Sunday, December 10, 2017

Second week of Advent: a poem


                                                          Advent

         I used to write
         a poem each year
         at this time, anticipating
         the Savior’s coming, but
         household chores,
         the yard, the holidays––
         I’ve made no time
         for meditation,
         writing, waiting,
.
         I hereby vow
         beginning now
         to take more time
         from this day on,
         to concentrate,
         to celebrate,
         prepare, like Mary,
         for the Blessed Child.
         Lord, help me live
         expectantly today
         and every day
         until the second-coming.
        I must make ready--
       again.
c 2017, PL







Sunday, December 3, 2017

First week of Advent, 2017: a poem

                    An Advent wreath. Advent is the run-up to Christmas in liturgical churches

Years ago, I began what I hoped would be an annual happening: writing an Advent poem in the Octo Sequence pattern touted by Mary Harper Sowell, former president of Poets Roundtable of Arkansas. The online instructions are different from what Ms. Sowell used, that is, the fourth and fifth lines of the eight (octo) rhyme. Mine are rhymed. This poem described my life twenty-seven years ago in 1990.

ADVENT: THE COMING OF A CHILD

This Advent will be more serene
since I'm no longer organist--
no preludes, hymns or antiphons--
and time I spent in pressured haste
is now revered as private space.
No preludes, hymns or antiphons
since I'm no longer organist.
This Advent will be more serene.

The yuletide bustle will be less:
my school choir sang an autumn show,
releasing yet another night
for shopping with the family
or entertaining merrily.
Releasing yet another night,
my school choir sang an autumn show;
the yuletide bustle will be less.

Just when the season's simplified,
a grandson comes to live with me;
one curious, crawling eight-month-old.
(Did Mary want to rail and  rant
when Jesus tumped her favorite plant?)
One curious, crawling eight-month-old,
a grandson comes to live with me
just when the season's simplified.    


Published in variations, 1994
c 2017, PL

                                              The grandson, a few years later. He's now 27.

Monday, November 27, 2017

Run-up to December - HAIKU

                                                                autumn-bare crape myrtle


AN OAK LEAF FALLS
INTO THE MINI-ROSE BUSH
WINDCHIMES' TUNE
~~~~

one month later
finding
my Halloween shirt
~~~

flying
into the birdbath
leaves and shadows
~~~

CAT JUMPS TO THE RIM
OF THE BIRDBATH . . . PERKS HIS EARS
AT A FLOATING LEAF
~~~

skimming
in the lake water
trees and clouds
(photo, S. Breidenthal, AD-G)
~~~

late November
beyond the bare tree, a flock
of blackbirds fly by
~~~

A THUNDERSTORM
INTERRUPTING
MY RAKING
~~~

grandson in a crape myrtle at The Wharf

c 2017 PL dba lovepat press




Tuesday, November 21, 2017

"Improv on 4 lines of Frost" - poem






IMPROV ON FOUR LINES OF FROST

It would take me forever to recite
all that’s not new in where we find ourselves,
to live once more on family’s old home place
now that my mother, your great-granny’s gone.
The house is mine, as eldest, to maintain,
and ours, my grandson, since you’re mine to rear.
Let’s walk around the grounds where I once played:
the chinaberry here, persimmon there.
Mulberry leaves outside my bedroom swayed
in wind, threw ghostly shadows on the wall.
That yard, which neighbors keep immaculate,
grew our potatoes, limas, purple hulls.
When I was six like you, this grassy patch
played host to jimpsonweed and cockle burr.
Back there, the woods, which some years Grandpa set
on fire by accident, sit tamed in streets
like suburbs. Muscadines, blackberry vines,
plum thickets, black-eyed Susans—all are gone.
I’m going to put you in your bed, if first
I have to make you build it. Come, the light.

c 2017,  Pat Laster dba as lovepat press

published in:
Lucidity Poetry Journal II, 2012
Grist (MSPS Anthology), 2013
Hiding Myself into Safety: Short Stories & Long Poems, 2016



Wednesday, November 15, 2017

Rain and other subjects - poems

HAIKU

rain
running along the roof line
away from the storm
~~~

CINQUAINS

Last night,
a thunderstorm.
This morning, pine needles
carpet streets and roadways like brown
velvet.
~~~

THE SAFARI ROOM-I
Couldn't
tell if it was
thunder or the traffic
this early Sunday evening in
Piggott.

HEAR ME ROAR - II
Thirty
minutes later,
thunder rumbled around
this building as if to say, "I'm
thunder!"
~~~





SHOO! (FLICK)

The rim
of my coffee
cup close to the fireplace
sports an Asian beetle nosing
around.

POST-RETREAT

Sleeping
around the clock
after a week away
with no op for my usual
naptime.

c 2017 PL, dba lovepat press

Sunday, November 5, 2017

Autumn photos and poems


Wary/ like a guard dog/ or the secret service/ Greye checks the yard with feline eyes/ then sits.


a flock of blackbirds
flying down to the cotton
no scarecrow around


Lady/bug lights on my/ puzzle page. Sans even/ a hello! I quickly flick it/ away.


A squirrel/ under the car/ forages for acorns/ abundant from the wind in the/ oak tree.


sunset
adding its colors
to autumn foliage
--Dorothy McLaughlin, from our calendar,
CONNECTING OUR HOUSES

c 2017 PL & DMcL, co-author's of Connecting Our Houses, a perpetual haiku calendar, out of print


Friday, October 27, 2017

Deep into Autumn: POEMS

# 315
While I
make coffee, Greye
sits apace staring at
his food dish--patiently--still as
marble.
~~~

#317
I watch
as a goldfinch
takes a long bath in fresh
water. Nearby, yellow maples
drop leaves.
~~~

#320
No birds
singing; so still,
the far-off highway drone
is audible--till a pickup
passes.
~~~

#323
Spider
webs everywhere
there're two objects to start
and end with. In one, two perfect
circles.
Builders
spun while I slept,
designed webs CD-sized
or old 45s--too fine to
capture
photos;
too sunny to
get close. What industry!
Examples of Mother Nature's
beauty.
~~~


c 2017 PL dba lovepat press