Quest

ABC Wednesday Round 9

In Search of Eldorado

Our faith in gold, and pearl, and fountains
where youth and manhood are renewed
Was lost in challenging these mountains
of pathless chasms, boulders strewed
to crush our spirits, slow our way,
ice by night and fire by day.

We thought we would have been, by now,
stretched languidly in fragrant grass.
Who could foresee this brooding brow
of overhanging cliff? We pass
against the precipice; the blood
of clinging fingers marks our way
precarious, day after day
threatened by avalanche and flood.

Nor have we found the streets of gold,
but dust, and thorn, and flies that bite,
and eyes that circle us at night,
and we are growing old.

Bruised, we scientists retreat.
The stones of paradise have torn our feet.

Not Here Yet - I Hope

Requiem for Earth (A Sonnet)

Down the slanting pathway of all the years
No memory now of battles lost or won
There were soft rains that fell, or maybe tears
That burned away beneath the blazing sun.

There was a view of earthrise on the moon,
That tender living ball of shining blue
That stirred the hearts of they who all too soon
Would act from need or greed, their poisons spew.

Now down the slanting pathway of the years,
Degreee by small degree, all hope has flown
From rare rich planet, bright among the stars
No longer in the thrall of greed or fears.
Now, here where once a bright blue planet shone
is torrid Venus or an airless Mars.

Phyllis Sterling (Granny) Smith

M is for Memories

M is for Memories

Requiem for Earth
(a sonnet)

Down the slanting pathway of all the years
No memory now of battles lost or won
There were soft rains that fell, or maybe tears
That burned away beneath the blazing sun.

There was a view of earthrise on the moon,
That tender living ball of shining blue
That stirred the hearts of they who all too soon
Would act from need or greed, their poisons spew.

Now down the slanting pathway of the years,
Degree by small degree, all hope has flown
From rare rich planet, bright among the stars
No longer in the thrall of greed or fears.
Now, here where once a bright blue planet shone
is torrid Venus or an airless Mars.

Phyllis (Granny Smith) Sterling Smith October 2011

Plan B re Pets

See other takes on the prompt of "Plan B" HERE
or by clicking on banner above

OF MYTHIC BEASTS

I’ve never tried to trap a unicorn.
It’s not more graceful, say, than a gazelle,
an earthly beast I’m sure would do as well;
and what’s so great about a single horn?
Nor have I tried to snare a horse with wings.
I’ve flown across the sky, but in a jet.
I see no earthly use for such a pet;
I’ll save my sugar cubes to sweeten things.

But dragons! Ah, now that’s a different story:
great flailing tails that slither, thrash, and crash,
tough armored scales to hide the wicked core,
the iridescent wings a blue-black glory,
the knobbly claws whose talons rake and slash!
My favored mythic beasts breathe fire, and roar!

Spring Is

Click above or here to see other Sunday Scribblings.

SPRING IS

Spring is not allegory. It is weighed
in density of sound from drunken bees,
intensity of sky, contrast of shade
and glinting leaf, the whisper brush of breeze

against my sleeveless skin; and it is seen
in swooping jay’s blue stitchery that sews
pure cherry blossom white to tender green.
Spring is the sun-baked boards beneath bare toes,

strawberries tart on tongue, the first warm night
that lilac scent, as thick as honey pours
through opened windows, moths around the light
and filmy dust of pollen on the floors.

Don’t try to find a meaning or define,
For spring is real
and here
and now
and mine!

Gifts Are For Giving

The Sunday Scribblings prompt is GIFT.
Click here or on the banner to
see how other bloggers meet this challenge.

This is an old poem of mine that seemed appropriate to the prompt. You may have seen it before, for which I apologize.

THE GIFT OF WORDS

You say I have the gift of words.

Someday my words may fail me,
lost in a maze of neurons, wells of words
with no bucket to retrieve them;
or they may tangle on my tongue
like Hannah's yarn after her stroke
when she worried helplessly
among her skeins and needles.

Gifts are for giving.

Thus I would bequeath to you
a shimmer of words when I no longer
can order them into their patterns.
They will glint like breeze-tossed aspen leaves
or glimmer like showers in sunshine
where each drop holds a rainbow.
They will be as numerous
as stars
as facets of waves
as moments of our love
and fragrant like water touching parched earth.

They will hold bird song and wind song
but, alas, no Mozart, no sonnets, no meaning -
just their fragments.

I will scatter them at random on a fragile web
spangled with words and syllables like sequins
and toss it scarf-like over you.

This is my gift.

Phyllis Sterling Smith

Animal Chow Design

The Sunday Scribblings prompt is Design.

For the interpretations from
participating bloggers click here.

ASSIGNMENT OF RESPONSIBILITY
FOR IMPLEMENTING
PEACE ON EARTHPeaceable Kingdom With Two Olives by Will Bullas (downloaded).
He sells prints of this painting

In the Peaceable Kingdom what will Lion do
lying with studied calm beside the Lamb?
Will he be satisfied with veggie stew?
Will he chow down on chunks of soybean Spam?

To Wolf, who snuggles with his erstwhile feed
what kind of kibble can substitute for Hare?
Although her friend, the Hawk, eats sunflower seed
will Mouse wax nervous at her hungry stare?

I contemplate this future state of grace,
this lion-by-lamb, eagle-by-chipmunk view,
this straight-from-heaven, love-each-other place:
Purina research staff, we count on you!

Phyllis Sterling Smith

Two Part(y) Limerick

Two Part(y) Limerick

A gal who seemed guileless and sweet
Was riled when faced with deceit.
"I thought he was Dem
But he's one of Them
Who steal from the man in the street!"

She shook her head sadly and sighed
"Can a leopard change spots?" she decried
"This guy is so stealthy -
Gives alms to the wealthy.
Can an elephant change its thick hide?!"

M is for Merry-Go-Round

ABC Wednesday round 8 has reached the halfway point with the letter M. Click on link or banner to find what participating bloggers have posted.

The Merry-Go-Round
at Tilden Park

Anna (at left) on Tilden Park Merry-Go-Round

The painted horses go round and around
To the lilt of steam organ’s old-fashioned sound.
Go up, go down, go round and around
The Merry-Go-Round goes round and around
The years go around and around.

The toddler rides with laughs of delight
With Daddy beside her to hold her tight
And the years go around, up day, down night
And the Merry-Go-Round goes around.

The ups are winning, no downs today
As teenagers come to the park to play
And the sun shines bright on the Merry-Go-Round
And the years go around and around.

When did the years start to spin so fast
And the feet slow down? But the memories last
Of child and child’s child, now outward bound
And the years go around and around.

Who would have thought that I’d need to cry
When the steed you rode on came bounding by
Without you on it, that years would fly
As the Merry-Go-Round spun around.

My husband, Otto, and our grandson, Dr. Byron Shock,
without the dignity which their respective PhDs might imply,
ride the Tilden Merry-Go-Round.

The painted horses go round and around
To the lilt of the steam organ’s old-fashioned sound
Go up, go down, go around and around
The Merry-Go-Round goes around
And the years go around and around.

April 14, 2011 Phyllis Sterling Smith

Personal Freedom is Vastly Over-rated.

I don’t mean the kind of political freedom that brave men and women are dying for right now, democracy (if such a thing exists), but freedom of choice on a much smaller scale.

I have much more personal freedom now that I no longer have the love of my life beside me,

I am free to live anywhere I choose to. I chose to move to Washington State to be near one of my sons and his dear wife, rather than being tied to Berkeley where Otto had been a professor for the greater part of our lives.

The Entrance to My New Home

I can decorate my new small home in whatever manner I choose. And I have done so, employing more green paint than most households use in a lifetime. I’ve filled it with dragons from many parts of the world, sculpted, cast, or otherwise crafted, and have done away with any clutter that is not self-generated. Gone are the plethora of electrical parts for Otto’s inventions, the piles of scientific papers being written or critiqued, the stacks of technical journals and books, the scattered tools for modeling new improvements of his patents or for making our big house more livable and beautiful. I love making home improvements but must leave it to others, volunteer or professional, since my talents and physical abilities preclude my doing it myself. But I have enough money to be free to have it done.

A Few of My Dragons

I now have the freedom to spend the inheritance that Otto left me on my personal choices, free of the constraints that are imposed by a partnership that tries to meet the needs of two people. Due to that same inheritance, I am free of most of the economic worries of the majority of people.

And you know what? I would gladly trade that kind of freedom for one more moment with Otto beside me.


And, now that I have written this response to the Sunday Scribblings prompt of Free, I find that I am not free of tears.

For more responses to the Sunday Scribblings prompt, click here or on the banner at the top of this post.

I is for Interspecies Interaction

Mrs. Nesbitt's ABC Wednesday has reached I of the eighth round. For other entries, click on link or on badge at left, and it will lead you to participating blogs.

When we were way back at B, I posted something called Elegant Bears, which my son incorporated into a poster for his and wife Kristin's monthly Waltz Night, which they host and for which they and occasional guests provide the music, on violin (Kristin) and concertina or guitar (Otto) and on whatever instruments invited guest musicians prefer. His advertising posters have always incorporated this great impressionist painting of a dancing couple. It was my idea to add the bears. I decided that the next (April) poster should not leave each species on its own. In the friendly setting of the dance floor, it would be only polite for them to exchange dances. Hence these drawings.

She really isn't quite sure of this
especially after smelling bear breath,
but one has to be polite, doesn't one?

He, on the other hand,
finds his partner an excellent dancer
and is teaching her some intricate steps.

Raw

Intransigence

Take this hideous razored grief
so sharp in every part,
its spines all tipped with poison
and pointed at your heart.

Muffle it with music,
rub it down with prayer,
thrust it out and close the door,
pretend it isn’t there.

Watch closely, though, for treachery
when handling it tomorrow;
a grief is very hard to tame
into a decent sorrow.

Phyllis Sterling Smith

See other responses by Sunday Scribblers to the prompt of RAW.

Volcano

The Sunday Scribblings prompt is FIRE.

Volcano at Night

Edged with living fire
the thrusting molten lava
spews showers of stars.

Elegant Bears

This is my entry for Mrs.Nesbitt's ABC Wednesday a blog that has created a community of caring people. To read other "E" entries, click here.







I originally drew this pair of bears to illustrate my poem Ceremony, and it was printed as a background to that poem in the anthology Roots and Tendrils.


Then my son wanted a few more dancing bears for a poster he was making for the Waltz Night that he and his dear wife (dear to me too), Kristin, put on at monthly intervals. These were rather quickly done (while lying on my bed with the drawing pad balanced on my knees).

And this is the final result.