Free to Be

posted for One Shot Wednesday week 33 at One Stop Poetry

                           click ~~ come join the fun reading poetry or bring your own   :)

~Sunday Matinee

   
An afternoon at Tiffany’s
a three o’clock showing
a Sunday matinee

slid down low in her seat
buried in her baggy sweats

a tub of popcorn in her lap
a pad of paper lying near
along side a poets pen.

The movie begins
her reel spins

expressions play
classic tunes
of form and style
up dos and red lips

blends of matching words
thoughts in rhyming flow
sways of sparkling bling

united in moving strings
mirrors of dancing wings

hanging off the balcony
on the second floor.

The words of ones own breath
can they be measured
by you or me?

what is good poetry?

a love of words....

exploding words

coating white paper

ending the show

         posted for One Shot Wednesday week 32 at One Stop Poetry

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rewrite~ between two realms~ video

This is a rewrite of between two realms presented in video. The original poem is in the archive.

posted for One Shot Wednesday for One Stop Poetry

between two realms

with every bend in the country road

the voice of a distant grace grows louder

guiding the woman forward as she nears

a field the voice becomes a whisper,

she stops in a cloud of dust and parks,

rising in the haze of an autumns dusk,

she ventures out into the field.

framed in pinks and hues of brown

a herd of deer graze on fallen corn

a gentle crisp wind sails

through grasses and layers pale

meandering footprints worn

a destiny laid out since she was born. 

darkening rays crawl across the sky

playing shadows with her eyes

she glides closer as they begin  

slowly moving, their pace quickening

she swiftly falls in behind, closing

her eyes, letting intuition guide

traveling towards the ravine.

winding down the hardened walls

passing through the door of realms

under the archway in between

they enter a timeless place of magic

where free verse rings true all classic.

gracing the powers of the unknown

she stands back watching, listening

a flutes sweet melody soars

waltzing notes of violins spinning

streams of conversations willing.

joining in thought and verse

one human among dozens of deer

contemplating life and walls of fear

around a table spread of a does delight.

dangling lanterns dim as beats quicken

to the pondering movements of the drum

pulsations of rhythmic echo’s

mingling trails of new beginnings

carry songs and dance with lots of cheer

an evening of festivities with the deer.

12/10 River Maria Urke

a rewrite can be found on video

Theatrical Limbs

One night I learned the secret!
Why my body uncontrollably
stretches and twists,
outward one minute
springing back the next
like a tight rubber band.
My foot doesn’t lift.
My knee forgets to bend.
My muscles cringe
as my hand curls
to form a claw.

It was a night I was alert
open to the unknown
while my body hurt.

I felt the presence of what I could not see,
then..the shadows revealed strings
that led to me.

I watched the shadows for their source.
They all traced
to one that ran their course.

The shadow was a massive blur.
That resembled..
my words were one big slur.

I nearly fainted from the sight.
Am I dreaming?
Is this right?

A Giant held the strings connected to me
as if I was a puppet
for his glee.

At that moment he became aware
of me peering
opening his mouth with a scare.

I cowered as he spoke
afraid
that he ate folk!

His voice shook the room
by surprise
like a flower in bloom.

“You are my marionette for the theater,”
the Giant exclaimed.
“I picked you amongst the rest
because you were the best.”

The doctors call it Spasticity!

River © 2010
inspired by Shel Silverstein.

A Zoo in the Middle of a Jungle

6 am: I sit with my morning coffee looking around our living room,

breathing in the familiar, catching glimpses of memories among the
decor, absorbing the beauty of the Hibiscus opening its flower petals.

My mind begins drifting in my morning haze

 pondering people’s worlds, their realities

 our responses to their realities

the eyes of a stranger

peering into our

homes our

souls

A full size piano in an apartment.

for my daughter’s musical skills

Books galore filling bookshelves

that almost touch the ceiling.

for my life addiction of reading

and smelling paper in my hands

A jungle of plants settled

in front of sliding glass doors.

for my love of life and flowers

A cat strolls into the room meowing insistently

we think he has an eating disorder
  

A girl is next stumbling in half-asleep

with messy hair, and dreamy eyes.

she still comes and sits on my lap in the morning

even though she’s as big as me- I love it
 

Right behind her, a dog follows with a look of, “I have to pee.”

he has never left her side

when she sleeps since we rescued him.
 

  I fondly smile at my growing daughter and our fury companions.

   Hearing the stranger’s eye perceive my full precious life and decide 

a crammed apartment

to many books

to many animals

to many plants

a zoo in the middle of a jungle

A contagious giggle escapes me infecting my daughter,

we both burst in laughter

I shake my head no.. It isn’t that crammed.

I wouldn’t have it any other way.

One Happy Loving Family

Our zoo in the

middle of a

jungle.

Tea with Fuller and a Few More

Wouldn’t it be something
to be at a
Transcendentalism meeting
back in the day with
Thoreau
Whitman
Fuller
Oh…
that would be amazing.

I would fit right in
challenging conventional thought,
challenging each other to
think outside the box
write even better.

I can see it now...
My arms flaring,
eyes glowing,
thoughts pouring,
passion uttered
with every word.

That is when I got a word in
with all those philosophical minds.

Protesting 19th Century
Culture and Society.
Resisting conformity from
Unitarian Doctrines,
Harvard Intellectuals.
Writing and debating for
Freedoms of thought,
Religion, and person.

I would be friends with
Margaret Fuller.
Two women
among a few more
in a group of men.
Intelligent,
Strong
Women.
Feminists
voicing their thoughts,
their opinions
for the centuries of women
that were hushed
and would be for
generations
and still are.

All of them at the table
living way before their times.
The strength,
the perseverance
it took for them to continue
opening the doors for
You and I.
People were laughing at them,
others shunning them,
a few applauding.
While, we will never know
how many hid away
with their writings.

I would love to tell them
their writings are studied today,
praised for the thought and work.
I would love to tell them
they were a part of change,
Inspirational to many,
Revolutionary to thought.

I need to tell them
The truth about Indians.
Culturally
Religiously
Persecuted!
Misunderstood and
unjustly Romanticized
their time through my time.

It would be something
to go back in time
and have tea with
Thoreau
Whitman
Fuller
All the members of the
Transcendental Club.

It would be something,
Unforgettable!
Even if I could only tell them
Thank You!

©River 6/2010