Tundra

A restless wind blows wild
across the barren waste here
where there are only two seasons per year
summer and winter.

I live mostly beyond the
reaches of man and yet am still
touched by his mindless destruction.

Fox, hare, caribou and bear
all survive
because
I am alive.
If I die
so too, will they

I am the Arctic tundra
but
am rapidly dying away.

~*~

© Daydreamertoo      *All rights reserved

*I could have chosen an Arctic creature for my subject but, wanted to say that the tundra itself is alive and supports all type of creatures. With the effects of (supposedly non existent global warming) ..now called ‘climate change’ I wanted to speak from the actual tundra point of view itself.
If the ice keeps melting as rapidly as it is, so many creatures will disappear too. It doesn’t bear thinking about.

For an interesting read Arctic Tundra Disappearing as temperatures rise

Shared with With Real Toads: Transforming Fridays, Tundra

Wild about Harry

Boys will be boys’ My mum always used to say, as if that explained or excused their wild behaviour.
As many of you know I was in the army myself many years ago and I know a lot of what boys get up to.
I saw this picture on Facebook yesterday and just cracked up.

 

This has had over 140,000 ‘likes’ so far. One bright spark of a woman said it was a 21 bum salute in support of Prince Harry.
Since then, I’m seeing pics of naked squadies (soldiers) all over the place supporting him. The forces do tend to stand by one of their own and that is so nice to see them supporting him. Silly boy! But.. you’re only young once. 🙂

Shared with G-Man’s Friday Flash 55

Tritina


Autumn leaves begin to fall
varying colour every day
preparing for the change of season.

I do not yearn for this new season
adequate temperatures will soon fall
beyond the comfort of bones through each day.

But, time marches on, hour by hour day by day
and nature needs her time to rest from summer’s busy season
just wish I could hibernate through winter after fall.

Early fall is beautiful but day surrenders light to rapid cooling change of season.

© Dayreamertoo *All rights reserved

*The leaves are starting to fall. I saw some on the grass this morning one, covered in raindrops from last nights rain, so beautiful but, was also reminded that Autumn is on its way and all too soon after it, comes the long (and dreaded) ice/snow and sub zero temps of winter and I hate the shorter daylight hours too.

Had to study this form and needed to understand it in easy language. I found this Tritina explanation pretty clear and followed it. Hope I did it properly.

Shared with dVerse Poets Form for all: Tritina

Angel of the Night

Dear Angel of the night what a
beautiful sight you are
Awesome indeed.

Did you know expectation
failed and, I was in need?

I never asked you to listen to
my life’s affair or plight
and yet here you are
appearing from somewhere deep
inside those oceans in my mind
where thoughts sometimes swim in
a downward spiral of the never-ending
kind.

Angel of the night take me on
your fantastic flight of
imagination.
I dream of flying with you
but then…
…you know I do.

Is that why you’ve broken free of
the sea that’s threatening to
drag me down to its bottomless pit.

Did you sense me drowning?

Angel of the night, I will never
surrender your light
nor sink beneath the oceans
weight inside my mind.
You are all the goodness there will
ever be in me
so take me on that flight and
never give me up nor, let me
count the cost
for as long as I have you my
soul is never lost.

~*~

© Daydreamertoo      *All rights reserved

Shared with Three Word Wednesday CCLXXXV11 Affair, Expectation, Free
Poetry Jam Letters

The Butterfly

Midway in life’s journey
somewhere between its light and shadow
we may object or, welcome
Heaven’s coming down
to remind us earthbound
the inevitability of
its cosmic truths

Sheer bloody-minded will urged
her to conquer any fear
to embrace life for what it is
neglect the ‘what if’s’

in a language of her own
and, fragment of ancient memory
through a string of unheard whispers
she reaches through the weathered despair
to connect

With the hope she’ll make contact
before the daring human
slips and falls.

~*~

© Daydreamertoo       *All rights reserved

Shared with dVerse Poets OpenLinkNight #59
Carry on Tuesday #150 Midway in life’s journey
Poets United Vice Versa #13 Object/Welcome, Despair/Hope, Embrace/Neglect

The House

© Andrew Wyeth, Big room 1948

This house once had a large family
who worked, lived and played
in each room, knowing its every
nook and cranny.

In winter the big room held them all
fire blazing in its hearth
warming through to their chilled bones

but,

that was then
the parents had now both passed
brothers and sisters want the house sold
so each can have their share of
the inheritance.

The old house sighs…
missing occupants
who listened to its moans and groans
but loved it anyway
and, patiently awaits new hearts
which will turn it once more
into a beloved home.

~*~

© Daydreamertoo      *All rights reserved

Shared with Magpie Tales #132 Art of Andrew Wyeth Big room
Poets United Pantry #112

Doing Time

Dusk played tricks, forming patterns
on the sterile walls
suddenly reminding of the
chain link fence outside.

It was just as well she didn’t
have her pencils or spray cans handy
recipe for disaster to a serial
graffiti artist
still,
she couldn’t resist the urge
to trace her fingers
over those shadows before
they rose too high, beyond
her reach.

Allowed one call
the operator’s voice was dull
empty of emotion as she went
through the essentials to
make the connection.

Reverse charges accepted
she asked her mother if she
could be forgiven
and,
would she please come
and get her out of jail.

~*~

© Daydreamertoo    *All rights reserved

*The wordle words seemed to fit this pic to a T. I’ve always thought that not even a prison cell can hold us if our minds are free. Saw that pic on a Facebook page last week and loved it for the same sentiment. True freedom is a state of mind.

Shared with The Sunday Whirl #71
The Poetry Pantry #112

A Woman Being Played

two parts of the road as a whole © Borg de Nobel

I never knew my father
He died before I was old enough to
have too many memories
but, my mother told me he could
play a piano accordian like an expert.
Although he’d never been taught
he learned to play by ear
and, just as an elephant never forgets
neither did he.

He’d pick it up and music would
soon flow as he’d squeeze it
and, like a woman being played
would make those bellows sing.

*My father died at aged 27. I was two and a half.

Shared with dVerse Poets Poetics: Paintings of Borg de Nobel

Casablanca

In virgin white her eyes shine
bright enough to match her sparkling
broach and earrings.

She asks Sam the pianist to play
that song.
Memories of love and deepest desire
relight the old kindling
as he plays and sings.

Suddenly Rick arrives
tells Sam to quit playing that song
but then… he sees her.

Time stands still as they
drink each other in.
Her eyes fill with tears
his own with angry thunder
yet, there is no denying
the chemistry

That spark of love between them
was still there.

~*~

© Daydreamertoo *All rights reserved

Always a sucker for love and romance. Casablanca Released in 1942 has to be about one of the most romantic movies of love and loss of it I can think of and, along with a whole host of other golden oldies, it has to be one of my most favourite. Ingrid Bergman and Humphrey Bogart simply oozed sexual chemistry. Of course the famous lines are never forgotten either although he never did actually say: “Play it again Sam” at all, it’s what most people say. But, he did say final line: “Here’s looking at you kid.”

Shared with With Real Toads Fireblossom Friday #10…”Lights, Camera, Love!”

Worms

Last term Chloe came home and told me she’d had to dissect a worm in science class.
Getting a meal together I didn’t need to hear about the insides of a worm.
I said: “Don’t tell me anymore, you’ll make me heave.”
She giggled and replied: ‘It’s okay Bren, it was just a Gummy worm!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few days ago Brian over at Waystationone had posted about once having to dissect a dead cat in a class.  I was reminded of this attempt by Chloe to freak me out last semester! …

Shared with G-Man’s Friday Flash 55

The Poetical Lady

Girl Reading © Charles E. Perugini

At last in late sun and moonlights early glow
she settles in peaceful repose
allowing her mind
to wander.

Her eyes see the pages but
thoughts take her on long
forgotten paths that no-one
knows are there except she
herself and, those aches she
hides so well
inside.

Her heart knows the pain
that she carries even though
mist’s of time have
somewhat obscured the
view.

Leaves about her flutter
… she softly sighs.

She reads.
Occasionally writes.
Thinking in ways which only
romantics can
Of lost loves and passion’s
feelings that fire her
soul to paint portraits which
inspire other’s eyes
to shine.

She is a poetical lady
and it’s words that steal her
heart away as they too
in turn
steal mine.

~~**~~

© Daydreamertoo      *All rights Reserved

Always loved that painting. It speaks to me in so many ways about so many things.

Shared with dVerse Poets Meeting the Bar: Writing Characters.

Anna Karenina

Through smoke and steam their eyes connect
and their souls, the same.
She, true beauty
he is smitten, amazed.

They next meet and dance the Mazurka
his romantic assault on her senses, relentless.

She, a trophy wife
married for too long in only name
is easy prey to this dashing cavalryman
whose declarations of undying love
both stir and excite the neglected wife.

They danced up close
separate
come together again and, he’d amuse her
with his words of sweet seduction.

In love there is no sense
once passion’s flame ignites the
heart’s desire
sanity swiftly becomes, insane.

Their affair was the talk of the town
refused a divorce and access to her
beloved son she soon became an
outcast in Russian high society
and, ‘though his love had been sincere
he became restless, missed his
his freedom and cavalier life.

She grew increasingly insecure
jealous and possessive
until he felt stifled and escaped
her somewhat oppressive yolk
to join a war which inflamed his
desire and flirt with another
more suited for wife his mother
approved of.

Poor Anna,
watched him holding hands with the
new love of his life
and with nothing left to live for
saw the train on the track
heard the knock, knock knocking
of steel on the wheels
remembering the fate of another
and all too soon
leaped to meet her own.

This is my short version of the novel Anna Karenina by Russian author Leo Tolstoy
It is much more detailed than I could write into this poem and would take a few postings to cover it all but, the gist of it is, hypocrisy, jealousy, faith, fidelity, family, marriage, society, love and passion.
Sad because she is married but, her husband is a snob, married to his work and keeping his good name in society. He treats her as a possession. She is happy but not content. Count Vronsky (I feel) is selfish in his relentless pursuit of her, even though he knows she is married.
The opening scene really sets the story up as a rail worker knocking ice off the train wheels is crushed when the train begins to move. Anna sees his death as an ‘evil omen’ little knowing then that this would be her fate too.

I love old movies and although this has been filmed several times I watched the Greta Garbo 1935 version of it on Sunday, and loved Garbo’s beauty and, undeniable acting talent. Her facial expressions alone tell a story without any words needed.
The video clip is about 3 mins but, you can see an outline of the story from start to end.

So my genre is a famous book and movie.

Shared with Poetry Jam Genre
Three Word Wednesday CCLXXXV1 Amuse, Excite, Sincere

Hunger

Where is their promise of better times.
The harmony we all should know by now
All around the world there is violence.
Scorched earth with nothing growing
but festering hatred amidst the
bones, haunting eyes and discord
of the living dead.

Men, women, children
sitting, lying in the baking sun
dying to be fed a diet of dust, sand
or bullets
Their only triumph…
a few drops of oh so precious water.

I see those eyes which plead
and know
we are all connected
Their pain is my pain
their fear, my own
and, when they fail to survive
we each fail too.

All things must pass
and I’m impotent to prevent
their suffering
but pray for some relief
it’s all any one person can do
when they don’t have the means to
do more and
when somebody loves you.

~*~

©   Daydreamertoo     *All rights reserved

*I had the BBC World News on this morning and they were showing news that the Ethiopian Prime Minister Meles Zenawi had just died. They showed video clips of the various civil wars, drought and, starving people over the last 20 to 30 years. I didn’t need the sound onto see the despair on faces, to  feel the misery of their hunger which of course,  is happening in so many parts of the world.

Sharing love and compassion with our wealth instead of feeding an endless greed would help fix so much of this for so many.

Had to write it out.

Shared with dVerse Poets OpenLinkNight #58
Poets United Vice versa #12… Harmony/Discord Triumph/Fail
Carry on Tuesday ‘When somebody loves you’

Dirty old Town

© Adolphe Valette 1912

Smoke rises from the old barge
to merge with early morning fog
which will stubbornly refuse to yield
to days later warm-sun burn off.

He liked coming here to watch
the barges pass by.
It was his place to find
calm amidst an urban chaos.

He could reflect upon the
other reflections in a world
of passing strangers where,
he too wouldn’t be thought
strange for thinking
modern vehicles hideous
and new industry too extreme.

He was a Victorian man
living in a new age
aware the barge was London bound
but they could keep that ever
thriving metropolis
because,
he loved his dirty old town.

~*~

© Daydreamertoo          *All rights reserved

The Title Dirty old Town is taken from an old folk song about the city of Manchester, which inspired the painting, and became famous in the 1950’s and 60’s sung by various artists including Rod Stewart.

Shared with Magpie Tales #131 Art of Adolphe Valette Under the Bridge 1912
Poets United #Pantry #111

Enough

A piece of wood drifts close enough
for her to see it had a message carved:
‘For whatever ails, the water will fix.’
She read, then watched it mysteriously
split in two and sink.

Sounds of metal cups and plates
he’d thrown at her still rang, tinny in her ears.
One had caught her head, she could feel
a vivid bump and little nick it left along
with all the older scars
His throwing things always the tip off
which preludes the full on assault
to follow
She’d even tinted her skin to hide each bruise
but, enough was enough
she knew now what she had to do.

She dipped her toes into the water
which was surprisingly warm
Soothing…
and soon she was wading deeper
Gentle ripples were now waves
but here, nothing insidious existed
and, her limbs didn’t hurt anymore

As soon as she got back to the shore
whatever it took, she was leaving.

~*~

© Daydreamertoo           *All rights reserved

Strange where the wordle words take us each week.  This was where they led me. I hate any type of abuse. Was going to leave it as her just being in the water and let our own minds decide on her fate but, I do like a happy ending …lol

Shared with The Sunday Whirl #70