Changes Are Coming

Written for:  Poets United Midweek Motif~Blessings
Blessing is a gift of bliss, affirmation, hope and inspiration bestowed upon a person.

“The thing to do, it seems to me, is to prepare yourself so you can be a rainbow in somebody else’s cloud. Somebody who may not look like you. May not call God the same name you call God – if they call God at all. I may not dance your dances or speak your language. But be a blessing to somebody. That’s what I think.”— Maya Angelou 

Out of work, and now homeless.
He is in shock. In his habit of helping
destitute folks, he never imagined
he would be on the needy end,
curb sitting, clutching a hand-
painted sign. He eyes a Brooks Brothers
suit coming his way. Say, something
seems familiar about this guy.
The suit speaks. You do not know me?
He chuckles. I was you, sitting
on a curb with a similar sign.
You were always kind to me. Now,
it is my turn.  I had some luck–
came into some money.  Cleaned
myself up, and found a decent
job. Let me help you. Homeless man looks
at him, remembers.  Tears roll down
his face. How easy it is to trade

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Good Times Roll

Written for Poetic Asides #364 – Write a “let the good times roll” poem.
“I’ll allow each poet to put the emPHAsis where they wish in that phrase. Focus on the “good times” or play around with the concept of “rolling.” However you roll, I’m cool with it.”

Come on in to Good Times Roll.
If there is a roll you have a hankering
for, we will have that one and more.
Kaiser, onion, dinner, pumpernickel,
or rye, poppyseed, sesame, or seedless.
Why, you name a size–large, small,
mini, or hero for those with big
eyes–we aim to satisfy every customer,
except for wise guys asking
for jelly rolls, Tootsie Rolls,
Swiss Rolls, or rock ‘n roll. Try
another shop. We are all about
bread at Good Times Roll. Stop in,
ask for Pop.

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My Ed

Written for:  dVerse Poets Pub-Poetical Spouses  (posted by Kim)
The challenge for this week’s Poetics is to take a character, fictional or non-fictional, and re-write their story from the point of view of their husband or wife.

“Dame Carol Ann Duffy DBE FRSL is one of my favourite modern poets. She is Professor of Contemporary Poetry at Manchester Metropolitan University and has been Britain’s Poet Laureate since May 2009, the first woman, first Scot, and first openly LGBT person to hold the position.

One of her collections of poetry, The World’s Wife, takes characters, stories, histories and myths that focus on men and presents them from the point of view of the women behind the men, with themes such as sexism, equality, bereavement and birth. From Mrs Midas to Queen Kong, from Elvis’s twin sister to Pygmalion’s bride, she has turned well-known stories on their heads”.

Anne Hathaway by Carol Ann Duffy
‘Item I gyve unto my wief my second best bed…’
(from Shakespeare’s will)

The bed we loved in was a spinning world
of forests, castles, torchlight, cliff-tops, seas
where he would dive for pearls. My lover’s words
were shooting stars which fell to earth as kisses
on these lips; my body now a softer rhyme
to his, now echo, assonance; his touch
a verb dancing in the centre of a noun.
Some nights I dreamed he’d written me, the bed
a page beneath his writer’s hands. Romance
and drama played by touch, by scent, by taste.
In the other bed, the best, our guests dozed on,
dribbling their prose. My living laughing love –
I hold him in the casket of my widow’s head
as he held me upon that next best bed.

Here is my attempt:

Written by Virginia Poe

I was haunted by nightmares
of his lost Lenore, and that
misbehaving raven running
rampant across my bureau.
But, I digress. Untidy,
critical, and sharp-tongued
though he was, Edgar did not
come close to his contemporaries
in the art of alcohol consumption.
Yes, I know what they said
about him. My Ed was sweet,
troubled, sought only love
and warmth.

At fourteen years of age,
I was a mature young woman
who knew her own mind. Unkind
people whispered about my age,
and the fact that I was his cousin.
Odd it was, to see my Ed as a writer
of macabre tales and poems. Edgar
was quite the opposite. We had fun
together. He loved to run after me,
and tickle my feet. Those elite snobs
did not even know that he was a superb
chef. Well, I am haunted no longer,
for my life ended before his.
Of this I am glad.

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Felt With Heart

Written for:  Carpe Diem #1029, “Felt With The Heart”

“The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched – they must be felt with the heart.”~Hellen Keller


how do you feel joy?
stand outdoors alone in breeze
feel your heartbeat sing                  © Sara McNulty

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Late Afternoon

Written for:  dVerse Poets Pub – Haibun Monday:  The Sky IS The Limit
(posted by HAYESSPENCER)
Write about the day sky from dawn to dusk and any time in between.

“Only from the heart can you touch the sky” ~Rumi

In late afternoon light,
sky is richer in blue pigment
than at any other time of day.
Narrow threaded clouds float
along in shapes of sharks or gliding
ships. I peek through feathered
branches of a hinoki tree. They appear
as if painted on surface of sky.

Older in years
splendor of nature deepens
increases respect

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Hope On Hold

Written for:  Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads, “Not What We Came To See”
– micro poetry
Today is the day we put the “mini’ back into the Sunday Mini-Challenge, and return to the option of form poetry. The object of this challenge is to write a poem in no more than 10 lines (but you may write in fewer than 10 lines all the way down to a single American sentence). You may choose your own form or stick to free verse, if preferred.

The Projectionist’s Nightmare

This is the projectionist’s nightmare:
A bird finds its way into the cinema,
Finds the beam, flies down it,
smashes into a screen depicting a garden,
a sunset and two people being nice to each other.
Real blood, intestines, slither down
the likeness of a tree.
“This is no good,” screams the audience,
“This is not what we came to see.”

Brian Patten
Liverpool, UK

Shame soured the land,
turning smiles to sorrows.
Widespread enervation enveloped
citizens resulting in closed
theaters, restaurants, shops.
Fun was on holiday. All they
could do was wait.

© Sara McNulty

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Moon Performs

Written for:  The Sunday Whirl, Wordle #262

Words:  boot, trim, mist, spin, lift, cringe, print, live, chip, tick, stem, moon

Clocked ticked midnight.
Moon chipped away at fog
and mist, spinning
a glow like a live
light show. As cringing
veil vanished, prints
of stars tattooed sky
silver. Lovers lifted
long-stemmed glasses trimmed
in gold. Booted fishermen
gazed at nature spilling
a path home. Oblivious
to wonder, clock ticked on.

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Written for:  Carpe Diem #1028, Sadness

Sadness wells up
body is consumed by blue
waiting for sun break

© Sara McNulty

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Movement in Haiku

Written for:  Carpe Diem #1027, Movement

“I introduced “undou” (movement) to you as a “new” haiku writing technique and from one of those posts I have extracted the following quote:

“Haiku is the poetry of nature and nature is always in motion. Seasons come and go, the moon changes every 28 days and so on, the only thing which is steady and without clear motion is our sun, that big star of our Milky Way around which the planets are rotating.”

~Chèvrefeuille, your host

Here is an example of what I call an “undou” haiku:

old pond
frog jumps in
sound of water

© Basho (1644-1694) (Tr. Chèvrefeuille)

Here is my attempt:

spins and weaves
back and forth, he moves unseen
intricate web

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Written for:  Carpe Diem #1026, Smile

“Let us always meet each other with smile, for the smile is the beginning of love”
~Mother Teresa

child’s smile
genuine joy on face
ever beguiling               ©Sara McNulty

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