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For the Wednesday poetry challenge which will also be my poem for National Poetry Month, Day 13, I am to choose a favorite place or natural place and write a Haiku. So, here goes. Thank you to Lisa Bolin of the Garden of Neuro Institute for the inspiration.
fresh waterfall view
collect in soul memories
viewed in my recall
This is one of many inspirational poetry and writing prompts which come from the Garden of Neuro Institute. This is a place for women empowering women.
Seasons -arlene s bice
Spring and youth burst forth, full of energy
Promise, overflowing with bright ideas
Summer moseys in with a slowed pace
Tempering those ideas, soothing
Autumn refines, reflects, savors
Appreciates, satisfies what truly is
The inner person emerges, colorful
Winter finds contentment, a warm fire
Chases away doubts, fears, emptiness.
Spring lights up life
like candles on a birthday cake
birthing wishes, hopes, fresh
new, sweet dreams of promise
quick, before summer heat
saturates every little thing, slows down all progress.
- It’s April Poetry Month!
- So far I have been able to write and post a poem a day for pspoetry.
- I so grateful to be back to normal, whatever my normal is.
- Lovely weather restoring my energy.
- Binaural beats healing music on You Tube. Great for my lungs.
- No fee for You Tube music and lots of other opportunities.
- My newest publication of Running with the Horses memoir.
- My latest memoir was pure joy to write. I relived happy times while writing it.
- My first order of Running with the Horses sold out. Second order due on Monday.
- I’m bursting with thankfuls!
To Love is to respect
With humor reflect
Joy is yours to expect
Hay on Wye, Wales
A medieval market town of stone, painted trim
convenient clock tower rising above all
ancient cobbled streets, oddly orchestrated
more magnificent when rained upon
forty-two bookshops last time I was there
antiquarian, new, used, rare, every genre
a bindery, maps, music, Murder & Mayhem
ethnic restaurants, taverns, pubs with low,
exposed, thick, beamed ceilings, dark with age
immense fireplaces hold a side of beef on a spit
men at the bar appear as old as the pub, tales to
match of highwaymen and the king’s rampage
ghosts of old cling to walls, settle in oil paintings
clipper ships, sails full-blown, depicting earlier life
taking a path downhill from town to the River Wye
it come upon me, runs gently, gurgling, glistening
water flows over, around rocks, gently, sounds softened
a path to share, shaded by trees, bushes, flowers abound
beloved, tumble-down, 12th century, Norman castle
protected by Richard Booth, fondly titled King of Hay
his plan to restore lumbered on, ‘til a Trust takes over
I met him, purchased books about, by, and from him
his dreams, work, inspired, transformed a whole town
yearly festival of books, 10 glorious days, acting, singing
readers, writers, and the curious, famous and not so
a ghost wakes me in the wee hours of the morning
in an ancient B & B built in 1492, my host tells me
a lovely woman in satin, peach of color, bejeweled
someone I knew in a past life was revisiting me.
Its charm began the moment we stepped from the side parking lot to walk the path through the small wooded area over the picturesque bridge that spanned the wee creek and led to the side entrance. Pausing at the bridge for a moment was a must-do each time. We never entered any other way.
I was a novice at the beginning of the racing journey and not greatly knowledgeable when it ended. Yet I did absorb bits and pieces by observing and listening whenever I heard the word horse mentioned. I picked a few winners too, mostly by devotion to the feminine entering as jockeys, an uncommon situation at that time. I also followed my instinct for the long shots and the racing form for the favorites. These were pre-internet years when information was not readily available at my fingertips. Of course, I won’t say that I didn’t use a bit of intuition from time to time, either. Available on Amazon.com in paperback or ebook.
you feed me faithfully twice a day
crunchy, dry food at 7:30 a m
scrumptious, meaty Fancy Feast at 4 p m
snacks in the afternoon while you lunch
you stroke my shiny, black fur with love
rub my jaw below my ears with zest
causing me to meow in contentment
I love curling up on your lap
but you refuse to let me run your life
and chase everyone else out of it! why is that?
Living back in town
loving it, yet missing the forest
longing for nature’s way
communicating with me
trees saying welcome back, to me
spirits running, racing by, for me
along the lakeside
over the gullies
around a copse
sending love into the air
I breathe it in
Occoneechee State Park
restores my inner nature..