Spun

There was an amusement ride at one time

I chanced to climb upon, which held the

Thrill seekers hard up against  a spun wall

 

Centrifugal force suspended us as the floor

Gave way beneath us, physics fully trusted

Regaining our footing we would laugh

 

Today the floor appears to have vanished

We have spun ourselves into a mire where

We dream that the spinning will not end

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Autumn Valentine

I just received my 1936 copy of Dorothy Parker‘s “The Collected Poetry Of Dorothy Parker”.  Here I share the final poem in the book, a wry and timely piece, shining a succinct light on the ever changing attitudes of love and infatuation.  That gal cracks me up.  ~TH~

dp_poetry

AUTUMN VALENTINE

In May my heart was breaking-

Oh wide the wound, and deep!

And bitter it beat at waking,

And sore it split in sleep.

And when it came November,

I sought my heart, and sighed,

“Poor thing, do you remember?”

“What heart was that?” it cried.

Improvised Reeds

Improvised Reeds

It was my mother who taught me to cradle a

Blade of grass between my thumbs

Cuticles aligned and haunches pressed together

Creating the reed chamber

 

The first time she fashioned this magic

We sat by our hickory tree

The rock-hard nuts would sound off on any car

Parked too close to the cinderblock wall

 

My mother and I shared a penchant for silence

When we were among the fall leaves and branches

She plucked a broad grass from between us, blowing

Setting it loudly aquiver, shrill as a clarinet

 

Startling miraculous sound!

Please, yes! Show me how it’s done

It was then my mother taught me

The pleasant nature of patient curiosity.

 

Last Day Of Summer, 2016

cutleaf-maple_for_poem

slowing maples

Last Day Of Summer, 2016

So now I write of the end of a season

Orchids, finches, late morning dew

Seated outside in the shade I watch

My tabby lolling in a dirt patch near

The grasses, rolling and pawing at

Insects; then suddenly preening –

Then suddenly; napping

 

The goldy feline queen has decided today

That the screen porch is close enough

To the real outdoors –

She languishes on the padded wicker while

I entertain my morning guest –

The southern breeze

 

She is seated next to me, wearing light blue

Facing the direction from which she came

In a chair soon destined for the storage barn

We discuss any subject that suits the day –

Ferns in the garden, slowing maples

Gray silver dollar packets of seeds

 

Empty feeders hang nearby

The birds are all quiet just now

Babies have fledged and now they nest

Exhausted, just as the sun is flagging

 

Soon the earth will pitch that sun

Across the horizon each day

A lazy bright stone skipped across a graying pond

Frow where my companion once came

finch-and-orchid

 

My wife will fill the feeders soon enough

Marching through a knee deep snow –

I will watch her fulfill this labor of love

From the finch and orchid bay window

Facing the shadowy southland

Contemplating a new winter poem

~TH~

Archy and Don Marquis

On the tail of yesterday’s entry, I continued to dig deeper into the lives of Archy, Mehitabel, and Don Marquis.  I downloaded a book of poetry written by D.M. –  for free!  The poetry is quite good, especially when you keep in mind the era from which it was written.

archybig

Here for your enjoyment is Sam Waterston reading a delightful poem by Don Marquis, regarding an assignment that Archy (the typing cockroach) was covering.  ~TH~