Poetic Asides Haiku Remix

Corpse lies, absorbed life

Leads, heeds, solemn and surprise

Erase my disgrace

From After by Robert Browning

Poetic Bloomings Calliope

Idlewild Park

Every summer, our school held a picnic

at Idlewild Park, Ligonier, P-A.

We had to eat first before we could ride.

The train whistled for us in the forest.

We gobbled food fast to answer its call.

The Tildawhirl and the Paratrooper,

One low, one way up high, both dizzying      

The Caterpillar—covered and tilted

The roller coaster and the bumper cars

Painted horses of the merry-go-round

We would race to the fishing pond to see

how many cheap toys we’d win for a dime.

I’ll always remember how good chocolate

ice-cream tasted on a hot sunny day.

Poetic Bloomings Tribute

Betty Slade

My first twenty years writing,

I avoided poetry like poison ivy.

Most poems I read, I had no idea

what the poet was writing about.

I wanted my writing to be understood,

not some mysterious code. But sometimes

unsolicited poems popped out.

I shoved them in an envelope marked,

Poems: finished and unfinished.

One day at an artists and writers retreat,

the director, Betty Slade, asked me to read.

Working on a novel at the time,

I read a couple of my poems,

since they were short. The attendees’

enthusiastic response surprised me.

Betty told me I should put my poems in a book.

So I took out the big old envelope

and finished and revised them.

From that experience, I learned

how to write poetry without waiting

for them to materialize from strong emotion.

Betty lit the match causing a poetic explosion.

Poetic Bloomings Second wind

Third Wind?

It took a second wind,

a strong wind to blow me on to a stage

wearing a cap and gown for my degree.

The second wind blew me through

working on online classes each evening

and writing weekly papers while caregiving.

I graduated from high school in 1976,

from college in 2017, at almost fifty-nine.

It would take a mighty third wind for my master’s.

Poetic Bloomings Lannet

Shannon Falls

I heard of Shannon Falls by tragic means:

three adventurous vloggers dying there.

Nevertheless, I longed to see the falls,

simply because they bore my maiden name

and I lived near Shannon Creek in P-A.

Once, I saw Shannon River in Ireland,

fulfilling a childhood dream, ‘bout sixty.

After vacationing in Washington,

we four drove to British Columbia.

Picnicked at Shannon Falls Provincial Park.

Took pictures of Shannon Creek and its sign.

Walked up the steep path to the viewing sight.

Shannon Creek falls over one thousand feet,

a long bridal veil twisting in the wind.

Poetic Bloomings good advice

Pastor Smith

He took me down the Romans road.

That’s where I met the Lord.

I could see what He did for me.

His Word was like a sword.

It pierced my teenage heart that day.

I saw Him as the only way

to life and light and all things good.

I aim to follow Him as I should.

Now the pastor’s old and gray

and waits to start his New Day.

Poetic Blooming wanting something to last

Lickety-split

I love vacation and traveling.

But just like a delicious dessert,

they’re soon gone and I’m left

looking and hungering for more.