Read a Little Poetry Everyday

How?

How does she do it?
I ask myself.

I ask myself a thousand
timeS.
She is so talented.
Her poetry makes me Happy.
Then again,
so
do her lovely
drawings. Together tHEY make a LOV
ely work of art.

Even during wartime.
I can read her blog and be happy.
I
don’t
have

to be
sad. I can be happy
andGain
MORe happiness after reading her poetry.

There
ARE people
on theInternet
who
simply
seem
to
exude
goODness.

I
have
several
friends.
Poet
friends
who
do
that.

I wonder
IS
that not our mission?

Perhaps
it should be the mission
of each of us
to exude
goodness.

For then
goodness
would
aBound.

WAR
and petty
theFt
even
murDer
would
end.

We would
have
no
need
for
BuLLeTS
or
buLLshIT.

Inspired by Claudia – a truly inspirational poet and artist here upon the Internet. Her work shows us how we can “get together” and “be together” in this world.

Posted at dVerse.

The Outer Banks

Wow what an incredible prompt this is for me coming from M. Bednar at An Imaginary Garden With Real Toads! Thank you so very much! It is truly my favorite place on earth. I would like to move there. But I do not think that this will ever happen.

I just wrote one poem for Mary’s prompt at dVerse so there is not a lot of poem left in me right now. But, if a picture can speak a thousand words, maybe they can be considered poetry. Following are numerous photos from trips over the years to the Outer Banks – and a haiku.

salty summer air
pelicans over water
beaks dipping for fish

Clouds haikuDSC_0029-4DSC_0049-4DSC_0055DSCN2736Gull Over WaterOBX-2007-4OBX-2007-5Sunset-2012

Jack & Paggy

IMG_0047
A poem with two perspectives upon the same thing, from Mary at dVerse. In essence the the first perspective of this poem represents me. The second really represents David as he walks the dogs. However, I just speak from the first person. Jack is our black dog, getting old now, pushing 13. Patty – having become Paggy is still full of vim and vigor at about 5 years of age. They are each rescue dogs.

I open the door
downstairs
mid-day
Two furry noses
greet me in their
special way
Wet and wooly
they emit nothing
but love
Each snuggles under
a different hand
This is true
friendship
pure
Never would either
stray or
leave me
for another
It was always
love at first site
And it would
forever remain
that way

Yet on this
cold
and windy night
the snow
drifting but light
I would question
is my love
as deep and
as pure
as without question
as theirs
as I put on
his collar
and grapple with
leashes
reaching under
her belly
to fit her harness
knowing
that in a
minute
out there I
would be
struggling against
the wind and
the snow
My scarf
becoming
a frozen maul
as it scratches
my face
and scraping now
frozen skin
I ask myself
Is it really worth it
These two mutts
Why did I get
them
rescue them
why
They are nothing
but work
nothing
but trouble
Who wants to
be out in the
in the snow
on a night
like this
grappling with
two lunging
dogs
as they play
pulling
you this way
and that

Jack

IMG_0824

Oh Girlie

Falluja

Sand blows across your boots
sharply raking your cornea
scraping your brain
arid is your heart
dry is your mouth
as voiceless sounds scratch
at your throat
wanting expression
with no escape.

Small dead hands
bleed in your dreams
breaking your innocence
as you weep for loss
into the night sky
with it’s ceaseless fire
it endows your sleeplessness.

One day you
will come home
the fires will wane
with hope
you will mend
where the earth
is not yet parched
your throat
no longer dry
you will walk
among pines
observe birds
standing in water
touch hands of
little ones
skipping stones
across streams
in joyful play.

You will see birds
high on the wing
leaking no jet fuel
but feathered in peace
you will lay down
your dreams change as
little pink fingers
grasp your thumbs in love.

Posted at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads – Open Link Monday.
© Liz Rice-Sosne

A Knock At The Door

I lived off-base in Okinawa with my first husband from 1967-1968. One night living in a secluded area without a phone or car a young soldier on leave from Vietnam decided to harass me. I was not frightened but it really began to annoy me after some time. This poem is a description of the experience.

A Knock At The Door

Pitch black no one around
silence upon the grounds
after ten, all had gone
a knock at the door.

Across from
McToureous Marine Base
in a compound with no phones,
no car, no English.

It was late that night
For a knock at the door
I went to answer but
there was no one there.

Puzzlement nudged me,
I know that I had heard
the hand of someone knocking.
Then again came the knock.

I opened wide and looked
from side to side
just empty space
no fear just curiosity.

Again came your knock.
I went round the house
beyond the light you stood
why knock and hide I said?

Then understanding came,
I went back inside and locked up tight.
You tossed light pebbles
at the glass that night.

Two hours you tossed.
“Remove your clothes,” you said.
“dance for me.” I am
on leave from Vietnam.

I have not seen a
woman for so long.
“Please dance for me. I want to see.”
I shoved a knife through the window.

“You pervert you,” I said.
Fear crawled up my side.
On the floor my baby cried.
When will someone come?

You kept this up for hours, nothing but
Monsoon shutters between us.
I heard a car, it was
the Sarg next door home early.

My being then relaxed
He called my husband at Torii Station.
You were to flee my midnight friend
I wonder today are you OK?

Did you recover from your delirium?
Did you recover from your wounds?
Did you leave Vietnam? Or did you return
To come home in a wooden box?

© Liz Rice-Sosne

Placed at Poets United Poetry Pantry

Your Words Count – Thank you Rosemary

I just read Sherry’s interview of Rosemary Nissen-Wade over at Poets United. I love reading about fellow poets, about their lives, their loves, their writing. But this was a special read for me. It awoke me from a long sleep. It made me realize that I have been asleep spiritually for too long. Within my spiritual life it is the normal pattern for me to “live large” then take a nap. But I seem to have fallen asleep at the wheel.
I have not shared this with anyone but my husband hurt himself in April. He bent over, opened the oven door and something like lightening shot through his lower back. He has done many things to heal all to no avail. We have always been travelers and active people. Today he can do nothing. He works daily (something he does with great difficulty). I realize that now I am quite depressed about this life-change and that I must act upon that. So I have two things to do. I must reactivate my spiritual self and I must walk out of this depression.
Now do understand – these things have just now come to me. So I must think about it before I act. So if you ever think that your words do not affect others even on the Net – think again. Roesmary Nissen-Wade’s words have woken me up. And I am so grateful!

while walking the world
remember the many turns
autumn loneliness

So, I right my haiku. The last line initially was “to reach three sixty.” Those words fit both the syllable count and the “sense of poem.” But I then realized that there was no kigo. When writing haiku (something that I have not done for a while) kigo is important to me. “Autumn loneliness” is the kigo. It was also the first upon the autumn list something I thought rather cool.

P.S. Had a great but way too short time with my daughter.

the bear

Oh how delightful is the artwork of Catrin Welz-Stein Her lovely whimsical and fascinating work was the inspiration for poetry prompts at dVerse today. I simply could not resist her Polar Bear whom I have long, long loved … at one time a totem of mine.

scheeweisschen-by-catrin-welz-stein

i cannot pass you by
you have always been
a great love in my life

you are majestic
you are commanding
were we to lose you

i could easily die
die of loss even though
i don’t really know you

you are dreamlike
your hug is huge
your warmth real

but just a dream
you fade away
out of my picture

as long as you
can remain as long
as the water is cold

as long as
I know that you
are there

we that is all of us
we will go on
we will remain

Shared at dVerse

HIV/AIDS

I have been there upon “The Road Not Taken” most of my life. And perhaps I should say it began with meeting Robert Frost when I was about 15 and then ended with turning my life around through many acts of traveling those roads that few others will take. Those roads have always been exceptionally rewarding. Too many fear the road not taken. Their lives meanwhile stifle. Oh, I always feared that road, but I also always plunged right in holding my nose so as not to drown. So not quite knowing if I am doing the right thing regarding the poetry prompt, I shall use for my allusion Robert Frost’s The Road Not Taken. C.K. Williams often uses two lines repeated to create his poetry. It is a form I enjoy.

The Oxygen Concentrator

One evening I got a frantic call from Chicago, the boss said
The drivers had refused oxygen delivery to an AIDS patient

It was 1986 HIV/AIDS was “a road not taken” by many
But I could not refuse this fork in the road

I was incensed by the refusal of care to anyone
Everyone who is ill deserves proper care

I carried the heavy equipment
Barely managing it up the steep stairs

I knocked upon the door was greeted by a frantic mother
Horrified that no one would come to the aid of her son

No one would touch him no one seemed to care
What is this world made of I thought to myself

I had heard the stories and I understood
The need for impeccable and sanitary care

I went to the bedroom to greet her son
He was under a tent clutching tissues sobbing

I opened the tent removing the sides
I administered the equipment and gave my instructions

I provided education
I spoke of sanitary habits and their necessity

When done I sat upon his bed and we had a long hug
I feared nothing knowing that the contact allayed his fears

His fears were lessened for someone cared
I knew at that moment what my future held

Days later I became immersed in the world of AIDS/HIV
I would do this for thirteen years with a few off for burnout

This aspect of my career gave me significant reward
It was nothing less that a career of love

Robert Frost died in 1963. He was the first poet whom I have ever met. He sat down next to me on the tail gate of our dark green station wagon once the horse trailer had been unhitched and started speaking to me. It was a hot Vermont August day in 1961 and we were rooting around in boxes for bottles of water for ourselves after a long ride on the horses. We found nothing but warm soda. Yuck! I was so thirsty. Robert Frost has many famous poems however, where I hail from “The Road Not Taken” is perhaps his most famous and the poem that inspired me today.

I was introduced to C.K. Williams in 2008 when I came to university to finish my masters degree. I am very fond of his work and I love his manner of writing two lines together. I had been assured that I was up to date on all of my credits in 1998 when I had finished them. By 2008 when I returned to do my thesis that had changed and I was required to take 9 more. I chose to take them all in Creative Writing. What fun that was!

Placed at Into The Bardo relating to “Allusion.” It is also placed at dVerse as a subject not to discuss.

little girl

A few things.
1) I am no longer getting new posts from my WordPress friends. Bummer. I attempted without success to contact WP. I have no idea what I did yesterday in my “reader” but now I appear to be getting some posts. So that is better.
2) I read a most amazing poem by “Laurie” yesterday. It prompted me to come home (here) and write this – I hope that I have not plagiarized Laurie! Her poem can be found here and is for me, simply brilliant. It is called Rusty Tears. You know how a “poem” just speaks to you!
3) For those who have kindly inquired about me, when I don’t write it is generally because I am ill. I try to write twice a week.

my feet
getting smaller
winding
thru
the trees
my pathway
fed with
pine needles
pebbles
dirt
and broken
sticks

all of this
and I am
still
not sure
if I am really
here

i look up
to find myself
through the
canopy
to see
my face
in
the
clouds
but i cannot
see

while looking
i hear
the call of
raven

speaking

telling me
to walk on
and on
for i am
not in the
clouds
no
i will find
myself
a ways from
here

where
else i ask
can i
be

raven
replied
hop on
my back
i shall carry
you
all the way
out to sea

there
in the seaweed
there in
the bracken
in broken shells
and bubbly
water
in a tide
pool
i shall let you
down
gently
you will see
a time
when you
were only
seven

in that tide
pool
you shall see
yourself
young
trusting
innocent
willing
to just be

you trusted me
to take
you
on many
dreamlike trips
where
innocence
was
a way of
life
and all things
gave

delight

hop on my back
now
come with
me
to a time
and place
when you were
seven
in
the tide pool
a place of
warmth
and
little things

a place
where you
still will
be

i
will hover in the
background
watching
out
for you
always

Posted a wee bit late in Poetry Pantry

Laura Star Rain

Sometimes I believe that there is an energy, or that there are some sort of threads in the universe that bring persons together in love even if for just moments. I wrote this poem for/about a woman within a fairly loose group of quite fine artists to which I belong, several years ago. She … her icon simply inspired the poem. We have never met. We were not even close. But circumstances made us close in a strange manner, but close none the less, perhaps as artists together. I never showed her this. Her Name is Laura mercer and she is on Facebook. We are connected and I am Liz Rice-Sosne on Facebook. I shall now for I have always felt that it WAS her. Initially I did this with all different sized fonts and letters dark and not so dark along with symbols. I cannot seem to do this here upon WP.

Laura Star Rain

She has dark moments …
She is one

… toying with her flames. Turning the knobs

This way and that … that way and this….off then on……………..

Colors.

She is all about

color. She must have it.

It … fuels her.

Long flowing
Strokes of sensuous color … watery … rain from stars.

Snails in a galactic state of oceanity

Permutations of ??quarks?? born near

Water hamlets …

Badland flat rocks … for salamanders to dance upon.

Here is one of her whimsical and lovely paintings the sort of which inspired me.

1234709_10201612657539692_521913731_n

Posted with glee and delight at Poetry Pantry # 164 over at Poets United.