unsaid on you for all the tea in China.\
Swallow your anger and pride.
Call.
--------------
Author's note (Regret by Hannah Murphy, 15June,2008
The poem, Regret, is written to be both from the point of view of the parent and child who are estranged in the parent child relationship.
Insult in 5 languages
Ode to the values of polite discourse
by IC 5/12/2008
He can insult in 5 languages
Such a skill is sure to impress
To belittle and make feel small
Is certainly a skill to posess
At least in salons and cafe society
He's thought of as quite urbane.
No matter which language he insults in --
To me?
He's a jerk all the same.
From The Time of Huricanes
The Next Day
Hannah Murphy August 18, 2008
He rolled over
Stood up
Unsteady
Everything hurt.
His head, his side, his heart.
Night long and sleep short.
Passing the night
Waiting for the world they knew to pass away
Without really "seeing" just how bad it could be
Only darkness, flashlights, and candles in the wind
While outside the wind roared
Like some banshee in labor
Her nightmare child born
****
Flutter of a dove's wing.
Snow falls softly on her lashes
Dogwoods bloom in May..
*
A poem for my Uncle
Running
I knew a man whose wife and children left him.
Their hearts poisoned like a well.
For the rest of his life he kept moving.
Oh the stories he could tell.
But all of his posessions.
Everyone of them he'd sell.
For just a little kindness
A little happiness as well.
Under the trees we sat there.
I asked him, "What's your name?"
He looked at me with sad, sad eyes.
The pain it was quite plain.
"I've walked a million footsteps
I've sailed the deepest sea
I never have stopped running
From the pain tha's after me."
The devil of it all
What don't seem to set him free
The life that he's been running from
Is the life you want for me.
So get away you old devil
Get far away from me
I've no time for all your nonsence.
Keep far, far away from me.
AuthorAnn 1-12-09
.The next poem is about being far away from home and missing your home.
Homecoming
I'm dreaming of tomatoes and summer.
I'm dreaming of the Gulf of Mexico.
I'm dreaming of the sailboat.
The sky blue.
The sails full.
My father at the helm.
Everyone happy.
Everyone's hearts free.
I want to go home.
To my home.
This is not my home
Everyday I will say this
Every.
Single.
Day.
It's not cozy.
It is cold.
It is wet.
It is dreary.
I'm not ungrateful.
Yes, there are worse places I could be.
Famines. No water at all.
I count my blessings. But...
It's not right to tell a lie correct?
I can function and have functioned in all kinds of places.
Have been through great storms and known dark loneliness.
I am lucky to have survived such things.
I am grateful to have a kind place to be.
But still when the sky is blue or a breeze picks up.
When I close my eyes and hear my father laugh.
Even in the midst of great beauty?
When I dream?
I dream of home.
AuthorAnn
1-12-09
***
Romance at our house
Roses are expensive
And violets are too
Here's a dozen fence posts.
Happy Valentine's Day to you
****
Why I Like Poetry And Know How To Spell The Word "cacophony"
by Ann 5 November, 2008
The words.
Even the dark angry ones.
Are music.
A storm out in the Gulf.
They swirl around me like the wind.
They wet me like the rain.
I'm soaked to the bone with the thought of it.
I dance to the music wild.
Thunders loud in my ears.
I vibrate.
The air alive.
Howling.
I dance in the middle of all this sound.
Thrill to it.
Free.
One day I will be drawn up into the vortex-- this cacophony of life
And be delivered into the heavens.
Home
----------------------------------
CACOPHONY (cack-AH-fuh-nee or cack-AW-fuh-nee)
Discordant sounds in the jarring juxtaposition of harsh letters or syllables which are grating to the ear, usually inadvertent, but sometimes deliberately used in poetry for effect.
so okay I might could have used the word
.
The beasts that chase us through times door
Can catch us not. So I implore
That you have faith in God's sweet love
And his fairness from up above.
From spark of time we did know
That no matter what this life did show
From birth to death, yes we would know
We'd alway know each other
*******
I was writing an email to a friend when this poem came to mind
Soft
Work in Progress
I feel as if I'm in the dark with my eyes wide open but I can not see
It's not a frightening dark
It's a soft, liquid, slightly out of focus dark
As I move through your mind
Everything is soft
Like down pillows and down comforters
Soft
Like feathers falling from the sky
Snow flakes
Soft
Like a whisper of a wisp
When I stumble and I fall?
I fall into clouds
Soft
Wisps of clouds like dust swirl up around me as I fall into the emotion
That's how this afternoon felt
Words like
"meloncholy"
"velvet"
"wisp"
and
"whisper"
Sad...because a friend was leaving
A smile -- because another friend had stayed
The day soft
I wrote the sorrow away from my heart
The emotions coraled into a box of words
Put back into Pandora's Box
Only this time Hope
Outside the box
Free
Falling up
As I move through the soft in slow motion
Soft word on the lips
My mind's eye comforted
Writing in slow motion
My heart sings
Please don't be angry with me
All unintentional
I have to write
You
Soft
Author Ann
21 October,2008
*****
Kind words for kind hearts to hear.
Not to worry friends of mine.
The Constant Heart
Weathers all storms.
If hearts be kind?
Then hear me now
Your love I honor.
But if hearts be foul?
On love's rocky road?
Your love may sour.
Think well this path.
Think well his hour.
Both hearts of gold
An hearts that are foul.
Have tried this road.
Heard Jaguar's howl.
Many have tried
And many have failed.
A heart of gold will serve you well.
So what's this path
That you seek here?
The path that true love holds so dear?
Tis' path of love you wish to take?
Your path be clear
And love you'll make.
But once again
I do plead now.
That this fair journey
Can sometimes be foul.
So bring a love, a watch and a compass.
And bring truth and reason
Be ready for love's rumpus
****
[Multiple Infinities Sideways]
Also known as MIS. (Kind of like the "Coma Sutra" version of multiple orgasms mixed up with multiple infinities meets La Petite Mort. With Cyndi Lauper in the back ground singing "Time After Time" as elevator music.)
She wrote about her experience in " MIS: revolving sideways."
"...I was revolving.
Then evolving,
And again revolving
Through my life.
Then revolving simultaneous evolving.
Spiraling upward.
Such was life.
Then you left me
Spinning silent
as spinning in a vacume is.
Now still revolving
while evolving.
Still a spiral.
Only which way?
Is?..."
Hannah Murphy, 5/29/2008 "Hannah in Blogland"
*****
The story teller looked into the fire again.
Then shuttered.
There was no entertaining way to say this.
Only plain words for a simple story.
*****
The beasts that chase us through times door
Can catch us not. So I implore
That you have faith in God's sweet love
And his fairness from up above.
From spark of time we did know
That no matter what this life did show
From birth to death, yes we would know
We'd alway know each other.
The story teller's eyes grew quiet.
Their heart beat rang in his ears.
Time, not life, stopped in Wicklow Mountains.
Time, not life, stopped to correct a wrong.
Time, not life, stopped in Wicklow Mountains.
Time, not life, stopped for a simple song.
I love you. Self evident.
For love's argument so strong
Did bend time's ear
And charmed times heart
That day.
The storyteller smiled.
Simple simple story
Kind heart met kind heart
And formed that day
Love.
****
I've been trying to remember.
Trying to put my memories into words in this journal.
Imperfect snap shots of barely tangible emotions
Graceful like the smoke from a candle
I watch the words bend and form
Gentle swirls
But when I try to hold them?
Mercy
*****
We Are Nomads Of The Sea.
Hannah Murphy. 17 August, 08
We are nomads of the sea.
Restless souls looking for peace
Never putting our heart's feet on dry land
Like a stone our spirits skim across the salty Gulf
The songs of Wind lull us to sleep
Rocked in the arms of the wreckage
The souls of waterbabies rocked in the waves...
The tears of angels rain down upon us all.
As they look into the eyes of God
Praying,
"Give them back their home."
**********************************
Looking into a hurricane sky
is like looking into the eyes of God.
Hannah Murphy
17 August, 2008
*****
I Didn't Know You Could Walk On Air
Hannah Murphy 03 August, 2008
There's a smile on my face
As I skip by the sea
Lighter than air
Your words to me
Like willow the wisps
or mirages, it's true.
I can barely make out
the soul of you.
But I feel your smile
Like the warmth of the sun
I hear your heart
As if we are one
Whisper again to me
..
Flowers in Summer
by hannah murphy 7-12-08
Flowers in summer
The heat of noon
Ice tea and salads
The smell of roses fills the room
Ladies drift in cool summer dresses
Hat and gloves
We speed through this life in armor and steel
Hardened and wise in steel high heels.
But ladies who lunch in those cool summer breezes
Haunt like a ghost
Gosemer ghosts who float on the breeze.
Glide through my mind
On this hot, dusty road.
Like the ghost of a gentle mirrage
Poem dedicated to LadyWhitknee to say thank you for her kind encouraging post. Regardless of the detours of life, let's keep our eyes to the stars.
......
Orange Skies of Mars
Thought any other way and my heart grows green
Sickly with the forced responsibility of this love.
Chained to a rock my heart. Dusty relic on the shelf.
Each rare laugh the efforts of Hercules.
The sound shatters and falls to the ground.
Shards of brittle laughter are all around me.
My body in turns hurling and creeping towards death
Towards the edge of light and shadow
My mind. banshee, howling cross oceans
Waiting for the sound that doesn't come.
Home
Waiting and calling
Longing for the soul that long since found it's home elsewhere.
Crying for husband
Still waiting like a ghost trapped in twilight.
Banshee cries home.
Hannah Murphy 8 July, 2008
.....
The Neti Pot and me.
...drip...
...drip...
...drip...
If my nose drips one more time I will scream.
Mucus from my nose doth stream
I can not take another day
From allergies that come from hay
I live beside a great big field
With tons of pollen it doth yeild.
All conspire to bring me pain
Unless perhaps the sky will rain
Oh hurry rain do not delay
Rid my air of pollen hay
If you don't then in misery I
Will be with out the rainy sky
If it don't rain I'll have to choke
On saline water from this little boat
Shaped Netie pot. Which is all I have.
This durn Netie pot is just as bad.
As the post nasal drip I have.
The only difference I can see
Is the length of my allergy misery.
We aren't sure why this is happening.
But there is alligator in my toilet."
Channel 5 News @ 10
Silly Season for Tryork
)
Do we keep her?
Do we feed her"
Do we give her to the zoo?
She's really very special.
She's playing a kazoooo.
We aren't sure how she got here.
Yes we're sure she is a she.
I remember clear Wild Kingdon.
Where they "sexed" them on tv.
Well that and she has a girdle
And she is dressed to impress
And there's lipstick on her lips
And she is wearing a frilly dress
Yes I know that doesn't make our lovely alligator female.
I learn from watching Late Late show
There are also folks called "shemales"
But she says her name is Allie
And she's most definate a girl
She just made a wrong hand turn
While out in our human world
So we aren't sure what to do now
You see we're used to cows
So we thought we'd call you zoo guys
Yes we thought you'd tell us how.
To remove this Allie from our toilet.
See it's causing quite a mess
And well it's not doing great things
For Allie Alligator's dress.
The End
For Tryork
****
******
I'm here.
Right here.
I haven't gone.
I'm still here.
Have they made it easy for you to leave?
To start some new adventure without me.
Some new game.
You promised that you'd trust me.
Promised you'd not leave.
Said that you'd be strong for me
If I'd became so weak.
Now some new game, some siren's song.
Says, "Leave. She's going. Yes, going away.
Can't you see that much is clear.
She's going. She can not stay."
I saw you look at her. I cried.
Saw the sadness that she missed.
Saw the tired within your eyes.
And the "breaking heart" she missed.
The bitter tears you cried inside.
Mourned the loss of that last kiss.
We always "knew" each other.
In ways she'll never know.
So cavalier her ways of love.
I saw this clear. And so-
Now here I lay.
Mute and still.
But very much alive.
Encased inside this tearless room.
Crying tearless tears inside.
Coma Heart.
Hannah Murphy. June 11, 2008
*****
Its a Monday morning thing
You and me
The nuts and bolts of love
The work horse of emotions
As in the world we go
To our lives and jobs
Separate in our lives
And yet I know
You're there.
Not a Friday night adventure
Or a Saturday night affair
Those fleeting, flitting creatures
Who shun the light of day.
Capricious, ephemeral
Entertaining
But not much in the long run
Momentary silly things.
But Monday morning relationships
Stalwart grown up things
Like good friends.
Don't flit like silly Saturday
But dance elegant through our life
They waltz us through
The drudgery
Of our Monday morning days.
-------
Hannah Murphy. 6/10/2008
Hannah in Blogland
c2008 Ann
*****
I wish that I could show you.
All our moments together
Points of color
They take flight like birds on the beach.
Points on a computer screen.
A swirl of color with no rhyme
Then like birds they settle down to form a picture.
A memory
If only I knew how to say
Then those restless colorful birds are points again
Taking flight.
Only to settle down into another pattern
Another picture
Another memory of our life.
We'd walk though the maestrom.
Those birds minutes flying around us free.
Surprises
A friend told me along time ago about his walk on the beach. He was walking along the beach at night. He could hear the Irish sea but what he saw was inky black. No moon or light. That was how he came upon what happened next. One minute he was in his thoughts and the next minute he was in the middle of whirring. All around him the sound and feeling of birds flying. All around him? Confusion.
He was roused from his waking dream *
****
to be continued
.
Good slumbers and happy dreams
With faery kisses bring soft breezes
May your worries be less than they seem
And may tomorrow bring a day that pleases
So this is what it's come to.
I am going to read what I've wrote. An entire hour.
The exception?
This poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: `Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear --
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.'
and this song
Good mornin' starshine, the earth says hello
You twinkle above us
We twinkle below
Good mornin' starshine, You lead us along
My love and me as we sing
our early mornin' singin' song
Glibby gloop gloopy Nibby Nabby Noopy La La La Lo Lo
Sabba Sibby Sabba Nooby abba Nabba Le Le Lo Lo
Tooby ooby walla nooby abba nabba
Early mornin' singin' song
Good mornin' starshine
There's love in your skies
reflecting the sunlight
in my lovers eyes
Good mornin' starshine, so happy to be
my love and me as we sing
our early mornin' singin' song
Glibby gloop gloopy Nibby Nabby Noopy La La La Lo Lo
Sabba sibby sabba nooby abba nabba Le Le Lo Lo
Tooby ooby walla Nooby abba nabba
Early mornin' singin' song
***musical interlude***
Can you hear me?
Singin' a song, hummin' a song, singin' a song
Lovin' a song, laughin' a song, singin' the song
Sing the song, song the sing
song song song sing, sing sing sing song
Song song song sing, sing sing sing song
Sing sing a song sing a song
yah, you can sing sing song sing a song
Sing sing a song, sing a song
The rest?
Where to begin?
Haiku Kudzu
Dogs bark this morning.
Telling of a guest to be;
Good story at supper.
.
For Elizabeth G and her Mooses
The words do come fully formed
Like a lovely yet sometime weedy garden
Only I get to decide what are the weeds
And which are the flowers.
So I caught that poem by it's tail
I swug it round and round
Threw the words against the wall
Then stomped them on the ground
No pit of dark and deep dispair
Would beat my story down
Gentlly it would rise up
From the mire upon the ground
The words they rose like the butterfly wings
Round and round my head they'd fly
To live in some enchanted land
Then come back. I don't know why.
Then weave themselves into a cloak
The color of a summer sky
Or deeper blue. A blue berry blue
From the oceans of tears I'd cried
So here -- it's yours to keep you warm
Traveler's coat with faery wings.
To fly you to ephemeral lands
Where imaginations sing.
c ford 2-11-09
...
Morning Symphony
The time between when the Moon sets and the Sun rises.
It is a good time of day.
Peaceful.
To watch the day unfurl gently.
Like music.
A flute.
A gentle violin.
A question by the flute.
An answer back by the violin.
A playful oboe opens it's eyes then closes and yawns.
An industrious trumpet.
Then another as they wake and head off to work.
Then quiet with a very soft tympani roll that builds to only a soft yawn. Again the violin and flute duets.
They drink their coffee and get ready for the day.
Picolos underfoot funning round in a frantic.
Collecting books
And boots a
And a quick bite of something on their way to school.
End the first movement
Good morning!
....
Poem for my son
My son asked me what is Love. To explain I wrote this.
What is love?
He asked me in such a serious tone
Had to close my eyes to think.
How to answer?
Then in my mind
I saw him 5 years old again.
He was eating oranges on a bright blue beach towel.
Covered in juice
Sand on his feet.
Sticky sweet in his hair and on his face
There were watermelon slices on his plate
But he would only eat the oranges
Used the rind for yellow orange "teeth"
Said that the wedges made his eyes cross
Because they were sour as well as sweet
"Just like you Sunshine"
I told him and then ruffled his hair
He laughed
And the sun shone brighter because of it
What is love?
I looked into his somber eyes
Many miles and years later.
"Love is sticky sweet oranges on a bright blue beach towel."
"Love is you."
....
The following if from my hiaku junk yard. So are variations of a theme.
-----
Acres of open pasture
Cresote posts, t post, and barb wire--
Civilized meets the free world
------
Fingers fly on strings
Notes fly on a spring breeze-.
A string breaks mid song.
-------
Cucumber's new leaves.
Smell of garden soil in March
State fair prized pickles
--------
Young dogs tend cows.
Fast and sure they herd the flock.
Old dogs run in dreams
----------
Jonquils sway and birds sing.
Sunlight dances through Spring rains.
Winter memory.
Husband of My Heart
My heart walked alone to get here.
Across deserts and time.
Waited like the seed of the Rose in the Desert.
Waited until the rains to bloom.
This world makes me fierce to survive
But my head on your shoulder
Your kiss on my cheek?
I am soft and new again.
My breath, your laughter
Alive in my heart
.
More hiaku
-------
Sad dogs howl at night.
The sound echos through winter trees.
Joyous, run through summer fields
--------
Seed in spring garden,
Sleeps and grows. Soon to be life.
June brings happy memories.
---------
Bud on a bare branch.
Winter winds and spring rains fall--
Flowers in the summer
*****
Rainbows in the sky.
Sunlight dances through raindrops-
Dark night memories.
------
Sweet dreams and good sleep.
Children's laughter on a spring say
Only memories in a war zone
------
The old dog can hunt.
Running with the younger males.
Hunts rabbits in dreams.
****
Tomato plant's leaves.
The smell of garden soil in March--
December's winter chili
------
Pumpkins in the Fall
State fair pickles and jelly.
Smell of March's garden soil.
...
Riding in Moonlight
The sound of the hooves
Across the terrain
Those hooves kept the rhythm
His heart did the same
Explorer, he thrilled
At each vista quite new
Lighter than air
Through the night sky they flew
Each hill and each valley
More wild than the moors
Or the oceans he'd sailed
Or their wild craggy shores
He sang out the lyrics
Her hooves the refrain
Till they came to the chorus
Voice one and the same
The Heavens did tremble
When hooves came to ground
Explorer met valley
With a thunderous sound
Cold air and wild mountains
The moors at the dawn
Riding in moonlight
From gravity unbound
by
AuthorAnn c ann ford
12-21-08
"Read me."
It said.
So Alice did.
Scratched her head,
Closed her eyes,
She raised a kid,
She couldn't see,
So she thought she hid.
Said the strange, furry cat,
"Well she sat quite still.
(Fell to the bottom of her glass.)
Found wisdom in a pill."
Left what was "left" of her mind
on the top of a hill.
And promptly became
a Republican?
"Strange days." sighed the cat.
To which the Blue Footed Booby of Time said,
"Pull my string. Please"
Something I wrote about my Great Aunt
Shadow Bird
I could see the shadow of a bird outside my door
fragile bird yet strong enough
not frightened of human form.
I wondered what was in your heart
on this cold, grey winter's morn
by IC/ 3.3.08
.Imagine Spring in a Kook-a-licious PinK
Imagine Spring in a Kook-a-licious Pink.
a butterbean seed in the dark
Slowly
a tiny white shoot begins
two halves begin to move
Slowly
a seed grows to a lovely young plant
a butterbean seed
Coming into its own.
******
Husband,
What breath have I drawn that didn't have your name on it?
Today I wrote to you and it vanished into air.
Stolen words. My words. Taken by one who Fate says is more deserving.
"Stolen words...."
I am here.
My words.
Twisted.
Bent in ways to satisfy another
Like a bent paper clip.
Well hear these words.
Home.
You don't steal words and then be deserving of them.
You aren't a prize to be won at the carnival.
You are the extrodinary man who I love.
You are the sound of snoring from the other side of the bed.
Or you should be.
You're where the road leads.
Where my feet trod.
Where my heart lives.
I stand on flat feet
*****
The dogs of war howl outside my heart.
The dogs who are relentless.
The dogs of war and hell.
Do you hear them?
They are feet mired in the mud of Earth.
They could wash the mud from their feet.
But instead they chose to stay mired.
My father did not raise this woman to be prisoner of the mud.
I washed the mud from my feet long ago.
Washed the mud from my spirit.
From my heart.
I won't look down again.
Fierce I am.
Fierce I'll be.
Your love is in my heart.
Fate can rip me to pieces, scatter those pieces to the ends of the Universe, to be eatten my crows... Each piece of my heart will tell those crows of our love. Those crows will be so sad that they will fly from the ends of the Universe. With each piece covered in stardust they will sew the pieces together.
And in the center?
...Our heart...
******
Regret Hannah Murphy 15 June 2008
My life is flowing past you.
What will you do if there is no more me?
What will I do if there is no more you?
We do grow older.
And life can be so unexpected.
I watch you grow older.
Your river flowing past me.
Someday a memory of things past is all I'll have.
The ability to form new memories gone.
The ability to heal old wounds gone.
Snatched by senility or death from our hands.
Regret and loss are inadequate companions.
Talk to me again or not.
Remember me again or not.
That's up to you.
But forget this lesson?
Of loss.
Please do not.
I wouldn't wish regret of things unsaid on you for all the tea in China.\
Swallow your anger and pride.
Call.
--------------
Author's note (Regret by Hannah Murphy, 15June,2008
The poem, Regret, is written to be both from the point of view of the parent and child who are estranged in the parent child relationship.
Insult in 5 languages
Ode to the values of polite discourse
by IC 5/12/2008
He can insult in 5 languages
Such a skill is sure to impress
To belittle and make feel small
Is certainly a skill to posess
At least in salons and cafe society
He's thought of as quite urbane.
No matter which language he insults in --
To me?
He's a jerk all the same.
From The Time of Huricanes
The Next Day
Hannah Murphy August 18, 2008
He rolled over
Stood up
Unsteady
Everything hurt.
His head, his side, his heart.
Night long and sleep short.
Passing the night
Waiting for the world they knew to pass away
Without really "seeing" just how bad it could be
Only darkness, flashlights, and candles in the wind
While outside the wind roared
Like some banshee in labor
Her nightmare child born
****
Flutter of a dove's wing.
Snow falls softly on her lashes
Dogwoods bloom in May..
*
A poem for my Uncle
Running
I knew a man whose wife and children left him.
Their hearts poisoned like a well.
For the rest of his life he kept moving.
Oh the stories he could tell.
But all of his posessions.
Everyone of them he'd sell.
For just a little kindness
A little happiness as well.
Under the trees we sat there.
I asked him, "What's your name?"
He looked at me with sad, sad eyes.
The pain it was quite plain.
"I've walked a million footsteps
I've sailed the deepest sea
I never have stopped running
From the pain tha's after me."
The devil of it all
What don't seem to set him free
The life that he's been running from
Is the life you want for me.
So get away you old devil
Get far away from me
I've no time for all your nonsence.
Keep far, far away from me.
AuthorAnn 1-12-09
.The next poem is about being far away from home and missing your home.
Homecoming
I'm dreaming of tomatoes and summer.
I'm dreaming of the Gulf of Mexico.
I'm dreaming of the sailboat.
The sky blue.
The sails full.
My father at the helm.
Everyone happy.
Everyone's hearts free.
I want to go home.
To my home.
This is not my home
Everyday I will say this
Every.
Single.
Day.
It's not cozy.
It is cold.
It is wet.
It is dreary.
I'm not ungrateful.
Yes, there are worse places I could be.
Famines. No water at all.
I count my blessings. But...
It's not right to tell a lie correct?
I can function and have functioned in all kinds of places.
Have been through great storms and known dark loneliness.
I am lucky to have survived such things.
I am grateful to have a kind place to be.
But still when the sky is blue or a breeze picks up.
When I close my eyes and hear my father laugh.
Even in the midst of great beauty?
When I dream?
I dream of home.
AuthorAnn
1-12-09
***
Romance at our house
Roses are expensive
And violets are too
Here's a dozen fence posts.
Happy Valentine's Day to you
****
Why I Like Poetry And Know How To Spell The Word "cacophony"
by Ann 5 November, 2008
The words.
Even the dark angry ones.
Are music.
A storm out in the Gulf.
They swirl around me like the wind.
They wet me like the rain.
I'm soaked to the bone with the thought of it.
I dance to the music wild.
Thunders loud in my ears.
I vibrate.
The air alive.
Howling.
I dance in the middle of all this sound.
Thrill to it.
Free.
One day I will be drawn up into the vortex-- this cacophony of life
And be delivered into the heavens.
Home
----------------------------------
CACOPHONY (cack-AH-fuh-nee or cack-AW-fuh-nee)
Discordant sounds in the jarring juxtaposition of harsh letters or syllables which are grating to the ear, usually inadvertent, but sometimes deliberately used in poetry for effect.
so okay I might could have used the word
.
The beasts that chase us through times door
Can catch us not. So I implore
That you have faith in God's sweet love
And his fairness from up above.
From spark of time we did know
That no matter what this life did show
From birth to death, yes we would know
We'd alway know each other
*******
I was writing an email to a friend when this poem came to mind
Soft
Work in Progress
I feel as if I'm in the dark with my eyes wide open but I can not see
It's not a frightening dark
It's a soft, liquid, slightly out of focus dark
As I move through your mind
Everything is soft
Like down pillows and down comforters
Soft
Like feathers falling from the sky
Snow flakes
Soft
Like a whisper of a wisp
When I stumble and I fall?
I fall into clouds
Soft
Wisps of clouds like dust swirl up around me as I fall into the emotion
That's how this afternoon felt
Words like
"meloncholy"
"velvet"
"wisp"
and
"whisper"
Sad...because a friend was leaving
A smile -- because another friend had stayed
The day soft
I wrote the sorrow away from my heart
The emotions coraled into a box of words
Put back into Pandora's Box
Only this time Hope
Outside the box
Free
Falling up
As I move through the soft in slow motion
Soft word on the lips
My mind's eye comforted
Writing in slow motion
My heart sings
Please don't be angry with me
All unintentional
I have to write
You
Soft
Author Ann
21 October,2008
*****
Kind words for kind hearts to hear.
Not to worry friends of mine.
The Constant Heart
Weathers all storms.
If hearts be kind?
Then hear me now
Your love I honor.
But if hearts be foul?
On love's rocky road?
Your love may sour.
Think well this path.
Think well his hour.
Both hearts of gold
An hearts that are foul.
Have tried this road.
Heard Jaguar's howl.
Many have tried
And many have failed.
A heart of gold will serve you well.
So what's this path
That you seek here?
The path that true love holds so dear?
Tis' path of love you wish to take?
Your path be clear
And love you'll make.
But once again
I do plead now.
That this fair journey
Can sometimes be foul.
So bring a love, a watch and a compass.
And bring truth and reason
Be ready for love's rumpus
****
[Multiple Infinities Sideways]
Also known as MIS. (Kind of like the "Coma Sutra" version of multiple orgasms mixed up with multiple infinities meets La Petite Mort. With Cyndi Lauper in the back ground singing "Time After Time" as elevator music.)
She wrote about her experience in " MIS: revolving sideways."
"...I was revolving.
Then evolving,
And again revolving
Through my life.
Then revolving simultaneous evolving.
Spiraling upward.
Such was life.
Then you left me
Spinning silent
as spinning in a vacume is.
Now still revolving
while evolving.
Still a spiral.
Only which way?
Is?..."
Hannah Murphy, 5/29/2008 "Hannah in Blogland"
*****
The story teller looked into the fire again.
Then shuttered.
There was no entertaining way to say this.
Only plain words for a simple story.
*****
The beasts that chase us through times door
Can catch us not. So I implore
That you have faith in God's sweet love
And his fairness from up above.
From spark of time we did know
That no matter what this life did show
From birth to death, yes we would know
We'd alway know each other.
The story teller's eyes grew quiet.
Their heart beat rang in his ears.
Time, not life, stopped in Wicklow Mountains.
Time, not life, stopped to correct a wrong.
Time, not life, stopped in Wicklow Mountains.
Time, not life, stopped for a simple song.
I love you. Self evident.
For love's argument so strong
Did bend time's ear
And charmed times heart
That day.
The storyteller smiled.
Simple simple story
Kind heart met kind heart
And formed that day
Love.
****
I've been trying to remember.
Trying to put my memories into words in this journal.
Imperfect snap shots of barely tangible emotions
Graceful like the smoke from a candle
I watch the words bend and form
Gentle swirls
But when I try to hold them?
Mercy
*****
We Are Nomads Of The Sea.
Hannah Murphy. 17 August, 08
We are nomads of the sea.
Restless souls looking for peace
Never putting our heart's feet on dry land
Like a stone our spirits skim across the salty Gulf
The songs of Wind lull us to sleep
Rocked in the arms of the wreckage
The souls of waterbabies rocked in the waves...
The tears of angels rain down upon us all.
As they look into the eyes of God
Praying,
"Give them back their home."
**********************************
Looking into a hurricane sky
is like looking into the eyes of God.
Hannah Murphy
17 August, 2008
*****
I Didn't Know You Could Walk On Air
Hannah Murphy 03 August, 2008
There's a smile on my face
As I skip by the sea
Lighter than air
Your words to me
Like willow the wisps
or mirages, it's true.
I can barely make out
the soul of you.
But I feel your smile
Like the warmth of the sun
I hear your heart
As if we are one
Whisper again to me
..
Flowers in Summer
by hannah murphy 7-12-08
Flowers in summer
The heat of noon
Ice tea and salads
The smell of roses fills the room
Ladies drift in cool summer dresses
Hat and gloves
We speed through this life in armor and steel
Hardened and wise in steel high heels.
But ladies who lunch in those cool summer breezes
Haunt like a ghost
Gosemer ghosts who float on the breeze.
Glide through my mind
On this hot, dusty road.
Like the ghost of a gentle mirrage
Poem dedicated to LadyWhitknee to say thank you for her kind encouraging post. Regardless of the detours of life, let's keep our eyes to the stars.
......
Orange Skies of Mars
Thought any other way and my heart grows green
Sickly with the forced responsibility of this love.
Chained to a rock my heart. Dusty relic on the shelf.
Each rare laugh the efforts of Hercules.
The sound shatters and falls to the ground.
Shards of brittle laughter are all around me.
My body in turns hurling and creeping towards death
Towards the edge of light and shadow
My mind. banshee, howling cross oceans
Waiting for the sound that doesn't come.
Home
Waiting and calling
Longing for the soul that long since found it's home elsewhere.
Crying for husband
Still waiting like a ghost trapped in twilight.
Banshee cries home.
Hannah Murphy 8 July, 2008
.....
The Neti Pot and me.
...drip...
...drip...
...drip...
If my nose drips one more time I will scream.
Mucus from my nose doth stream
I can not take another day
From allergies that come from hay
I live beside a great big field
With tons of pollen it doth yeild.
All conspire to bring me pain
Unless perhaps the sky will rain
Oh hurry rain do not delay
Rid my air of pollen hay
If you don't then in misery I
Will be with out the rainy sky
If it don't rain I'll have to choke
On saline water from this little boat
Shaped Netie pot. Which is all I have.
This durn Netie pot is just as bad.
As the post nasal drip I have.
The only difference I can see
Is the length of my allergy misery.
We aren't sure why this is happening.
But there is alligator in my toilet."
Channel 5 News @ 10
Silly Season for Tryork
)
Do we keep her?
Do we feed her"
Do we give her to the zoo?
She's really very special.
She's playing a kazoooo.
We aren't sure how she got here.
Yes we're sure she is a she.
I remember clear Wild Kingdon.
Where they "sexed" them on tv.
Well that and she has a girdle
And she is dressed to impress
And there's lipstick on her lips
And she is wearing a frilly dress
Yes I know that doesn't make our lovely alligator female.
I learn from watching Late Late show
There are also folks called "shemales"
But she says her name is Allie
And she's most definate a girl
She just made a wrong hand turn
While out in our human world
So we aren't sure what to do now
You see we're used to cows
So we thought we'd call you zoo guys
Yes we thought you'd tell us how.
To remove this Allie from our toilet.
See it's causing quite a mess
And well it's not doing great things
For Allie Alligator's dress.
The End
For Tryork
****
----------------ComaHeart Where do I put this heart? When life has laid it low. Where do I ease my mind? When there's nowhere else to go. Why do I wait so long? Please tell me where this road ends. Why do I drag my feet? Waiting for you my friend. Deep within your eyes I look for signs of fight. Some hopeful thing To tell me that your fighting for the light. But all that's looking back at me Honey, it just aint right. What's deep inside that heart of yours? Come back to me tonight. Wait. |
I'm here.
Right here.
I haven't gone.
I'm still here.
Have they made it easy for you to leave?
To start some new adventure without me.
Some new game.
You promised that you'd trust me.
Promised you'd not leave.
Said that you'd be strong for me
If I'd became so weak.
Now some new game, some siren's song.
Says, "Leave. She's going. Yes, going away.
Can't you see that much is clear.
She's going. She can not stay."
I saw you look at her. I cried.
Saw the sadness that she missed.
Saw the tired within your eyes.
And the "breaking heart" she missed.
The bitter tears you cried inside.
Mourned the loss of that last kiss.
We always "knew" each other.
In ways she'll never know.
So cavalier her ways of love.
I saw this clear. And so-
Now here I lay.
Mute and still.
But very much alive.
Encased inside this tearless room.
Crying tearless tears inside.
Coma Heart.
Hannah Murphy. June 11, 2008
*****
Its a Monday morning thing
You and me
The nuts and bolts of love
The work horse of emotions
As in the world we go
To our lives and jobs
Separate in our lives
And yet I know
You're there.
Not a Friday night adventure
Or a Saturday night affair
Those fleeting, flitting creatures
Who shun the light of day.
Capricious, ephemeral
Entertaining
But not much in the long run
Momentary silly things.
But Monday morning relationships
Stalwart grown up things
Like good friends.
Don't flit like silly Saturday
But dance elegant through our life
They waltz us through
The drudgery
Of our Monday morning days.
-------
Hannah Murphy. 6/10/2008
Hannah in Blogland
c2008 Ann
*****
I wish that I could show you.
All our moments together
Points of color
They take flight like birds on the beach.
Points on a computer screen.
A swirl of color with no rhyme
Then like birds they settle down to form a picture.
A memory
If only I knew how to say
Then those restless colorful birds are points again
Taking flight.
Only to settle down into another pattern
Another picture
Another memory of our life.
We'd walk though the maestrom.
Those birds minutes flying around us free.
Surprises
A friend told me along time ago about his walk on the beach. He was walking along the beach at night. He could hear the Irish sea but what he saw was inky black. No moon or light. That was how he came upon what happened next. One minute he was in his thoughts and the next minute he was in the middle of whirring. All around him the sound and feeling of birds flying. All around him? Confusion.
He was roused from his waking dream *
****
to be continued
.
Good slumbers and happy dreams
With faery kisses bring soft breezes
May your worries be less than they seem
And may tomorrow bring a day that pleases
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