Tag Archives: poetry

OFTEN ONE POEM LEADS TO ANOTHER

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WHERE SLEEP HAS GONE
Where has my sleep gone
once so peaceful; readily at hand

Now I finally drift off at 2 am
words comes to me at 5
demanding to be written down

Sleep, “Why do you delay
denying the solitude I seek?”

Who sends messages
disrupting my dreams
interfering with my waking?

Where has my sleep gone?

BENT GLASSES
I bent my glasses
this morning
falling asleep in them
after waking at 5 am
to write down
thoughts that woke me

Screaming in my head
to be heard
to be recognized
to be announced
to be shared with the universe

Before falling asleep again
pad in one hand
pen in the other
glasses falling off
bent under the pillow  Arlene Sandra Bice (C) 2015

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W H AUDEN QUOTE

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W H AUDEN QUOTE
“A poet is, before anything else, a person
who is passionately in love with language.”
W.H. Auden (1907-1973)

This quote from one of my favorite poets
sits with truth on my lips, slides down to
my heart and nestles there, as it finds a home.

In love with language, words that tickle me,
making me laugh; sometimes outright giggle
words can impress me with their sincerity
depress me without any reason just because
they are a word that forms an unhappy picture.

Poets take these words and move them around
write one higher on the line to make it jump
or rest quietly to let you sigh, take a deep breath
be happy to see it, special words can be italic
to touch you, you will remember those words
so precious that they imprint on your mind
and stay there

Bards play with accents as in persona poems
where you use the voice of another, allowing
your words to come from their mouth or is it
their words from your pen, after stepping into
their shoes, testing their waters, feeling how
some one else thinks. Is that possible?
Or is it guesswork and misunderstanding.

Playing with words on paper is part of that
love of language; moving them around
forming an outline of a heart or a tree
simply for pure delight. The power of a
printed word in image, to impress another
or catch their eye while playing like a child
hoping to leave a mark on the reader.

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WHERE DO YOUR POEMS HIDE?

DSCF3479While nosing around the ‘net, I find a subject that I can fly from and create a writing prompt for my writing friends. Where do you find your poems? Do you make a list, write from one, leave the others for another day? Can you just go on and on, allowing the list to continue expanding like I do? And isn’t poetry just fascinating now that all those rigid rules have been removed? It is for me, anyway. Please enjoy.

WHERE POEMS HIDE
A brilliantly colored leaf falls from a tree
gently floating down
letting me know, autumn is in slow motion

deer that come out of the forest to forage
as I watch quietly
holding my breath; not to scare them away

words of my father flow through my hand
as they touch paper
words that I never chanced to hear him say

re-reading cards sent to me over the years
softening my heart
touch me again as I picture who sent them

peace of home fills me with warmth
thoughts overflowing
head to heart to hand, filling me with love

a pot of tea complimenting the scent
of freshly baked cookies
filling the kitchen with memories of long ago

the table covered with books of blank pages
lay sprawled out
their voices calling me, waiting to be filled
the fireplace crackling, warming my heart
memories of moments

so precious that I re-live them over again
poems hang in the air waiting to be plucked
brought to life
written down to share with the world © 2014

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Filed under anthology, books, general, writing group poetry

Writing Group Coffee

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Our Monday writing group has published its second annual chapbook, titled Heartspeak. From writing prompts, seeds are planted that become words, words strung together become thoughts, placed on paper, these thoughts become poems, essays, and stories.
Some poetry is for remembering and some for remembering with pure joy to bring a grin to your winter face. Please enjoy one of my contributions. The thought of it warms me on a wintry day.
COFFEE
No longer coffee for me
Brought up on toast & tea
I do have memories so sweet
of driving nights to Canal Street
NYC that is.

A tiny cup of espresso
dark, foamy, compresso
sided with an Italian delight
flaky, whipped cream on sight
the best ever.

By my side, my Italian stud
silver-haired, full Italian blood
oh, yes I have memories of coffee
some with anisette or flavored toffee
all wonderful.
Arlene Sandra Bice ©2014

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Filed under Canal Street, coffee, espresso, writing group poetry

Guest poet Deanie Carter -If I Can, with Love

Today is a day for a guest to have her poetry featured on my blog. Deanie Carter was born in Skippers, Virginia. She is a double jointed contortionist that at 61 years old, performed on television. She has won gymnast competitions and is a cancer survivor who has been writing poetry since she was eight. When she won the Golden Poet Award in 1987, she traveled to Las Vegas to receive it.

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Her poetry has been published in Quail Books, Coming Home Magazine, other publications and lately featured in Listen Up! a chapbook that is the result of writing sessions at the Warren County Senior Center, sponsored by the Warren Artist’s Market (WAM). We’re talking North Carolina here.

If I Can, with Love

If I can touch your life with love on this day
Maybe I can be blessed in another way
If I can bring a smile to you
Maybe you’ll be forever blessed, too
If I can bring joy in reaching out to others
Then I will give a message to my
Sisters and brothers
If I can bring words to relax the mind
Maybe you will be glad to see me most anytime
If I can give words of inspiration this day
I know God would want it no other way
If I can do a favor without pay
Maybe I can rest in heaven someday
© Deanie Carter

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About the Cooking……

DSCF3131-001 From the soon-to-be-released: Sitting with a Drunken Sorceress Poems & Prose to Invite You, Excite You & Delight You

About the Cooking. . . .

It isn’t just the actual cooking
it is the joy that flows
from inside me
to overlay every moment
of the
planning
preparation
presentation
production
of a meal whether
breakfast
lunch
dinner
or special little something.

Sometimes it is making a
meaningful moment
from nothing at hand
bringing together foods
like gathering friends
at the table that
blend as well
as the foods upon it.

Sometimes it is creating
a new variation
from an old recipe
like looking

at an old photo
with young eyes or
redesigning a room
for different needs.

It is all about creating
a something to be
anticipated
enjoyed
savored
remembered

and it’s about the cooking of it. Arlene S. Bice ©

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Filed under books, Poetry, reflection

I Came Upon This Door

Our recent program “A Gathering of Artists & Poets” was a huge success with 59 people in attendance. This is one of my paintings with poem to compliment it. Please enjoy.

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I Came Upon This Door

When roaming a medieval town
I came upon this door,
by accident, I thought
tucked into
a hidden lane
a short distance away,
it summoned me
come closer, enter after knocking

I remembered it, but how? I have never been here before

The lamp bid me as welcome
as a candle in a window
it felt familiar
as I paused
letting my senses
respond,
to warn or
to comfort I did not know.

But I felt I had been here before, a long, long time ago.

The knocker beckoned
my hand to grasp
let it fall,
send echoes
down the hall
of stone
cold
secretive, empty

with stories to tell of other times amidst this forgotten pall

As memories came to mind
visions of men, women
revealed to me,
I wondered
what string or crumbs
brought me here
to revive
those stories of long ago

of those folks, kindred who must not be left, thoughtlessly, behind

Arlene S. Bice, © 2013

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