NaPoWriMo 2016 #13

The prompt tonight was to use a fortune cookie saying in some way in our poem. I keep all my fortunes in my purse. Odd little quirk of mine. This is one of my favorites, Punctuality is the politeness of kings and the duty of gentle people everywhere.

NaPoWriMo 2016 #13

2015 - 1 (2)

“Punctuality is the politeness of kings and the duty of gentle people everywhere. “, said Miss Ling, as she opened the door for her guest.

“Then I must be a king tonight.” chortled Dishi, ” Quite happy I wore my silk that is best!”

“Please,” she motioned, “come inside. The dumplings are steaming and the rice is already fried.”

“I am hungry !! ” he exclaimed, then felt a little ashamed. “I miss dumplings since Mother died.”

“You are our honored guest tonight, Dishi. I made your Mother’s dumplings special for you.” Miss Ling took his arm as he deftly offered.

In they strolled, friends rose in welcome, amidst candle light, aromas, and a table full of delicious coffers.

© 2016 cdd All Right Reserved

Photo Credit: https://www.papermasters.com/zen-buddhism.html

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NaPoWriMo 2016 #8

Let There Be Love

 

May the children in the morning rays,

Remember love will always stay,

In their hearts if they are gay,

As they grow not forgetting to play,

Let There Be Love.

 

May our brothers come together fast,

Building bonds of strength to last,

A creed defined across all caste,

Molded from the ghosts of visions past,

Let There Be Love.

 

Will sisters struggle arm in arm,

Heal at last and do no harm,

Beat the drum fighting back the swarm,

Grow hearts at home and fruit upon the farms,

Let There Be Love.

 

And when at end of day we rest,

Bring kindness, joy, and peace to test,

Care for Mother Earth’s children best,

For We are seen and We are blessed,

Let There Be Love.

© 2016 cdd All Rights Reserved

 

This is my wish for you all today and every day. May we all be as One and May there be Love.

 

 

NaPoWriMo 2016 #6

NaPoWriMo 2016 #6

Sentient beings are starving on Earth tonight,
As the sun says, “Good night” to the moon,
The moon asks,”Good day?”, the sun turns away,
“Too many were lost in the fray…”
The moon sadly witnesses what he had said,
Brother Sun then is off to his bed,
In Brazil street dogs are begging for bread,
In Africa too children ate poisonous grains,
In America dumpsters are raided for meals,
Long before the school day has begun,
Everywhere under the bridges they shared,
What the soup kitchens lovingly brought,
In the flop house, there wasn’t a crumb,
In train stations coins in cups are sought,
To try to make it through one more cold night,
A hungry baby was left on a church step,
The money went in a needle instead,
Elderly shared a can with their dear pets,
It was all the food they could afford,
While stray cats wish for warmth and a dish,
They settle for anything they can kill instead,
Jane quit school to work the mean streets,
So little sister could go to Grade 9,
Dick drives a truck for the food pantry folks,
They were there for him when he was a boy,
Once again they came when his mother passed,
Soon Dick will have kids of his own,
Food is the one thing all of us need,
No matter where or how we’re defined,
Reach out your hand to someone in need,
You’ll be more thankful when you have to plead.

© 2016 cdd all Rights Reserved

NaPoWriMo 2016 #5

Today’s prompt was to incorporate names of heirloom seeds into our poems. Very clever.

NaPoWriMo2016 #5

All my thoughts of idealistic love,

have flown away with the Purple Dove,

Now, I seek a man who knows,

the worth of a garden and holeless gloves,

No fantasies of Silver Queens,

or Tequila Sunrise on the beach,

I long for a quiet Black Prince,

who’ll kindly wash my hair and rinse,

I’ll serve him fried Rat’s Tails for breakfast,

Japanese Pie, and Lemon Drops too,

We’ll love to garden our days away,

Selling berries and riverman stew,

On the porch we’ll shell the Ojo de Cabras,

While our foul flock pecks the labyrinth,

He’d wear his Turk’s Cap, me my Red Velvet Lipstick,

When to town we go to cut a jig rug,

But, when day is done, we cuddle up like bugs,

Welcoming sweet restfull sleep at our door,

“What can I give this happiness to repay?”

“Brazilian Starfish to light love evermore.”

© 2016 cdd All Rights Reserved

NaPoWriMo #3

Dearest Mr. Cohen,

I came to your music quite late in my life,

Pardon me, but this couldn’t be helped,

I was born a little too late for my soul in nineteen sixty-four,

By this time in your life you had already seen,

The stitch, purpose, and the cosmic inseams,

What about life and why we use words,

Having been placed so strategically.

Yes, I am American born, wishing more understood,

The depth and compassion, you’ve given the world,

I guess it is true, as I’ve always been told,

I just have a flower girl’s soul,

For my inner child knew, when first I heard you,

As a poet, as one of the wilde,

You spoke from my heart, so true.

I’ve listened, I’ve learned,

I’ve read and reviewed,

Studies your portrait a million times through,

Held the words you have offered,

The naked soul you shared often,

And, yes, I argue with God too.

You kept it simple so much of the time,

No need to make burdens or bruise,

You made it so hard, you tore it apart,

Just for a reason to use up the glue,

You planted weeds and harvested flowers,

Boquets of glass, caskets for those who choose,

How we live at times, to merely taste the hues.

You’ve taught us of love’s emaculate embrace,

Kissing war of the foot though with distaste,

To sing for our sister’s freedom and grace,

Even though our counting beads are worn,

On hands stealing bread, feeding mouths of babes,

Your strong laughter lives in our pink hallways,

We shant ever forget your face.

You examined all our heros, and the heroins relaced,

Immortalizing these fragile poets promise with your praise,

Others dared not walk that space for lack of courage spent,

You, Leonard, took the dark wood’s path with lampless gallows,

For there is the greatest danger in lighting a smoke,

When your clothes are soaked in your truth and gasoline,

Opening all of the closets at once with no conical of refrain.

With Sharon you’ve breathed life into woman, Glorifying She in the fullness of the Self,

In Her truest beauty, Her sins, Her nakedness, or your word gowns,

Tis how we find our compass all so often, music being all we have,

In the temple, in the bedroom, in the grass or flowing fountain,

The melody seeks the melody hands dancing passion’s play to love,

This seeking ever draws us home in the end if we listen long enough.

To thank you overly, Mr. Cohen, for the songs and poetry,

I know that’s not your particular style, So, I’d like to say I am grateful, friend.

For your journey being such as it has been,

For your sharing, for your great smile, your diligence, and the quest,

The risk you took in searching so deeply, inside your wounded Self,

For Suzanne, Boogie Street, and Master Song, (to barely name a few)

for every drop of yourself you gifted.

Sincerely,

Carla Dawn

© cdd All Rights Reserved

Making Changes

I could have used a friend a time or two,

Just a few kind words to get me through,

Not so much for someone to listen,

More a heart to share in a blessing,

Of the grace we are given by being human,

Love can bring such a gift in a new friend,

Making simple changes in someone’s world,

That will never be forgotten.

  © 2015 Carla Dawn Dunlap All Right Reserved

 

#NaPoWriMo 26 For Whom is the Honey Made?

Why does the bee labour so?

Why do the blossoms come?

Why has the honeycomb stood?

So long in this trusted wood?

For whom is the honey made?

For man, for beast, for micro mind?

For metamorphic clocks of time?

Why have we come to drink our own?

And murder so the host that binds?

For whom is the honey made?

Ask yourself, while there is still time.

#NaPoWriMo 26
© 2015 Carla Dawn Dunlap All Right Reserved