LAST WEEK OF THE YEAR

THREE KWANZAA CANDLES
PURPOSE, FAITH AND UNITY
INNER SPIRIT-FRUITS
~~

mugs of cocoa
steam rising
marshmallows sink
---Dorothy McLaughlin, NJ
~~

plump and promising
yet the Christmas tangelo
all pulp and big seeds
---Dion O'Donnol, CA

family iced out
her first Christmas alone
at age eight-eight
~~

a constant droning
the day after Christmas
neighbor's ATV
~~

cardinal watches
five-foot snowman's
red hat and scarf
---Sue Watson, AR
~~

snow-covered aspen
ravens rest on every limb
black leaves of winter
---LaVern McCarthy, OK

Nearly Christmas

ice
silences
his wind chime
~~

sleet-covered
newspaper sack
proof of a new round
~~

mid-December
sitting outside among
the Christmas decor
~~

Winter
solstice near. Night
sky's few stars glittery,
silent--unlike the traffic here
below.
~~

transplanted mum
loses all its leaves
pink flowers remain
~~

Poems on today's monthly calendars

crest wind-ruffled
yet the blue jay keeps calling--
unseasonably cold
        from "Connecting Our Houses"--1997
~~
gave Christmas letters
a bad name ... 2,000 words
mostly "I," "me," "my"
        from "Poems for December: Found & Otherwise" --2002
~~

only a few more
"Behave yourself" days
until Christmas
      from "Dynamic December"--2003
~~

"... freak about Christmas,"
she said. "Every flat surface
gets decorated."
        from "a branch of red leaves"-- 2005
~~

in the south window
a spider web and Windex
await my action
        from "in front of the moon" -- 2010
~~

massive oak limb
    crushing
the antique fence
        from "rising to the top" -- 2012
~~
PL, dba lovepat press

Poems from other Decembers

after the dentist
no holiday money
Feliz Navidad
~~

leafless tree
a pair of walnuts
and the squirrel
~~

art-class Yule tree
flashing in the window
shaped, tinseled coat hangers
~~

dressed to the nines
for the season's first party
her unkempt nails
~~

on my walk
turning into the icy
westerly
~~

winter sun
through the patio window
his palm print
~~

The ABCs of Thanksgiving

(a Dorsimbra patterned poem)

As men of old did, so we bring our thanks--
for astronauts, ballet and calicos;
for doughnuts, earthworms, family, which ranks
above all else; for geese and bright hellos,
                  ideas and jobs,
                  kaleidoscopes,
                  lessons and mincemeat,
                  neighbors, and oboe's whine.
We praise God's name for poems, quilts and rain,
for smiles and turtles, ukes and valentines,
for walnuts, x-rays, yellowbell and zoos.
As men of old did, so we bring our thanks.
~~~~

Ambience of autumn - poems

scenic moountain road
the pines' understory
all colors of fall
~~~~

unlawful
to blow leaves into the street
what about the wind?
~~~~

male cardinal
feasting on beautyberries--
windy autumn day
~~~~

Acorns
fall and windchimes
play. The cats chase oak leaves
skittering across the porch, and
acorns.
~~~~

An oak
leaf falls, is caught
in the mini-rose bush.
Two pots of pansies finally come
alive.
~~~~

Two crows
carp at something
near the pecan tree, which
reminds me: gather the fallen
pecans.
~~~~

Three crows
span the roadway
this early fall morning.
Whatever do they hope to prove
by this?
~~~~

Cinquains from the Ozarks

 

October 29^th

Views from
two windows show
different hues of dogwood
even though they are planted side
by side.
~~~~~

A friend
wondered why—with
my large, attick-ed home place—
I chose to go to the mountains
to write. 

And yet
she, too, escapes
 to a second dwelling
away from cats and colts and her
neighbors.
~~~~

No squirrels,
 no crows—only
 the intrusive droning
of the nearby park cleaner’s leaf
blower.
~~~~

October 31^st:

After
yesterday’s rain
the flamboyant dogwood-
reds, the fiery hickories lost their
colors.
~~~~

The Web of Love--a poem

(Google Images)

 

The Web of Love

(Kyrielle pattern)

 My love is like the spider’s web:

when finished, it’s a cause celebre.

        It’s pliant in its lacy case
and glistens from my radiant face.

         Some say that love is ever new;

that love’s built daily, glue by glue.
        Love’s strands spin out with interlace
        and glisten from my radiant face.

         No lured distractions hide the goal

of meshing thread by thread, till, whole––
        the web of love is filled with grace.
It glistens from my radiant face.
 

In Cool of Dawn

Backyard leaves
of myrtle
crackle
under robin's beak,
upper sweetgum
branches stir
in scented breeze.

Giant maples
line a nearby street
with emerald leaves,
their undersides
lipsticked:
peachy creme
maroon and bronze.

In shaded woods
the yellow hickory,
reds and oranges
of black-oaks
flame against
pine and cedars'
bottle green.

c lovepat press
[revised ala Haymaker IV, October 30, 2013]

Poems for late October

curbside black
garbage sack: three
invisible crows
~~~~
beach sunset--
hungry sandpipers
in gold-dust sand
~~~~
plants in for winter
the Christmas cactus budding
in late October
~~~~
bright jack o' lantern
guiding goblins' paths ... alas,
rainy Halloween
~~~~
among the pumpkins
the fallen toddler
crying for Mama
~~~~
an owl's whoawh
breaking the morning silence
over the deer stand
~~~~
c lovepat press, 2013

Poems from past Octobers

1995
in broad daylight
a lot of naked ladies
(lycoris lilies)
~~~~

1997
'possum on the porch
looking for an easy meal
cat merely watches
~~~~

1998
trash on the neat lawn
no, bread for the birds ...no
mowed-over toadstools
~~~~

2001
red smudge
on the magazine
a lamp-drawn insect
~~~~

2003
the hairless hatchling
sprawls across the 3 eggs
still in the nest
~~~~

2010
road traffic
drowning out the sound
of the airplane
~~~~
c lovepat press

Shadows - Four poems

red lanterns

stringing shadows

in the spook house

~~~~

end of the trail—

tupelos in shallows

wildflowers in shadows

~~~~

the receding wave

seagulls waiting

in their own shadows

~~~~

waiting

I walk in ankle-deep leaves

and overturn stumps

   puffy clouds shadow the sun

   and the buzzard rises

~~~~

PL---from 28 poems submitted to M. Suddiqui for consideration in his 2013 issue of SEASON'S GREETING LETTERS.

'Tis the Season...

Google image of Rita, 2005

 

September 12, 1998

 

rain ... remnants

of ebbing tropical storm--

child fears tornado

~~~~

 

GEORGES - late September, 1998

 

palm and pine collapse

under the hurricane's eye

silence

~~~~

 

hurricane-spawned flood

thrashing the muddy rice stalks

against a rock

~~~~

 

mounds

of white gravel

where the town once stood

~~~~

 

FLOYD - September, 1999

 

wider

than Florida

Hurricane Floyd

~~~~

 

RITA - mid-September, 2005

 

home floating ... now lodged

against a willow oak

hurricane-made lake

~~~~

 

KAREN - early October, 2013

 

What will I write

about incoming Karen?

she spoiled our beach trip?

 

c PL, lovepat press

 

 

 



Fingers, Fists, Knees or Noses

[a Gardenia poem pattern whose origin I couldn't find in a non-exhaustive online search]

HOT SPRINGS, (AR), September 24, 1939. --In an effort to reduce stealing of bird dogs, Police Lt...Kauffman began taking the noseprints of such animals at the Whittington Avenue fire station this afternoon. More than 50 owners had impressions taken of the noses of their dogs. A charge of 50 cents was made to cover actual expenses, and for this the owners got the dogs' noseprints...

The sheriff proposes
that printin' dogs' noses

will cut down on thievin'
and keep us from grievin'.

Let's stop all our riddlin'
and fork out a piddlin'

four bits (fifty cents)
to cover expense.

We'll keep those illegals
from stealin' our beagles.
~~~~

PL, published in variations, 1994

Summer poems before summer's gone again

Google image

 

HAIKU

 

a lone gardenia

blooming on a branch

I did not prune

~~~~
 

early morning--

robin forages from

newly-mown lawn

 ~~~~

 

SENRYU

 

a dose

of The Bobbsey Twins

before bedtime

 ~~~~
 

one month later

I restart my daily

haiku readings

~~~~
 

FIBONACCI

 

"At Dairy Hollow"

 

Long

dead

trees killed

by climbing

ivy grown so long

it falls. The vines sway in the wind.

~~~~
 

CINQUAIN

 

"Fragile looking"

 

Tiny

web between two

split-leaf philodendron

leaves at risk of demolition

by wind.

 ~~~~
 

"New Players"

 

The cats

chase each other

through the yard where children

and grown-ups used to play softball

work-up.

~~~~ 

c lovepat press, 2013





Time for reunions

REUNIONS

R  eunions--whether in families or for friends
E  voke ebullient anticipation or edgy dread.
U  nderlying our attendance is a vulnerability
N  atural to those who've grown apart. What if
I   'm too big, too bald, too bold, too shy? Can
O  thers accept what I've become? Alas,
N  o one is responsible for me but me.
S  ympathize, empathize. Life
                                                c
                                                   o
                                                     n
                                                         t
                                                            i
                                                               n
                                                                   u
                                                                      e
                                                                         s.
[from variations, 1994, c PL]

September Cinquains

Billy hosing the tree down before the brush pile is lit

AFTER THE REUNION
Little
white church alone
again, guarding headstones
of the early settlers until
next year.

BEGINNER BAND CONCERT
Driving
one-hundred miles
just to hear his grandson
play the trumpet for eleven
minutes.

BOTTOMLESS PIT
Waiting
for the pizza,
he eats the entire bowl
of tuna salad--his 13th
birthday.

CRITIQUE
Strange--the
paths our poems
take before coming out
of the woods near perfect, like our
children.

STILL TREMBLING
Two hands
to lift the mug
of tea after tumbling
down the steep grassy slope I was
mowing.

[from September Cinquains, 2003
 c Pat Laster]

Pear season again

pear tree, corner of Couchwood/SamplesRoads-PL

 

From the late Dion O'Donnol's day by day-1998

for August 28:

daughter-in-law's

pear-like preserve labeled

rhubarb

 

From Connecting Our Houses, PL/Dot McLaughlin, 1997

for September 16:

ping of sealing lids--

thought of winter preserves

eases today's work

 

for September 18:

sneaking diced pears

into the tuna salad--

he eats three sandwiches



School time has come again: Three tanka

first day of school
it takes twenty-one minutes
to go four blocks
   then ten more to get back home:
   three schools on the same street

[PL, August 18, 2003]


second week of school--
in homes of kindergarteners
white uniform shirts
  (napkins for spaghetti lunch)
  soaking in the kitchen sinks

[PL, August 31, 1995]


popsicles
for football players
during practice
  (funds raised by cheerleaders
  from the folks in Star City

[PL, August 11, 2004]

Anniversary of the end of WW2/ two sestets in memory of Joe Prichard

A SAILOR REMEMBERS
A flagship destroyer, the Selfridge by name--
destroyers are named after heroes:
Thomas O. Selfridge of Civil War fame,--
was one of the first to look up and see those
enemy planes as they charged into Pearl,
and the first ship to fire back: one grand girl!

IN A NUTSHELL
Whether frigate or flagship, clipper or cruiser,
government boat under flag of truce, or
destroyer, battleship, schooner or whaler,
carrier, cutter, steamship or freighter--
all manner of ships through the years had their day
defending and building this U. S. of A.


[Published in delicious fatigue, 1992.
Joe Prichard was my neighbor
when I lived on West Sevier in Benton]

Three Etheree poems

woods near Cherokee Village, AR

When writing new poems, I often use the discipline of writing a syllabic pattern to get thoughts/ ideas/ images into a workable form. The Cinquain––2, 4, 6, 8, 2—is a favorite of mine, as is the Etheree.

             In fact, “On Poems and Pears” began as an Etheree. Here is the way it looked before I turned it into free verse.

ON POEMS AND PEARS
1-Three
2-pages
3-of poem
4-shrink when revised
5-like sacks of tawny
6-windfall pears, split and cored,
7-skin pared and rot scalpelled out
8-till only solid fruit remains,
9-cooked in sugar syrup for three hours,
10-yielding glasses of clear jeweled preserves.

           The Etheree poetry pattern was created in 1967 by a Magnet Cove, Arkansas poet, the late Etheree Armstrong. “The form is 10 lines with the syllable count matching each line number. It is unrhymed, though it must have rhythm, meaning, imagery OR carry an undertone of a second meaning.” (From a copy of a letter signed by Mrs. Armstrong given out by her son, Britt, the speaker at a local poets’ meeting.)

           Two more of my poems follow.

WE WON’T FORGET

Flag
duct-taped
to the pole
in especial
honor of the tenth
anniversary of
Nine-Eleven. The banner’s
faded from many years of use
but memories of the horrendous,
senseless attack on our country have not.

 MUSING

The
wrenched-off
hackberry
limb––as large as
a dinner plate––buds
at the twig ends aground.
On this cloudy Good Friday,
I ponder Holy Week lessons:
even though the limb is dead, new life
springs forth––a second chance. Hallelujah!

                Why not try writing an Etheree yourself? Send to plpalaster21@gmail.com

[This post originally a column published in Calliope: A Writer's Workshop by Mail, #140, Summer 2013.]

Tribute to an Arkansas poet: Neville Saylor

 

             Another renowned Arkansas poet has died, alas.

Neville Saylor, daughter of Neville Preston and Eunice Bennett Swaim, died in Baton Rouge June 12 of this year at age 90.

            A few years ago, she lived off Highway 5 between the Alcoa and Springhill Roads in Saline County. She attended the local branch of Poets’ Roundtable of Arkansas during that time, taking her turn now and then to present a program.

Earlier, when she lived in Arkadelphia, she was best friends with the now late Hazel Gaither and Mike Grogan, editor and publisher of “Heroes from Hackland.” Mike is a subject for another column.

            Neville, Hazel, and I all wrote for Mike Grogan. Serendipitously, today I found a page from said magazine. How I wish Editor May could publish the pictures in this publication beside the one in the Welch Funeral Home obit.

Mike loved Neville. In this particular issue—he didn’t include the month and year on every page as some publications do––the subtitle is POETRY: and the headline is “The Peppermint Poet.” Mike had his say before Neville had hers:

           “As children we often spent a nickel for a roll of peppermint Lifesavers. Peppermint was cool and tingly. Neville Saylor’s poetry dissolves in the mind and sends refreshing verses through the brain in steady impulses. Neville’s poetry clears away the cobwebs and delivers insight that lingers throughout our daily routine. She is a lifesaver! – M. Grogan”

What followed that typical Grogan-esque introduction was NEVILLE SAYLOR ON NEVILLE SAYLOR: “I have written poetry for most of my life. Dr. Lily Peter, former Poet Laureate of Arkansas was a mentor in my early years. She was an English teacher who loved and wrote poetry and who encouraged me to write.

               “Also a great lady and prolific poet, Anna Nash Yarbrough, praised and criticized my work with love. They meant a great deal to me.

“I have used my skill for passing on whatever came to mind, some light verse, some more meaningful, and some I am sure which may be hard to fathom.

             “It has served me well in my profession of teaching school. I have been a Special Education Teacher for the last 25 years, and haven’t decided to retire yet! At the moment I am employed by the Little Rock School System, and am a member of Poets’ Roundtable of Arkansas.”

Here are two of her poems

 HILL 875:
A cautious moon with uncertain light
Crept from behind a cloud that night
And saw herself in mirrors of blood, 
Deep blackened pools in slimy mud; 
Then she turned aside to look into
Distorted faces, purple hue,
A tight, clenched hand on trusted rifle,
Cold as the metal, devoid of life. 
With her soft rays bathing flesh and steel
That filled the ghastly battlefield
The moon sank lower, lower still
Until she fainted below the hill.

GOD IS GOOD:

God is good. 
So sang the mother whose son
Stood proudly beside her in the church, 
While on bended knee another mother knelt
Beside a flag-draped coffin.

~ ~ ~ ~

Long live the memory of Neville Saylor.
 

[You can find her picture on the top left row of Google Images: Neville Saylor. I worked and worked to get the picture here, but to no avail. Her obituary can also be found online.]

 

Proverb within a poem

It was easy, the dissolution, legally;
harder is facing the return to autonomy.
How much better our informal partnership
before we decided to incorporate.
In the reasoned light of hindsight,
a more viable option would have been
candlelit, covert meetings,
more passionate than profound,
more exotic than essential.
The rush to merger called down a
curse on hard-won, individual freedoms;
thus the union foundered.
Now, darkness conceals clandestine pleasures.

--PL, from delicious fatigue, 1992

My very first attempt at writing a poem

DR. G R E E N G R A V E

A ll alone in the
  B ig house a-
    C ross the street,
      D welt the
        E ffervescent,
           F lamboyant Doctor
             G reengrave.

H ow this
   I llustrious gentleman kept his
     J ealousy hidden from his
       K indred for so
          L ong is a puzzlement to the
            M ind of man.

N evertheless, because the
   O peration to remove a
      P ellet from his gullet--
        Q ueer as it may seem--
           R esulted in his green color, he was

S tung by unkind remarks of small
   T ykes who passed him on the street. He
     U sually became depressed and ended up
       V isiting his friends on
        W ard
          X, off the
             Y ellow Room, at the
               Z oological Gardens.


Maybe it's not a poem yet, but it was my first effort in the graduate class, Writing Across the Curriculum, Benton High School, Summer, 1984, taught by Sue Perry, to whom I will always be grateful.

Journey through July

"Weather Change"

Wished for,
begged for, prayed for
for days--finally the
summer weather pattern aligns:
it rains!!

         I could
         have predicted
         it for today: I woke
         up sneezing, dripping--always a
         sure sign.

The grass,
the flowers, trees,
rivers--and my car--all
needed a life-giving drink. Prayers
answered.
~~~

ACs off
and windows open
   --in July?
~~~

great slabs of bark
at the base of the oak
a pine seedling
~~~

mockingbird's
warning click and buzz--
the cat too close
~~~

Poems written on this year's Fourth of July

from Goodle images

 

Haiku

 

evening, July 3rd

the night bugs nearly as loud

as the fireworks

~~~

 

mockingbird using

its full vocabulary

this 4th of July

~~~

 

morning picnic

on July 4th

sans the heat and noise

~~~

 

mockers on both sides

one scolds the cat ... the other

trilling happily

~~~~

 

Cinquain

 

Independence Day

 

Early

July the 4th,

it's 60 degrees--cool

enough to don my terrycloth

housecoat.

~~~

 

Etheree

 

Celebration

 

My

July

fourth picnic

happens at nine-

thirty a. m., with

a hot dog (cold: yum-yum),

Frito Scoops, whole almonds, and

watermelon pieces. I can

view the porch flag, listen to the birds,

read the paper, exult in our freedoms.

~~~

 

c Pat Laster, written 7.4.'13, Couchwood



Poems of the season

Haiku
two strands of web
move in the wind
shine in the sun
~~~~

the rising sun
in its huge redness
now in my camera
~~~~

Cinquain

"Early summer; early morning"

Watered:
cussed the cheap green
hose that kinked every time
I pulled it farther from the far
faucet.
~~~~

3 Campmeeting observations

Mama
is smiling down
to see--on the mourners'
bench--a bouquet of her hydrangea
blossoms.
~~~~

We park
where cabins stood
a century ago.
Now, the only vestige is a
dug well.
~~~~

Sawdust
floor is no more:
concrete the answer for
those with allergies, flip-flops and
sandals.
~~~~