The day dawns dark
with sheeting rain
a magnetic pull
to sleep again
increased water vapor
stealing oxygen
from the brain
a day of rest
oh let it reign

The day dawns dark
with sheeting rain
a magnetic pull
to sleep again
increased water vapor
stealing oxygen
from the brain
a day of rest
oh let it reign

Remembering people
across the years
with a mixture
of awe, gratitude,
and humility
for often those who
gave me the most
had the least
to give
materially,
at least
I don’t recall
every gift now
only the bright joy
on the faces
of the givers
there is
no calculating
the vast riches
in their hearts
or the price
of their generosity
only that it lives on
long after them
I still hold
their greatest gold:
sacrificial love

Widow’s Mite – Ancient Roman Bronze Coins. IronRodArt – Royce Bair (‘Star Shooter’). CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.
Here is a memory
I shall keep for you
all of my days:
when we ask
Where is your turkey?
you pat the colorful creature
adorning your shirt
while attempting to say
gobble gobble
and when our family
gathers round the table
to pray
amid the reverent cadence
of your Grampa’s words
I hear you say
nen
nen
nen
—I shall keep it for you,
this memory:
Thanksgiving gold
your one-year-old
baby voice
blessing us all
Amen

This day, every day
Holy in its own way
Abundance immeasurable
New mercies pleasurable
Keeping mindful of blessings
For living, for giving
Until the final ingathering
Let me not cease to give thanks

Drawing by Scout, age 6
Thanksgiving blessings to all
with thanks to Tammi Belko, host of today’s Ethical ELA Open Write. Tammi invited participants to take a personality color test and to write an “I am” poem based on the color results and their traits.
I took the test. I began to write a series of “I am” stanzas when the poem went running off in its own direction…
True Color
I am
the three bands
on the ring finger
of my left hand:
one worn by
my grandmother
engraved with
her initials
and my grandfather’s
alongside
their wedding date:
December 12, 1936
(the day after
Edward abdicated
for Wallis)
one worn by
my mother-in-law
a 1953 engagement
between a widow
and a widower
with two children each
with the long reach
of duty in Korea
calling
one given
to me
on the day
I married
thirty-seven years
two sons
and two granddaughters
ago…
a poet
named after
fleeting morning ice
may say
nothing gold
can stay
but I endure
because
that is what love does
like many before me
I am gold
*******

Interesting…
with thanks to Katrina Morrison, host of Ethical ELA’s Tuesday Open Write. Katrina writes: “The worlds of art and poetry meet in the ekphrastic poem. Whether you are viewing an original work in a museum or viewing it virtually, describing it through poetry is the definition of ekphrastic poetry.” Poet Ada Limón shares this reflection in The Slowdown podcast 780: “One of the things I love about art is how we bring ourselves to whatever it is we are experiencing. Whether we want to or not, we see ourselves in the film, the poem, the painting, the song.”
I write of the artwork that came to mind first; I was not the first to see myself in it…
Ripe Tomatoes
Long ago
your father
gave me a card
with a painting
of a woman
in a long white chemise
holding a basket
of ripe tomatoes
in her thin arms
her body is curved
toward the child
at her feet
an overall-clad boy
with a mass
of sunlit curls
atop his head
bent in eating
a tomato
straight from the vine
your father said
the painting
so reminded him
of you
and me
your curls
were black
of course
instead of gold
and I was never
a gardener
yet I can smell
the tangy greenness
of tomato plants
as the summer sun
beats down
over the rolling hills
and old barns
and tall yellowing grasses
rippling in the wind
could be a scene
from around
the bend
even now
I feel the
warm tomato skins
under my hand
as I think
of the abundance
I have been given
—take, eat,
my summer child
of the bounty
of the vine
so deeply rooted
so long ago
and know
love never ceases
to preserve
transcend
and grow

“Ripe Tomatoes.” Robert Duncan.
That dreamcatcher
Grampa gave me
works a little too well
says our almost
seven-year-old
grandgirl
I’m not having bad dreams
anymore
I’m not having
any dreams at all
I wonder
which of these
is most powerful
a child’s faith
a grandfather’s love
the catcher
or dreams
undreamed

with thanks to Kim Johnson for this invitation on Ethical ELA’s Open Write Today: “The interplay between the title and one word can provide context, illumination, and clarification, emphasizing the importance of title in poetry. The title can be as long as you wish. Write a one-word poem.”
Here goes…
Of Stars, Songs, Baby Granddaughters Learning to Talk, and the Devotion in a Dog’s Eyes
Infinity

with thanks to Kim Johnson for the inspiration on Ethical ELA’s Open Write today. Kim offers the monostitch form: “a strong sense of connection between a title and a poem of one line inspires the writer to consider the relationship between the title and the word.”
And so I share an observation from today…
Heaven’s So Near
Little girl sings The cattle are lowing…preacher-Grandpa’s face is streaked with tears.

Here’s a two-line version, for good measure:
Heaven is Near
Little girl plays in the floor, singing so pure, so clear: The cattle are lowing…
Preacher-man Grandpa rests in his recliner, listening, face streaked with tears.
A daily Band-Aid
cannot stop a hemorrhage
of blood nor spirit
