Forgiveness

The longer I live,
the more I give.
The more I forgive,
the happier I live.

A longevity of giving;
a giving for-ness of living.
A love remembered;
a mistake forgotten.

Why loss in life?
Why will to live?
Why, this means
life is to forgive.

Loss is the deal.
Meditate on memory.
Fill in with love.
Nowhere else to be
when life is a flood.

Lady Joanne 1/12

© 2012 Joanne E. Sprott

Submitted to dVerse Poets Pub for their Tuesday OpenLinkNight. Go forth, share, read and appreciate poets in a great community. 

To Embrace the Night

A lyrical reprise in honor of Winter Solstice:

It's time to capture your lost courage, true;
don't run away so fast, my friend.
Close your eyes and let the dark enfold you:
Time to embrace the night.

Watch the piercing stars when the twilight dims;
it's ok to be blinded by the spirit-light.
Feel your fear and let it go on the wind:
Reach to embrace the night.

Open your ears to the whisper of God;
listen, listen with all your heart
as She runs that melody right through your blood:
Time to embrace the night.

In the deep of the valley of shadow,
when solitude looms overhead,
be caressed by the unseen hands of love:
Reach to embrace the night.

No matter how long the night's duration,
no matter how lonely your soul,
dawn will awaken your inspiration,
Beyond the reach of night.

So, light up your sweet soul, my friend;
time once more to embrace the night.

© 1999 Joanne E. Clendenen (Sprott)

Submitted to dVerse Poets Pub for their Tuesday OpenLinkNight. Go, share, read and appreciate poets in a great community. 

Waterfall

Standing before waterfall,
mist of moisture
shining on skin.

One step forward.
Body beaten blue
by consequence.

Exposed,
bloody, transparent.
facing fear.

Essence of rainbow,
rises, to halo me
from oblivion.

I smile, then move on,
into the cave of light.

Lady Joanne
12/13/11

Submitted to dVerse Poets Pub for their Tuesday OpenLinkNight. Go, share, read and appreciate poets in a great community. 

Crayola

Smell of wax
strikes nostrils first,
before eyes even register
pointed color.

Red hogs the eye
fills all the pupil space:
Pay attention!
Fill me with lipstick kisses!

Then the yellow, shining cheery,
tries to wither the green.
Could put my hands in the green
grass wrapped around my toes.

Can you tell orange's not a fav?
Skipped it in the rainbow, I did.
Never been sure why,
though sherbet's pale is nice enough.

Love thistle and orchid for smiles,
spring green for life,
plum for “I know who I am”
but without the arrogance of purple.

Oh, and peach for cheeks to brush
with more kisses and true blue
for hydrangeas growing
in sandy acidic soil.

Ah,  precious ones, silver and gold
shine again from the center,
But they lie unused mostly;
the glitter tends to shed.

Maroon for blood running through,
apricot for my skin,
chestnut and green for eyes,
white, not dark brown for  hair (sigh).

A rainbow of waxy creation
to draw me and my world;
I put on my nightdress and draw,
like Harold and his purple crayon.

Someday when I recover,
I'll draw me a window like Harold,
with moon and stars, and a little boat
to sail my reality with.

Someday, when I grow young.

Lady Joanne
11/11

Submitted to dVerse Poets Pub for their Tuesday OpenLinkNight. Go, share, read and appreciate poets in a great community. 

Flying Dialogue

Hangnail feather claw;
I’ll clip those wings.

I don’t need wings to fly;
bye, bye.

Your bye is your fly,
hangfeather parachute.

Check your fly, guy,
while I fly high.

Rip cord salute,
secondary chute.

While you fall down,
I still go up.

Hollywood stunt,
giant pillow below.

You’ve blown my cover,
I’ll have to find another.

Bushes won’t hide
five trees in your eyes.

The fig leaf will have to do,
think of the beautiful view.

So, a half-Venus statue will do,
also, I won’t intrude.

No, come and join the party;
there’ll be clams on the half-shell.

Pod-eriffic! Pod-ification of a
prolific pod shell podment of pod-ciety.

A society of pods? Wrong shape.
People are so much more interesting.

Dimensioning and questioning
geometry and theology.

Yes, humans are curious creatures,
multi-dimensional energy fountains.

A creative creation, a collaboration
of completely clownish colligenous junk.

But we’ve got heart, unlike the tin man,
we just don’t use it well.

Mindless scarecrow
and a lion that has no courage.

A mind is a terrible thing to waste,
and our fears a waste to hang on to.

Hail! The five-dollar cigarette,
and the eleven-dollar 12-pack.

Hail! The five-dollar chocolate bar,
and the eleven-dollar wine bottle.

Twine and whine,
sin and sing attitude.

Lullaby and good night;
go to bed now and sleep tight.

Matt and Joanne 1/08

Matt and I had fun with this back and forth two-lines-to-a-stanza/speaker dialogue; he got to go first. Thanks to our common interest in this poetry thing, we got to take the two voices thing quite literally. Submitted to dVerse Poets Pub for their Saturday Poetics: Call and Response. Go, share, read and appreciate poets in a great community. 

A Texas Fall--Reprise

When the pale blue Norther finally

Pushes the heavy, wet air back to

The Gulf from whence it came in April,

We know relief, and open windows,

Ah, real air, not metal-smelled, but

Clean-scented soul conditioning.

Our pale green leaves turn vapid yellow,

Fool's gold compared to the great North

With her ruby maples and aspen glitter.

Living soil still holds tropical heat,

To grow fall color in clusters of

Purple and gold Chrysanthemums.

Browned grass and bare branches,

Temporary mortalities, remind us

Of the longer death in other climes.

Far into the frost and snow fall

Of the North, we swing on verandas,

Savoring this second, sweeter, summer.

Joanne

11/20/09

©2009 Joanne Sprott

Submitted to dVerse Poets Pub for their Tuesday OpenLinkNight. Go, share, read and appreciate poets in a great community. 


Couldn't help reprising this poem from last October after feeling the first real front blow its blustery path through my opened windows. Too nice after such a hot summer here in Houston.

We Girls, We Grew

Beginning with the beanie,
starting in the soil of
Browniedom, we grew.

Gathered at long tables
in elementary cafeterias,
we crafted and communed.

We girls, we grew.

Until we greened,
ah, that was rich!
Promotion and sashes!

Black and white photos
from a Brownie camera,
and a badge sewn on.

We girls, we grew.

No matter where
the gypsy Air Force
sent us, I knew.

Girls would be there
to giggle and grow with.
To stake new tents,

under canopies of trees,
on slopes of undergrowth,
flooded with gale and storm.

We girls, we grew.

Tying knots from tree
to tree to hang dewy pots
early set over dawn fires.

Not s'mores I remember,
but steamed breakfast in foil
laid on ash and yellow coals.

We girls, we grew.

And curled in cold socks,
folded in frigid bags while
wind bent our sleepy resolve.
Brushing chattering teeth
under whispered pines, with
only cold water to rinse away.

We girls, we grew.

And back home, then
for door-to-door innocence
of  minty cookie sales,

in a world without
threats behind the doors.
Just boxes of sugar delight.

We girls, we grew.

Thank you, Daisy,
for greening my youth.
We grew because of you.

Joanne Sprott
10/4/2011

© Copyright 2011, Joanne Sprott

Submitted to dVerse Poets Pub for their Tuesday OpenLinkNight. Go, share, read and appreciate poets in a great community. 

This one is a bit of a rough draft, folks, as my prompt was a recent request for memories from my Mom, who is going to a planning thing for commemorating 100 years of Girl Scouting (in 2012). It turned out to be an interesting idea. Let me know what you think, and how it feels.