Poetry Submissions – Blog University -Day 10

Day 10: Pleasure, Sonnet, Apostrophe

Oasis in remote places
Escaping the urban chaos and pollution
A retreat to relaxation and seclusion
A week of dockside peace and tranquility
Walks in the woodlands in a state of serenity
Evening gatherings around the bonfire
Eating marshmallows and sipping apple cider
Devouring books both fact and fiction
Eating local produce of the utmost nutrition

Wishing that time could stand still
That pleasures always be fulfilled
Sharing love, laughter and rum
Precious moments of endless fun
Memories that will last a lifetime
Grateful that this experience is mine

Poetry Submissions – Blog University – Day 9

snowflake

Day 9: Cold, Concrete Poetry, Epistrophe/Anaphora

 

Cold unites us

Without cold there would be no polar bears

49 flavours of decadent ice cream

invigorating walks in the woods

magnficant handcarved ice skulptures

majestic snow capped mountain tops

 

Without cold there would be no frostbite

death threatening hyothermia

homes with burst pipes

cars with drained batteries

costs of winter clothes

 

Without cold there would be no emotional pain

cold shoulders and shattered relationships

chilling stares and broken hearts

frigidity and human disengagement

pulling away rather than towards

 

Cold knows no cultural selection

a universal experience without exception

a double edged sword to be accepted

part of human existence since the birth of earth

believed to be changing on a global basis

Poetry Submissions – Blog University – Day 8

Day 8: Flavour, Elegy, Enumeratio

Versatile Vegetable
From the roots of the ground to the kitchen table
fried, baked, boiled, mashed, scalloped

Emotional comfort for each one of my moods, frame of mind
Sweet, cheesy, creamy, fluffy, earthy, savoury

Recipes in the thousands creating such a diversity of flavours
an abundance of riches, choices, possibilities

As I taste these memories of my childhood, I fondly remember
my grandmother, feeding me, nurturing me, loving me

Every mindful mouthful is bitter sweet, an affectionate longing for
the gentle soul, confidant, lover of potatoes just like me

Poetry Submissions – Blog University – Day 7

Day 7 – Neigbourhood, Ballad, Assonance

A Neighbourhood in Decline

Condominiums are sprouting up on every block.

Skyscraper buildings reaching for the clouds,

towering over my home, family and community.

Bricks and mortar alter our physical landscape,

and the social fabric of our neighbourhoods.

Local home and business owners are being displaced,

by corporations in need of valuable development land.

Where formerly stood a century old home, now stands

a franchised coffee shop, impersonal without

much incentive for customer service and care.

Green space is at a premium, using Mother Nature

for monetary growth as fields become parking lots.

Buying local produce is less accessible,

as large supermarkets proliferate to meet the,

the growing concentrated population of condo owners.

Traditional neighbourly greetings in the front yard,

have become forced smiles in the elevator ride.

The postman is anonymous, just a function,

not part of the neighbourhood routine anymore.

Sense of community is eroding before our very eyes.

My neighbourhood needs a wake-up call.

Human disconnect only ends badly.

Poetry Submissions – Blog University – Day 6

Day 6 – Face, Found Poetry, Chiasmus

Blind Insight

As he blindly rolled his fingers across her forehead,

deep grooves of  worried wrinkles were prominent.

He wondered what kind of life she had been dealt.

As he blindly rolled his fingers over her eyelids,

puffy soft swollen sacs reached out to be caressed.

He wondered if this was the result of years of tears.

As he blindly rolled his fingers across her nose,

a slow steady breathing could be felt.

He wondered how consciously she lived her life.

As he blindly rolled his fingers across her cheek bones,

a strong frame shaped the contours of her face.

He wondered how her inner strength has fought adversity.

As he blindly rolled his fingers across her lips,

frown lines were found etched in a permanent position.

He wondered what stories have gone untold.

As he blindly held her entire face in his hands,

he felt a gentle tormented soul,

when others would just likely see an ordinary face.

Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep” is a poem written in 1932 by Mary Elizabeth Frye

Do not stand at my grave and weep.

I am not there; I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow.

I am the diamond glints on snow.

I am the sunlight on ripened grain.

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning’s hush

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circled flight.

I am the soft stars that shine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry;

I am not there; I did not die

 

Poetry Submissions – Blog University – Day 5

Day — 5 Place, Ode, Metaphor

 

Afternoon Serentiy

Escape, retreat, sanctuary,

no ‘shoulds’ or ‘musts’ inhabit here.

National ecological treasure, welcoming

hikers, cyclists, rock climbers, nature-lovers.

My personal oasis, offering distraction and,

restoration from the ills and pains called life.

My senses fail to habituate to such awe inspiring beauty,

a lush tree canopy, bold-faced limestone cliffs,

hidden caves, glacial deposits

My eyes feast upon the panorama of tree leaves,

painted in hues of yellow, red, orange and green,

wrapping me into their multi-coloured delight.

Ascending towards the next look out point,

a sense of mood lifting, endorphins released.

If these look out points could speak,

there would be countless stories of people falling,

in love, proposals of marriage and weddings celebrations.

Hiking further along the trail, foot to paw,

with my lifelong love, my 11 year old mountain dog,

(she was naturally destined for this terra),

a cascading waterfall asserts its presence.

Refreshed and tickled by the mist.

Nearby, rock climbers are scaling,

challenging cliffs with a whole new perspective.

A chipmunk and woodpecker are

mesmerized by the breathtaking vantage points.

Step by step along the trail,

mother nature gently encourages us to forge,

connections with the rich diversity of plant,

and animal habitat sustained in this complex forest.

A nourishing mind, body and soul experience.

Away from the rock cliff edges, more inland,

our last destination is the grassy meadows.

Their relaxed atmosphere is an invitation to soak up,

the day’s experiences in a restful place.

Peace of mind, rejuvenation and gratitude.

As the sun sets,

I glance backwards to take,

a last mental snapshot of the autumn foliage.

 

Poetry Submissions – Blog University Writing 201 – Day 3

Day 3 – – Skin, Prose Poetry, Internal Rhyme

Comfortable in one’s skin

Living with Bipolar Disorder is consumed by destructive emotions and psychic pain within a stigmatizing society which compounds the shame. A world where showering the mentally ill with sympathy is mistaken for compassion and empathy. Without a cure in sight, it’s a continued fight to accept the debilitating effects of the disease and the social ramifications of discrimination and violation of human rights. The mentally ill need to be seen as people first beyond the pills.

Public attitudes deeply touch our souls leading our minds to believe that we cannot achieve our life goals. Self-stigma is a force so powerful it needs to be confronted head on so as to not prolong our suffering. Self-acceptance is universal to recovery yet so personal. Learning to love and respect yourself is a long road traveled, a yearning to find peace with who you are in spite of the invisible scars. We do not welcome disease into our lives, but can still thrive despite adversity if we befriend ourselves.