Firefly Fragments

fireflies in a jar are by Angie 

at angiebro.deviantart.com

Every place I've been,

every person I've met,

has captured 

a little fragment

of my heart.

Kerry's challenge at Real Toads today is to write a fragment of a poem, something that might fit in her firefly jar, on Skywriting,  where she keeps lines that have especially moved her. I love the idea of a firefly jar!!!!

Onion Skins

picture from go.funpic.hu

Layer by layer,

our onion skins

peel away

until,

in the center

of our hearts,

lies only

Love.

Scrapbook of Memories

The scrapbook

is tattered

and timeworn,

and full of intriguing 

and mysterious

stories

from days

long-gone.

This is my grandma's scrapbook, which she gave to me at the end of her life, chock full of history - life in the late 1800's and early 1900's. Wow. A treasure, and a wealth of stories.

Her heart

and her body

may be a little

timeworn,

but her spirit 

has stayed

as effervescent

as ever.

Another take on the prompt, by the Cackling Crone of Plested Road.


Posted for Ella's prompt at Poets United's Thursday Think Tank: Timeworn
The prompt was inspired by the work of visual artist Vicki Sheehan 
whose work can be seen here.

That's How I Roll

Kids, I feel like a six year old on Christmas morning. It took me all summer, but tonight I finally got the bike I have been working towards. It is a three wheeled trike for adults. One would think, with three wheels, that it would be less tippy than a two wheeler, which is why I bought it. BUT! It turns out, it pulls to the right and if there is any slope to the road, it veers off into the ditch with every pedal push - at least when I ride it.

Much cackling (videos below).

My sister managed to ride it, allowing as to how it does pull to the right. She is strong enough to fight the pull. Me, not so much.

However, I persevered, with many stops and redirecting, a few yards down - to the first curve in the road, and back. Leaning far to the left to compensate for it pulling to the right, which should help impending hunchbackedness along nicely. A neighbor boy hovered, giving encouragement, as did the dogs all up and down the street.

Then I had to come in and have a little drinkie to recover. Hee hee. (Maybe I should have had it BEFORE riding!)

Tomorrow I will try again. Once I get used to:
pedaling
steering and
remembering I have brakes - all at the same time - I should make some progress. 

I will not give up.
I will do this thing!

FLAT roads would make it so much easier - ones without ditches on the right hand side would be nice. I may have to find a nice neighborhood airport runway to practice on.

BUT! It is BEAUTIFUL!!!!! Absolutely luxurious, and I love it. 

Here are the vidclips: Cackle One and Cackle Two. 

That's how I roll, folks.......cackling all the way to the Funny Farm!

Home

The Budget truck turned the corner,
and there it was:
Long Beach spread out before me,
and a huge fiery red-orange sun,
just slipping down behind the mountains.

We pulled into the driveway
under the ancient cedars
and stepped onto the deck.

The sound of the waves
whooshing in and out
made my spirit sing,
the sight and the sound 
that would companion 
the next ten years
taking up residence
in my heart.

In the bay,
white-topped waves
like horses' manes
galloping into shore,
a small whale
surfaced,
then dove.

Above, eagles cried
and wheeled.

And I
was Home.

At Poetry Jam, the prompt is "If I could have just a moment.......", to describe a moment that was a turning point in your life. This definitely was mine. I lived joyfully for ten glorious years there, in the home of my spirit. I now live an hour and a half away and it is much too far. My heart is yearning to travel up and over the mountain pass. I need a beach walk before the winter rains hit. Soon.

Books for Africa

google image

She received books

for her children,

and wondered why

she couldn't send

the gift of a goat

in return,

as is the way of 

her people.

Her hut

may be small,

but the hearts

that beat

within its walls

are 

as big
and bright 
and bountiful

as all of

Mother Africa.

Sky Woman's People

I stumbled across a prompt some days ago that stuck in my head: Tell a creation story. I actually wrote one, in prose, some years ago, during a staff training at the treatment center for First Nations families dealing with recovery issues, where I worked.  I may post that later. For now, my poem took me in a different direction.

The Iroquois speak 
of a world
that exists high above
the world we know,
where life is much
as it is on earth.

Sky Woman fell to earth
from the Sky World,
and the giant Turtle 
provided his back
for her to rest,
and this is how
we began.

There is a
Tree of Peace
that I visit.
Its name is Opa,
and it is as old
as all the trees of time.

When I rest my hands
on its rough trunk,
I feel its ancient heart,
beating,
and  understand
what Endurance
feels like,
my heart
slowing its beat
in compassion
for all that
it has witnessed,
all that it has weathered,
all the storms
and lashing winds,
the crack of lightning,
the hot summers of thirst,
the times when
the chain saws came near
with their blood-curdling sounds.

Sky Woman peopled
this world
with dreamers,
all of whom 
spend their days
gazing at the sky,
our cellular memory
vaguely recalling
the height from which
we have fallen.

We spend our lives
trying to
get it back.

* linked to dVerse Poetry Pub's open link, hosted by Brian Miller