As the weekend’s protest thread continues, this poem looks at what we count — and what we choose not to.
VJ’s article on holding to a deeper “why” nudged me toward this poem — a poignant protest shaped by questions of time, land, and what we risk by looking away. Her story is below—the spark behind this poem. >> Having a Why – One Woman’s Quest
Also, over at Weekly Prompts, the Weekend Challenge is the word Invasive. To visit their fabulous site, please click >> Here
Handless Watchbands, or Who’s Counting
How many grains of sand are left in the ancient hourglass? Why are the Holy grasslands a desert full of misguided missiles and handless watch bands?
How many missiles do the leaders in Versailles have to count before the amount is called genocide?
For what we cannot look away from, let the song bear witness.
In keeping with this week’s ‘Moon’ theme, today’s Throwback Friday poem (originally written in January 2021) is drawn from my third book, Until Eyes Hear Sound. It appears in Chapter 8: Poetry in Slow Motion, and if you need to have a chat with me, “I am up here floating on the moon.”
Floating On The Moon
I am not always wrong And at times, I may have been right Behind my mask, I smile And at times, I grimace
Numbness has entered my bones Clumsiness guides my pen Awkwardness precedes my stride Uneasiness resonates in my voice
I am not able to walk on water And at times, I have sunk like a stone I live within my soul’s cocoon And at times, I am floating on the moon
On this quiet Easter morning, I’m sharing a poem shaped from small conversations and long-held echoes — a few stones rolled aside to let a little light through.
This poem grew from poetic anecdotes I first shared as comments on fellow bloggers’ posts. In stanza order, they are:
Hello, dear readers and followers. As you may know, I stopped producing my “Tullawalla Booklets” at #31 because that was the house number of our family’s Tullawalla Homestead. However, the booklet format is a superb way for me to catalogue the vast number of poems I produce, and as the saying goes, “I Am Turning Another Page”. Here I have begun a new series of poem booklets, called “Shangri La”, the name of my little Villa, and it is my piece of “earthly paradise, a retreat from the pressures of modern civilization”. I now have “2295” Poems filed in these booklet formats!! (On my bookshelf, I have “The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson, which contains 1775 poems … when I first started writing poems, I never envisaged that I would produce so many poems)
“Like all my booklets, this one is here to be read at your leisure — no rush, no expectation, just an open page waiting when you are.”
Click > HERE. for the link to your FREE: PDF Copy of“Shangri La, Volume 19, Leftover Heirlooms.”
On this Good Friday morning, a lone bird drifts beneath the sun — a small, steady shape moving through a world that still carries its wounds. Watching it, I felt the familiar pull of memory, the long years of care, love, and quiet endurance that shaped my life. This Tanka rose from that moment, from that tear in the sky, and the music below holds the same fragile ache — a home built from devotion, loss, and the tenderness that remains.
Not Good, But I’m Ok(a Tanka)
I fly beneath you On this Good Friday morning, And I spy a tear In the corner of your eye — Is our World a sinful stye?
In keeping with this week’s ‘Anti-war’ theme, today’s Throwback Friday poem (originally written in June 2024) is drawn from my upcoming book, Time Hears No Sound. It appears as a poem in Chapter 8, War: A Waste of Time
And I Wonder Why
On a windless winter morn I am walking beside the waveless bay Watching the white wispy clouds Wandering above the whispering trees
And I am wondering why Our worried and weeping world Wantonly wastes time On unworthy and wearisome wars
“Esmerelda”, a wonderfully dramatic song by Ben Howard
Ivor.Plumber/Poet 