VILLANELLE ON REFLECTIONS

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Possibilitarians chivy Life!
Graduates storm the doors of hallowed halls,
Each novel soul braced for plenty and strife.

The young, restless, virile…….lust, love…….run rife!
Nuptials in earnest, endure or fall.
Possibilitarians chivy Life!

Politics and parenting, most pro-life.
Teenagers economics bankroll the mall.
Each novel soul braced for plenty and strife.

Empty nest syndrome, a sign of mid-life.
New opportunities, new ports of call.
Possibilitarians chivy Life!

Seniors, Medicare, a toot from the fife.
IRA’s, 401K’s stall the squall
Each novel soul braced for plenty and strife.

Green or Golden, bracing each phase of Life,
Embrace opportunities, spurn all pall,
For, Possibilitarians chivy Life,
Each novel soul braced for plenty and strife.

Inspiration
I bought a pair of socks at the spa with a tag from the artist who designed the socks. She said she considered herself as a POSSIBILITARIAN! And that word hit me square in the forehead! That’s Me! I’m a POSSIBILITARIAN! And what a grand life it is!

DAY BY DAY

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Aurora’s dawn, arriviste, chroma rich!
The Harp and Artist beget the grande scene,
Whilst night sky pearls resplendently bewitch!

Homeless relegated to gentry’s kitsch
Stone dwellings shelter box-tent homes ‘tween.
Aurora’s dawn, arriviste, chroma rich!

Children enslaved on a pirate ketch.
Ungodly intent so evil, mean.
Whilst night sky pearls resplendently bewitch!

Thoughtless human rubble, a peccant glitch,
Fetid trash heaps defile the sphere, blue and green.
Aurora’s dawn, arriviste, chroma rich.

The night’s fractured like cymbal’s heinous pitch
Holy lands dare dream of peace so serene,
Whilst night sky pearls resplendently bewitch!

Joy and love shape quilts with hopeful stitches.
yet, baby angels are tossed midst styrene,
Still, Aurora’s dawn, arriviste, chroma rich!
Whilst night sky pearls resplendently bewitch!

INSPIRATION
So interesting…using flowery words to describe such vile
acts of inhumanity. But whatever it takes to get the
attention of people with hearts for understanding and love.
Do Unto Others As You Would Have Them Do Unto You!
Let there be Love!

This poem was published in Best Poets of 2019 and ended up
winning second prize in a prestigious collection of poets. The
following is an exert from a letter from the publisher:
Congratulations!  Your poem “Day by Day” is a second prize
winner in the July to December 2019 contest!  This is a remarkable
accomplishment of which you should be very proud, as your poem
stood out among the thousands of entries we received.  Our
judging staff ultimately selected “Day by Day” for its poetic merit,
which is a true testament of your effort. Talent, and dedication to
your craft.  You exhibited a creative flair for verse, and by
incorporating various poetic elements and techniques,
you have created a piece of work any poet can appreciate.

THE CREATIVE FACET OF A KILLER

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Faceless Killer, masked illusory pseud,
Quarantining our Planet, One by One.
Sunup….Sundown….Sanity?….Solitude.

Immure walls of home, a needle’s eye viewed,
Kin and friend grasp cells, shields from the undone.
Faceless Killer, masked illusory pseud.

Canyons of suites emptied; careers detrude.
Time to focus on the backyard home runs.
Sunup….Sundown….Sanity?….Solitude.

Respectful to mask, yet blind smiles delude.
Tainted tongues of world news spun and unspun.
Faceless Killer, masked illusory pseud.

Each soul born with seeds of dreams included.
Actualize innate gifts, for some unbegun.
Sunup….Sundown….Sanity?….Solitude.

Time on hands searching quiet aptitudes.
Tiers of gilded gifts unveiled by the One.
Still, Faceless Killer, masked illusory pseud,
Sunup….Sundown….Sanity?….Solitude.

INSPIRATION
The subject of this poem was requested by the publisher,
memorializing the world’s reactions to Covid-19 and the quarantine.
The day after finishing this poem, Jane Pauley reported that
quarantined rocker David Lee Roth explored an ancient art using
a centuries old formula of ink. The frustrating gift of time in
quarantine has encouraged a world of people to explore and enjoy
hidden talents. Also, a gentleman cleaning his garage found an old
bucket of baseballs he used with his son and grandson. A neighborhood
boy had lost both his grandfathers, but the bucket of baseballs enheartened
a friendship, sharing the love of baseball. This poem was published in
The Best Poets of 2020.

EULOGY FOR TRUTH

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Eulogy for Truth; death by depraved wile.
Sleaze media’s duplicitous deceit.
Americans mourn travesty so vile.

“Fake” news regales falsities to beguile.
Reliant souls read inked pages, lies excrete.
Eulogy for Truth; death by depraved wile.

Personal politics, opines defile
Axioms of Truth, unbiased, discrete.
Americans mourn travesty so vile.

Stars, politicians, targets to revile.
True or not, are derailed by just one tweet.
Eulogy for Truth; death by depraved wile.

Hate wears a marred mask, cloaked in cyber files.
Behind cubed booths, false faces feign conceit.
Americans mourn travesty so vile.

Journalists careers wrote the facts, erstwhile.
Trust, Truth must now replace back street bleat.
For the Eulogy of Truth, a death by depraved wile,
Americans mourn travesty so vile!

INSPIRATION
Eulogy of Truth, is a topic on the minds of many Americans. “Fake” news
is something we never thought we would ever face in America. We have
always trusted the media to follow the rules of journalism……just the facts,
no personal opinions. Oddly enough, in my Roget’s Thesaurus, the
definition of journalist is “(a) person who writes about factual events for a
living”. It is beyond me that a significant percentage of the media has
elected to ditch “factual” and replace it with “fake”! My Mom, a politician,
would never have stood for this national travesty, and neither should we!
This poem was published in Best Poets of 2018.

THE GREAT AMERICAN GAMES

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Elect.  Reelect.  One musical chair.
Debate.  Propaganda.  Merry-go-round.
American Dreamer, brave Truth or Dare.

Race. Trickery.  The Tortoise and the Hare.
Special interest mavens prance like proud hounds.
Elect.  Reelect.  One musical chair.

Our Grand Constitution.  Jeopardy.  Beware.
Freedom shredded by fiat.  Source unsound.
American Dreamer, brave Truth or Dare.

Vain civic souls feign veritable care.
Party theriac……verbiage, the noun.
Elect.  Reelect.  One musical chair.

Patriots panic through Labyrinths and lairs.
Governance grotesquely swell and abound.
American Dreamer, brave Truth or Dare.

Wits and Wages, the middle class not spared.
Charades.  Risk.  Go Fish.  No Clue!  Wits End!  Zounds!
Still…..elect.  Reelect.  One musical chair.
American Dreamer, brave Truth or Dare.

Source of Inspiration:  During election year, our lives are consumed by a barrage of political verbiage, enough to leave us stupefied!  But this is a time to remind us of our FREEDOM to make these political decisions.  Therefore, we must revere, respect, and execute the right to vote.  Always!  I was raised by a mother who was a politician and a father who was a highway patrolman.  From my father I learned a healthy respect for the law, and my mother taught me to always vote for the person, not the party.  And always vote, lest you waste or lose your right to vote!

Writing a Villanelle

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Words, like ebon tiles jumbled in a game,
Broach Life’s loves, fated wars, edgy affairs.
Poetic portraits in echoic frames.

Oversoon notions tossed into the flame,
Sketchy, shapeless, precociously bare.
Words, like ebon tiles jumbled in a game.

Ancient scribes penned psalms, songs for history fames,
Exemplar recitations trumpets blare.
Poetic portraits in echoic frames.

Burgeoning bards with contemplative aim
Scribble rash embryonic artful wares.
Words, like ebon tiles jumbled in a game.

Abstruse expressions of a soul, marred, maimed,
Scrawled in ink, agony, evoking tears.
Poetic portraits in echoic frames.

Life’e circadian rhythms fan the flames
Of balladry verse.  Passion’s novel pared.
Thus, words, like ebon tiles jumbled in a game,
Poetic portraits in echoic frames.

Source of Inspiration:  A friend of mine coined me The Voice of the Villanelle, and then taught me how to create a blog by the same name.  I’ve been asked many times why I write Villanelles and the answer is……..for the challenge.  My favorite game is Scrabble and writing a Villanelle is much like playing Scrabble.  The rhythm of life is merely mocked by the rhythm of poetry.  And that is why we write………poetry.

Crosswords

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Life, like a crossword of questions and clues,
Phrenic play with words; what great toys they make.
This jumble of absurd dailies amuse.

Moments pandered to bemoan or bemuse
The quizzical quakes human tongues bespoke.
Life, like a crossword of questions and clues.

A grid of blank blocks to fill in with truths.
Black holes, the pathways of trails not to take.
This jumble of absurd dailies amuse.

Words, these truths, depend on another’s cues.
Mortals cluster for sodality’s sake.
Life, like a crossword of questions and clues.

Blunders, falsehoods, a domino of rues
Taint the game in a maniacal wake.
This jumble of absurd dailies amuse.

New dawn.  New match for word warriors to muse.
No prize, reward, just gray matter at stake.
And, Life, like a crossword of questions and clues,
This jumble of absurd dailies amuse.

Source of Inspiration for Crosswords
Crosswords, like poetry, are word games–great toys for people of all ages.  I began my writing career at 49.  Before that, I was in hand-to-hand combat with life, living memories to write later.  I encouraged my children to learn the play of words, which they learned early on would serve them well.  Thus, they are expressive and savvy writers.
Crosswords was published in International Who’s Who in Poetry, 2012.

The Swine Waltz

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You danced the waltz with queens and kings,
The minuet with dames and earls.
But now you dance the jig and sing
The blues with whiny swine in pearls.

Loud, jivey tongues with silver spoons
Warbled words with flowery long stems.
But forked tongues sing dulcet tunes,
Banal words from the Devil’s hymn.

You danced the minuet in glitzy jewels
Such finery from toe to hair.
But clothes make not the man, the fool,
Won’t cover the shame that you bare.

The dance is charming, so divine
With champagne and pate’ you’re wooed.
But an old adage lost with time,
“Always dance with the one who brought you!”

Dance, dance while the music goes on.
New partner, the Devil’s cut in.
He’s leading now.  But it won’t last long,
As they say, “All good things must come to and end.”

Source of Inspiration for  The Swine Waltz
Pardon my soap box!  I was raised in East Texas by my mother, an elected government official, and my father, a Texas Highway Patrolman.  They taught me to read the newspaper, know what is going on in the world around me, have an opinion, and vote.  Thus, the multimedia world of sensationalism gives me explosive subjects on which to write dramatic opines in poetic form.  Since many of the people in the largest city in Texas (Houston) were affected by the Enron corporate scandal, I was enraged and moved to pen this poem, The Swine’s Waltz, which was originally entitled, “The Enron Waltz”.  
The Swine Waltz was published in The Best Poems and Poets of 2005. 

Weathered Love

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As the gentle rain caresses and nourishes
Tender fibers of Spring’s virgin seed,
So his love bathes my heart, my soul,
Saturating every pore, sating every need.

Love’s tender shoots burst with frenzied fervor,
Heeding not ethereal time.
Fibril scions strengthen as trust imbues
Affirming refuge from variable clime.

But a vile world’s hate will blow hard and cold
A thunderstorm of prejudice, jealousy, and pride.
Fierce thunder will threaten; brash lightning will flash,
But true love will endure Life’s inevitable chide.

Source of Inspiration for Weathered Love
I beg the readers indulgence with yet another poem about love.  But what better words to paint the Colours of the Heart?  After 33 years of marriage, I know the passion and pain of love.  I know the rarity, strength, and power of true love.  And I know that true love is worth all the time and fortitude it takes to safeguard the health of such a gifted relationship.  Never take love for granted!
Weathered Love was published in Colours Of The Heart, Noble House, London, 2004.

Nature’s Symphony

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Symphonic sounds mocked nature’s harmony.
His music conjured skies pristine, unspoiled,
Concordant notes like artist’s brush paint
Pastoral scenes obscured from mortal rape.
Majestic mountains painted purple peaks
Crescendoed as the bow and strings embraced.
On notes, the raven’s wings glissade warm winds,
Ascending envied lofts o’er Teton tips.
G clef and F clef render raven’s wings
Such freedom rarely seen on earthly ground.
Effortlessly broad wings traverse the skies,
These cleansing breezes free the raven’s soul.
Melodic resonance, sweet songs of peace
Suffuse the raven’s grand inherent winds,
Negating sounds of hunger, babes in pain,
Reporting waves of war despoiling lands,
Of souls in search of hope and blissful peace,
Exalt the raven’s hallowed haven high.
Play on, young maestro!  Paint sweet sounds of life.
Expose the raven’s eye for minds to view
A world unknown to unwinged, mortal souls.
Athirst for healing notes of life’s sweet song.
Play on, the sounds of nature’s symphony.

Source of Inspiration for Nature’s Symphony
I was a guest at a gathering of the Houston, Texas Symphony Supporters in 2002.  A cellist with the symphony performed a movement he was inspired to write during a vacation to the Grand Teton Mountains.  His musical interpretation of a raven effortlessly gliding on the summer winds over the Tetons moved me to jot words and thoughts down on a page in my day-timer.  In 2009, I found that page in a file and his music came rushing back inspiring this poem.  Thank you, gifted maestro, whoever, and wherever you are.
Nature’s Symphony was published in Eternal Heartland, Interstate 40, 2010.  The Editor’s Comments:  Your poem’s authenticity comes from its imagery.  With powerful, vivid imagery your poem renders a picturesque scene.  Its controlling image leaves us with strong sensory impressions, placing us within your vision.