One Memorial Day's poems

.

No breeze
except the one
made as I swing and write.
Birds still sleep? Not the usual
traffic.

As I

swing, the shadows

of the Norfolk pine grace

pages of the newspaper while

I read.

A small

brown butterfly

flits onto my paper

for a millisecond, then to

 pansies.

Even

most vehicles

sound subdued, respectful

on this Memorial Day as

they pass.

As if

in deference

to Memorial Day,

the flag--and the neighborhood are

quiet.

No scent

of charcoal, steak;

no raucous swim parties

on this Memorial Day. Still.

Somber.

Yarrow,

gardenias

and Easter lilies, all

white, two with strong aromas, all

blooming.

I love

to see a small

bird chasing a larger

one away from its habitat.

Go, bird!

Night bugs

beginning their

'time'. Wind chimes interfere

as does the roar of a bike. Still,

bugs rule!

c 2018, PL, d/b/a lovepat press, Benton AR USA

Mid-May flowers and one poem

PESKY--UNTIL THEY BLOOM
Privet,
honeysuckle,
hated most of the year
are spring-welcome, their aroma
sublime.
PL - [5.11.'18]
~ ~ ~ ~

Dianthus with driftwood

Dianthus and oxalis

Dutch iris. I was afraid they weren't going to bloom. I trimmed the burning bush and azalea that hemmed them in. Lo! and behold, they're blooming.

Oxalis that might crowd out the coreopsis, cone flower and purple jew

A second-year patch of white oxalis photo bombed by a mullein pink/ Rose Campion/ lambs ear. (And the photog's shadow.)

All these photos except the privet one taken May 11, '18 on my LG tablet. I email them to myself, save them to a pictures folder, then voila! I can use them for my blogs.

c 2018, Pat Laster, dba lovepat press, Benton AR USA

April Showers - ala e. e. cummings

april showers

—under the influence of e. e. cummings

Ap

ril gobb

(led)

uP

Mar

chwinds—R

eser(ved)

them untIl all

gull(

ible)eager plan

tl overs tru

ndled them out

Sureen

oughAprilH

itOurparto

f ourW

orldwithw

ind&show

ersEver

yday  un

tilallmo

isturew(as

wRung)fr

omtheair

leav

ingus

Soa

ked--(bu

t)happy.

--c 2018, PL, dba lovepat press, Benton AR USA

A spring getaway to the Ozarks—eleven years running

                                             Tree still in winter dress this early spring

Last week, in Eureka Springs, a gathering of poets from surrounding states and Arkansas closed out another Lucidity Poetry Retreat held at the Inn of the Ozarks Convention Center. The final meeting was the Awards Banquet ON Thursday evening. In previous years, many of us prolonged our goodbyes at a local cantina, but as far as I know, the practice is kaput.

Poets from as far away as California and New Mexico and as close as Missouri, Texas, Tennessee, Illinois, and Oklahoma traveled this spring not only to renew inspiration and gain new techniques for writing, but also to savor the ambience and fellowship of like-minded folk, as well as that of the unique resort town. New friends will become old friends and old friends will be like family.

From Sunday afternoon until Saturday morning, I lived in 505, the annex at the Writers Colony at Dairy Hollow. That way, I had a full day and a half to work on my own writing before Lucidity consumed the next two days. Friday was my time again as well as Saturday morning. I decided to leave earlier than noon and arrived back home mid-afternoon. By Monday morning, we’d had to remove all furniture from the living room for a ceiling re-do.

Other Arkansans who attended Lucidity were Pat D., Norfork; Fay G., Jonesboro; Erin J., Springdale; Kate L., Fayetteville; John M., Searcy; Pat O., Cherokee Village; and Charles S., Viola.

The poem I come back to for National Poetry Month was written by Faye Boyette Wise, a Saline Countian who says her only claim to fame is being born on the fourth of July. She is too, too modest. Mrs. Wise is to Benton what Kitty Yeager is to Arkadelphia: the unofficial ‘poet laureate’ of the city.

APRIL COUPLETS
--from Faye’s book, BLESSED CONNECTIONS. 

Walking my boundaries is daily delight
With marvels of morning blessing my sight.
Sky in the east is a rosy-mauve hue. 
Johnny Jump Ups tint meadow floor blue.
Lavender petals of apricot blooms
Are silky string-art from angelic looms
Hear the brook babble where small foxes drink
The sing-along-song of a bobolink.
Spider webs woven by spinners of night
Leave shimmery veils to sparkle in light
A breeze lifts my hair and tickles my face
And I laugh aloud for love of this place.
Earth is so lovely it’s simple to see
How much more beautiful heaven must be.
Sudden rain showers surprise April’s calm. 
I catch clear droplets like pearls in my palm.
When God walks his boundaries, world neighborhood
Hope He laughs aloud and still calls it good.

Here is one of mine:

PETIT JEAN IN APRIL (Cameo pattern)
Slender
sapling on mountain
path stretches skyward; at its feet
three pale blue
Phoenix violets rise above
winter’s leafy, brushwoodsy
blanket.

Hasn’t this been a wintry April? Brr! Brr!

             The newest building at the Writers Colony at Dairy Hollow, Eureka Springs

c 2018, PL dba lovepat press, Benton AR USA

Blogging: various poems from "Variations"

SUPPLICATION

Mottled
cottonwoods, nude
against a winter sky,
beg mother nature for a snow
cover.
~ ~ ~

SUNSET ON BEAVER LAKE

Sunset's

saber

flashing

across

gentle

ripples

spreads

what

appears

to be

golden

nougat

topping

~ ~ ~ ~

In Eureka Springs, tornado watch, April '18

IF TREES COULD TALK

If trees could talk, what would we say?

--that General Hunter passed my way

in June of eighteen-sixty-four,

retreating from the Lynchburg Corps;

--that Rebel boys fell at my feet,

blood soaking roots in summer's heat;

--that cannon balls so deeply sunk

scarred but did not kill my trunk.

A la Marceau, our language rife,

and stubbornly, we cling to life.

~ ~ ~ ~

HAIKU

library vestibule--

a homeless man

escapes east winds

~ ~ ~ ~

Under

rosemary's gray,

a red leaf from last year

catches my eye. I sit and write

poems.

~ ~ ~ ~

c 2018, PL dba lovepat press,  Benton AR USA

WORKING IN THE YARD IN EARLY SPRING

Trusty tools

dianthus

no wind
yet the yard swing’s moving
with two cats on it

~ ~ ~ ~

The old
spirea blooms
only on the branch ends.
I cut away much undergrowth.
Perhaps

next year,
blooms will suffuse
the end of the hedge row.
Now to set the clippers to new
privet.

~ ~ ~

Meanwhile,
the burn pile grows
higher and higher. When
will someone come to help me burn
safely?

(Rhetorical question: my sons will burn it this summer.)

c  2018, PL, dba as lovepat press, Benton AR

A Guest Poem for Easter

The late Verna Lee Hinegardner, former Poet Laureate of Arkansas

DEVILED EGGS FOR THE POTLUCK

(A Monologue)

by Verna Lee Hinegardner

from Mosaic, published 2011

You remember how I always detested Potlucks?

Well, the ladies at church had another Potluck today.

Remember how I never knew what to take? Well,

plain as day, just like you were in the next room,

I heard you say, "When in doubt, take deviled eggs."

I was in doubt. I got out the eggs.

We still have the same Egg-man we had when you lived

next door, you know his spiel: "Extra large fertile brown

eggs delivered to the door a dollar a dozen year 'round."

And, by the way, he has another grandchild, a little girl,

born Christmas day, "Pretty as a picture," he says

But, let me get back to my deviled eggs. Just as

the water began bubbling, I suddenly thought about

one dozen little yellow chicks who would never peck

their way to freedom--never chirp on Easter.

It is I who chipped the shells from white ovals, I who

mashed the yellow yolks, added mayo and relishes,

I who filled waiting whites and sprinkled paprika,

and I who served one dozen little abortions

to unsuspecting Christians.

I needed you, Old Neighbor, so I

could pour my misery in your ears.

#

This is Pat: Even if the poem's protagonist was miserable, we are happy to celebrate the risen Christ. Hallelujah!