Expect nothing. Live frugally
On surprise.
become a stranger
To need of pity
Or, if compassion be freely
Given out
Take only enough
Stop short of urge to plead
Then purge away the need.
Wish for nothing larger
Than your own small heart
Or greater than a star;
Tame wild disappointment
With caress unmoved and cold
Make of it a parka
For your soul.
Discover the reason why
So tiny human midget
Exists at all
So scared unwise
But expect nothing. Live frugally
On surprise.
The road winds into the distance
rocks, roots, puddles and mud
draw them higher.
Each step one closer to the lodge
built years ago by others
who passed beneath more youthful trees.
Trees that now bend and sway
creak and groan as they lean
to hear conversation below,
chatter to ease the monotony
of the upward stretch.
Clouds twist and tumble
tease with grey and blues swirls,
jackets on and off
in rhythm with their play.
Each stride squashes every day worry.
Layers of adult responsibility shed
as boots splash and smiles spread.
Friends greet each other,
prairie dogs happy to ascend to the alpine,
to explore new territory.
Covered in mud they giggle,
children who play in the rain
because they can.
(credit: Ruedi Beglinger – photo taken at Moloch Hut, Selkirk Mountains)
mountain peaks
rise heavenward
in joyful exclamation
I tickle clouds
make angels laugh
(internet photo)
Yahoo, yee-haw, yippee-ki-yay
another Stampede is underway.
The city is buzzing
with tourists from afar,
chuck wagons and horses continue to star.
Cowboy hats, and cowboy boots
two-step, stomp and dance to wee hours,
the midway offers spinning rides
and exotic food to devour.
It’s a great big party
for one and all,
Calgary’s Stampede –
better than a Game of Thrones ball.
(internet photo)
My tongue lolls
like a dog on a hot day.
It hangs out
day ’til night
to catch shooting stars
from our first date.
No clouds are too dark or too grey
to dampen the spark you ignited.
I stand in the rain.
Your scent washes from my hair,
so recently twisted through your fingers.
My squeaky-balloon shoes
squish along the sidewalk
each step one further from you.
If I had a rooster right now
I would make it wear these noisy shoes,
take away the annoyance of your departure.
Already your absence is a giant egg beside me.
The truth as much a surprise to me
as seeing a rooster wear shoes.
A quart-berry basket full of water
is easier to manage than your absence.
I would powder my nose with an ax
rather than be away from you.
I would eat plastic grapes, breathe fire,
drive a truck with a screwdriver
if it meant I would be back with you.
My mind has shrunk to the size of a pea
my body no longer exists.
I want to wash your feet, honor you
for blessing me with the gift of your love.
As each step takes me further from you
I walk like I have a tail between my legs.
I pretend it isn’t mine.
I pretend you are still with me.
(internet photo)
Women gather in the kitchen
lots of chatter as they greet and hug.
Cousins giggle and dart underfoot
before they’re put in place with a firm tug.
Baba dusts off aprons, Aunty sharpens knives.
Mama orchestrates a sizzling bacon two-step, crisp and precise.
It’s like a kitchen polka where busy hands mince and chop,
links of kielbasa fall in unison, all the perfect size.
Pickled rich with dill and garlic
cellar jars of ogorki-kisome they bring;
use only those smaller than a finger
for a tiny, green appetizer zinger.
Sour cabbage mellows, rolls just right,
“pigs in a blanket” tradition wrapped up tight,
timed to explode flavour with the first bite.
Holubsti! Holubsti! children lick their lips,
women grease the pans. They sculpt savoury treats
to fill colourful plates for the feast.
Baba’s stories bake deep in the oven
Aunty prods, she pokes and tastes.
Mama’s laughter bubbles high,
she makes sure nothing goes to waste.
The table is set with fine china,
crystal rainbows arc cloth from a loom.
Steaming recipes from the old country
piggyback newlywed wishes into the room.
cool winter sun
– red lips flake
path to car
(internet photo)
my fingers stretch
to play notes
on taut strings
my husband yawns
creating his own song
Hello All,
Today I want to share a quote that made me smile. Have a great week!
“Here is the test to find whether your mission on earth is finished:
if you are alive, it isn’t.” – Richard Bach
The following poem was inspired by an alliteration challenge shared by Jarrod on Haunted Lullaby.
Magnificent mountain melody,
otherworldly outdoor orchestra.
Rocks raucously rumble round,
sweet sibilant serenade.
Antlers automatically attune.
Turbulent tumbling tympanic trees
wrestle wild white-water.
Bees buzz bristling bears.
Cougar canticle calmly climbs cliffs.
Eagle echoes eerily.
Dancing drumming deer
join jovial jamming junket.
Visceral vibrating vibrato.
ScribbleDartsfromtheHeart 