Featured Poet: Eric Alder, winner of humorous poetry contest

One Stop Spotlights Eric "Bubba" Alder
 

Welcome to One Stop Poetry. Dustus here to introduce today's guest, Michigan blogger Eric Alder—winner of our Humorous Poetry Competition!

As you may recall back to when I hosted Week 22 of One Shot Wednesday, I introduced a Humorous Poetry Contest. Many brave poets submitted poems to be read on a future episode of The Arts Web Show —written, filmed, and edited by artistic blogger Richard North (aka Kseverny). Unfortunately, there can only be one winner, and for this contest Richard chose Eric Alder's narrative poem entitled A Fine Kettle of Fish. As a result, and in addition to providing the link to the video clip presenting a reading of A Fine Kettle of Fish by Eric Alder, I am pleased to both feature Eric and spotlight three of his excellent poems.

Eric "Bubba" Alder

About Eric (in his words)....

"I got started writing in a college Creative Writing class. I had to keep a daily journal and write something (anything) every day. I did the 'dear diary' thing at first, then started writing funny stories. As I learned more about them, I began trying other types of writing.  (I got an "A" in the class) ...I've always been a reader.  I first got into science-fiction—still my favorite genre. About ten years ago I decided I wanted to read more of the 'great books' of literature. Then, five years later I got into poetry, which opened up new creative vistas for me.... I started blogging in November 2007, on my now defunct Windows Live Space, which has since been migrated to WordPress."

Eric's Sense of Humor...

There have been many instances where I have visited someone's site during One Shot Wednesday to read a comment by Eric that is both timely and extremely witty. And when it comes to his poetry, whether it shines through his words overtly, or lingers subtly between his lines; his sense of humor is ever present. However, as you are about to discover, Eric's attention to precise writing implements humor as just one aspect of many quality features that comprise his work.

Following my favorite poem of his that was dedicated to his wife (Perfect Enough), Eric shares with us both his personal favorite (Earth Mother's Song) & his poem that received the most comments (Curse You, Sylvia Plath).

**********

Perfect Enough
(for my wife Tammy)

You wonder why I love you so
You just can’t understand
My love for you just seems to grow
Each time I hold your hand

When you look in the mirror
You don’t like what you see
I can’t make it much clearer
You’re beautiful to me

You note each imperfection
And notice every flaw
I tell you with affection
Those things I never saw

I look a little deeper
And see the good inside
I know that you’re a keeper
That cannot be denied

You think your hair is just plain brown
And sometimes out of place
I like the way that it hangs down
When you’re kissing my face

The prettiest eyes I’ve ever see
They look so blue they twinkle
But then again sometimes they’re green
Perhaps it’s some new wrinkle?

But most of all I love the way
You always show you care
Even on the roughest day
I know that you’ll be there

The truth is plain to see indeed
It shouldn’t be too tough
Our love is everything we need
And that’s perfect enough

**********

Earth Mother's Song
 
I’ve seen a broad field awash in fog,
gray-blanketed like a misplaced pond.
That same field, one dark summer morn,
lay a-twinkle, festooned with bright fireflies.

I’ve seen a great horned owl appear,
alighting atop a tall pine, majestic and wise.
Resting briefly, then silently swooping down
to disappear into the dark woods.

I’ve seen a pine martin stealing along,
dipping between the fallen birch and cedar,
popping up unexpectedly in a new spot,
red eyes glowing in my flashlight beam.

I’ve heard a tom turkey’s questioning call,
seeking to uncover this brash imposter.
A slow, hidden funeral procession
bursting forth to claim their roost.

I’ve heard lake echoes of spring frogs peeping
seeking mates among the green reeds,
the surrounding din of a million crickets creeping
on a hot August night, throbbing with life.

I’ve heard thunder roll along for miles
'til a blinding white flash strobed silhouettes
of stark, stiletto tree shadows all around
and the deafening clap froze me in place.

I’ve smelled the sweet, pine-scented winds
that blow through the north woods, thick
with undertones of green moss carpets
and ferns inexplicably bright in the shade.

I’ve smelled the musty down of a grouse
that loudly took flight at my approach,
unseen through the yellow aspen boughs,
revealing this visitor clumsy in his ream.

I’ve smelled an oncoming storm
blowing in from the west,
deepening the sense of isolation,
submersion in a still-wild place.

As a child I learned Earth Mother’s song
and it still sings deep within my heart.
I learn a new verse each time I venture
into those places where she yet dwells.

****************

Curse You, Sylvia Plath

Curse you, Sylvia Plath
For making me care
To love your words
Words that nail and rail

Tearing up-down walls

Curse you, for your daddy
No one else could have been
Lady Lazarus in a bell jar
Life, a lie, alive

Hiding behind perfect Arian features

With clean, fashion-sensible shoes
You walked on big city streets
Wet and dirty and litter-strewn
Sweater warm against the cold wind

You would have blown away like a bright kite

I want to fill you on your hospital bed
Watch your cheeks flushing red
With blood the ghouls will later drain
Blood you’ve already tried to let flow

Flowers wither and wilt, unwanted

Why wasn’t I a tulip
Born that much sooner
Just to be yours for awhile
Another unloved lover

Sacrifice sung, then eaten

But you moved in other circles
Traveling about your world
A cold world I can never know
Except from what you tell me

Inscribed in indelible black

Feeling the world too deeply
Drowning in too many seas
While the desert inside
Left your soul arid as

Your words seeped out

Could I had saved you
From yourself, the world
To just be a ragdoll, limp
Would I even care then?

Or do I care because I did not?

Curse you, Sylvia, my dearest
For drawing-out knives
Sharp-tongued words
That break and cut skin

Bleeding as real as now

 ****************

Check Out Eric Alder's main blog: Bubba's Place

Eric also maintains 2 other separate blogs on Blogger:
Haiku blog: http://haiku-koo-koo.blogspot.com/
Photo blog: http://bifocalunivision.blogspot.com/

*Come watch the Video Clip of Eric's winning poem, as performed by the various characters of Richard North over at The Arts Web Show

Cheers,
dustus

One Shot Wednesday - Poetry Week 30

Welcome to One Shot Wednesday - Poetry Week 30

Hi and welcome to another week of celebrating and enjoying Poetry. I am Pete Marshall and I shall be your host this fine evening.

Before we start however I have a few announcements to make....

Over the last six months we have seen One Stop Poetry grow from strength to strength, and in doing so One Stop Poetry has outgrown this site and needed to create a new, more structured place. A place where you can continue to enjoy what we do. As we introduce more ideas and features to an already exciting place, we promise to  keep alive the community spirit and love of poetry that brought us together. We are expanding to include elements that encourage young people to write and explore the arts. We strive to make creative writing explode off the pens of young people. We therefore are proud to announce the creation of  www.onestoppoetry.com.

Obviously moving address is always a stressful time yet we hope that the transfer will be a seamless exercise and cause as little disruption to you as possible.

Thank you all also for your support and votes for One Stop Poetry in the Shorty Awards. If you haven't as yet voted or wish to encourage your followers to vote we are nominated for two awards in the categories Art & Poetry. The voting finishes this week so as much support as you can muster is more than welcome.

Now I feel its time to let One Shot Wednesday begin. If you are new or wish to have a recap here is how it works;

1, Write an original poem and post it to your blog

2, Link back to One Shot Wednesday from your post

3, Sign up in the Mr Linky list,(use the URL from your blog) linking directly to your post, AFTER you've posted it. Mr Linky will be open from 5pm EST Tuesday (10pm UK)  until 3am EST Thursday (8am UK). If you need help with this, please ask in the comment box.

4, Go visit others that have posted. This is a great way to learn new forms, meet new poets and gain inspiration for your next piece. though this is not mandatory we encourage you to visit at least one other poet and give some helpful feedback.

5. For some of you I need to stress - don't feel that you need to comment on each poem, take your time and enjoy the read.

On behalf of all the One Stop Team...Happy One Shot

One Stop Poetry Spotlight: Dulce

Today I have the honor or turning the spotlight on a very passionate poet, Dulce. I honestly don't know where I met Dulce the first time, but if you drop by Sweeter Poetry, you will understand why I stick around.

Dulce has been writing poetry since she was a teenager, mostly in Spanish, and only for herself. She fell in love with lanuguage and literature and after reading so many great poets/poems at University, she started writing in english.

Today Dulce is 45 and an English Language teacher, teaching english to adults in Gran Canaria-Canary Islands. Enjoy! ~Brian

                                               Woman Coming from the Water by Fusunyeremyam

Perfect
This much I’ve learnt:

Cannot be always right
So hardly ever- in fact.
My knowledge
Keeps on being
That imperfect union
Between the outside
And myself.

But that constant link
With all its imperfections
Does not undermine
The importance of that bond
Of one thing
To the other...


My poetry is a reflection of what I have experienced in life, not only (though especially) love, but also any other human concerns. It's the best way to me to open my soul and get to understand my life and life in general. ~Dulce

Figure it out

I’ve disappeared through

These sheets and walls

That’s not only

Figurative.

From that start

When our hearts lost control

Knowing we were born

To grow apart

But still we insisted on

Sailing to non-existent isles.

Missing days filled

With memories

Of broken stars

As I woke up.

I’ve waited

I’ve dreamt

I’ve felt jealous and

As furious as a bear

…And I loved you

Anyway…

We could not catch the rainbow

But it was there for us to stare

From anywhere

…And you loved me

Anyway…

Guess that’s just

Figurative

One Shot Spotlight: Seasons with Elijah

Being a parent is quite the adventure, and responsibility. I am the father of two boys myself and one of the things we have always tried to do with them is cultivate an environment of creativity. It stretches their minds and even if they never write poetry or paint when they grow older, I feel the creativity will lend itself to other endeavors.
I was traveling through the blogosphere a couple weeks back and came upon a few poems written by an 11 year old named Elijah. His mother, Sarah, at Almost Normal, had posted them after he brought them home when his class was studying poetry and the seasons.

When I emailed Sarah to ask if I could use them,she said "if we didn't incorporate reading/writing into part of what we do as a family, I doubt he would be where he is." I could not have said it better myself.

Elijah wants to grow up to be the President, so who know maybe we will get a poetic State of the Union one of these days. Enjoy these poems by Elijah. ~Brian

The thunder roars, the lightning strikes
Tornado travels through the night
The darkness brings a cold strong wind
As lightning brings a short bright light
The horrid wind makes flowers freeze
This is no warm 'springish' breeze
The thunder roars, the lightning strikes
Tornado devastates this cold, frosty night

~~~~~

April showers bring May flowers
Drizzled rain for half an hour
Thunderstorms and misty sweet
Is what makes Spring it's full complete
The buds blossom, flowers bloom
I won't stay in my little room
The cool sweet air and humid breeze
Green leaves growing on the trees
Oh Spring, the prettiest time of year
So shout "Hurrah" cause Spring is here

One Stop Spotlight - Michelle "Shell" Rummel

One thing I love to see is when someone mixes the arts. Not only does it show they are multi talented but when done well, the two work together giving texture that many times one can not, on its own. Through One Shot Wednesday, each week, we are exposed to many talented poets, but one caught my eye the last couple weeks for the above reason.

Michelle fascinates me with her ability to mix paint and verse. They are intimate and evocative. She has put together a few pieces for us to enjoy today, and when you are done with them I am sure you will want to head over to her place for another helping.

Enjoy. ~Brian

 The Ocean is Salty Enough

So willful
The water, cold…
Receding,
Leaving me reeling and exposed.

And no matter how firmly I cling to crevices
Rock climb and sand sink
Wish upon a far off star…
I understand that some things are simply stronger than me.

Besides, I always hated tug of war.

So, I surrender.
Sweet suction release…
Tumble me gently out to sea.

Glide me under moon glow
Closed eyes trap tears…
The ocean is salty enough.

Fingertip Breakthrough

Slowly resurfacing….

Clarity comes.

A cautious comfort with the beautiful chaos that surrounds me….not so scary really,
when you look it in the eye.

Reaching up, breaking through...I’m…here… and I’m barely breathing, again.

Kiss my fingertips?

Moondustwriter's Thursday - A Look at the Arts

Welcome to Moon Dust Writer Thursday

 I am using today to stand on a platform and shout.

I have had several friends recently who have doubted themselves as writers, poets, musicians. 

I have to say I blame society for the discouragement. I myself am a victim of society's hand of judgement on creative people. Why? I was bound to art and poetry, heart and soul, as a child. I grew up encouraged to be creative.I won my first awards in art at 5, sold my first drawings at 12, and started publishing
 (well you get the idea). When it was time to go to Art School, I caved in to the opinion of society.
All I heard was: "How will you make a living? You will be poor unless you become a commercial artist."
I had known poor my entire life as well as what appeared to be "unsuccessful." My extremely, talented artist mother is the epitome of the starving artist.  Her joy is in creating beauty and expressing the woes of mankind on a canvas. Those who own her work received it as a gift of gratitude. I walked away from my painting and poetry because I was intimidated and never looked back (until a year ago.)

So here's my shout to you - write, paint, create because you love it!

 Strive at it because you are inspired. Put your pen to the paper because you might inspire another to greatness. Don't look for self-aggrandizement. Art is intended to influence society. It is the intrinsic value that influences not the dollar value. Long before a DaVinci had a value of millions, DaVinci was influencing art students and bringing joy to the common man. Take your words and paint - big flashy stokes, 

 fine quiet ones, or a mixture of the two
. 

Here are two of my mother's paintings; they represent different styles and moods.
 I encourage each of you to use your words in a variety of styles and moods.

Your heart and hands will thank you!

OF MODERN POETRY
by Wallace Stevens

The poem of the mind in the act of finding.

What will suffice. It has not always has had

To find: the scene was set: it repeated what

Was in the script.

Then the theater was changed

To something else. Its past was a souvenir

It has to be living, to learn the speech of the place.

It has to face the time of the men and to meet

The women of the time. It has to think about war

And it has to find what will suffice. It has

To construct a new stage. It has to be on that stage,

And, like an insatiable actor, slowly and

With meditation, speak words that in the ear,

In the delicatest ear of the mind, repeat,

Exactly, that which it wants to hear, at the sound

Of which, an invisible audience listens,

Not to the play, but to itself, expressed

In an emotion as of two people, as of two

Emotions becoming one. The actor is

A metaphysician in the dark, twanging

An instrument twanging, a wiry sting that gives

Sounds passing through sudden rightness, wholly

Containing the mind, below which it cannot descend

Beyond which it has no will to rise.

It must

Be the finding of a satisfaction, and may

Be of a man skating, a woman dancing, a woman

 Combing. The poem of the act of the mind.

Wallace Stevens was a poet born in October 1879. Based on the ideas conveyed in this poem, he had a forward thinking mentality about poetry.Fortunately, for us, poets like Stevens took a stand or we might all be writing in quatrains.

Thanks for your visit to One Stop Poetry today. Our goal is to encourage you to inspire and be inspired. Hopefully we will have a generation on our heels driven to do the same thing.

One Stop Spotlight - A story never read - a poem by Daniel Jay

What I love in the blog world is that you meet so many interesting people.
You read their poetry, get to know them, they inspire you and maybe you inspire them, then some interaction starts and sometimes it even changes how you look at things.
This happened to me when I met Daniel Jay of "Thinking with an open mouth"
He's a fantastic writer with a fine-tuned sense for other people's emotions and a well-trained eye to observe, seeing things that others might would overlook.
He works as a nurse and embedded throughout his poetry you will find his heart for other people's needs and for the suffering and afflictions inherent in his work, and also his day to day communicated through both poetry and prose.
Since I met him, he became a big inspiration for my writing, taught me some important lessons, and last but not least, he introduced me to the poetry of Ted Kooser.


So here's the brand-new poem Daniel chose for this spotlight - enjoy! 
~ Claudia


"A Story Never Read"

I had just put him down and as usual, he didn’t want to go.
I took off his pants and shirt, then, fully clothed , crawled
into bed with him. I read him a story and made him giggle at
all the funny parts, chasing the silly crocodiles with my finger.
It is the only part of my day that he gives complete attention
to what I say – all along his tired eyes were lit with the promise
of purring tigers, lady dinosaurs, and hand-cranked cars. Earlier,
that same finger was sorting through a noisy medication cup,
trying to wiggle a pill away from its pleated edge only this time,
no one was there to laugh and all I could think about was you.

©  Daniel Jay of "Thinking with an open mouth"


And for those of you, who want to know a bit more about Daniel:
He began writing in 1998 because of some hard times that he had to deal with. Back then, he didn't share his writing with anyone nor read others. After some years, it changed and one day, he wrote a poem that changed the way he felt. It was small but said how he felt in a way that was expressive but concise. It had visual appeal to him and forced reflection every time he read it. After this it was his goal to write more that made him feel the same way.
When life took a turn for better and the pain diminished, he was happy - but had never written about happiness - writing about good things was very foreign to him. Then he began to read the poetry of others..and reading has become a huge part of his learning. 
Recently, Ted Kooser has blown him away with his inner reflections on the lives and moments of others. That is what he looks for in his reading - he makes critical decisions every day about the lives of others, so when he picks up a book, he wants thinking to be a sort of effortless fun, and he hopes that his writing might have a smiliar effect..

Autumn Dreams: A Poem By Pete Marshall

Autumn Dreams

A Poem By Pete Marshall

The winters chill is drawing near

As wind whips through my tired bones

The furnace sparks and flares alight

The conkers placed around the home

The cobwebs hold a magic charm

As morning dew paints crystal scenes

The spiders knocked but cant get in

And lanterns glow in darkened dreams

The candy taste of trick or treat

That warms the mouth of innocence

Yet baptised souls will better fare

From witches spells and temperaments

And portals lay as weakened paths

When all who’ve gone can walk again

We pray their souls are one with God

So Man can walk once more with men

********

Autumn is my favourite season for so many reasons, and having enjoyed the plethora of poems we have received for our first competition I couldn't help but want to join in.

With Autumn comes colour, cold, fresh mornings, conkers, my wedding anniversary and Halloween. Halloween is in fact a celebration of the dead...a time to remember those that have passed..a festival that we now celebrate on 11th November and call Remembrance Day.

I hope you enjoyed my celebration of Autumn?

**************

image courtesy creative commons http://www.flickr.com/photos/sis/

One Shot Wednesday: Poetry in Motion

Welcome To One Shot Wednesday

no theme, just poetry

in motion

I am brian miller and welcome to another week of some of the best poetry on the web...especially now that our star performer is here...You, of course. I can not wait to see what you have in store for us this week so...step into the light, pick up the mic, let your verse flow, cause it's One Shot tonight...

If you are new to One Shot Wednesday here is the deal:

1) Write a poem
2) Link your poem to One Shot using our Mr Linky (your name and the URL for the poem)
3) Visit other One Shot poets. Tell them how you felt when reading, encourage them, interact...we might just learn something from each other...
4) Tell others about One Shot Wednesday by including a link to this page on your post.

On behalf of One Shot Wednesday, Pete Marshall, Adam Dustus, Leslie Moon, and myself, welcome to our corner stage of poetic paradise. We are glad you are here.

Moondustwriter Thursday - Featuring poetry by Neva Flores

Welcome to Moondustwriter Thursday

There are so many wonderful writers and poets that I have met in the Social Media Networking Arena. My friend Neva is a gifted writer and singer. We met in blogdom and share a love for poetry and singing. I can't wait to hear her country songs! Neva likens her writing to music : "I am like a musician who can play an instrument but cannot read music."

I personally am one of those musicians who can't sight read; fortunately musicians have ears trained to compensate. I wonder what it is that poets have? I think for Neva it is the ability to express intensity of feeling. Enjoy her poetry which is beautiful to the heart and ear.

Saddest Song of Old

A Poem by Neva Flores

Do you find yourself holding on to nothing
With absolutely everything you have
So afraid that you will lose
What you never had

Are you just letting go of everything
You’ve found so easy to obtain
While crying out for that
You wouldn’t want if gained

Take a look at what you have
Listen to its song
Perhaps you’ll find it’s the very thing
You’ve wanted all along

If you find you’re never satisfied
With anything you hold
Then your heart may be singing
The saddest song of old

*********

Why Withhold Your Hand

A Poem By Neva Flores

What is this perfection that you require
For your unconditional love
This you say you have for me
And put nothing above

The last time that I inquired
And established the meaning of it true
Perfection should not be a requirement
To receive this love from you

If you love me as you say
In this unconditional way
Why do you withhold yourself from me
Every single day

I ask this of you now
Please help me to understand
If unconditional love has no conditions
Why do you withhold your hand?

*************

Copyright *Neva Flores @2010
www.changefulstorm.blogspot.com 

Neva also has self - published a  work of Poetry
"Changeful Storm"

Thanks to Jannie Funster for the great MDW icon.
I almost forgot my weekly question. so here goes. When are you the most inspired??? Keep it clean poets. Moon smiles

One Stop Spotlight: Shadowstalking with Kat Mortensen

I am late! I am late, for a very important date! Forgive my tardiness in posting today. I have a very special spotlight for you. Roughly a year ago, one of my commentors challenged me to write poetry...for the first time in over a decade. Kathleen Mortensen, aka Poetikat, has in many ways inspired who I am as a writer/poet.

Just recently, she self-published her book Shadowstalking and she graciously accepted a brief interview and to share on of her poems with us. I hope you enjoy. ~Brian

1. You just recently self-published your poetry book. What advice would you give to others that are looking to self publish?

Do your research before you commit to a self-publisher. Make sure you feel comfortable with them because you will be working closely together. Get everything on paper and in a contract. Read the entire contract before you sign anything. I can't really give advice on online publishers except to say that you shouldn't have to spend money upfront. If they are asking for that, move on to someone else.

2. When you were putting together your book, what thought did you give to the overall flow of one poem to the next?

The flow of the book was always in my mind. I took great pains to select poems that I thought fit well together and by writing them out individually on cards, I was able to shuffle them around until I got them in exactly the order I desired. I think the book moves through a few categories, but I tried to have transitional pieces to keep it consistent. I also kept themes running through each of the categories. It was a very precise procedure and time-consuming, but I hope the end result bears it out.

3. What is the most unusual source of inspiration you had for a poem?

Many of my poems have come about as the result of something unusual I have witnessed, read, watched or heard. One that I can think of off the top of my head, is a poem entitled, "I Came Greymalkin". It was born after I encountered a cat at a bookstore in a town nearby. The cat is very rotund and I was struck by its unique appearance, so much so that it motivated me to write a rather Shakespearean piece about Greymalkin. The owner of the bookstore was delighted with the piece.

I Came, Greymalkin!

In Hamburg, New, on Saturday
I chanced to meet a malkin, Grey
Of pumpkin eye and pumpkin size
She seemed a harp-seal in disguise!
Or no! With showing of her girth and corps
The belly bulging broadly near the floor
I took her more to be an ottoman--
Or was my sorry state that blotto ,man?

Not so, for lo! The daylight, it was broad;
Forsooth she was no apparition, odd,
This pond’rous pussy shapely as a whale,
But quadruped with undulating tail.
Her shrunken head did seem to be so small
It didn't suit the seat of her at all,
I mused some runt must elsewhere, roaming be;
This puss-cat’s pate, outweighing its chassis,
And yet, in spite of this propensity,
Her bulk and mass of such immensity,
She swiftly swept from place to place,
Between the shelves of Upper Case,
To greet devotees at the door
Who spoke and stroke her as before.
Though other interests tempt her more--
What’s on her plate--not in the store.

Kathleen Mortensen©2009

Happy Birthday to Brian! Is pre-empting One Shoot Sunday for this week

Wish you many wonderful years
Life full of joy until your time to go
Some of the best posts I have read
Are ones that you, my friend, wrote
—Adam

You can always hear
the smile in your words
kindness and sincerity
in each comment
what would blog life be like
without you Bri?

You deserve a great day

Wonder Boy

-Leslie

Bri, Bri what can i say
Wishing you a great birthday!
Happy Birthday Brian
The web is a wiser place with your words
-Pete

You Look Marvelous Dahling - Simply Marvelous

The other half is still being written

No Joke

Please join us as we wish our friend Brian Miller a wonderful Birthday. You can leave a comment for him. Know it will bring many smiles. 

We love you Brian!!! 

One Shoot Sunday will return next week at the regular time.

One Shot Wednesday - A Place To Share Your Poems

Welcome To One Shot Wednesday 

where you get to highlight your poetic talents

Hi and welcome to another One Shot Wednesday, the fastest growing poetry community on-line. I am Pete Marshall, the only Brit amongst three Americans, and I will be your compère today. One Shot Wednesday has witnessed some amazing work by some truly talented poets and I look forward to reading more great poems today. Before we start lets recap on how One Shot Wednesday works

1. Write a poetic piece & post it on your blog

2. Then let us know about your post. Link back to One Shot

3. Sign up in the Mr Linky list, linking directly to your post, AFTER you've posted it.

4. Go visit others who have signed up! Offer support & encouragement. Share your love of words and insight respectfully. Please try to visit as many participating poets as you can. We all could use and appreciate kind feedback.

Lastly, all forms of poetry are accepted for One Shot Wednesday. Everyone is welcome.

Cheers Pete

A mural once told me...a poem by Kavita

every once in a while you stumble upon a poet and their words just speak to you....this is how i feel often in reading Kavita's words at How I write, is mine...How you read is yours. you will recognize her from one shot wednesdays, but if you are not stopping by her place on a regular basis, you really should. enjoy the poem she wrote at a time when she was transitioning from one city to another...

A mural once spoke to me...

by Kavita

Guided by the moonlight

And the lamps below

I bounced right off treetops

In through your window

You can but stare at me

I stand, a proud shadow on your wall

I smiled, waited for you

While you tossed and turned

You then looked towards me

Slumber you had burned

You can but stare at me

I stand, a handsome shadow on your wall

You tried hard to catch me

Flashing low and high

Slyly did I dodge you

My home’s in your eye

You can but stare at me

I stand, a cunning shadow on your wall

You blinked at me in awe

And gazed at my face

My branched and leafy form

Like patterns on lace

You can but stare at me

I stand, a mangled shadow on your wall

You spoke and you laughed

Happy as can be

Then I saw a teardrop

Hide beneath your glee

You can but stare at me

I stand, a kindly shadow on your wall

You may leave tomorrow

Or decide to stay

But I sure will love you

Through all night and day

You can but stare at me

I still stand, a mere shadow on a wall

For more poetry by Kavita please visit her at How I write, is mine....How you read is yours. Look forward to seeing you all on Wednesday! ~Brian

A Love That's Lost: A Poem In Memory By Pete Marshall

A Love That's Lost: A Poem In Memory By Pete Marshall

Alzheimers has had a profound affect on my families life. A while back we lost someone very close to us when Alzheimers finally beat him. I wrote a poem about this which some of you may have read before? At this time of year the memory of this person is always on our minds and i wanted to share this again. Alzheimers isn't just about memory loss, and doesn't just affect the person fighting it. My poem, A Love That's Lost, is really a reflection on what happens to those left behind. 

A Love That's Lost

A petal falls so silently

to land and rot amongst the weeds

A roses head tilts & sighs

its stalk been snapped by wicked lies

each day you toil to keep alive

your dreams of love that never die

but weeds grow up and strangle stems

as blood drips from the petals end.

Your lawn was lush and velvet green

now dry & barren like your dreams

and age has caused your bones to tire

your hands are cracked with skin so dry

you mask your pain in solitude

bereft of friends that vanquished you

and as you prune each budding shoot

you snap the growth of disrepute.

Oh how you once was young & free

you bloomed & blossomed flirtingly

each eye you caught would turn a head

but times have passed & lovers left.

A robin sits and watches you

his gentle verse that warms you through

but robins fight & guard their place

whilst you just laughed amidst disgrace.

Indoors he sits a lonely man

across the table his bread & jam

and through the glass he watches you

inside he cries at nothing new.

A once proud man who gave his life

who gave you all as man would wife

and yet here now he sits alone

the man you loved no longer known.

The smile that wooed a million girls

that made you heart a merry whirl

but now the bones are cleansed of meat

his once large frame admits defeat

he grasps for thoughts no longer there

and through the glass he sits & stares

his children come his children go

the names of which he’ll never know.

You made a vow to stand by thee

so still you tend & still you weed

but deep inside you’re very scared

to lose your rock that always cared

yet still you hide in solitude

the pain that hurts inside of you.

 A petal falls so silently

to land and rot amongst the weeds.

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If you would like to know more about Alzheimers or even donate please visit Alzheimers Society

image courtesy creative commons http://www.flickr.com/photos/iirraa/