tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5409519305033642895.post4940546475732131580..comments2023-06-24T14:21:13.094+02:00Comments on AppleHouse Poetry Workshop: What arrives? What leaves?Lynne Reeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11852192697142140025noreply@blogger.comBlogger8125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5409519305033642895.post-72956502159096420852008-09-29T23:53:00.000+02:002008-09-29T23:53:00.000+02:00American SilverTissue paper crinklesas I unfold yo...American Silver<BR/><BR/>Tissue paper crinkles<BR/>as I unfold your gift –<BR/>a small antique<BR/>a sugar spoon<BR/>from his old home <BR/>in Apalachin.<BR/><BR/>It has lived<BR/>in my imagination -<BR/>now I’m there.<BR/>I see the open steps<BR/>where he swept snow<BR/>the gap beneath<BR/>for winter wood<BR/>the sleepy porch<BR/>his mother rocking babies.<BR/><BR/>I see the maple paths<BR/>he took to school<BR/>the dusty tracks to town<BR/>see him clinging tight <BR/>inside the Buick <BR/>as it weaves his father<BR/>home from the speak-easy<BR/><BR/>In the Johnson park <BR/>the carousel still turns <BR/>carved wooden horses,<BR/>gemstone eyes.<BR/>I see him beat<BR/>his makeshift drum<BR/>see him race with others<BR/>as he hears the cry <BR/>of ‘free ice creams for all’.<BR/><BR/>You drive me through<BR/>the concrete arches<BR/>of the ‘square deal’ town<BR/>where growing, grieving<BR/>the boy became a man.<BR/><BR/>You filled in the missing<BR/>jigsaw pieces of his life.<BR/>I bring them home<BR/>with one small silver spoon<BR/>wrapped tight in tissue paper.<BR/><BR/><BR/>Margaret BestonAnonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5409519305033642895.post-59571856249367375282008-09-26T17:00:00.000+02:002008-09-26T17:00:00.000+02:00I've written another using this prompt (sorry!)Foo...I've written another using this prompt (sorry!)<BR/><BR/>Footcushion<BR/><BR/>A padded cube, all dressed up in<BR/>its finest antique indian fabrics,<BR/>waits for when, day after day,<BR/>you collapse into the fading sofa,<BR/>lift your feet off the rented carpet.<BR/><BR/>Quietly it came, <BR/>with its trail of echoes,<BR/>new gentle jazz sounds you<BR/>found could fill our evenings.<BR/>Now nervous toes<BR/>in tired socks,<BR/>turned from twitching to dancing,<BR/>tap soft time<BR/>and a jumping spoon in a breakfast cup <BR/>chimes.<BR/><BR/>The feel of silk against our skin,<BR/>the hours poured into its<BR/>lacework flowers and filigree vines,<BR/>it seems <BR/>we'll sit a little longer before we get up.flybynighthttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08882050376101646025noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5409519305033642895.post-16892295498245240012008-09-25T18:10:00.000+02:002008-09-25T18:10:00.000+02:00Goodbye Paris FlatGoodbye little Paris flatfour st...Goodbye Paris Flat<BR/><BR/><BR/>Goodbye little Paris flat<BR/>four staircases above<BR/>the Rue de l’Ecole where I learned about life and love<BR/>and more than that:<BR/><BR/>dawn rooftops sparkling frost,<BR/>warm nights drinking wine<BR/>while we talked about Marcel Proust and time<BR/>remembered and lost.<BR/><BR/>A cork on the floor.<BR/>I recall how we sat up late<BR/>discussing Rousseau, Sartre, religion and fate.<BR/>My hand is on the door.<BR/><BR/>Cupboards empty, boxes stacked<BR/>like parcels waiting to go;<BR/>shelves bare: I’ve tidied and cleaned even though<BR/>I won’t be back.<BR/><BR/>Nuits blanches, café noir,<BR/>films seen again and again;<BR/>books read and wept over by the banks of the Seine,<BR/>lighting a fire.<BR/><BR/>Goodbye little Paris flat,<BR/>so much to thank you for,<BR/>as I finger the keys, slide them back through the door<BR/>and they drop on the mat.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5409519305033642895.post-39561114415501690922008-09-25T17:56:00.000+02:002008-09-25T17:56:00.000+02:00ChairIt's all I have left of the old house,a bare-...Chair<BR/><BR/>It's all I have left of the old house,<BR/>a bare-boned bamboo skeleton chair.<BR/>Back then it was crammed in a corner,<BR/>a spare seat in the dark near the fire.<BR/><BR/>As if he knew, a young dog strayed in<BR/>all stick-thin ribs and long legs trembling.<BR/>For a chair and a name, he gave us<BR/>his deep brown eyes, black velvet ears and<BR/><BR/>at the strike of our sudden cold grief,<BR/>his warm fur nudged up against our shins.<BR/>Our dog, house, clutter all now have gone,<BR/>the life we lived there pared right down to<BR/><BR/>the bare brown bones of Sam's old chair,<BR/>shrouded in a softly draped cream throw.<BR/>Now it's where the light shines through, over<BR/>my waiting pair of unworn shoes.flybynighthttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08882050376101646025noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5409519305033642895.post-17741964182589172962008-09-21T20:40:00.000+02:002008-09-21T20:40:00.000+02:00This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5409519305033642895.post-49163633285795762282008-09-20T20:12:00.000+02:002008-09-20T20:12:00.000+02:00What a lovely website! Your theme inspired me to w...What a lovely website! Your theme inspired me to write:<BR/><BR/>Delivery<BR/><BR/>They arrived hard and spring green<BR/>in my winter fruit box this week.<BR/>I put them in the bowl to rest,<BR/>speckled eggs in a wooden nest.<BR/>It’s taken me years to know<BR/>to warm them till yellow.<BR/><BR/>I awoke to a metamorphosis<BR/>into ripe creatures. <BR/>My clutch of four could feed <BR/>a family, but it’s just me.<BR/>I sit, morning sunshine <BR/>waving into the kitchen,<BR/>and eat, belly filling,<BR/>my four sweet Williams.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5409519305033642895.post-4412471115614623742008-09-20T13:23:00.000+02:002008-09-20T13:23:00.000+02:00Good to hear from you, Martin. Thanks for posting ...Good to hear from you, Martin. Thanks for posting your poems - I love the image of all those ducks!Lynne Reeshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/11852192697142140025noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5409519305033642895.post-72007443853145071952008-09-20T12:41:00.000+02:002008-09-20T12:41:00.000+02:00KITTEN The kids have a new object of affection....KITTEN<BR/> <BR/>The kids have a new object of affection.<BR/>Their love for me has taken flight <BR/>like a used sweat wrapper caught in a sudden gust.<BR/>I do not bite or scratch.<BR/><BR/>I know I’m too busy <BR/>too chase a fake mouse on a string <BR/>or scamper around the kitchen chasing a pink toy – <BR/>the same kitchen I work daily to place a roof over <BR/><BR/>with fruit in a bowl.<BR/>One day the kitten will be too old too play <BR/>and will lie all day under a shady tree <BR/>refusing to play ball.<BR/><BR/>Maybe I should have brought them a budgie <BR/>in a cage?<BR/><BR/>YELLOW DUCKS<BR/><BR/>Unknown to the world <BR/>a ship sank <BR/>releasing a million yellow plastic ducks <BR/>into the oceans. <BR/><BR/>Each year they spread <BR/>pulled by the moon. <BR/>They turn up in the most unexpected places <BR/>washed up on our beaches <BR/>like lost shells washed mute by the seven seas. <BR/>A million yellow ducks <BR/>spread across our planet <BR/>like a new virus.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com