Poetry to warm a parent's heart

The Coming Storm (1987) 

by Cirenya

The air is still.

The clouds roll in. Dark, ominous.

Lightning flashes

Against the bronze horizon.

What did Daddy say?

His hand is warm.

Between the flash

And crack…count, yes.

One applepie, Two applepie,

Three applepie, four applepie,

Crack.

It’s nearer now.

“It’s the air separating

Then coming together.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

The wind starts.

It’s chilly.

One applepie, two applepie,

Three applepie,

Crack.

Closer yet.

We’d go in now.

Sit by the window,

Watch it come.

Pounding, bouncing

Off the pane.

Flash, crack.

I’m not afraid.

Daddy’s hand is warm.

The Secret

The Secret
by Denise Levertov

Two girls discover
the secret of life
in a sudden line of
poetry.

I who don't know the
secret wrote
the line. They
told me

(through a third person)
they had found it
but not what it was
not even

what line it was. No doubt
by now, more than a week
later, they have forgotten
the secret,

the line, the name of
the poem. I love them
for finding what
I can't find,

and for loving me
for the line I wrote
and for forgetting it
so that

a thousand times, till death
finds them, they may
discover it again, in other
lines

In other
happenings. And for
wanting to know it,
for

assuming there is
such a secret, yes,
for that
most of all.

Levertov published The Secret in 1964. In it, she has neatly captured both a primary reason for writing poetry and a primary reason for reading poems. She has mystery, hope, loss all wrapped in a simple free verse, both readily understandable and endlessly debatable. The reader is left to read into it a whole lot or nothing, taking the words at face value. The poem can become what the reader wants, a true tribute to the poet.

Do you agree?

Nine Princes in Amber - Classic Fantasy

Nine Princes in Amber was the first book in Roger Zelazny's seminal Chronicles of Amber fantasy series, and was first published in 1970. Zelazny melds several elements in this book - immortality of his god-like protagonists, fantastical creatures, a unique brand of magic, as well as detailed swordplay.

Amber is the True World and all other worlds just Shadows of Amber. Amber is ruled by an immortal family which includes nine living brothers, the Princes. Their sisters are also immortal but do not compete for the vacant throne of their father, Oberon, who is apparently not dead but only missing.

The royals can walk from one Shadow world to another by a process of subtraction where the elements that do not belong are removed one at a time until the royal is fully in the new Shadow. They bring armies from one Shadow to Amber in a contest for the throne.

Another interesting plot element is the Trumps, a series of tarot-like cards depicting the royal family. Any prince or princess can communicate directly and teleport through the use of the Trumps. Their use requires the willingness of both royals and they are used both offensively and cooperatively.

 As classic fantasy Nine Princes in Amber is strongly recommended. It is interesting to compare the themes and elements of this early classic with current fantasy. For example, two dated plot elements are Corwin's constant smoking of ordinary cigarettes and the relatively minor roles of the princesses.

And today's poem:

Myths and Gods

The storm had passed

Leaving loss and waste

And a darkness, black

Against which stand back

The stars in bright relief.

You feel the Greek belief

In their myths and their gods

Without our technical clods.

Closer to the best of nature

Even in the midst of disaster.

From Transitions by Greg Schroeder.

Feature and Follow - Spring Break - The Gardens of Versailles

I am not one for crowds, heavy consumption of intoxicants, or most of the other things normally associated with the term Spring Break.

I do, however, very much enjoy spring. Formal gardens are superb places, in my mind - quiet, beautiful, spacious. A place where one can share time with a special someone, a small group of friends, or enjoy solitude. They are also great for walking, talking, reading, writing, and a thousand other activities that are a pleasant break from the insanity of my day job.

Versailles? Because it is near Paris, has historical significance, is near other areas of historical and cultural interest and is fantastic in its own right.

Perspective

Foregound

Phone is ringing

Baby crying

Email flashing

Dinner cooking

Client demanding

Homework trying

Midground

Through the open window

Calling is a sparrow

Trees are rustling in the breeze

Neighbor tries stifling a sneeze

Lilacs give a splash of color

Clematis climbing up the arbor

Background

High above, the powder blue sky

Wispy tendrils float and sigh

A hawk soars graceful and silent

Encouraging you to feel the quiet

Seemingly suspended beyond the clash

Remember them in the daily dash.

From Transitions.

Haiku is for Hoopla

I dabble in haiku mostly because I like the focus the fixed structure brings.

This one is appropos as the snow returns for an encore even as the trees bring forth their first leaves:

Crocuses poke through

Stubborn edges of grey snow

Heralding warm days

I tried to capture the immediacy of a summer thunderstorm with this one:

I see it coming

Rain, pelting, pounding, soaking

Run, run to shelter

Here is a parody of the things that make headlines:

Hostess closes down

Panic ensues; Twinkies gone

Epic tragedy

Finally, a straighforward, "life is good" and if its not, it will be:

Limitless blue sky

Shows infinite potential

Reaching improvement

  

These, and 48 more, were published in 52 Haiku, available FREE on Smashwords. See my author interview on HaikuHoopla.

Think Out Loud - Forsythia

Saturday I took a walk around the neighborhood and, despite the bright sun and the warming temperatures (about 45 degrees at 7:30 am), the landscape was still pretty barren - the trees were still leafless, the planters still empty, the lawns still the brown-green of dormant grass. It was like none of the plants believed the winter was done.

Sunday I took a similar walk, at a similar time. But on this walk I started to notice the forsythia, which makes up a hedge by many houses and roadsides in my area, were yellow with blossoms. Then I saw an ornamental cherry, suddenly heavy with pink and white flowers. As I made a turn I was brought face to face with a dogwood whose big blooms were on full display. None had been there the day before.

I could feel an extra bounce in my step, just from the bright demonstration of rejuvenation and renewal. It struck me, on Sunday as I contemplated the tale of two days, how quickly things can change. The birds had been singing more strongly each day since the last snowfall but only now did I believe, like the plants, that spring was here.

Spring Sky

Spring has come;

There are buds on the lilacs

The sun no longer is its weak

Winter self.

But the sky, the sky

This spring night

Harkens back to the winter.

Cold air gives a sharpness

The scarcity of clouds

An open vista

To thousands, nay, millions

Of tiny twinkling pinpricks.

Feature and Follow - Don't Read This!

This week's FF: Tell us about a book you didn't like and tell why you shouldn't read it!

Walking the Amazon by Ed Stafford has a lot of interesting elements: personal adventure, exploring the unknown, international affairs, the destruction of natural habitat, the destruction of aboriginal cultures, amid smaller themes. It just never delivers.

This is a true story of a man who set out to walk from the head of the Amazon River to its mouth in the Atlantic Ocean. I found myself disliking the author (and several of the people involved in the expedition) because of his recurring complete unpreparedness and their both lack of preparedness with him or their willing support of an expedition whose unpreparedness should have been apparent.

Maybe the author was too harsh on himself or was trying to build up the barriers to make his ultimate success more dramatic, but I found myself thinking there should be no way the expedition even started out. If I was this unprepared for a meeting, my continued presence on the project at hand would be in jeopardy.

The Dragonmasters by Jack Vance

This book is really a novella, about 100 pages, that won the Hugo for novella in 1963 and was originally published as one half of an Ace Double (with The Five Gold Bands).

I read the copy pictured above (an Ace reprint from 1980 with just this story).

This is an interesting book with many moving parts. It centers on two valleys on the planet Aerlith, both inhabited by humans who have bred lizard-like aliens to be war machines of various sizes and capabilities. There is a third group of humans who are mystical ascetics. The two valleys are essentially separate kingdoms who are engaged in a periodic war that is heating up during the story with the Carcolo attacking the Banbeck.

However, the aliens, the grephs, return. They are a mirror of the humans with the lizard-like grephs breeding humans to be war machines of various sizes and capabilities. In the battle that follows, the humans are near defeat but a stratagem by the leader of the Banbecks, causes the grephs to find the ascetic sacerdotes secret workshop where they are working on a spaceship.

The sacedotes use the engine of their spaceship to disable the greph ship and Banbeck seals the victory. The sacerdote spaceship is destroyed.

I will leave to the reader deeper symbolisms of the mirrored societies and the role of the advanced engineering mystics. I do recommend this as a science fiction story that is just as readable now as it was in 1963, and just as enjoyable.

Today's poem... following on the science fiction theme:

Alien Night

Over an alien landscape

Of blood-red sands

And blue-green trees

With yellow-orange flowers

Rises a deep green moon.

A puff of wind stirs

Tiny sand dervishes

Which vanish as quickly

As they were formed

Under the deep green moon.

A mik-mok tosses

Its gray-blue head

And darts from shed

To tree and back again

As the moon passes overhead.

Stately  ee-taus graze

On the highest flowers

In the coolest time

Of the early morning

While the moon curves to ground.

The fiery white sun chases

The blue-green shadows

To their hiding places

As it rises above

And the moon sinks below

The alien planet’s horizon.

From Observations, by Greg Schroeder

Guest Poet - Emma from the Goodreads Poetry Group

I was struck by the poem below as I read through the entries in the April poetry contest on GoodReads.com. It reminded me of summers more youthful and innocent.

Emma, the poet, agreed to let me share it. And so, The Meadow, a poem by Emma.

The Meadow

Running my hand along the waist high grass,
I watch a brown sparrow take flight,
Its wings spread so that it might soar.
My skin is warm from the sunlight,
And I let it's warm fingers caress my face.

I breathe in the beauty.  For,
Wildflowers also cover the meadow,
Their vibrant colors painting,
vivid pictures as they let the wind blow,
Their soft and delicate heads.

A large oak stands in the center of this glory.
Its great branches stretch to the sky,
Holding it, the bright blue, in its soft leafy palms,
They reach like arms lifted up high,
Trying to capture the sunlight and hold it tight

Just a Poem Before I Go

Bonus points to the obscure song reference!

It IS National Poetry Month. All three of these reflect my feelings today as I searched for signs of the spring. Still no buds on the trees but the crocuses are finally bursting forth and there are patches where the grass is starting to grow again, a darker green in the brown-green seas.

Solstice Moon

The moon looms just over the horizon

Bright and huge behind a gauzy mist

Higher, irregular puff balls skid past

Illuminated below in cold white-yellow

Fading to dark gray barely separable

From the inky black zenith sky.

Haiku

Silent sentinels

Watching over white fields

Through the long winter

Sentinels

Talk, black, silent sentinels

Their scores of branches

Reaching into the brightening

Blue-white sky

Coated in a white mantle

From the first wet snowfall.

They bear witness to the bustle

Of a commercial season;

To the commuters cursing,

Sliding on the ice, driving

Too fast for safety

Too slow for their own impatience.

Oak, maple, elm, sycamore

Virtually indistinguishable

From one another,

Shorn of their canopies.

Swaying gently, hosting  a few

Diehard birds singing a cold song.

All through the short days

They will rest and watch

Until the rising sun is warmer;

Its light is brighter;

Then, as the crocuses burst

Will they stir back to glory.

The Cricket in Times Square - Newbery Honor

This story has a lot going on - the main characters are a cricket, a mouse, a cat, a boy, and the boy's parents, quite a cast for a juvenile book. Further the book deals with themes of music, especially classical music, business, homesickness, and gaining acceptance, also quite a diverse chunk.

However, George Selden melds them all together in a very enjoyable and relatively short, story.

The cricket, Chester, finds himself in Times Square having gotten on a train in Connecticut. He is befriended by Tucker, the mouse, and Harry, the cat, and soon, Mario, the boy. Despite some early missteps, he comes to be accepted and brings prosperity to Mario's parents' newsstand. However, Chester misses "the country" and, in the end, his friends help him hop a train for home.

This is an excellent book, most editions have Garth Williams' superlative illustrations. Well recommended.

Today's poem:

Unique

Not like the others
They know,
Some earlier than others.
Once I hid the difference
But why?
I am who I am
Does it matter
What they think?
Once I thought so.
It made me sad.
I let them hurt me
With their words
And deeds.
But I am who I am
And there is nothing
Wrong with me.
So everyone else
Can love me
Or leave me
But I'm ok
Just like I am.

This is part of Conditions by Greg Schroeder. Available at Smashwords.com.

"I wrote this after being in town with a Comicon and watching the young people enjoying themselves and the older people (many of them) being taken aback by the costumes."

Think Out Loud - Spring

Spring seems to have finally arrived in the U.S. East Coast. This after a winter that most people have complained was both long and harsh.

Curiously, at the start of this winter, right after Christmas, I wrote the following:

It Almost Feels Like Winter

It almost feels like winter
The wind howling 'round
The temps rising up to 30
With flurries coming down.

It almost looks like winter
The sun's rays are so weak
Bare trees cast odd shadows
As the clouds passing by do sneak.

It almost feels like winter
You need your gloves and hat
The weatherman speaks of wind chill
Maybe nudge the thermostat.

It almost feels like winter
But in my mind's eye
It holds no candle to the memory
Of winters long gone by.

So little snow, no sledding
Or igloos, forts, snowballs
Perhaps it's all idealized
A figment of mental thralls.

Regardless of its factuality
I miss it all the same
I love the snow in wintertime
Without, it all seems too tame.

But, I agree with "most people" that it ended up to be a comparatively long, harsh winter. In March, desperate to be positive, I wrote this:

Almost Spring

The clouds can’t decide

Thin, fair-weather cirrus,

Low, scudding gray nimbus,

Towering puffs of cumulus,

Following one after the other.

The air can’t decide

Frost one clear sunny morning,

Warm fog the next;

Icy wind one evening,

Calm, almost balmy, the next.

The sun can’t decide

Bright and comfortable

Or thin and distant,

Obscured by overcast

Or burning the overcast away.

But the animals have decided.

The birds twitter merrily,

The squirrels chirp and scold.

Tabby cat begs to go out.

Spring is coming; almost here.

I love the transition, relish the change. I was happy to have winter and am happy to see it go. Here's to spring, to change, and the ever hopeful possibilities they bring.

(both of the above have recently been published in my collection Moments, available on Smashwords.com for all of April for 99 cents.

Feature and Follow - Change a Book?

Question of the Week: Change the plot of a book! Go ahead! Say what you wish would have happened!

Honestly, it is not in me to change another author's work. I might rewrite the entire thing from a different perspective or with a different emphasis, but then it becomes a new story.

Speaking of a new story, I am ready for SPRING!

Winter Lament

Icy wind buffets the windows,
Whistles through still bare branches
While the groundhog
Smugly smiles to himself
Deep in his dark burrow.
Faith and begorrah!
Who would have thought
That the shadow-averse
Rodent would be right.

Feature and Follow - Epic Spine Poem

I am afraid I am stuck working 12-18 hour shifts so the spine photo is out of the question :-(

But here's a poem made from titles in the spirit!

The Martian Chronicles
Looking for Mr. Right in All the Wrong Places
Onward
Transitions
Finding Prince Charming

 




  

Homage

2013 is now only a "book" of memories. As is popular this time of year, I will pause a moment to remember some things that were lost in 2013. Then read the poem at the end to get a different perspective!

The literary world lost four giants - Tom Clancy, who has defined the military thriller; Elmore Leonard, whose novels had both tough characters and some lighthearted whimsy; Chinua Achebe, one of the first African authors to achieve critical and commercial success; and Doris Lessing whose direct, no-nonsense feminism paved the way for many more. On a more personal favorite, Frederik Pohl also passed away in 2013. His science fiction was part of the wave that popularized the genre in the 1940s and 1950s. I loved reading his "fantastic fiction" as a kid.

New Year’s Day

Just another day

Another sunrise; sunset

Given an artificial importance

Arbitrarily the start;

A new unit of time.

Therefore a day of resolutions,

Of promises and implorations,

Optimism, mostly misplaced,

And good intentions.

Probably better off

Making small changes,

Sticking to them,

At any time, on any day

Instead of this one

Whimsical day.

Guest Review - Transitions

Today, I am very pleased to share Dr. Sheri Lindner's review of my most recent short collection of poetry. I have been privileged to make Dr. Lindner's acquaintance at poetry readings on Long Island.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Schroeder’s book of poems, Transitions, catalogues many types of transitions—those that occur in nature, in the growing up of a child, in the parent-child relationship, and in the shifting perspective of the author.  In each of these types of transitions, Schroeder reflects facets that sometimes stand in opposition to one another.  A poem describing the destructiveness of Storm Sandy is juxtaposed with one detailing the almost unnoticed shift of summer into fall.  Wistfulness of one season’s ending is off-set by eager anticipation of the next season’s appearance.  The  parental desire to protect is counterbalanced by the parental desire for one’s child to be able to bear the knocks that might come his way.  Schroeder’s impulse is always to pull us beyond the focused worries that consume us and out into the world where beauty and significance exist.  He never belittles one over the other, but holds both in tension, understanding that that is the real reflection of our lives.  This is captured most exquisitely in the lines from his poem “Winter Dusk”:  “Grim gray clouds streak by in tatters/a few brown birds snag what matters.”

                                                                         -Sheri Lindner, Ph.D.

                                                                Author of Opening Eden’s Gate

Transitions is available at Smashwords.com for $0.99 for Kindle, Nook, Kobo, and many other formats.

Dr. Sheri Lindner, a former teacher of English, is currently a clinical psychologist, and is also a poet and essayist interested in the processes of development and maturation as they are reflected in Biblical stories and children’s literature.  Her writings have appeared in Jewish Currents, The Reconstructionist, Reconstructionism Today, Kerem, Jewish Women's Literary Annual, Poetica, Performance Poets Association Literary Review, Matzoh Ball Soup, Soul-Lit, The Ritual Well, and The New York Times. Dr. Lindner was awarded First Place in the 2013 Nassau County Poet Laureate Society poetry contest for her poem "Return." Opening Eden's Gate is available on Amazon.

Poem - The Eyes

The Eyes

Look into the eyes

So alert, so bright;

Pulling in wonder,

Spilling out potential.

They will be hurt,

On occasion disappointed;

They will cry.

Each new pain will leave its mark.

Show them excitement and beauty

Encourage their imagination and independence.

Each new joy will also leave a mark.

Then look again into the eyes,

To see it all, filtered.

Still alert, still bright;

Filled with wonder,

Drawing out potential

From the next pair.

 

 

Also check out the latest review of Observations at http://luxuryreading.com/observations/

The Library

#ClassicReads
The following is included in my collection Observations available for Kindle or in paperback.
It is not classic, like Frost or Wordsworth, but if you're here, it likely makes sense to you. Enjoy it and please, leave me a comment on the poem, the blog, or life in general! Thank you!

Library

The library beckons

With promises of adventure,

Of faraway lands and fantastic creatures.

Fascinating people

And puzzles whose solution

Is always revealed in the end.

Take me away from today

Show me the past, the future,

A different present.

Teach me, entertain me

In whatever direction I choose.

I’ve gotten lost in the library

More often than I can recount.

Pleasantly lost, willfully lost

Mayhap I’ll get lost today!

 

Sandy (and no power, heat, light) - We Ain't Gonna Miss Ya!

I was ten days without power and heat in the "superStorm" aftermath. I know people still out and people who lost everything, swept away in the storm surge or smashed by trees falling or uprooted. It is oft said but intimately observed in the past two weeks by me personally, that trying times bring out both the best and the worst in people.

The below, in chronological order, are personal poetic snapshots. Hopefully we all learn a little from this and avoid the severity in the future.

Hurricane Sandy

 

The wind rolls up in waves.
The roar starts out low and builds
Whipping the trees and bushes
Into a frenzy as it peaks and lingers
The suddenly fades away
Only to begin the cycle anew.

The frenzy starts with a gentle swaying

Back and forth in one dimension
Then, as the wave crests, spreads
To every direction in a madcap dance,
Only to fade to a stiff quivering
As the wave of air recedes.

The sound is my favorite;

It encompasses the whole –
The muffled beginning,
The rapid build-up,
The climactic crescendo,
The equally rapid decline.

Then there is the presence of danger

At the peak, the frenzy’s max,
Will the branches or trunks snap
In the incredible frenetic dance
Or will they recover to face the next
Burst and dance once more?

 

Waiting It Out

Motors thrum a steady background beat

While inside no dance, no light, no heat.
Hurricane’s come and done her worst
Recovering slowly, we’re not the first.
For a few it was deadly, for others, total loss
For most inconvenience, disruption, emotional cost
And now the recovery, unknown progress
Waiting’s the worst of it, can’t trust the press.
Lines for blocks at the rumor of gas
The kindness of strangers, the rude horse’s ass
The best and the worst in a person comes out
You see it all when you’re out and about.
Not worth crying over; falling into a pout.
Move on, make the best of it, this too shall pass.
Nothing worth fighting over, don’t bring out your brass;
It’s a difficult time for all, remember the worst off
When you complain you have it so tough.
No cable TV, or internet? Some people still sit
Buried under blankets, cold meals, lights unlit.
Linesmen working overtime; many from far away
The fault is not theirs, working day after day.
Maybe the execs, and the big utility boards,
Should have planned better, or fall on their swords.
But for the individual, caught in the mess
Do your best, know your limits, pass the test
By making it through, staying healthy and sane
Good, solid decisions, despite the annoying pain.

 

Stupid Is

The gas! The gas! It will never return!

Race to the station.
Wait on the line, engine idling,
For hours.
Just to top off the tank.
Because it may be
The last
Gas
On Long Island!
Or not.
Every day
More power to the stations,
More tankers to the terminals,
Trucks delivering more every day.

Another storm is bearing down!

It will bring devastation
And the end of the world!
Or at least
More outages
And shortages
And hardship.
Or not.
This one’s just a regular storm
Like hundreds of previous storms.
Nothing special except
In the minds
Of the media
And the cold and the homeless
And the tired.

 

Myths and Gods
 
The storm had passed
Leaving loss and waste
And a darkness, black
Against which stand back
The stars in bright relief.
You feel the Greek belief
In their myths and their gods
Without our technical clods.
Closer to the best of nature
Even in the midst of disaster.

 

Haiku 32

 
Trunks smashed and splintered
Wires tangled and twisted and down
Awaiting repair
 

Haiku 33

Small warbler singing

Jumble of uprooted tree
Recovery begins

 

Memento

 

A child wandered through the devastation
Her mother holding her hand at a sharp elevation
She wanted to know why so many trees fell
And why the garbage had such a terrible smell
Then she found a thin, long, bare-branched bough
And fancied it her memory of the great event
She snatched it up and dragged it home, a moment;
Captured in the object, cast aside by the storm
Summing up her loss and confusion and scorn.
Because it had been fun and terrifying and awesome
And Mommy and Daddy never let the gruesome
Protrude into the excitement and questioning
And so the branch was her silent mentioning
Bare like the shelves when batteries they seek
Thin like the keening of the wind at the peak
And branched like the rest of her life.

 

Nor'easter After

Snow falls in dangerous beauty
On the fragile survivors.
Sharp winter in soft white clarity
Missed in the misery of "others".

The 47 percent and the 1 percent
Lost in the powerless 30 percent.
Gas lines and travel, psychotic breaks
With gentle, pretty, hexagonal flakes.

It is said, this too will pass
If you survive, you will be stronger
But while the snow is falling fast
Please make the dark be no longer!