Eclipse Poem

Eclipse

Today I am free. I’m a bee going back to its hive,
a spider destroying its web, the earth’s crust
pushing upward. I stand tall, rising
with the burning, aching,
irresistible
sun.

Live for the Love of it,

Sasha A. Palmer (aka Happy)

"Mid-week": a Poem by Pat Anthony

"The Clothes-Line" by Helen Allingham

What lingered was the smell–

the I can’t quite identify it– of
laundry hung across the kitchen
or was it laundry fresh from the
clotheslines, each creased towel
like a pinched sachet, loosing sun
and wind, flowers of the moment?

It came on the wind yesterday,
while I was bending over blue
berries and pulling aside the brown
mounds of last season’s grasses to
find each budding shoot and re-
arrange the coffee cans to shield
them from browsing deer in this

predicted chill. I stopped to breathe,

but couldn’t be sure if it was the scent
of soil clinging to my boots or crab
apples’ bloom from the next farm over
or someone’s laundry hanging on a
thread of memory, freshly gathered,
creased into billets-doux, lingering. 

© Pat Anthony

My dog is something else

Nothing like a nap in the sun...

with a good comfy pillow...

a dog's life...

Live for the Love of it,

Happy

Weekly Wikems. Summer.

Hello, everyone,

hope all's well with you.

It's Thursday, feeling like writing a wikem?

Although we've had a couple of on-the-cool-side days lately, here in Baltimore summer's definitely upon us.

When I was growing up, my summer would start on June 1st and end on August 31st. And so would summer vacation. No school for three long months. Eternity.

"Summer is a promissory note signed in June, its long days spent and gone before you know it, and due to be repaid next January." - Hal Borland 
(Thanks to The Passive Voice for the quote.)


When does your summer start? Is it Memorial Day? Victoria Day? Summer solstice?..


Let's talk summer today.

Here's your wiki link:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Summer



Here's my contribution:

"Solstice is derived from the Latin words sol (sun) and sistere (to stand still)." 

"When on a geographic pole, the sun reaches its greatest height, the moment of solstice, it can be noon only along that longitude...For other longitudes, it is not noon. Noon has either passed or has yet to come." 

(Wikipedia)

let me linger here

today, when the sun stands still
till my noon has passed

Looking forward to your wikems.

Live for the Love of it,

Sasha A. Palmer ("Happy")

Weekly Wikems. Sun.

Hi, everyone.

Another Thursday. Time for another wikem. (The 'wikem rules' are here.)

Spring is coming. The days are getting longer. And the rays of one hot star sure feel nice.


Let's honor the Sun today:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sun

Go explore. Find your quote. Write your poem.



Here's my wiki limerick ('wikimerick'? :-):

"The Sun is roughly middle age and has not changed dramatically for four billion years, and will remain fairly stable for four billion more."


When it comes to our years, there's no quota.

When we're down, at the Sun we look oughta -

Middle-aged in the blink

Of an eye...but (wink-wink)

With each billion it only gets hotter!



And one more sunny wikem:

cut her some slack please –

– she is in the midst of confusion...

the fusion burning her core, what more can she give?

forgive her, she’s finished, gone, shone far too long, o’er the hill…

still, look for her in the morn – reborn, a dazzling surprise, she’ll rise.

Thank you for reading :-)
Looking forward to your poems!


Live for the Love of it,
Sasha A. Palmer ("Happy")

November 2014 Poem-A-Day Chapbook Challenge: Day 18

Just yesterday fall wore a sullen face

And braced herself for winter, packed away

The sun, and let the stormy clouds embrace

Her trembling form…but look at her today

Her smile is back, she flaunts the sun again

The fallen out of fashion yester rain

Lies crumpled and forgotten neath her feet

She laughs, and shines, she is no more than sweet

Sixteen, or even younger, barefoot girls

She’s one of them, ‘tween time and space she twirls…

Do not disturb her, let her dance until

The land is clothed in white, and all is still.

Live for the Love of it,

Sasha A. Palmer (a.k.a. "Happy")

prompted by Poetic Asides

image credit