We’re three weeks into this challenge already. I don’t know how it is for you, but for me, it feels like we just started November a day or two ago. It’s like complete warp drive.
For today’s prompt, take the phrase “Whenever (blank),” replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then write your poem. Example titles could be: “Whenever I write a poem,” “Whenever something good happens,” “Whenever never,” etc.
Here’s my attempt:
“Whenever the phone rings”
I expect a million dollars
or a death in the family.
If I don’t know the caller,
I expect a million dollars.
If I do and their voice falters,
I always think fatality.
I expect a million dollars
or a death in the family.
*****
Follow me on Twitter @robertleebrewer
Or check out my other blog at: My Name Is Not Bob
WHENEVER YOU’RE NEAR
My hands shake,
my knees weaken
my voice breaks
without even speakin’.
My heart pound,
my face sweats
my fingers tingle
my mind forgets.
My voice lowers,
my eyes see,
whenever you’re near
you’re my all to me.
My mind forgets —- how true! and isn’t it amazing when this kind of behavior gets understood by “you” as attraction, not craziness?
Way to start us out, Walt! Beautiful!
Started reading from bottom up …snappy loving roll … Write on
Beautiful & romantic
What a wonderful way to begin the day of poetry.
Ah…isn’t that the best feeling! Great poem, Walt!
Whenever the Mist…
…hangs heavy on the cemetery
where water beads on old stone crosses
and granite angels wear a teardrop necklace
as they mourn the remains beneath them.
Crows bicker, unseen, over the deserted playground
where children’s swings sway
against the drifting drops.
Grey skies hold no hint of sun
but still the chains squeak…squeak.
We walk on by
under the lonely cry of an inland gull.
Such a mood-inducing poem. Excellent job.
Exquisite -simply profoundly exquisite
Heavy on imagery, and one that I can imagine quite easily in my mind. Thank you
Vivid and beautifully penned melancholy.
Incredible imagery. The first stanza is exquisite.
beautiful.
This is so beautiful.
Wonderful imagery…see and hear the poem!
Beautiful, evocative and a teensy bit spooky. Excellent.
Very beautiful
Love it! “granite angels wear a teardrop necklace” – how stunning.
Weird. I just got a message that told me I was ‘posting my comments too quickly. Slow down!’
What does that even mean?
Anyway, Walt, that was a lovely love song?
leather – you really set the atmosphere. Wow.
Robert – isn’t it weird how those thoughts dash through our minds?
RJ- That happens when others try to post at the same time.
Haha …. First time for you RJ? I was beginning to think “slow down” was my new middle name!
mhmmm careful with smiley faces ….the anonymous robotic editor will tell you ” you’ve said this already”…, whenever this happens….. 
See y’all later
Not the first time, but it hasn’t happened for a while. Now today? That’s another story. It’s happened a couple of times. Yikes!
I get that message sometimes even though I have posted nothing previously….h-m-m-m.
Tears fall from heaven
Whenever she is happy
Blissful feels the rain
Oooh ….has me humming
“Whenever the Grays meet the Blues”
Sandwiched between harsh light
and gray windows
I choose gray light
where at least a water color sky
offers cold greeting
and the small remains of yellow
dot the still green grass.
I color in the rest with red socks
and blue sleeves
before confronting the first day
of melancholy.
Perhaps I’ll dance
this afternoon.
WOW…but then again Raven you might simply use that exclamation as your middle name
Ah.. this is beautifully painted, an art in poetry that I love to see
I agree with Pearl, you can definitely try WOW for ur middle name 
I love the simplicity of this AND the lovely surprise in the final couplet.
This is one I’ll reread several times and sigh in awe every time.
Wonderful
Again, you did it perfectly. Thanks – mosk
So there’s hope, right? Beautiful.
Add me to the list of admirers. Love this piece!
Thanks everyone. I have to admit, this is not one of my favorites. Maybe I mis-judged it
Whenever Clouds of Darkness Block the Sun
I want to scream and grab my knotted hair
pull the teabag roots with all my might
run into my closet full of rags.
Austere in light a contrast palpable
which mocks the better off across the street
as dirt discoloring this shackled house
peels layered trappings of these squalid times.
Ingrained the pain dying to break free
a front that blows a line across the sky.
When will we turn from hazy dreams and shine again?
Laurie … You captured the frustration perfectly “scream and grab my knotted hair..tun into my closet….”. Oh just YAY,,!!!
WHENEVER AND EVER
In a shadowed mist, you enter my thoughts
and I ought concentrate on the work at hand.
But in the grand scheme of things one fact
rings true. I love you. I love you today,
as each breath I take is full of life;
full of you. I will try to love you tomorrow.
The promise of every next time blooms
in the heart and mind of one so nurtured
and made so whole. I have loved you yesterday,
in the silence of our distance, the insistence
of my heart to seek you out, drives my steps
and brings me to you. This day. This week.
And months and years and years, all my fears
disappear. You are always here.
Whenever and ever.
I see a love chapbook on varied permutations of love all lyrically lovely rippling whenever …..
Hear, hear!
Woke up with this one already rattling around in my head this morning. Too much to do to get ready for Thanksgiving, so… I changed my “sleeping title” (“Why Not?”) to fit the prompt (“Whenever Spent”). Works for me!
(With a nod to De Jackson — who probably inspired this one with her “Best Ever Moment” poem yesterday. Thanks De!)
Whenever Spent
Why can’t we
(just this once)
call in sick; stay
in our jammies
all day (like kids on
Christmas morning); eat
pancakes for breakfast,
(lunch & dinner), and not
think about tomorrow?
Perfection!
Why not? delightful
I second that – and why not?
Thank you Marie, Pearl & Mosk! Think I’ll put my jammies on and go make some pancakes!
Great poem, PSC! Thanks for the nod. And I’m with you. All sounds WONDERFUL.
Thanks, De! The thought of a day like this does appeal to me!
Thanks again — for the kind words, AND the idea. 
Wow, you guys! Every poem, a delight!
Whenever Preferred to Whatever
Have you noticed the exasperated sigh
drifting through you beyond ceilings to the sky
Ah for just one hope tossed “whenever” said
In place of the head shaking “whatever” said instead
Sounds like teenager woes!
Whenever I Add Up Numbers
In the slipping shift of sand through
the crystal clock
a shivered chilly tick-tick-toc
Perfectly captures our intermittent flashes of our own mortality
Ooh thank you Dan – much appreciated.
Well the physical clocks in my house are all different times. Ooooh!
Whenever Rain Falls
whenever rain falls
on open lotus blossoms
sweetness in your hair
this is wonderful! – it’s so vivid.
Whenever I See A JFK Documentary
from who or whatever perspective
matters not
tears fall fresh as then
grief sears newly shot
His assassination is one of my earliest memories. Clear, vivid, and disturbing.
Yes, think if one was young wound is so deep …. hurts when touched, touched when hurt so young
“John-John” was two years younger than I at the time. I remember feeling so very sorry for him.
That November day left a mark on us and the world.
As a child, I could not understand how it could happen that someone had shot the leader of our neighbour country. Sadly, it added a very long word to a list of new vocabulary. ):
This was perfect.
Aw Mosk – that means a great deal – thank you.
Whenever the Trumpet Blows
When the trumpet blows
On that glorious day
And the Lord, our God
Takes His children away
Will you go with us
Or, perhaps, you will stay
When the trumpet blows
On that glorious day
Don’t be left behind
On that glorious day
When the trumpet blows
And we fly away
To our Heavenly home
Where forever we’ll stay
Don’t be left behind
On that glorious day
Just believe in Christ
Accept Him and obey
And you’ll rise with us
On that glorious day
When the trumpet blows
And He takes us away
Just believe in Christ
Accept Him and obey
We will sing His praise
On that glorious day
When the trumpet blows
And we fly away
To our Heavenly home
Where forever we’ll stay
We will sing His praise
On that glorious day
Beautiful! You wrote this so quickly, Earl! This would have taken me hours!
Whenever Mornimg Comes
Grandfather used to laughingly say “It’s a good day if your feet hit the floor”
I instead inventory all that is, within and without and anxiously reach for more
I’m with you on that one!
)
Whenever You ….
Whenever you smile
It makes the worst day better
Smile for me always
Whenever you laugh
It makes my best day better
Laugh for me always
Whenever you pray
It makes God smile down on you
Pray to Him always
Very worthwhile words…
And more uplifting beauty, lifting my eyes to Him. Thank you, Earl.
Whenever you look at me that way…
My heart starts to race
And I feel a flush creeping
From my toes to my face
I cannot resist you
Your curves and allure
Arouse a rare passion
Fulfilling and pure
And I let you please me
With pleasure and pain
You vex and you tease me
And drive me insane
And I vow to ignore you
But your strength and your guile
As I return to explore you
Stir my frown and my smile
And my firmest endeavor
Melts in your caress
My lips moan never, never
But my heart answers yes
As you unleash within me
An ocean of fears
Of longing, desire
Of laughter and tears
While you simply lie there
Innocent as can be
Completely oblivious
To the tempest in me
But I return to you
Again and again
You beautiful creature…
You little old pen
BRAVO,, ,!! you got me!
Me too!
And me.
Yup! For sure!
Standing “O!”
Big smile –
thanks
“WHENEVER” TIME
Whenever Mother
Nature lets down her hair, it’s
time to talk turkey.
Lol….thanks Willy good one!
Cute! I’m ready.
Whenever You Read This Long-Titled Would-be Shadorma, and You Think, “What On EARTH is She Talking About?!,” the Poet will Understand Completely.
Whenever
Buckeyes Roll Into
The Big House
(Not The Shoe),
Scarlet and Gray / Maize and Blue
Make a Dreadful Mix.
Good one Marie….from title on…I still think I had come down with a bad case of Jet flu:)
Mhmmm or did this one just fly over this still slightly besotted head?
Heehee! Probably!
The Buckeyes and the Gators are both having a bad year. But, there’s always next year.
Sorry, I know it’s somewhat blasphemy to mention the Buckeyes and Gators in the same sentence, but that’s the way it is this year.
LOL! Too true, unfortunately.
Whenever Turpentine
In the tempested tang of turpentine
You come in conflagration of cobalt and
Burnt umber burnt into each chamber of my beating heart
On the blazing palette left behind when yours stopped
Poignant piece, Pearl! (Apologies for the alliteration!)
Whenever We Wake Up
Whenever we wake up
From our selfish induced stupor
Will it be too late to take the steps
To correct the damage we’ve done
Or will we just fall back
Into our selfish trance
With our heads in the sand
Our hands out palms up
Waiting for the crumbs
That others provide
Or will we get mad
Whenever we wake up
And see this great nation
Being trampled into oblivion
By those we have elected
To protect us and care for us
When instead they march on
To their own doomed drumbeat
Leading us all down the path
To our own destruction
Or will it be far too late
Whenever we wake up
And find we’ve been fooled
Laughed at and used
By those now in power
The elite and privileged class
That think they know better
Than we mere peon fools
After all we started this mess
By trusting their lies
And voting them in
Will there be a revolution
Whenever we wake up
And find there is no other way
To get rid of the greedy
The guilty and vain
The corrupt and self-righteous
That are stepping on our rights
Desecrating our liberties
And denying us our pursuit of happiness
So the question remains
What will we do
When we wake up
From our selfish induced stupor
And realize the mess
Our nation is in
What will we do
Whenever we wake up
Or should I say
If we wake up
Happy poeming all…
ROBERT ANOTHER SIMPLY OUTSTANDING POEM… .. YOU HAVE MOVED INTO A NEW CONSISTENT LEVEL OF…. WOW,!
Whenever I Kiss You
As soon as your lips meet mine,
my soul does a little jig
as my body warms
from the inside out
and I wiggle closer
wanting to draw out
the moment of lips
meeting for the first time
today –
and I sigh
savoring the lingering warmth
as I go about my day.
Describing something as ephemeral as the sensations of a kiss is tricky, and for me, I think you did it.
savoring the lingering warmth
as I go about my day……is just perfect
Whenever My Waking Life is Filled with Writing Poems
My dreams begin writing poems, too.
They compose themselves with ruled
notebooks and pens my waking self
would kill for, and ideas. Where do
the dreams come up with those?
wonders the dreaming part
with its feet propped up on the seat
in front of it and a box of popcorn. No
way I could do that. Hey! It leans
into me with an angled elbow. Don’t
forget this! Maybe you better quit dreaming
and write this down.Then it goes back
to concentrating on the precise word
for the way the night city throws light on a cold front’s
batter or meringue of clouds roiling with change.
I, meanwhile, watch and think I should get up.
Oh, wow! Love it!! So creative!
This is fabulous. I love it…esp. the last three lines!
Isn’t that always the way? Poems don’t wait.
Nicely captured, barbara! :-]
Triolet Week
This seems a week of triolets;
we’ve been attracted to the form.
Perhaps we’re going through a phase;
this seems a week of triolets.
We cannot change our rhyming ways,
repeating verse becomes the norm.
This seems a week of triolets;
we’ve been attracted to the form.
[Just a little self-referential fun. I've noticed a poetic pattern around here lately - not so much today, perhaps, except for Robert's poem.]
Oops, sorry! I just realized I didn’t follow the prompt. I started with a poem called “Whenever I Write Triiolets” and if morphed into this. I’ll get back on track, I promise.
I’ve done the same thing several times, Bruce. Great Triolet, regardless!
Okay, how’s this?
Whenever I Write Triolets
Whenever I write triolets,
I get attracted to the form.
Perhaps I’m going through a phase,
Whenever I write triolets.
I cannot change my rhyming ways,
repeating verse becomes my norm.
Whenever I write triolets,
I get attracted to the form.
ooh lovely …. I must try a triolet… but not now.. back later
Whenever You See Me Cry
Any sappy moment in the movies,
any moving speech,
any poignant sermons,
I have kleenix within reach.
You always glance my way
knowing that trickling down my face
are those salty tears
and you chuckle as you always have throughout the years.
We had similar takes on the prompt. I love yours, you old gushycake;-)
Whenever I See A Father And A Little Girl
callioped carousel spins
time back poised
to jump into your waiting
arms
safe again
Reminds me of myself with my daughter when she was little. We used to ride the merry-go-round all the time. We still do, even though she’s now 18. Last ride, last month at Busch Gardens. I got wiped out several tinmes by the “S;ow Down” pronpt robotic editor who wipes out my entire computer each time into frustration. RMA took me 20 minutes to just post this reply after being wiped out multiple tiomes with SLOW DOWN and multiple times the response is Internert Explorer has stopped working due to a problem with the website==happens every day to me taking 10 times as long to make EVERY single POST all month stealing precious time and adding gray hairs of frustration. But I’m calm as a summers morning in spite of the “eveil Robot”You may use these HTML tags and attributes:
Pearl, I love the memories and images you rouse with this poem.
Oh thank you Rich and Karen.
Fathers little girls and carousels = magic
and RICH I’M WITH YOU!!! BOO to the ROBOTIC not ROBERTIC EDITOR BAH!!
Such a deceptively simple piece — beautifully full & complete! Nicely done!
Whenever the Anonymous Robotic Editor (to paraphrase PKP)
Rich Atwater Nov 21, 2011
Slow Down you speedster racing on to prompt again,
Your much too fast in trying to outdo the Little Red Hen,
Just because the sky is falling bit by bit from cyberspace,
Doesn’t mean you have to try to outrpace the Indy 500 race.
A slow poem is like sipping on sherry wine or ginger ale,
To savor the taste requires you do so like a crawling snail,
So write your poems with wisdom and a sense of flare,
Slow down, like a tortoise, and stop acting like the hare.
Heehee! Good one, Mr. Atwater!
LOL … Now that’s “RICH”
Thanks for the smile!
*grin*
best keep the ginger ale and sherry away from us snails. We melt like wicked witches.
Murphy’s Law
Whenever I join a queue
it’s the wrong one.
Whenever I’m feeling blue
there’s no-one.
When I have a cosy new coat
and crampons and boots,
the winter’s a warm one.
Whenever I’m truly prepared
nothing goes wrong.
I’ve been there….whenever the really ‘good one’ strikes, I don’t have a pen…whenever I have a pen, the really ‘good one’ disappears!
Right on – loved this – Moskowitz
love it!
I really like this one, Viv.
When – Ever
When will I ever
Finish all of my projects
One more room to paint
One more light to fix
The bathroom fan won’t work
Where’s that cold air coming from
And you call this a lawn
When will I ever get things done
When will I ever
Get my chance to retire
Too many bills to pay
Too many toys to buy
Too much life to live
Retirement is overrated anyway
But I’m still looking forward to
Whenever I ever get to retire
When will I ever
Feel young like I used to
Lose a little more weight
Grow a little more hair
Lose a few of those wrinkles
And last a little longer
When will that day come
I think maybe never
At least in this lifetime
But, there is hope
When will I ever
Get to start forever
With no projects to do
No bills to pay
And a brand new body
Just forever and ever
Whenever He calls
I think I’m done for a while. I gotta’ paint a room, fix a light, and install a new ceiling fan. Really.
hee hee, but the poem comes first. Glad to see your priorities are in order. Hey, I could use a hand with my broken ceiling fan, broken light, room to paint. . . .
Day 21 11-21-2011
Write a “Whenever Blank” poem.
Whenever the Mist Lifts
The mountain draws me,
and I pick up a brisk pace toward its indistinctness,
its already softened form further blurred
by a low-lying cloud.
My eyes want to feast on the darkening colors
as leaves cease flaming and begin to burgundy,
to umber, to rust.
I rush toward the foggy bulk and my walk
becomes an embrace of the mountain I love,
whenever I walk in its leaf-shedding shadow.
this is really great “my walk/becomes an embrace of the mountain I love”
After reading twice, I just closed my eyes and took it all in. Absolutely one of your best, Karen. Wow.
I love your use of the colors as verbs.
when i open (trying an Ovillejo)
when i open to the world
unfurled
i’m greeted by dawn-drawn sky,
i sigh
as steps tread a path through grass,
trespass
unannounced as birds amass
flit from limb to limb, harass
ones unlike themselves ,alas
urfurled I sigh trespass
jane penland hoover
November 21, 2011
Oh, bravo! Perfection, Jane!
very nice!
Love this, Jane.
Whenever thunder
in the distanced darkening of the horizon
as blue overwritten in roiling dunned grey
as birds collect swoop soar screech and fall silent
you are there light clear beyond the trembling
thunder
whenever
my spirit is humming in your thunder.
There’s always light, even in the storm. I like the thought and the “blue overwritten in roiling dunned grey.” Hooray!
Whenever Skies are Gray
(for My Little Sophie Sunshine)
Nothing beats
Eskimo kisses
Nose-to-nose
Piggy toes
Grins, giggles, squeal-ee squeezes
Chubbawubba pudge!
ohhhhh – sweetest!
Awwww… You need to frame this with your favorite picture!
It’s good to have your own bundle of sunlight, hm? Nice
WHENEVER THE SNOW FLIES
It is late November and I am thankful
but in the air there’s a feeling
that will have me reeling until the New Year.
It is always here that these sensations
of Jolly elation takes root. And to boot,
there’s still so much to do. Running here
and there and running out of time,
yet, I’m confident that every moment spent
in the pursuit of others’ happiness
is meant to bless and to uplift, the gift
that keeps on giving. It’s in this living I do
making sure that you have been all that you can.
For it is in the heart of every child, woman
and man to feel that goodwill. When the chill
sweeps through this hidden hollow, and
all the little folk in Caribou Corners show,
their pride is released from inside and they know
that all their hard work will have paid off.
You may scoff at the notion that this commotion
every December Twenty-Fourth is misguided.
But we cannot hide our exuberance.
The children’s heads are filled with wonder,
I am filled with cookies and milk.
And Mrs. C waits near our tree for some “Santa Satisfaction”!
When all the snow settles, we will have shown our mettle
bringing Christmas to the world. That’s right,
all in one night, when the snow flies.
I am Santa Claus.
Big fat smiles for more “I am Santa!”
P.S. Sophie will be waiting.
Glad you’re perking along, SC
HO! HO! HO!
Today’s poetic form is Rime Couée.
*****************************************
My Funny Valentine
Whenever I think of you, dear,
I reflect on a whole slew, dear,
of things that make me laugh.
You’re a veritable stew, dear,
of some great bon mots. Who knew, dear?!
Here’s to my comic half!
###
Would make a great Valentine’s day card, RJ!
Reminds me of Dorothy Parker. Good one.
Excuses for Eschewing Exercise
Whenever I think, “Must work out!”
I have to say that there’s no doubt
I’ll find some things to do
like writing, snoozing, cleaning grout
or shopping, so I can bail out,
then say, “I can’t, due to…”
###
I’ve added these to my growing collection. Love the form.
Venting My Frustration, Politely
Whenever the cable goes down
I find myself using a noun
I know I shouldn’t say
because the word might make folks frown
‘though it reflects my mood when brown.
It’s ‘RATS’! (Not ‘CRAP!’ – Okay?)
###
The above yellowhead is smiling on behalf of ALL your offerings, btw.
Like Marie Elena said…:))
Your impolite is more restrained than my Polite.
*chortle*
(Just for you!)
I have to keep it that way. My kids (11 year old twins) read my writings. Otherwise, I might just prove to be far less restrained!
lol ;D
Whenever I Finish Writing
Whenever I finish writing
I’ve a mixed bag of emotions.
Satisfaction comes alighting
whenever I finish writing,
followed shortly by nail-biting,
drifting listless on word oceans.
Whenever I finish writing
I’ve a mixed bag of emotions.
Here! Here!
Add another round of “Here’s!” from over here!
*wave wave wave* … and here!
Whenever it snows
Florida Panhandle way
We go to Disney
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whenever I’m blue
never is only one answer
not to hate starry nights
that govern my loneliness
not to extinguish the candles
and allow their light to help
me wander through chaos where
my emotions romp in free anarchy
while in the darkness of midnight
ponderous shadows would scare
love from its pedestal and crash
illusions into shards of black
never is the wrong answer
for whenever I’m blue
you’re far away and tempted
by the rest of your life
and my thumbs revolving
in lazy circles cannot catch
the smiles in your heart
my answer is whenever
you’re blue, I’ll be waiting
somewhere beyond the horizon
hoping you’ll follow the north star
to find the path of oneness
that brings us together again
whenever…
[2011.21.11...a]
Beautiful poem, Alfred.
Whenever Poetry Calls
Whenever I try
to rouse the muse
uncap the pen
begin again
another
wheel
squeaks.
heheh…love it!
so very true.
Thanks, guys!
I Know…
Whenever your warm chubby arms
Reach for me in a soft, sleepy hug
I know, you will never out-grow mine
Whenever your blue eyes sparkle
With mischief and love
I know, you will be worth every tear in mine
Whenever your lips smile at the sight of me
Or when they kiss my weary sigh
I know, I have brushed a bit of heaven against mine
Whenever I hear your feet dashing eagerly toward life
Or toward me
I know, why I was given mine
Be still my heart. *tears*
Well done- thanks Pop-o Moskowitz
“Whenever I think of you”
A Tritina
The night is empty without you and I’m
feeling a bit lost, wondering what you’re doing
under this cold moon of time. There’s a fine
line between a sad ending and a war, a fine
line between grief and death. Right now I’m
somewhere in between. Suffering is doing
the work in me that love couldn’t—by not doing
for you, I’ve found a beauty in silence. I’m fine
with sitting in this space left by us. It’s cold, but I’m
learning to sing in the dark and I’m doing just fine.
This is heart-wrenchingly gorgeous…every bit of it!
Leaves me breathless.
this is beautifu, especially the last few lines.
I agree. Beautifully penned through-and-through, but the last lines are stellar.
I love this. What is a Tritina?
Thank you all for reading and your kind comments.
I will paste what I dug up about a Tritina:
“Being modeled from the Sestina, there is no rhyme scheme, instead it comprises of three stanzas using the same three words in a Sestina like pattern, and a final line which uses the three words in the starting sequence.”
I thought it looked easy enough to give it a try. And I’m all for easy when it comes to forms.
“suffering is doing the work in me that love couldn’t..” a beautiful piece.
Whenever I try to Comprehend…
Whenever I try to comprehend His amazing grace
And how, on Calvary He took my place
Tears of gratitude stream down my face
Whenever I try to comprehend His unending love
And how it flows freely in streams from above
I am assured that it will be enough
Whenever I try to comprehend eternity
Knowing that such is His love for me
I am struck dumb…how can it be?
Oh, JanetRuth! My own sentiments, so wonderfully expressed! Thank you for this!
Thank-you Marie Elena (your name is poetry, has anyone ever told you that?:), but as I was saying, Thank-you for all your kind words.
How kind you are! I was named after an old tune.
I don’t remember you from previous challenges, so I can only imagine that you are new. I’m quite certain I would have remembered your talent, your lovely words, and your uplifting faith.
Yes, I am new and a little daunted by the beautiful talent here…
MONDAY!
whenever i read
poetically aside
great joy i deride
Love’s Tortured Art…
Whenever I begin to think of you
Thought softens
To a turquoise-blue
Like an ocean
Whenever, in an unexpected half-breath
You whisper my name
Suddenly I feel the earth
Tremble with emotion
Whenever the silence becomes too still
I feel you inside me
Against my will
And my heart
Whenever the missing of you is too much
I find myself reaching
For the thought of your touch
-Love’s tortured art
Twenty years
Whenever I see her
picture, or hear a friend
describe what she
is up to now, I can
still feel her holding me.
Whenever I see her
name in print, or I smell
the sweet perfume she wore
for me that spring, the lust
I felt still shakes my core.
Whenever I see her
in a dream I know that
my heart’s still open to
her summons, and she can
crawl inside me where- or
whenever. I see her
breath on my window, I
taste her salt. I left, yet
still after twenty years
these dry bones won’t forget.
Not a woman in the world would not secretly (or otherwise) long for this poem to be written of her.
Been there with my dry bones too. Good writing indeed. – Moskowitz
Wow! “I see her/breath on my window, I/taste her salt.”
Love it, Andrew. Powerful images.
Whenever I write about writing
I feel a little odd. Civil engineers
don’t design cities about designing cities,
and plumbers (my father was a plumber)
do not, as a rule, plumb the depths
of pipefitting for fun. Cabinetmakers
may craft an inside joke drawer now and then.
I don’t know, but I could imagine that,
and painters sometimes paint their
painting selves into the action. But
writing poems about writing poems seems, well,
self-indulgent.
Nobody cares, excepting–maybe
–another odd duck like me.
interesting observation to ponder for the day.
WHENEVER NOVEMBER COMES
Tarnished bronze and jade-tones take the hills,
this longfall autumn at the cusp of dark.
Along the creek, wild-plum trees dance in lemon-lace
before the next storm tatters all their leaf-
kimonos shimmering on slender, reaching limbs.
Gray squirrels hoard their earthen-cupboards,
the sun has turned full circle, set its southern course.
Cinnamon and nutmeg warm whatever comes.
Such vivid imagery! Lovely!
Cinnamon & nutmeg work for me! In the slow cooker today, I am trying a new recipe for veggie chill–cinnamon is working its magic!
This is such a great visual poem!
Your sensory images are fresh and wonderful, Taylor. I feel them every one.
Whenever I Do, I Think of You
(A Shadorma-less Ode to De Queen)
Whenever I shadorma-do
I always, always, think of you
Shadorma Queen, De Jackson.
Whenever I shadorma-do
my mood assumes a blue-ish hue.
I get no satisfaction.
For ever since your poem debut,
you’ve been shardorma-ing and, oooh,
catch up to you? I won’t.
So how ‘bout YOU shadorma-do
for you’ve perfected it, it’s true!
And I’ll shadorma-don’t.
Join me in convincing De to collect her works in a book!
TELL ME ABOUT IT! I’ve been trying to talk her into publishing since 2009. Little stinker.
Ohhhhh. You guys are too generous. Thank you. And Marie, don’t you dare shadorma-don’t. Your shadormas DO hit the mark, square on. This made me smile, though. Thank you.
Nope. Not generous in the least. Right.On.Target.
Whenever something reminds me of you
My heart stops beating
My lungs forget to breathe
Years have gone by
My mourning never ceases
In the maternity ward
Another girl, they told me
Two little girls, you would
Grow together, play, comfort
Joy. My beautiful babies.
My beautiful girls, women, men
If I had to do it over?
Yes, without a hesitation
Subtle and powerful. – Thanks
My current cats are all indoor cats (I adopt the ones with health problems), but I adopted a cat like this once and couldn’t resist…a little silliness in the morning.
Whenever the cat comes in
Whenever I hear
cat-door-clik and pad pad pad
I fear rodent heads.
Just about spit out my hot cider on this one! LOL!!
Hot cider! Yum!
Whenever I Hear Julie London Sing “I’d Like You for Christmas”
Whenever I hear Julie London sing
“I’d Like You for Christmas”
I am instantly transported
to that doleful yearning
before you were mine.
Once I heard her
I needed to know
what it would feel like
to slow dance
to this song
with you
in front of the fireplace
on Christmas Eve
in our very own home,
in our very own life.
Now,
more than a decade later,
her whispered plea
still causes me to catch my breath,
close my eyes,
thank God
for this answered prayer,
and wait for the
next Christmas Eve
to slow dance this
with you.
[To hear this song, try
This is so beautiful…tears…
Buddah, this poem is a sweet slow dance itself. Thanks
This is beautiful, B.
(Second Try: Try the link below if you’ve never heard this song before. It might help the poem- Thanks http://youtu.be/8w_PFFfYhCs)
______________________________________________________________
Whenever I Hear Julie London Sing “I’d Like You for Christmas”
Whenever I hear Julie London sing
“I’d Like You for Christmas”
I am instantly transported
to that doleful yearning
before you were mine.
Once I heard her
I needed to know
what it would feel like
to slow dance
to this song
with you
in front of the fireplace
on Christmas Eve
in our very own home,
in our very own life.
Now,
more than a decade later,
her whispered plea
still causes me to catch my breath,
close my eyes,
thank God
for this answered prayer,
and wait for the
next Christmas Eve
to slow dance this
with you.
Absolutely wonderful, Buddah.
Whenever the World is Loud
Whenever I let these doubts
creep in
I remember Your love
pours out
in abundant amounts
and there’s nothing
I can do,
or say
or be
that will separate
You
from me.
This was greatly inspired by Paula Wanken’s poem today, which came directly to my email inbox ‘cuz I subscribe to her blog.
I see she hasn’t shared it here, yet. Hope she will, later. Thanks, Paula!
whenever i get home…
…I can post;
work
eats my cookies
******
Just a little PiKu for you, my de-lightful friend
my work PC doesn’t like whatever cookies PA serves up and I cannot login there to post or comment
SO….
Whenever You See This
you’ll find me
close
to the bottom
******
**HUGS** to you, Miss Sunshine! B)
Ha. I’ll never forget the first time I got the “Cookies” message (Have you turned on your cookies?) I was like, Wha?
Wishin’ we could share a double chocolate chip, some coffee, and all these wonderful poems…
Very good indeed – reminds me of a great book I read called “The Inescapable Love of God.”
Perfect! Thank-you
Thank you, guys.
Whenever Two Are Gathered
The moment holds great possibilities.
Will the common thread of be found?
Will the path be shared equally?
Will harmonies be found within the songs?
Who will lead and who will follow?
Will lessons be taught and learned?
Will light evaporate the darkness?
Will joy be the gift shared by all?
Whenever two are gathered
possibilities wait discovery.
_______
Had to be out to teach early, so a late start today. Started to leave notes, but got chastised by the system for commenting too fast. Figured I’d do an all inclusive reply…Every day, I stand in awe of this wonderful group assembled here. Robert, the gift you have given us all by facilitating this challenge is beyond measure! Thanks everyone for your constant play of words, sketches of moments and twist of phrases.
WHENEVER YOU GET AROUND TO IT
Your day begins, tender words echoing
in the reaches of your dream filled mind.
It is times like this that I find you laying
prone wishing to languish in your loving lassitude,
with an attitude of fulfillment.
Long after the sound of my incantation
leaves your ears, you still hear it resound,
a profound revalation that fills you with elation;
a celebration of life to last as long.
My day is hours old on this cold day,
but you find a way to stay in bed a few moments
longer than you should. If you could
you would remain all day, glowing with love.
A message appears and it steers my thoughts
to you again. When you have me in your heart
I start to understand how lucky a man can be.
That lucky man is me.
The ringer chimes. It reminds me that you
although your busy day have found a way
to touch me over the miles with smiles
and everything your heart can hold. Pure gold
is what your coffers offer me.
Our conversation brings us to a common ground,
and you’ve found this moment as good as any
to intone the many ways you days are brightened
as if I lightened every heavy load you carry.
There is nary a time that I don’t think these words,
and it would be absurd for you to hold them back any longer.
These feelings grow stronger and you finally say, “I love you”.
I always know, whenever you get around to it.
This poem sounds like a song. I love, “languish in your loving lassitude.”
Whenever You Do…
Stop ahead
No parking
Watch for ice
Beware of dog
Railroad X-ing
No tresspassing
Watch your step
Trucks must exit
Beware – thin ice
Keep hands clear
Danger – keep off
No lane markings
Slippery when wet
Careful – load limit
Caution – wet paint
Pedestrian crossing
Watch out for bears
Don’t touch that dial
Fasten your seatbelts
Proceed with caution
Don’t drink the water
Don’t feed the animals
Slow – children playing
Watch for the high sign
Police line – do not cross
Caution – Narrow bridge
Authorized personnel only
Street closed – do not enter
Closed – Avalanche danger
Hazardous waste disposal site
Shoplifters will be prosecuted
Danger – cliff edge – stay away
In case of emergency – break glass
Caution – this water is unsafe to drink
Warning – Construction area – keep out
Keep your hands inside the vehicle at all times
Employees must wash hands before returning to work
Please return your seat backs and tray tables to their full upright position
Be careful out there
Diana Terrill Clark
I dig this!
Nice typographical cliff face, DTC!
^_^ Thanks Daniel! I admit I was thinking about all the travelers out there this week.
This poem is rather truly timely topical typographical!
Thank you, Patricia! (I <3 alliteration!)
These collected warnings are at once powerful and troubling. A great response to the prompt, Domino.
I totally agree.
Thanks you guys. ^_^
Whenever – (a tanka)
When the moon is huge
Whenever the tide withdraws
Where sand crabs scuttle
Wherever the sea grass glows
There dances your memory
Beautiful in simplicity!
Whenever Everything Sucks
Sit down
Shut up
And hold the puppy.
Or perhaps:
Whenever Everything Sucks
Sit down
Shut up
And hold the pup.
I like the rhyme in this one best. (As always, your miserly use of words pays off. I totally need to take a clue…) Love it. ^_^
Likewise, I like the latter
I agree. And possibly…
Sit down
Shut up
And pet the pup.
Thanks, guys.
Excellent advice, delightfully put!
ABSOLUTELY!
Thanks, Ina.
Whenever I Wake (a tercet cascade)
Whenever I wake to a cold, rainy morn
I want to roll over and go back to sleep
but today being Monday, I can’t.
I hit the snooze bar again and again
and snuggle deeper beneath my covers
whenever I wake to a cold, rainy morn.
Lying there quietly soothed by the rain
I feel my eyelids grow heavier until
I want to roll over and go back to sleep.
If this were the weekend, I’d shut off my alarm
and close my eyes to resume my dreams
but today being Monday, I can’t.
– Cara Holman
What a familiar feeling! Love it!
Thanks.
I guess I’ll be waking to rainy mornings for some time to come.
Not sure which I like better. Both have their strengths.
WHENEVER I SEE
A four leaf clover,
I have to hurry and turn it over.
Unless it is brown and hard,
Found in my yard,
I shout, “Not again, Rover”!
Whenever I see a clown,
I giggle until I fall down.
I see the red nose,
Looks like a rose,
On a face that refuses to frown!
Whenever I see a pie,
It is the apple of my eye.
I am ready to taste,
Knowing it’ll go to my waist,
As I delight in “oh, my, oh, my, oh, my”!
Whenever I climb a tree,
I feel as tall as I can be.
I give myself chances,
To fly off the branches,
To see what the birds can see!
Whenever I write poetry,
I grin as big as can be.
I smile ear to ear,
Turn and laugh in the mirror,
Feeling as lucky as lucky can be!
Whenever I read poetic words,
I soar up high like those birds,
I feel I have bright colored wings,
Magical glorious things,
Roaming free high above the herds!
Whenever I begin a limerick,
It’s hard to have just a few to pick,
They flow so fast,
Running right past,
To land them becomes the trick!
Ah . . . say goodnight, Janet Planet,
It is time to finally can it!
Time to do other stuff,
You have written quite enough,
You can return later . . .
Just have to plan it!
I want to live on Janet Planet sometimes… LOL
ZOOM ZOOM ZOOM . . . see, Domino . . . we are already there! And wasn’t it a lovely trip?? The glory is, we can come and go anytime! It is always the ride of a lifetime!
Such a fun read, Janet! Did you plan it?:)
May I come too, pleeeeeeeeeeze?
Patricia McGoldrick . . . Janet Planet really doesn’t plan anything! She just takes off and if I am lucky . . . I can at least see where she goes since I can’t seem to catch her!
Marie Elena . . . of course you can come! In your true delight . . . you have already if not always been there!
~WHENEVER WE WALK~
When foot finds
Pine-needled path
Peace pursues.
Heart follows,
Senses soar
Woken by the
Wooded forest.
Mind is blinded
By the beauty,
Dissolving dismal
Shadow of trouble.
This is so pretty Hannah! I just love it!
Thank you so much, Domino! I had trouble getting words to page today! So many interruptions. So I appreciate the comment, big time!
This….I love! thank-you Hannah. I want to go for a walk now;)
The words, Pine-needled path, set me on that pathway!
Thanks a bunch Patricia!!
Nice! Glad to inspire a walk! Thank you, Janet!
Beautiful, just like you!
You make my heart glow, Marie!! Hugs!!!
I like “mind is blinded by the beauty.”
Thanks so much! That part especially meaningful for me too. My day only gets better when I walk!
Whenever I Think I’ve Figured You Out.
Whenever I think I’ve figured you out, you change,
as if unpredictability were simply a service you offer,
a strategy for keeping our romance from growing stale.
Surely scientists must be right to say we shed ourselves
cell by cell, becoming someone new many times over years.
How else to explain the thousand shocks you spark?
Heaven forbid, then, that some time travel propel one
of us back into the other’s former life. I fear that you,
meeting this me back then, might not give a second glance.
Perhaps—a point I sometimes overlook—I’ve changed too,
no longer that girl at twenty—or thirty—or more, still
making up her mind, focusing out, then around, then within.
I’ll waste no time questioning. I offer no apologies, harbor
no regrets. I’m simply amazed at this miracle transforming
you and me to us—bumpy, sure, but such a lovely ride.
I like the “thousand shocks you spark” toward the lovely bumpy ride. Nice one.
Not just a lovely ride, but a lovely read as well.
Whenever A Song
Whenever a song tickles my brain
it plays its record again and again
I can’t seem to shake, though I may try
Whether it’s happy or it makes me cry
I sing it in the shower, full blast in the car
I sing it for everyone near and those far
I sing because songs are too good just to hear
I apologize in advance if I hurt your poor ears.
Though my children think I sing beautifully, my husband does not. His irritation at my constant singing inspired this poem.
You are just the cutest thing!
!
Whenever I Cry
Noisy sobs, wracking heaves,
ten-hankie blubbers with an audience
are not my style. My failed heart needs
to cry out under thunder, lightening streaking
like the tearing in me, feelings cresting
like spring flooding slapping at the walls
of my being, fully engaged.
Whenver I cry, I need no sympathy;
guilt for having ruined another’s day
makes me sad that now my burden
must be carried by others.
No, whenever I cry,
I like to do it in the shower,
falling water all around, sound
muffled, tears camouflaged there
like lizards on rainforest trees.
I like a good water weep,
boxed up and away from others,
on my own, water into water,
where all sadness can wash off me
down a drain and leave me clean.
Oh, this is wonderful, Jane! An amazing, creative, touching, different look at a sensitive topic. Wow.
Echo Marie.
Whenever I sleep
Whenever I sleep,
I dream I wake
From dreams
Only to long
For sleep, so
When I wake
I’m tired, as if
I haven’t slept
At all, although
I remember that
I’ve dreamed
And dreams are
Proof of sleep
And sleep, of
waking, presenting
a conundrum
until I can get
some sleep.
WHENEVER NOVEMBER 21st ARRIVES
It was the day of your birth,
and nowhere on earth is that day celebrated
more than here. You were my warrior,
the man who made everything,
and made everything right.
We had our battles and fights,
(what father and son buttheads
didn’t do exactly that from time to time?)
Your demons were formidable,
but you were able to outlast every one
but one. When cancer claimed you
your fighting was done. You rest now
in peace and for an eternity.
Your guidance and love made an unsure lad
more of a man and a better dad when
his time came. All the same, I wish
you were here for this Birthday cheer.
I love you Dad!
Walt, thanks for sharing this tribute to your Dad. Very moving.
My heart goes out to you, Walt. Beautiful, beautiful tribute.
Great prompt, Robert. I can’t stop!!
Whenever It’s Time to Move
Whenever it’s time to move the cows to new pastures,
The dogs want to go along and herd them, knowing
That herding is not necessary with so few animals
And them so tame we can practically ride them
From the meadow to the pond-side forest land.
But border collies are like that, wanting to do
The job they’re born for, even when they know
It’s been outsourced to bell cows and easy calls.
They wag excitedly, bouncing their heads against our hands,
Racing ahead and coming back, waiting for us to give them
The word to nip the cows’ heels and race low to the ground,
A team in circling animals into bunches and holding them
down, small yips and eyes their signals to one another.
Naturally, we’re conflicted about this simple task.
The cows don’t deserve to be bitten and hurried
As they nibble their way to the gateway into new
Grazing grounds. They’ve done nothing wrong.
But the dogs crave purpose, exercise, and meaningful
Labor, just like people do. Even if the work is needless,
It helps to heal that nagging thought that we might be born
Only to fetch and lie at someone’s feet on a porch, scratching.
I had fun with this one
‘Whenever I sway-swiddale-dum-dum de’
Listening to the sound of the
Steel pans beating away my now
I am in my element
Its my ecstasy
And with intensity
I sweat away the demons of yesterday’s past
Freedom at last
Running away from the mundane
And running away fast
Don’t you like my
Sway-swiddale-dum-dum-de
As I
Rat-a-tat-lickade-von-vou
Letting loose like a fallen leaf
Off a dying tree
See me laugh like a hyena
Ha
While those glass bottles got my feet
Moving
Gyrating my hips from the left
To the right
Listening to that ring-a ting-ting
As I’m doing my thang
This is what life was meant to be
Carefree
Like a baby running naked down Broad Street
Running wild
Not missing a beat
As he does his
Sway-swiddale-dum-dum-de
Its those iron beating
Maraca rattling
Off beat rhythmic flare
That make my body go
Jab-scattaly-wack-jack
Yep
Got me dancing like that
It’s this innate ability
To release my free
That drives me
Whenever I’m doing my
Sway-swiddale-dum-dum-de
December is Almost Here
Whenever the trees like still-life pencil-sketches
Spread out their barrenness beneath the pale sun
Whenever the twilight its cold finger stretches
Into the daytime long before it is done
Whenever the wind is a rascally fellow
Lacing with frost the noon-tide’s pallid yellow
Whenever he provokes with his chatter, a tear
Then we know December is almost here
Whenever the passion of autumn’s romance
Whenever the hush after nature’s applause
In a rust-colored ocean, stills the woodlands
Hugging the earth in an intangible pause
Whenever the sparkle in a small child’s eye
Rivals in brilliance to the stars in the sky
Whenever the heart feels a stir of good cheer
Then we know December is drawing near
Whenever the brook dons its slippers of glass
And the meadow its shrug of silvery-white
Whenever the clouds brush tree-tops as they pass
And the moon is an opal to pin back the night
Whenever the crisp air is tinted with pine
And warmth is the color of ruby-red wine
Whenever the diamonds of winter appear
Then we know December is almost here
Beautiful imagery! “Whenever the brook dons its slippers of glass”–lovely.
So many images! Truly “December is almost here.”
Wow! These images are like stars in the sky. Lovely!
Stunning imagery!
Whenever I Dream
Waking ends the dreams that
Haunt my days,
Echoing through the hours until
Night and dreams come again.
Eyes of darkest espresso,
Visible smile lines crinkle the
Edges, something sad and lost
Revealed in the depths.
I can hear his voice,
Desperately calling my name,
Reaching out to find me,
Elusive, but still present
As I seek to find
My dreams in reality.
(from nano character’s pov)
Whenever I Tell Him
Will it be when he greets me
after traveling all that way?
Or on a leisurely walk,
the dog trotting on ahead
on a mountain trail?
Or while spotting moose
and elk in the woods?
Or will it be overlooking a waterfall?
Or while soaking
in a hot sulfur spring?
Or will it be while we’re cuddled
on the couch watching TV?
Whenever I tell him
he’s a father,
will it be goodbye?
Whenever the stars
Whenever I see the stars shine
toward the earth, effacing the
moon with the words unlike yours, our
light is true, undaunted by the
atmosphere of oxygen blue,
undeterred by rain clouds with the
knowledge that clouds pass, but star lives
are so near to eternity
that even after they are gone
they shine for our eyes, defying
death, I remember, as love does.
Absolutely beautiful, Ina.
Thank you Marie Elena!
“Whenever You Speak”
Whenever you speak, I recall
that you were silent at the dawn,
just a wave, caressing the shore.
Wash over me, sing me your song.
Arash
http://seafloors.blogspot.com/
Ina, that’s beautiful — from start to finish.
Thank you, PSC
Whenever Spring Arrives
I am reborn whenever spring arrives
long deprived of glistening golden sun
however muddied the wet skies that
tether flight to crystalline clouds
Never questioning my survival
I am reborn whenever spring arrives
Tip Toes
Whenever my youngest stands on her toes
To give me my favorite, a kiss on the cheek –
Or my boy (young man), stretches up on his
To try to be as tall as me, I notice each time
That they do not reach quite as far as before.
Whenever you get on your toes too,
So that we can be eye to eye when we kiss,
I know as sure as your arms around my neck,
I love you more than the last time we kissed.
Their growing I would just as soon slowed,
While your kisses must go on forever more.
Whenever the Rain Comes Down,
it holds our world behind its deliberate wall.
We search for familiar forms-
the path’s retreat into the woods,
a stand of tansy and yarrow,
the sweep of queen’s lace.
The rain scumbles wands of forsythia,
blowsy bee balm and wild raspberries.
Beyond where all things bend to the sound of rain,
a tangle of grapevine shrouds mossy stumps and stones,
solemn trees prop up the darkness;
we find nothing to fix our gaze on.
Drowsy with the rain,
we sit in this room that grows octaves grayer,
replete with the din of falling water.
In the gathering darkness,
we look to each other
and find a matrix of light
no ruinous rain can erase.
Makes me want a porch chair and a cup of hot tea. “deliberate wall” and “all things bend to the sound” –nicely put.
The prompt reminded me of a couple of romantic old songs. This has a little tune to it, but I don’t write music and it’s not a full song maybe not a full poem, but I’m sticking with it.
Whenever
Whenever forever starts
I look for you and there you are.
Until the end of time, baby, you’ll be mine.
Whenever you hold my hand
I believe and I understand
That we’re here on time, oh baby, just stay mine.
Whenever you say my name
I know I’ll never be the same.
Cause we’re facing life together
Baby, in all kinds of weather,
Oh yeah, we’re together, whatever.
WHENEVER I LOOK OUTSIDE (NOVEMBER SONG)
Whenever I look outside
my window in November I wonder
now that sun moved South .how darkness fills the skies.
towards late in the afternoon. .It’s cold. I could fly
upon the wings of jet like a Snowbird,
down to the Cape of Good Hope
retire late at ten, or eleven
and wake up with the morning dew,
to fly. Yet I remain here . . . even when I glide
the wind takes me back to where I started,
down to earth in the cold and damp. I seek some source
of lght. The moon and stars blink
at me. Moving across the blue, still,
I need more
more than their skylight . . . I strike a match
upon a candle, cast away the shadows
in the corner of where I dwell. I need enlightenment. And,
knowing what is inside of me, drawing it out. I project.
I discover cracks in Universe piercing
through the veil of night, me starting
from where I am, watching the beyond,
out there reaching towards me. Who
needs daylight.
I have all the light I need,
and then some.
Zev Davis
.
Whenever I Want
There was a sense of isolation
That was never there before.
I was alone and desolate
Whenever I thought of you.
You left and I wasn’t told,
You’d been gone for days.
Time zones and datelines
were such convenient reasons.
I don’t ask anymore; why
Is rhetorical. Nothing can change
what was and wasn’t said.
I only know that when you left
your shadow wrapped itself
around my heart. When
will the light banish this shadow
to a realm of glaring brightness
so I can think of you whenever
I want without feeling that shadow.
Tender, heartrending truth can sometimes be our undoing. Nicely captured, Misk.
WHEN EVER MEETS NEVER
I’m here in the middle,
between here and there.
Between what will happen and
what never was. That puts me here.
It’s where I’m at for now.
I live for this place.
I call it, Today.
Whenever I See a Raven
Whenever I see a raven
I wonder why they speak
To the core of me, and never
More urgent are their calls
Then now. Bright black
Against white snow,
High above me in the trees,
Or on the ground, stealing
From the manger, Raven
Sees the depths and soars
The heights. Whatever path
I take there is a whoosh-whoosh
Of iridescent wings blessing me,
Fanning the fire of my dreams,
And telling me not to fear the dark.
Only “whoosh-whoosh” was supposed to be italicized. Not sure why it did it this way. Hmmm.
Doesn’t matter. The poem is beautiful.
Also, “Then” in fifth line should be “Than”…dratted spellcheck.
And thank you, Sara.
Hi All,
I have been away and need to catch up. Does anyone have a list of all the prompts that they could e-mail me?
It’s a real drag trying to log in everyday to get the prompt.
Thanks
asherman547@gmail.com
Hi Alana,
I haven’t had to log in to get the poetry prompts. I just added this:
http://www.writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides/poetry-prompts
to my Favorite’s list and click on it every morning to get the prompt. I’m
not sure there is a list per say other than to go to the blog. Maybe someone
else knows something I don’t.
Hope this helps a bit.
Whenever Passover Arrives
As children, we sat
dressed in best
clothing, `round
grandparents’ oval table,
starched white cloth, lace trimmed.
Cobalt cups and plates
dignified
sanctity
of this day. Grandpa, in white
shirt, read Hebrew prayers.
Without grandparents,
holiday
traditions
were moved to my home, with Dad
at head of table,
reciting prayers, both
in English
and Hebrew
so that our quilt’s new patches
could listen and learn.
Dad is gone five years;
family
has scattered.
When Passover comes, I miss
our quilt’s foundation.
Sara, this poem is so beautiful, capturing the passage of time and and the generations.
I agree. So touching, Sara. I envy the Jewish holidays, as it seems they have not lost their religious significance and traditions … unlike Christmas and Easter for Christians.
I know this feeling which you say so well here.
Thank you all so much for your kind words.
Whenever I Travel
Travails of travel
begin in earnest
when my gut clenches
in knotted knowledge,
no dogs are allowed.
Just Before
Whenever you touch me, dear,
I get a tingle deep down inside.
You’re like a moray eel that way.
Your voice, my love, is like a choir
of angels on high, just before
they start throwing thunderbolts.
Whenever you look at me, honey,
I feel as if you can see right through me,
like a TSA scanner that reads my heart.
These are the things I tell myself
just before I go to sleep, just before
I leave you at the edge of dreams.
KEEPSAKES
Whenever I set the table
for Thanksgiving,
I carefully place
the pewter candle holders
at either end of the table
just so.
For Grandma told me,
many’s the time, that
these sturdy vessels
deserved the best
after sailing from Ireland
with a few pots and pans.
No reason to go back
she would say,
every year,
as long as
we gather together
on Thanksgiving day.
Now Grandma is gone
and so are her words.
Her pewter candlesticks
are all we have left, so
whenever I set the table
for Thanksgiving….
Love this, Patricia! How beautifully you’ve captured your grandmother’s sentiment.
Thanks Marie Elena!
Isn’t it wonderful the power of meaningful object in continuing traditions? Nice
Agree, Jane
Whenever You Smile
Whenever you smile
my emotions all get stirred.
Whenever you laugh
A joyous sound is heard.
Whenever you wish
I hope you get it all.
Whenever you phone
I will answer every call.
Whenever you toil
you deserve the very best.
Whenever you sleep
I will pray for peaceful rest.
Whenever you walk
I will step along beside.
Whenever you run
don’t go away and hide.
Whenever you cry
it’s like a gentle cleansing rain.
Whenever you hurt
I always feel your pain.
Whenever you dream
may each of them come true.
Whenever you pray
great gifts arrive for you.
Whenever you speak,
words harmonize and sing.
Whenever you smile
it lights up everything.
By Michael Grove
Not each day but on one day trying to get all the ones I missed.
Whenever the Rain Stop
Whenever the rain stops, hopefully the pain will cease to exist
Whenever the tears stop falling, my heart will no longer need to keep calling
Whenever the sky dries, my soul will once again be able to fly
Whenever the sun returns, maybe then I will find love
Whenever the rain stops, hopefully then the depression will forever go away
Whenever You’re Correct
Whenever you’re entirely correct,
As oft you are, no detail not just right,
I think how lucky I am to have you
Here with oft-wrong me, how it must
Be so hard for you having to bear the load
Of rightness every minute as you do,
How your gift for “Aha, you see I’m right!!”
Has been a wondrous solace to us both
on lonely winter nights when we might
otherwise have been among our friends
and family, the rooms too small, the air
too hot, the hugs too tight, the décor flawed,
the wine selection incompatible with
the meals which though perhaps delicious,
are never cooked just right. This holiday,
as you point out, is just fodder for idiots
like me. I wish I’d thought of that.
WHENEVER I FALL
scarred knees
reveal feet
that sometimes falter
streaming tears
reveal eyes
filled with anguish
whole heart
reveals love
from a Savior
2011-11-21
P. Wanken
I heart this. I heart your heart.
There she is! Cookies and all!
This started my day off with a happy heart, and an extra poetic push. Thank you!
Pingback: Whenever Butterfly Flutters | Soul's Music
My response may be found here:
https://soulsmusic.wordpress.com/2011/11/21/whenever-butterfly-flutters/
Thanks
Tradition
Whenever “tradition” happens I stop.
And listen to what it is.
To see if it is worth remembering.
Or needs to be changed right away.
Like a worn out light bulb.
Whenever I Am
typing a poem into my cell phone
I picture Shakespeare counting syllables on his iPhone,
Whitman touching his reflection on his Droid.
What Dickinson could have been with a mobile thesaurus app,
a dozen new ways to say death!
I would use mine to ask my old counselor
for my copy of The Alchemist back
because I have forgotten where to go or who to ask
or have lost my metaphorical sheep,
or something like that,
but I lose it sometimes when the greyness gets
too thick and I forget where or when I am.
Hit one wrong button
and all you get is details
and details can be dangerous,
like what percentage of the human body is made of water -
way too much, if you ask me.
Whenever you are is a waste of time
if you are not painting your way through the bars
or helping me fit six different shades of purple into my imagination.
My one wish would be
to have another wish.
I so enjoyed this read. Here’s to six new shades of purple.
Thank you, Jane.
Whenever, Wherever
Opportunity
Plays hide and seek,
Cruel in its strategy,
Lurking in shadows,
Teasing from around corners,
Until our stealth pays off
And we seize the intangible.
Carpe diem, my friend, carpe diem.
Whenever lightning strikes
Whenever lightning strikes,
it is God who is taking pictures of me!
He must love me! I’m so psyched!
Whenever lightning strikes,
I think up poses He might like;
He’s a master at photography!
Whenever lightning strikes,
it is God who is taking pictures of me!
Note: First 2 lines are from a popular saying/quote by an unknown source.
That’s so funny! LOL!
“Whenever in the rearview”
I’ve been trying to figure out
why it pulls me inside out
seeing my daughter after
I drop her off at the front
of the school, knowing her
comfort even before K-hall
opens the passage to the yard.
We, her parents, argue
our concern about the school,
public education with its tests
and candy. All its mixed
influence. But she wants
to stay at Valley View.
She’ll go into her day
more confidently
than I ever could at her
age, when I would cry
and cling and watch
the car pull away.
That’s the surprise
that twists me so:
that she doesn’t wait
to see me go. This
makes me pull over
to watch her from further
up the curbing,
both of us facing
forward. She is at home
in her world. She doesn’t
need me with her now.
Blessed be. Mercy me.
This is lovely. I know that moment when my son doesn’t look back is going to be so hard for me – it’s lovely to hear a perspective on it.
a sweet wistful poem. great ending.
Whenever a sparrow dies
When a sparrow dies
it leaves a hole in the sky
where it would travel
every north wind a highway
every cloud its destiny
I borrowed the Japanese form of Tanka form for this one although strictly speaking it may not be a Tanka.
note: a sparrow is a symbol of hope, renewal, rebirth, resurection, the herald of spring.
it’s very pretty.
Whenever
Always a surprise in white -
Whenever I ran breathless,
Down the long, long driveway,
To the big, silver mailbox -
The crisp envelopes snapped
With colorful ink and stamps
I looked inside to see -
What was not forgotten.
Whenever
Always a surprise in white -
Whenever I ran breathless,
Down the long, curved driveway,
To the big, silver mailbox -
The crisp envelopes snapped
With colorful ink and stamps
I looked inside to see -
What was not forgotten.
On the Occasion
of Another Wedding Anniversary
Whenever my marriage goes awry
I never bother to question why
I merely reach for a bottle of wine
And very soon everything’s looking fine
When fights disturb connubial bliss
I don’t seek analysis
I beg your pardon Sigmund Freud
But a Pinot makes me less annoyed
A simple Chateau-neuf-du-pape
Can bring a wrangle to a stop
And every sip of Chardonnay
Ensures another anniversary
So here’s to Vin, both white and red
They help preserve the marriage bed.
This made me smile!
WHENEVER DOUBT
shows up at your recital, dressed
for a Victorian funeral, and he pulls
a long face as you’re about to go
for the high note, don’t
hesitate: remember even Callas
was called Una grande vociaccia,
“a great ugly voice” by those
who loved her best, because beauty
isn’t pretty—it’s tough enough to
tear your heart out if you let it
do its work. So open your throat
and blow the crepe right off those
silk hats, send those black shawls
wheeling willy-nilly to the exits.
Those somber Thomases expect
holes, not miracles. Give them
above C, beyond colossal, all
you got that’s generous,
voluminous, luminous, and
however flawed, magnificent!
“blow the crepe right off those silk hats” Must be some kind of Note Grande.
Yes, I’ve seen this very vision at some recitals. Great work.
Thanks!
Whenever I Hear
Whenever I hear the word “tradition”.
I listen carefully,
To see if the bulb has gone out,
To see if what is being discussed,
Is worth remembering
Or needs to be rewired for today.
I Know That You Feel it Too…
Whenever the moon, like a bright silver dollar
Is skimming the crest of the hill
Whenever the day slips beneath earth’s dark collar
And evening is solemn and still
Whenever I feel you steal over my heartbeat
Akin to the gathering of dew
Whenever the rush of the past whispers to me
I know that you feel it too
Whenever the twilight becomes the distinction
Dividing what is with what was
Enlarging within me my scope of reflection
And time’s vast expanse between us
Whenever I gather my longing that lingers
And wrap it, like a favorite worn cloak
Weaving the echo of you through my fingers
I retrace the words that we spoke
Whenever night’s broader shadows have deepened
As heaven and earth coalesce
Whenever I feel you as daytime lies is sleeping
Beneath the pale moonlight’s caress
Whenever I feel you steal into my breathing
In whispers of soft azure blue
I’m overcome with wild pleasure and grieving
And I know that you feel it too
Yes, I know that you feel it too
Whenever I Lose Myself
I look for her in strange
and sorry corners, trace
inky fingers along dark
walls, Braille my way to
cocooned center, where
she has wrapped herself
in feather and phrase
carved cold worn heart a
safe and sacred hollow,
followed her own veins
to a place where they
might spill, filled her
lungs with hope-honed
breeze and willed the
trees to shade and sway
as she gives herself away.
This is beautiful, De.
so much beauty in so few words.
Whenever I Teach…
Whenever I teach Shakespeare, I polish up my thees and thous,
bouncing into class as excited as a middle school girl ready
to introduce one best friend to another, sure they’ll hit it off.
Letting my students in on the clever wit, the corny puns,
the rich language that feels good rolling off my tongue,
I offer them the chance not just to read aloud, but to stand,
Folger paperback in one hand, props in the other, speaking
the lines, muttered asides, royal proclamations, love talk.
Whenever I teach Dickinson–I make sure I’ve saved up dashes
for week– knowing her mere influence will force me–
to overspend my limit as I rush forward through her lines—
humming the words to the tune of Amazing Grace—
how sweet the sound—or Working on the Railroad.
I make no pretense of understanding Emily–sequestered
by choice in her upstairs room—mourning perhaps lost love.
I never seek to know her truths—sure as I am she’d tell them
slant.
Whenever I teach Chaucer, rarely in the month of Aprill,
I teach the prologue, line by line, explaining all the words,
except perhaps, those ferne halwes couth…providing the world
a classroom set of Middle English speakers—capable at least
of eighteen lines, a hedge, I’m told, against loss of memory.
I catch myself reciting too, driving down the highway
every morning, picturing the years and years of high school
seniors similarly prepared—for what? Like a party game,
to rattle off those magic words as if in some secret sorority.
I once got to reciting Chaucer on the way to school and missed the school exit, the universe already telling me something;-). Love the poem.
Whenevers
Whenever I’m posed to relax
Whenever I’m desperate for a nap
Whenever I’m eager for silence
Whenever I’m within inches of deep R.E.M.
Whenever I’m stressed and filled to the brim
There’s a text
an email
a bill
a phone call
a diaper
a cry
a demand
a question
a dish
a pile of laundry
But, I’ll get to it whenever…
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Whenever I Read Proust
Whenever I read Proust
(Or, what’s more common,
I hear the name),
I can’t but think of fish.
And not just any fish:
Unlicensed haddock.
Blame Python.
(I’ll recite it, if you wish.)
http://trollpants.wordpress.com
Pingback: whenver we meet.. (#novpad day 21) « Pages from my mind
whenever we meet
“Love is blind”,
so was said long ago,
“and lovers cannot see”
that drowned my hopes,
to ever be able to speak,
the silence smoldered
the fires,oblivious to my sky
trapped in a planet of dreams,
fleeting glances of you,
like ice to the my tired feet,
pierced holes of longing
in the soul already battered,
and eyes so devoid of sleep…
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Whenever love comes…
A life half-remembered,
Dreams dismembered,
A noose swishing swaying end-it saying,
Trembling timbered hollowed-out praying,
The colors unreal tarry awhile,
Dazzling colors just…like…your…smile,
My poems you loved but loved not me,
Mindless churning self-anarchy,
Steamy forest raindrop falls,
Searing tears unfit fate now calls,
By what design this God intends,
So love comes…So love ends…
Whenever I Eat
I have to take
an even number of bites,
never odd,
preferably a meal or snack
should be eaten
in a number divisble by 4.
I don’t know why
or how it started,
I’ve just been doing it
as long as I remember.
If there’s an odd number
of chocolates in the box,
or chips on my plate,
I bite one in half
to even up the numbers.
It’s my ‘thing’,
my superstition,
my little piece of OCD.
Just like when I was little
and used to colour in
all the ‘O’s’ in my books
in pink or yellow felt tip pen.
Guess I’m just weird like that.
(I have to go now – the men in white coats are here to take me away!)
Whew. With this one, I’m caught up again.
Lines Written While Listening To “Peace Sign” by War
Whenever I hear War I see colors
rubbed down with grease and ribbons of sweat,
metal that bounces like Akron rubber,
clouds of smoke that makes you cough and grin.
I reminisce about times I never had,
places I’ve never been. I know what it’s like
to have piston rings and a black bandana,
to play a hot horn in cascades,
to taste cherry-lime soda. War is
the thick white shadow on the eyelids
of my mojo. War is the time machine,
hands on the eight-ball stick,
fuel that, with anachronistic funkitude,
perpetually recycles itself.
Pamela Murray Winters
Whenever I Shop
the world gets smaller.
No crime, starving children,
no touchy conversations.
A kaleidoscope of color, whirls.
Melodious background voices, calm.
No aches, no pains, no work.
Just shop, smile, be, hunt, enjoy.
Melt away in a daze of joyous
Sights, sounds, and kinetic energy.
Whenever I Pause
Whenever I pause to draw another breath
Or shed tears, or blood, or a jacket in summer
Whenever I take a second to listen for your step
Or bend down to hear if the dog or the car is coming
Round the corner and nearer the house at last
Whenever there’s a hush in the night so still
I find myself puzzled awake and wondering why
I’m pausing between breaths and heartbeats
As I lay there in the dark; that seems to be
Whenever I find myself feeling closest to you of all
I am trying to catch up…
Pamela
“Whenever I Look at the Stars”
Me too–3 days behind!
Whenever I Run
I feel the beats
Feet beat
Street
Heart beat
Heat
Breath beat
Sweet
Don’t need
No MP3
Just heart, lungs, feet
Thought this had posted successfully before… apparently not!
…
Whenever There’s Smoke
The chimneys
have gone volcanic,
opening
with black plumes
that scatter above Midtown
in the autumn air;
and each time,
I think, don’t panic:
but there’s still
those brief thoughts,
Towering Inferno thoughts,
triggered in my head;
I’m counting
all the fire exits,
so at least
I’m ready
for when the alarm is real
and we play for keeps.
***
whenever I write three love poems
***
i.
love is not blind.
ii.
iii.
love is braille.
WHENEVER WE WALK
through San Francisco streets
or bump and bumble
down Chinatown allies,
my inability
to walk a straight line
becomes ever so clear.
I trip over my own
feet or zig-zag down
the sidewalk pushing you
into parking meters
and piles of poop.
Thanks for standing by me.
Humbling Journeys
Flying over great bodies of water
Seen from the air, they appear
Like art canvas in varying shades:
Brush-stroked or pallet-knifed
Cobalt, Prussian blue, slate,
Pale viridian – to name a few
I feel so insignificant
At times like these – hours
Of passing nothing but water
The only things seeming as endless—
At least thus far in my travels—
Viewed from the air,
Are mountain ranges
Row on row of snow- covered
Peaks, that from 30,000 plus feet
Appear somewhat the same height
It is illusory but equally humbling
Travelling by train or car
I get the same sensation
Going across the prairies
In North America or up around
The great lakes in Canada
While that section of road and rail
Don’t really go on endlessly,
But with the twists and turns
Through the Canadian Shield
Passing through steep canyon
Walled tunnels and past
Thousands of un-named
Lakes and islands, some
That still show on no maps,
It seems at times unending
And has the propensity
To make me feel diminished
I find myself, especially
When flying, thinking often
Of brave Amelia Earhart
Flying off into the great
Unknown – radioing
To land that she and her
Co-pilot were lost but
Not that worried –
And then, they were
Never seen
nor heard from, again
Whenever I Look in the Mirror
Whenever I look in the mirror
A stranger greets me
Reminds me that we haven’t met in a while
Shows me new evidence of life lived
Challenges me to choose
How I want to present myself to the world
This is what they see, she says
I struggle to see
Beyond my pain
That there is actually a person there
Emotionally I am still a six year old
Longing for approval
Outwardly I am ten times that
But still yearning
Just as these words are
Simultaneously
Me and Not Me
So the mirror shows
Me and Not Me
Myself
Whenever Winter’s Near
gray sky darkens losing light
the clouds are belly-full as if
waiting to drop the first snow
I scan the empty space above
building tops three stories high
searching for wheeling crows
black wings against gray sky
before all natural light is lost
winging wide an ancient gyre
here one, there two drop out
to perch a while on high-rise
rooftops, catch their breaths
before returning to the throng
their winter dance, silent song
wheneverwhereverwhatever
it’s the moment past and
the calendar opens up like
an empty highway on open
range. it’s now your job to
watch out for what comes,
to swerve left when you
think to swerve right, to
keep your eyes peeled for
whatever comes next, for
all the signs that say “life
here, wherever you go.”
whenever you turn the
page, whatever you want,
wherever you take it: go.
whenever i see crows
by juanita lewison-snyder
whenever i open my door and see crows
i think on our neighbor lady
out tending her wild chickens
with scratch not so benevolent,
giving them the day’s assignments
as she wagers with the devil
because she knows the evil that crows do
and because she thinks they can take him.
© 2011 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder