Magic

Gargoyles watch throughout
the town, sneer, leer, stare
down as she hurries about.
She collects all she needs
for potions sought by desperate
friends: herbs, bark of tree, seeds,
grasses from dark spaces, essence of flowers,
things found on forest floor to sound of crow.
She assembles attentive to moon's phase,
boils while humming old phrases
passed from grandmother's grand-
mother, ancient knowledge held in spare
words said with right intention. Add the care
of friend for friend when fashioned
and the faith in efficacy.
Some call it witchcraft
but it's simply magic.

This is in response to Fireblossom Friday over at Real Garden with Real Toads who asks us if we believe in magic. Check out some of the eerie answers.

Fashion

"Fashion is not something that exists in dresses only. Fashion is in the sky, in the street, fashion has to do with ideas, the way we live, what is happening. "Coco Chanel


I thought I would teach 
fashion to my granddaughter, age 5.
We went shopping at her request. 'Look
grandmother, I like those colors
together, and they're sparkly.'  

'You like sparkly?' I asked. 
'Sparkly is fun because
it makes me feel happy. 
And, when colors are all together, 
they look like flowers.'

I decided I'm the one to learn and she's my fashion teacher. 


This is posted in response to Ella's prompt over at Imaginary Garden with Real Toads regarding Coco Chanel's quote above on fashion. It reminded me of an incident that happened last year with my granddaughter. And for Open Link Night at dVerse Poets Pub hosted by Natasha Head who generously admonishes us to encourage one another's poetry.
(the photo is the desk where my granddaughter, now six, designs her fashion creations)

County Clare, Ireland Photos

Found while hill walking:

At a garden center, these made me laugh:

Irish sunset over the sea bid us a fond farewell:

Last Night's Sunset from My Balcony

I was watching this unusual cloud with my neighbors and here's what occurred:

Those were from my balcony looking south, while westward from my neighbor's balcony, I ran over to capture this:

I was speechless at the display.

Why I Love my Honey

Because not only did he do the food shopping, but when he returned home, he presented the last of the season's, super ripe figs in a lovely white bowl with a large, green leaf underneath them.

Love that man!

Where Sunlight Tiptoes

There's a time
just after breakfast
when the dogs are walked
and clean up done.
I make a cup of Irish tea
carry it to the living room
sit on the couch to sip it.
Sun spills through sliding glass doors
warms the room
as the tea warms me.
This everyday blessing
magnified one day last fall:
John came into the room
to read his book. Kelly
slipped in, laid down
next to the dogs.
The scene etched in my heart
flowed over me
like oil.


This is in response to a prompt from Claudia over at dVerse Poets Pub to write about an incident of beautiful solitude. This scene happened some years ago but stays with me. Head on over and check out the poets who write there.

Three Word Thursday

A friend's gift.

What Role We Have

What role we grands should take fills mind and heart
these days, 'sides love them well, the roots of roots n' wings,
love fierce, connect to all who ancest'red them, bring
complete the circle with them the purpose, the art,
entire, achieved, concluded, free drawn, writ large,
us left breathless at the specter except to sing
our songs for them and attend to theirs gathering
pieces to swell the family trove with their charms.
It's not about them at all, of course, but us,
death's incursion that lies beneath all else
and stands in contrast to their upward slant,
throws us back to what we do with such
lives as we've been given in gen'rous grace, not false
striving to garner praise but pouring hearts 'till spent.



This poem actually was inspired by the dVerse Poets post of September 13 about sonnets. It was a generous and meaty article by Gay Reiser Cannon with lots of information about various kinds and structure of sonnets and splendid examples. I've been working on this since and finished it yesterday. I'm amazed that others wrote theirs so quickly. I post it tonight for Open Link Night at dVerse Poets Pub hosted by Claudia, an inspirational poet in her own right.
(photo taken on my recent trip to Ireland)

Returning Home

It's a particularly splendid day after the torrents of rain of the past few days. The flowers continue to flourish, the table invites a sit to take in the view and enjoy the warmth.

While I've been away the hot peppers matured from green to bright red and have already been shared with eager neighbors. The little ones from Thailand are extra zippy. The bigger Italian ones don't skimp on the heat, though, and are plumped out well. All are grown from seed this year and thrive in this southern exposure.

The air is fragrant with lavender as the flowers not picked die back and scatter grains of scent on the balcony near the table. A good book (I'm currently re-reading The Hobbit and The Lord of The Rings trilogy), a cup of tea, Bocelli and Brightman singing in the background and a slant of sun under the awning complete the scene. Ahhh, it's good to be home.

And dusk falls.

Time Out To Travel

I'm traveling in Ireland, visiting my Honey's cousins. Very limited access to Internet means I have to save up the stories and photos (some great photos).  I'll be back on Friday to catch up.

This Abruzzo Sky

It canopies vineyards and olive groves, this breadth of sky
stretched from the Adriatic to Apennine Mountains
tainted with faintest evening pink, sunset colors.

Everything about this Italian landscape colors
my writing these days, instructs me: specific sky,
named sea, these particular mountains

that I see from my small balcony, Majella Mountains,
part of the Apennine's, darkening as twilight colors
of blue washed with pink change minute by minute this Abruzzo sky.

This strict instruction colors how I apprehend the sky over us all, the mountains we all climb.



This Tritina, a form described last week over at dVerse Poets Pub and offered tonight on Open Link night, came from a conversation with Erin from in search of white space about the importance of naming, and from today's view from my balcony (photo above) in my little corner of the world.

Three Boys at a Beach

Earth shines their image
caught by water, sand and sun,

holds it just a moment
before they move on,

as they must, striding
into their lives, full

of themselves, their families,
their friendships, yet

oblivious to all that too,
aware of just this moment,

the feel of wet sand, the sound
of waves breaking,

a friend's voice.


This is offered for Open Link Monday at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads. The photo is mine of my grandson and his two friends in Trinidad.

Phases

Full moon shone light
on the balcony last night,
heat shimmers wavered
from earth that's summer baked,
lights of a far off city flickered
between bright and faint glimmer.

The air felt rooted,
somehow expectant.
For what? I lost concord
with moon force
when body alliance moved
to sun's heat from moon's cool.

Am I kept marooned, bereft
of this forty year connection,
left to find fresh ways to ferret
earth wisdom? I search, detect
accords unknown, now emerged
with deeper light, shifted yet effulgent.


I experimented with the form of this poem based on a prompt at the beginning of August and posted it as Moon Phases. This is the original poem inspired again by the full, blue moon.
(photo from google images)