Every so often I think I hear
the sound of a Whiffle ball
on bat – imagine that —
there's nothing there —
only the memory of a run-down, rutted path
the boys once made on the backyard grass,
and even that has disappeared,
more and more every year, so that
my wife and I are the only ones left
to bear witness at the state of play,
— standing at the window, remembering —
years away from the cries
of each home run hit with a blast,
the whistling ball sailing over the fence
into the neighbor's yard,
sneakers falling off small feet
as they beat a race, sliding,
diving into home plate -
the dog watching the show
with his ticket stub bone
On a budding branch,
a red cardinal alights
in a sea of green
for Algot
Ode To A River Current
Knitted along
the edge where
running water
caresses sand,
we stand here,
quiet, listening,
imagining ways
in which days
fold in, forever
looping, linking,
patterned inside
the sounds of
a fixed flow,
never broken
but for brief
moments of falling
for #OpenWrite
Every sort of idea
ignites the page,
astonishes the writer ,
as much as reader;
A poet is compelled
to uncover a poem
framed as something
new, something true,
But while we crave original,
we listen for the echoes
for #OpenWrite with this random word list:
ignite
astonish
compel
frame
crave
Start with a greeting -
more formal than
friendly – and then
a few notes to hum
alongside with (maybe
be in a minor key) – but
the start of something
longer belongs better in
a letter, not converted
into music manuscript,
or else you'll be resigned
to never being finished,
for words elude you:
this cover letter
languishes
for #OpenWrite
Sound,
of you
becomes me,
a symphony
in a major key,
a string of sixteenth notes
strung together, harmony
and melody merge together
so that one voice is two, me plus you,
resting beneath the sign of Fermata
An etheree poem for #OpenWrite
https://www.ethicalela.com/etheree-revisited/
Where not so long ago
there was nothing but
winter, now there is
color – forgotten bulbs
blossoming into view,
in brilliant yellow, purple
and orange, a menagerie
occupying a sunny corner
of the yard
for #OpenWrite
https://www.ethicalela.com/color-in-nature/
There is a nook
inside a room
inside a house -
a small corner
of mess and light
with a guitar
on a stand
and pens and
paper at hand, and
the possibility
of songs of love
and fight – a retreat
in the maelstrom
of a mixed-up world
calling out to me
for #OpenWrite
https://www.ethicalela.com/finding-a-safe-harbor/
Hail, then, to the plants
which weather winter storms and
wait to be reborn
for Algot
Some things
stay whole;
others, break
apart; the heart,
like paper, folded
into intricate pieces,
as worded creases
displace the center,
faded lines, forever:
this is how we
remember
for #OpenWrite
Zeytun Gospels
https://www.ethicalela.com/witness-celebration-poetry-for-armenian-genocide-remembrance/