Blog December 4, 2014

One of my former college roommates, Bill Massy, just visited the blog and left a comment on "Halloween Owl".  

I'm busy writing poems for the Maine Poetry Society winter contests.  The poem for the subject contest must be about family.  The poem in the form contest must use ottava rima, any subject.  It will be my first ottava rima and I'm finding it difficult to rhyme 8 iambic pentameter lines ABABABCC.  Both Byron ("Don Juan" and Keats "Sailing to Byzantium") were experts at the form. 

Some new poems to follow soon.

Blog November 6, 2014

Over the weekend October 31-November 2 I attended a poetry retreat in Huntington, VT, sponsored by Sun Dog Poetry.  There were 10 students and 2 leaders.  We read and critiqued each others' work.  It was a rare opportunity to concentrate on nothing but poetry for 3 days, get feedback on your own work and read the interesting and exciting work others are doing.  

I shared "Saying Goodbye" and "Choice" with the group and posted the latter on the blog.  "Saying Goodbye" is still in revision.  I'll put it up later.

One outcome of the retreat is that some of the participants are forming a round robin poetry critique group where you send poems around the  group for assessment and feedback.

Validation of one's work through contests, retreats, meeting with other poets either in person on by round robin email, is important to keep track if one is making any kind of sense or progress.      

Choice

I lingered late to watch the Moon and now

the Sun has found the forest floor. He casts  

a playful shadow of the pasture gate

across the path to gently scold and block                  

my way.  This futile gesture prompts a smile

and makes me wonder what’s the fuss, or need,

to choose between dualities, limit        freedom

and divide us into ever more warring camps?

As I grow old and, can no longer don                          

the youthful disregard of death, the world is fresh

and filled with first time wonder.        I’ve learned to shed

the baggage of long ago as I acquired

further understanding.  I do not regret

the Moon.  The choice is neither yin or yang.         

Blog October 29, 2014

The blog is now officially open which means that all those who have been invited to participate should be able to open the site and read the entries.   Please take advantage of the opportunity to make a comment.  I understand some have had their "passwords" expire.  We can issue new ones if you let us know you are having a problem.    

Forest Meditation

Dawn’s first bright breath ignites the tops of trees

like torches.  Hiking on the trail, the sun’s

insistent rays warm my back through my coat

like comforting heat in winter from a campfire.

I let my shadow lead the way until  

I drop below the ridge where morning chill

and sudden forest silence shiver me.

Tall cedars, close together, stand straight, a stately

august grove of Elders in rusty light.

Across the path a single shaft of sun

breaks over the ridge, through the gloom and strikes

a lone white birch, still wet with rain the night

before, its heat creating steam, incense  

to every forest Spirit dwelling there.

Diner Blues

Janie Bella is a waitress.

She’s always on her feet.

Lift heavy trays, small tips, guys’ hits –

at quitting time she’s beat.

It’s hard to be a woman alone

Dragging along a stone

Shop for groceries going home. 

His only welcome a grunt.  

No dinner cooked or faucet fixed.

She’s tired of accepting the brunt.

           

It’s hard to be a woman alone

Putting up with a stone

The trash not emptied, harsh words yelled.

Fix dinner, clean the place,

run the washer, help with homework,

to bed a frazzled case.                  

It’s hard to be a woman alone   

Dragging along a stone

Alarm at five, quick shower, coffee.

Repeat the day again.   

No respite from the constant grind,   

Gets no respect, plain Jane.

She’s proud to be a woman alone

She does not need this stone

It's been a good couple of weeks

It's been a good couple of weeks for recognition of my poetry. October 23, 2014.  

It's been a good couple of weeks for recognition of my poetry.  On September 20th the Maine Poetry Society (MPS) awarded "The Perfect Wall" first prize in it's contest where the poem was about a wall(s).  "Diner Blues" received first honorable  mention in MPS contest to write a ballad .  

On October 18th "Yellow Goat's Beard" won the 2nd place from the Mary Margaret Audette memorial award conducted by the Poetry Society of Vermont (PSOV).  In addition, "Forest Meditation" was received a tie vote of the membership for 3rd at it's fall meeting.  

I continue to be heartened by the reception of my poetry by MPS, PSOV, friends and family.  Contests help me check that my poetry is technically competent and that it connects emotionally with anyone beside myself.       

The Perfect Wall

This dry wall was designed by a master mason.

He quarried shist, and cut each stone to the inch,

to fit together like a jigsaw puzzle,

to make a split in-line sixty foot bench

– individual stones like scales on a giant snake –

to grace the lawn between the house and meadow.               

The break between the pair directs the eye’s arc               

a quarter mile down the pasture like an arrow      

to boundary trees and ever changing mountains.

Its axis bisects our pond in perfect symmetry.  

This wall wasn’t meant to keep things in or out.    

Its sun warmed rocks are homes for frog and snake,

a hunting roost for bluebird, robin, wren,   

while mosses cling to its shaded northern face.

Alone on the wall, I have watched bluebirds fledge,           

turkey broods cross the meadow at sunset, deer graze

in early morning fog, unquiet hawks hunt.

It’s stark, enduring in the summer sun,                               

in winter, wind whipped snow waves gently blunt  

its flanks in ever shifting drifts.  This brace

of open monuments anchor landscape and people.

Its level line creates reflective space. 

First blog entry

This is my first post on my new blog,

September 25, 2014.   

 an entirely new experience for me.  My bio explains why I am starting a blog.  Over the weekend of September 20^th I attended the semi-annual meeting of the Maine Poets’ Society (MPS) where I entered two contests and received a prize in each one.

One contest was about a subject (Fences) with no restriction on form.  The other was a ballad contest with no restriction on subject.  “The Perfect Fence” won first prize and “Diner Blues” won first honorable mention.  I have included them in the next two blog entries. 

You are welcome but not obligated to comment on the blog or its entries.  I welcome your participation in my Reflections expressed in poetry, photographs and comments. 

It Depends

The second mowing, tedded, bailed, removed.
The field left skinned and barren, desert like,
as autumn winds blow over ancient farm 
machinery scattered randomly across
the meadow like the bones of dinosaurs.
I wonder, will they come to life next spring
in time to lime or will the timeless grass
grow up around limp tires and fading paint?

It depends. Will aging farmers rise from winter’s
repose to mow once more, mend the snow
bent fence and aid the laboring ewe, force
their aching joints to grasp the hoe and strike
the rocky ground again?  If not, who will
restore the ageless tractor’s roar, once more?

 #582 October 2013