The Happy Amateur

'Kissing the Ceiling'

2012-02-01T07:27:00.000-05:00

In response to a photo prompt from We Write Poems:

~Kissingthe Ceiling~

Justwait and see, for failure you’re bound,

Hecalls it home? A hole in the ground?

Itgets no light, the paint is surely peeling,

Youstand up straight, and bump into the ceiling!

Ohlet them talk, I know where I am bound,

It’snice and bright – our home beneath the ground,

Thepaint’s just fine, and overcome with feeling,

Atbreak of day I rise, and kiss the ceiling!

Live for the Love of it,

The Happy Amateur

'Pine Grove'

2012-01-31T20:24:00.001-05:00

Aresponse to a visual writing prompt from Margo Roby (Wordgathering.)

Ivan Shishkin Forest Reserve. Pine Grove. 1881

~PineGrove~

I’vebeen to this painting,

Iknow its every stick,

Andstump, every needle,

Theartist has put so

Painstakinglyin just

Theright places.

Iused to be bothered

Byits sheer realism,

Icould not see behind

Almosta photograph,

Apine grove, that was just

That:a pine grove.

NowI’m older, kinder,

Lesscomplicated,

Itravel this painting,

Isail its seven seas

Ofwooded land, with pines –

Asmasts – upright.

Ithink of ancient Greece,

Thecold hearted gods,

TheParthenon, the war

MongeringAthena,

Themarble stalks that shoot,

Andreach the sky.

Isee a flock of girls,

Slenderand tall, in their

Sarafans,hair braided,

Steppingout of the dark,

Gettingready to dance,

Waitingfor me.

Live for the Love of it,

The Happy Amateur

'Poem As A Weapon'

2012-01-31T08:34:00.000-05:00

The poem was written in response to a writing prompt from Naming Constellations, Reverie Four:

http://namingconstellations.wordpress.com/category/reveries/

I started with a phrase The shiny mithril that her heart surrounds and built on that. Not sure if I did a little bit of what Joseph tried to get us to do...but I wrote a poem. :-)

~ Poem As A Weapon~

Still searching for her roots, she never lost them,

She sprouts from them, spreads her leafy branches,

They keep her strength - her roots -

They know her weakness.

The shiny mithril that her heart surrounds -

The only weapon she can use against them,

That worded wonder - is her sole protection.

Without the words she’s intricately weaving

Her bare soul will be an easy target,

Her roots will reach her from beneath the ground,

And pierce her heart.

Live for the Love of it,

The Happy Amateur

'Passing'

2012-01-29T22:47:00.000-05:00

‘Passing’

Her

Mind is

Fresh, the anguish

Cleared,subsided once more,

As morphine kickedin, and

Started its cruel magic.

Her

Step is

Light, she walks

Through fields of frozen

Grass, that shocks her soles,

Startles her bare soul.

She

Longs for

Warmth, and soon

The flame engulfs the

Ground beneath her feet, alights

The grass, that’s born

Anew,

And burns,

The shade of

Youth. Shefeels her

Body become permeable, setting her

Free, letting her pass,

And

So she

Does, rising above

Herself, the Earth, beyond

The darkness, up, to serenity.

Up.

Live for the Love of it,

The Happy Amateur

"After all, tomorrow is another day."

2012-01-28T23:13:00.000-05:00

A writing prompt from Carry on Tuesday - a line from 'Gone with the Wind' by Margaret Mitchell:

"After all, tomorrow is another day."

“Asof tomorrow I will start anew,

Iwill not waste again another day,

We’reparting ways, adieu, my love, adieu,

Pardonmy French,” to my old self I say.

“But,darling, wait,” my old self chimes in,

“Haveyou forgotten something? After all,

Thereis a rule for those who begin

Abrand new life, oh don’t you recall?”

“Ithink I know what you mean, cherie:

Ihave to wait until a certain day…

I’llwait till Monday then, thanks, mon amie!

Aurevoir, I’ll see you soon!” I say.

Live for the Love of it,

The Happy Amateur

'Lonely'

2012-01-28T17:45:00.000-05:00

Another take on the Tritina (a Poetry Form challenge from Poetic Asides.)

http://fineartamerica.com/featured/silhouetted-birds-in-tree-at-dusk-rebekah-mancino.html

‘Lonely’

Her shadow getting long,

The sunset nears, the night-

Fall follows shortly, carrying whispers

Of those ancient songs and other whispers

Of times forever gone, and long

Forgotten, but waking every night

To teach their sorrow to night-

Ingales until the break of morning, when whispers

Die, and so does the long-

Ing. For nowher long night whispers.

Live for the Love of it,

The Happy Amateur

'Three Sisters'

2012-01-27T16:38:00.000-05:00

A response to a writing challenge from Poetic Asides: Poetry Form - TheTritina.

‘ThreeSisters’

It’shard to keep the faith

Withchances slim, and hope –

Adying candle. Love

Iswhat sustains us. Love,

Awakeningthe faith,

Lifebreathing into hope.

Soonburning flames of hope

Willjoin the fiery love,

Andset alight the faith.

Threesisters: Faith, Hope, Love.

Live for the Love of it,

The Happy Amateur

'The Road'

2012-01-26T23:18:00.000-05:00

Although wonderful, the images of different roads provided by Poets United didn't quite match the poem I came up with... I googled another road, that I felt was in agreement with my words.

‘The Road’

I watched the road from my bedroom window,

A ‘stay at home’ type, ‘sit by the fire,’

I never ever really truly wondered

What it was like out there –

Beyond the bend –

But then one day I changed my name to ‘Pilgrim,’

The warmth and home I traded for the road,

The loss was meant to be, for what I found

Was my own life that lay

Beyond the bend.

Live for the Love of it,

The Happy Amateur

'The Place'

2012-01-25T11:26:00.000-05:00

'A sense of place' - a writing prompt from Wordgathering.

‘ThePlace’

Ifind that people do not understand me. They call me a city gal, they think I’m tough. I was born in a city, but I grew up in a‘place.’

Ithad tall buildings, and broad streets, and an ice skating rink, and a largehill with a winding river running below. In winter the hill became a long, steep slide and we would whee! all the way down with bottomsglued to pieces of cardboard. In summerthe hill was covered in the sunburst of dandelions that made me – a kid withallergies – both happy and miserable.

Theplace had an archway, and a sharp turn to the right, that led to a door. And behind that door it kept voices andmemories, scents and sounds, touches and tastes, and reality laced with dreams... And that’s where it keeps me now, while a ghost of me wanderselsewhere.

Live for the Love of it,

The Happy Amateur

'Live for the Love of It'

2012-01-25T09:42:00.001-05:00

An 'In-Form Poet' prompt from Poetic Bloomings: Quatern.

‘Livefor the Love of It’

Livefor the love of it, my friend,

Aloveless life comes with a cost:

Thoseprecious moments that we spend

Withheavy hearts, are moments lost.

Don’tworry so, lift up your face,

Livefor the love of it, my friend,

Slowdown and drop out of the race,

You’llbe the winner in the end.

Whilesounds and sights die out and blend,

Aloving heart does not know fear,

Livefor the love of it my friend,

Soyou may see, and you may hear.

Cutoff the chains, your soul set free,

Truehappiness you’ll comprehend,

Gohave a son, or plant a tree,

Livefor the love of it, my friend.

Live for the Love of it,

The Happy Amateur

'Fight'

2012-01-25T07:00:00.000-05:00

A response to a writing prompt #90 from We Write Poems: Keepsakes like a breath.

'Write a poem out of nothing and everything. Keepsakes we keep of material things, reminding us of something else.'

I did not write about a keepsake, but I believe I followed the prompt, for my poem is about a material thing that triggered memories, and emotions.

‘Fight’

Thefight went spinning,

Hurlingangry stones,

Releasingspiky

Poisonousarrows

Ofwords that linger.

Airthick with hatred,

Youleft, door slamming.

Gaspingfor some breath,

Ipaced up and down,

Likea wild beast, caged.

That’swhen I saw them,

There,by the doorway,

Wornout, and battered,

Kickedaway in haste,

Wellloved, and lonely.

Somethingstirred in me,

Ibent, picked them up,

Pressedthem to my heart.

Huggingyour slippers,

Prayedfor your return.

Live for the Love of it,

The Happy Amateur

'The Boy and the Old Man'

2012-01-24T19:55:00.000-05:00

I'm very grateful to Poetic Bloomings for leading me to a blog I'm going to visit regularly from now on. The following is a response to a photo prompt from Flashy Fiction:

‘TheBoy and the Old Man’

Theyused to watch the Sun together. The Boyand the Old Man. The Boy was an earlyriser. He would hop out of bed, andtiptoe through the house not to wake up the others. Panting, one by one he would carry big heavy phonebooks, and pile them up on top of a flimsy desk below the basement window. He would build a tower until it was just tallenough for him to reach the latch. Thenhe would begin his journey up. Slowlyand carefully…first to the top of the desk… then, holding his breath, andbalancing, even higher up…until both his little feet were planted firmly on thevery top of the tower.

TheBoy would unlock the window, and stick his head right onto the street. Funny, how after all that climbing he wouldstill be on the ground! Then he wouldturn his head to the left, and sure enough, he would be there, limping towardshim. The Old Man. The Boy would wave, and the Old Man wouldwave back. He would come, and sit downheavily on the pavement next to the Boy’s window. He would lean against the wall, resting. He was old, the Old Man. And tired. But his eyes were young still. They would talk about things, the Boy and the Old Man. The Boy would bring his worries to him, andthe Old Man would take them in his withered wrinkled hands, and turn them intodust. And then he would tell the Boy ofthe wonderful distant lands, where men were strong, and women were all kind andbeautiful. He was full of stories, theOld Man. And all of them were true.

Andthen it would happen. Even in the city,deprived of the sky, and cramped, they knew it was coming. Everything around them would transform as iftouched by a magic wand. Everythingwould be given a new life, a chance of a new beginning. Dazzling and glorious, the big flaming star wouldrise above the tile roofs like a promise of happiness. And the Old Man would look at the Boy, andwink. And then he would leave, saying, “Ifyou don’t see me one day, don’t look for me, look at the Sun, for he’ll alwaysbe there.”

Andone day the Old Man did not come. Andthe day after… The Boy kept looking for him. He forgot all about the Sun. Day after day he waited, hoping with all hisbig little heart to see the Old Man again. But the Old Man never came. TheBoy’s heart became heavy with worries, and his eyes grew old with sadness. But then he remembered what the Old Mansaid. In the hour when the world reneweditself once more, the Boy looked up. Sure enough, the Sun climbed atop the sky. It beamed right at him, warming his heart,and melting his worries. It filled hiseyes with dancing sparkles of laughter. Still grinning, the Boy began to climb down, but something made himstop. He looked up one last time, and the star– so distant and wonderful, so strong, beautiful, and kind – looked back at him,and winked.

Live for the Love of it,

The Happy Amateur

Have a Blissful Year of the Dragon!

2012-01-24T10:10:00.000-05:00

'To Phoenix'

Have mercy on your Dragon, love,

Please, pity me, I pray,

My little sparkly, flaming dove,

My tiny bird of prey.

They say we have to represent

Both struggle and harmony,

I don’t like cheesy sentiment,

But girl, I do like thee!

So let us not go by the book,

Give me a fiery kiss,

Let us forget the struggle, look,

Let’s show them some bliss!

Live for the Love of it,

The Happy Amateur

'The Color of Dawn'

2012-01-23T21:14:00.000-05:00

Anticipation, that is what moves me,

Knowledge that precedes knowledge itself,

That blind triumphant confidence

In something glorious coming,

When all is a promise

Of divine beauty,

Sheer happiness,

The burst of

The sun-

Rise.

http://newenglandsnarrowroad.wordpress.com

Live for the Love of it,

The Happy Amateur

'Silent Cruelty'

2012-01-22T21:53:00.000-05:00

This was a response to last Wednesday's prompt from Poetic Asides - write about cruelty.

‘Silent Cruelty’

He was overweight, wore glasses,

Boys would tease him at recess.

Once they snatched away his hat,

Hid it, mocked him, called him fat...

Then had enough. A wild bunch,

They tossed it on a tree branch.

I was there. I saw all that.

When they left, I fetched his hat.

I smiled, and my smile was lame:

It was nothing, but a game.

I’ll never forget his eyes,

They accused, and they despised.

I was one of ‘them’ – the mob –

That would bully, torture, rob…

My fear to help was their fuel.

I was every bit as cruel.

Live for the Love of it,

The Happy Amateur

'Sisters'

2012-01-22T16:13:00.000-05:00

The Sunday Whirl challenge:

'Sisters'

The modern culture urges us to believe

That rivalry is the basic instinct

Of siblings,

But a classic story,

Whispering of the old charm,

Rings true:

They never scalded their tongues

With harsh, hateful words,

Love

Was the only language

They spoke.

When life came crushing hard,

Scattering the shards of their fragilehopes,

They tried every knack to help eachother,

Sisters, never rivals,

They painted the ashen existence

With rich colors of

Sincere

Devotion.

'Sense and Sensibility'

(image taken from photobucket)

Live for the Love of it,

The Happy Amateur

'Colour Of Hope'

2012-01-22T13:22:00.000-05:00

'Colour my world' - a new prompt from Poetic Bloomings.

Cracking and breaking,

Overflowing with worry, the

Lukewarm sky came crushing

Us. That’swhen we saw it – the

Red tail

Of an autumn squirrel,

Firing through the park, playing

Hide-and-seek,

Oh, there it was again!

Peeking from behind a bush…

Everything was going to be fine.

Live for the Love of it,

The Happy Amateur

"Is That All There Is?"

2012-01-21T19:39:00.000-05:00

Carry On Tuesday # 141

This week we have as our prompt the title of Peggy Lee's wonderful musical soliloquy

Is That All There Is?

Whenwe understand what we always knew,

Whenwe remember what we never forgot,

Whenwe find what we ever had,

Wewill look it in the eye,

Andwonder,

“Isthat all

There

Is?”

Live for the Love of it,

The Happy Amateur

'The End'

2012-01-20T14:24:00.000-05:00

Another writing challenge from Naming Constellations:
http://namingconstellations.wordpress.com/2012/01/06/reverie-one-synaesthetic-gems

Here's the set of words I ended up with (senses vs corresponding - or not so much - objects):

Sight: Christmastree

Hearing: couch

Smell: stereo

Taste: photograph

Touch: clock

Here's my attempt to put it all together...

'The End'

The image is from flickr

Thestereo’s still ‘roasting those chestnuts,’

ButChristmas photographs look stale already,

Time’srunning through my fingers like Dali’s clock,

Anold couch’s trying to console the needle-crying tree,

“It’s not the end.”

Live for the Love of it,

The Happy Amateur

'Sailing'

2012-01-20T11:05:00.000-05:00

A response to a writing challenge - the 'climbing rhyme' - from Naming Constellations:
http://namingconstellations.wordpress.com/2012/01/14/reverie-two-chutes-and-ladders

'Sailing'

The soul’s the sea so vast

That only few and fasted tread -

With masts upright and bread

Of hope and light, the dreaded foes

So fear – where others won’t.

Live for the Love of it,

The Happy Amateur

On Etymology

2012-01-19T18:22:00.000-05:00

Poets United and Thursday Think Tank invite us to think about goodbyes.

'On Etymology'

That’show it all starts,

Lovebreaches those gates,

Thatseal up our hearts.

Withhope He awaits,

Andprays for our eyes

Tosee, our ears to hear,

Toknow that He’s near,

Thoughwears a disguise

Attimes - like those things

Wesay with no thought,

Inthem - if only sought -

Heso clearly rings.

Inour faithless times

Thesoul’s born anew:

God’shour softly chimes,

‘Goodbye– God be with you.’

Live for the Love of it,

The Happy Amateur

'Forever Young'

2012-01-18T06:40:00.000-05:00

As the Great War drew to a close, a young Englishwoman wrote wearily in her diary, By the end of 1916, every boy I had ever danced with was dead.

Year: 1895 Unknown Personal Collection of Ron Hunt, Wigan

'Forever Young'

Dancewith me, oh will you dance with me?

I’mfeeling pretty, let him beg some more,

Hereand now, there’s only here and now,

Myhead is spinning with the ballroom floor,

Dancewith me, oh will you dance with me?

Letus not dwell on what we have in store,

Youngwe are, so very young we are,

Thereis no war, oh no, there is no war.

Dancewith me, oh will you dance with me?

He’seven younger than he looked before,

Younghe is, forever young he is

Iam still living, and he is no more.

Live for the Love of it,

The Happy Amateur

'Tangled Up'

2012-01-17T19:28:00.001-05:00

A prompt from Margo Roby (Wordgathering) is to write about words we don't/won't say. Here's my attempt:

'Tangled Up'

I hear your Talkto me! And so they come -

The words, I don’t say - only to hit

The wall of the blank stare, the all

Knowing, unamused boredom.

All tangled up, my words,

Just like my feelings,

Crawl back inside

To stay there,

Come out

Not.

Live for the Love of it,
The Happy Amateur

'Gold'

2012-01-16T21:15:00.000-05:00

And another response to prompt #38 from Poetic Bloomings:

‘Gold’

Not

All gold

Needs to be

Rushed,

Your day

Will come to

Harvest

The sparkling

grains of life’s

Riches,

It will,

In good time.

(Not all gold needs to be rushed - a one-line poem by Paula, photo prompt #37.)

Live for the Love of it,

The Happy Amateur

'Cooled'

2012-01-16T21:08:00.000-05:00

Another response to the writing challenge from Poetic Bloomings (prompt #38):

‘Cooled’

Her love was running deep,

Brewing - slow, but steady -

Like an underwater volcano.

His was all flames and sparks,

And just as quickly cooled,

And reduced to ashes of silver.

She will forever yearn,

Burning low and lonely,

For the untamed fire they could have shared.

(The line Andjust as quickly cooled was taken from a poem ‘Come-to-life’ by Barbara,photo prompt #37.)

Live for the Love of it,

The Happy Amateur

'Ungraceful Love'

2012-01-16T21:01:00.001-05:00

This week's challenge from Poetic Bloomings - "HEY...THAT'S MY LINE!" - is to take a line from a poem by a fellow PB poet, and use it as a title/part of a new poem of your own. It's proving to be lots of fun!

Here's my first attempt:

‘Ungraceful Love’

I tear to shreds my peaceful existence,
I create storms with hot angry tears,
Suffocating in harmony,
I long to see you rising
In your primal glory,
A bubbling, bumbling
Ungraceful love,
But the tide
Is low.
Calm.

(The line ‘A bubbling, bumbling ungracefullove’ is taken from the poem ‘Bubbling up’ by Kimiko Martinez, photo prompt #37.)

Live for the Love of it,
The Happy Amateur

'The Reel of Life'

2012-01-15T14:25:00.000-05:00

A new challenge from the Sunday Whirl

'The Reel of Life'

Don’t talk to me about the old places,

Don’t bring to surfacethe longings that

Lie dormant and still in the depth

Of my soul. Do not unwind

My life. Forif you do,

You’ll find me kneeling,

Praying in vain

For a chance

To go

Back.

Not take

Away my

Resolution

To look ahead, and

Contemplatethe broad and crisp

Horizons, and fields dotted

With wild flowers. Do not disturb the

Reelofmy life, I do not wish

To make a spectacleof myself. Please.

Live for the Love of it,

The Happy Amateur

'Halo Repair'

2012-01-14T17:36:00.000-05:00

'Six Word Saturday'

Brian Kershisnik 'Halo Repair'

Can I have mine repaired, please?

Live for the Love of it,

The Happy Amateur

'Where now? Who now? When now?'

2012-01-14T12:25:00.000-05:00

Carry On Tuesday # 140

SamuelBeckett provides the words of inspiration this week. They come from theopening line of his novel 'Unnameable'

Where now? Who now? When now?

Whoam I?

Whatam I?

What’sbeyond the endless sky?

When’sthe hour?

Nowthere,

Look,your answer’s everywhere:

Allis Him,

Allis love,

Heawaits us up above,

Hewill come,

He’llforgive,

Untilthen just love and live.

Live for the Love of it,

The Happy Amateur

'A Pathway In The Rye'

2012-01-13T11:22:00.000-05:00

Margo Roby (Wordgathering) suggested 'painting' a poem about one's personal idyll. This is my attempt.

Ivan Shishkin

Noon. Outskirts of Moscow, 1869

Apathway in the rye,

Aforest in the distance,

Above– the endless sky.

Myidyll of existence.

Live for the Love of it,

The Happy Amateur