Poetry

I am in poetry writing mode. In fact, I've written three in three days - some kind of record for me I'm sure. It started when http://www.creative-writing-now.com sent me a free gift of a Sestina Poetry tool. I'd never heard of Sestina Poetry. Here's a definition from http://poetry.about.com/od/poeticforms/g/sestina.htm: The sestina is a challenging form in which, rather than simply rhyming, the actual line-ending words are repeated in successive stanzas in a designated rotating order. A sestina consists of six 6-line stanzas, concluding with a 3-line “envoi” which incorporates all the line-ending words, some hidden inside the lines. The prescribed pattern for using the 6 line-ending words is: 1st stanza 1 2 3 4 5 6 2nd stanza 6 1 5 2 4 3 3rd stanza 3 6 4 1 2 5 4th stanza 5 3 2 6 1 4 5th stanza 4 5 1 3 6 2 6th stanza 2 4 6 5 3 1 envoi 2--5 4--3 6--1 My curiosity was peaked and off I went. Follows are the three poems - each quite long, but I feel well worth the read.

Beach Comfort The world of the waves sweeps over the wide smooth sand along which I stroll, barefoot, bucket in hand, fingers picking up sea shells, heart and soul seeking comfort as the waves roll back and then in again, refreshed. I find my thoughts roll around, far from refreshed moving through my emotions, waves and waves of emotion, refusing comfort. I look at the endless expanse of sand Stretching in front of me, shells Scattered through the footprints left by barefoot children and adults. They walk barefoot along the beach, hoping to be refreshed as they collect the shells that roll in at the mercy of the waves. My heart shifts like the sand blown before the wind. Why is comfort so elusive? I need to find comfort here where the barefoot children run in the sand and their parents are refreshed as they play together in the waves. Is the comfort I seek found in the shells? Does the comfort live in the shells? Or am I responsible for finding my own comfort, not allowing others to steal it and throw it in the waves to wash out to sea, leaving me barefoot and alone? I am suddenly refreshed by that thought. I dig my toes in the sand and laugh, laugh, laugh as the sand buries my feet, tiny sea shells tumbling and tumbling. Refreshed I turn to leave, knowing I find comfort in my own heart, in my own soul. Barefoot I wade back through the waves. I kick the loose hot sand as I walk home, comfort warming my heart, sea shells rattling in my bucket. Barefoot I realize I am refreshed, like the never ending waves. written 4/11/2011

What Do We Remember? When we were young we had no idea what old was. But that was yesterday, and now it’s today and old is no longer tomorrow. Young is in our memories. What are our memories? In the bright light of the young, it seems memories are only for tomorrow. The light in the eyes of the old shine brightly today as they remember the events of yesterday. It was just yesterday that so many memories were formed to be remembered today. What did we do when we were young that we’re proud of now that we’re old? We’ll know when tomorrow comes. We wait for tomorrow with bated breath, ruing yesterday when we thought we’d never be old. But now our memories from when we were young haunt us today. What will happen today that we’ll hold onto for tomorrow? When we were young we forgot about yesterday, trusting we would have the memories to sustain us when we are old. Now we are old and what happens today will be precious memories that we’ll share tomorrow and wish we remembered yesterday, the yesterday when we were young. What is it to be old and know that tomorrow will soon be today, and then will be yesterday, and that our memories are only of when we were young? written 4/12/2011

The Ritual of Tea The sun rises, ready for its cup of tea. The morning ritual begins with the rich aroma of the tea brewing, quiet in the warm teapot, meditation of tea leaves melding with water, sensual coupling like the sensual dance of sun and moon. Tea poured, eyes closed in meditation, heart and soul ready for the ritual of the refreshing quiet, steam rising full of the heady aroma. The morning fills with the aroma of bodies moving in a sensual dance of partnership. They quiet and return to their tea, and return to their ritual, and return to their meditation. The bliss of joy reaches through meditation even as the aroma of the tea follows its ritual and calls forth the sensual awakenings. Hot tea sipped slowly, helps quiet the soul. Once quiet the soul can once again approach meditation. The heart finds joy in the tea, leaping in anticipation as the aroma rises, swirls and twirls, sensual and serene. The ritual of the tea prepares for the ritual of the day, a day no longer quiet, a day when the sensual is lost and no amount of meditation can bring it back. The aroma is of busyness and stress, not of tea. The evening ritual begins with meditation, finding the quiet even as the aroma, the loving sensual aroma rises from the cup of tea. written 4/13/2011

I'd love to hear what y'all think. Feel free to comment here or leave a comment on my website or on Facebook. Thanks for reading!