Grasset's April

'April' - from Eugène Grasset's Calandrier 'La Belle Jardinière' 1896

Grasset’s April

April’s surely the sweetest time,

where flowers bloom and tendrils climb.

In my mind’s springtime eye, I see

you…with a nosegay of sweet pea.

Meandering rills frame a scene

that’s dotted with pink and soft green

but the fairest of all must be

you…with a nosegay of sweet pea.

And, oh, how I find myself spun

in pastoral dreams, with the sun

spreading its warmth.  Beside a tree:

you…with a nosegay of sweet pea.

O in this garden, by Grasset,

the centerpiece this April day

is just the one who’s dazzingly

you…with a nosegay of sweet pea. 

###

Notes:  The inspiration for this poem originally came from Sepia Saturday's prompt of a black and white World War II era photograph of some people working in a garden.  Now, as you may have already guessed from earlier posts, I'm a huge fan of the poster art of La Belle Epoque, so this Grasset poster worked really well for the words that were playing in my head.

On another note, most of the other poetry I'm penning this month can be found at Robert Lee Brewer's April PAD Challenge.  In case you might wonder, for the most part, I've 'challenged' myself to write in the form Kyrielle.

Apocalyptically speaking...

Image courtesy of  The Meta Picture

Zombie Apocalypse

“Zombies are people, too.  Okay, dead people with poor grammar skills.” ~Night of the Living Dead

Let’s celebrate apocalypse –
the zombie kind. Here are my tips:
So…one: you moan, and two: eat brains.
Three: Michael Jackson’s ‘Thriller’ reigns.

It’s ‘Doomsday’ – zombies can be found
at Starbucks, Game Stop…all around
the shopping malls and bowling lanes
where Michael Jackson’s ‘Thriller’ reigns.

Their biggest problem? When they talk.
But only zombies rock ‘the walk.’
It’s even better done in chains
‘cause Michael Jackson’s ‘Thriller’ reigns.

Zombies, existentially,
are what the world will zombday be.
If zombies are the last remains,
then Michael Jackson’s ‘Thriller’ reigns. 

###

Notes:  The form is Kyrielle.  Over at the Poetic Asides PAD Challenge, Day 14's theme is 'Doomsday.'  Well, anyone who knows me knows my poetry typically doesn't want to be a downer. It's meant to be clever and funny (I said 'meant to be', you know) and it's really just shiny, happy people poetry.  

Usually.  

I mean, I have my causes and my rants (and don't get me started, okay?)  But I also believe that life is too short ('though not in a doomsday kind of way, of course) so why not laugh.

After all, the zombies will get you zombday anyway.

Propeller Tales

Image courtesy of antiqueairfield.com

Air Mail

Postmaster, here’s another dime.

Please get my package off in time,

and tell my Bobby, ‘Yes, I’ll wait!

With hugs and kisses.  Love you, Kate.”

This faster service, this ‘air mail’

I hope will, in the end, prevail.

Five cents is worth it. (I’d pay eight.)

With hugs and kisses.  Love you, Kate.”

Dear Bobby, here’s your 'Miss You' box

with goodies like some hand-knit socks.

I’ll gladly pay the extra rate.

With hugs and kisses.  Love you, Kate.”

And so, I’ll wait for your reply

that comes when e’er the mail planes fly

and bring their cargo – precious freight!

With hugs and kisses.  Love you, Kate.”

###

Image courtesy of asutravelguides

The Swingin’ Stews of 1965

I dream of flying in a plane

to London, Paris or to Spain.

The stews in flight quite happily,

will offer, “Coffee, tea or me?”

The year is sixty-five and I’m

a handsome fella in my prime.

Those swingin’ stews, I guarantee,

will offer, “Coffee, tea or me?”

Up in the clouds, I will applaud

the safety demo.  I’ll act awed.

I know this trick will work.  You’ll see.

They’ll offer, “Coffee, tea or me?”

Perhaps one stew will be ‘the one.’

A guy can dream ‘cause it’s in fun.

But so you know, my choice ain’t tea,

when she says, “Coffee, tea or me?”

###

Notes:  Sepia Saturday provided the prompt of 'flight.'  So...I looked for some vintage (or vintage-ish) pictures from which I could make a couple of narratives which might reflect the mores and attitudes of the times.  

What's odd about me writing for this theme is that I hate to fly!  Yes, I do fly  - because it's the most expedient way to get to a destination that's way far from home, but the strange thing is that I fly to places with my husband, who has his private pilot's license - because I encouraged him and gave him his first lesson as a gift.

And also, when I was younger, I actually considered a career as a flight attendant ('though not a 'swingin' stew.')

Branching Out

Image courtesy of gardentreeslandscape

Slumber Leaves

There is a tree on my front lawn

where all the mourning doves are drawn.

They caw, they woot and even peep.

What’s in my tree won’t let me sleep.

Some gusts whip branches high atop

this tree, now banging without stop.

Between the doves and branches … *bleep*!

What’s in my tree won’t let me sleep.

And just when I might think, ‘That’s it,’

cicadas in my tree transmit

‘cicada song.’  I want to leap.

What’s in my tree won’t let me sleep.

At last, I doze, but not for long.

Woodpeckers?!  Buzzing bees?!  Wind gong?!

They join the noisefest as I weep.

What’s in my tree won’t let me sleep.

###

Metaphorest

“You can’t sit in your corner of the Forest waiting for others to come to you.  You have to go to them sometimes.” ~Winnie the Pooh

A canopy of leaves may arc

above my head.  Tree limbs and bark

may give me shelter, but I know

my friends are waiting.  Gotta go.

That old bear understood the need

which says, ‘Once anchored, then proceed

to branch out.  Life is waiting.’ So…

my friends are waiting.  Gotta go.

A forest corner’s safe…secure,

but only briefly.  Trees obscure

the view until their leaves will blow.

My friends are waiting.  Gotta go.

A metaphor can only state

the obvious, so let’s translate:

I’ve got my roots; now I must grow.

My friends are waiting.  Gotta go.

###

Notes:  Poetic Asides' PAD Challenge sported a two-fer today:  trees and forests.  Both of my poems, are you might have already figured out, are Kyrielles.

Contrast Sketch

Image courtesy of Kapajen/'Reverie', 2003 - Conté crayon

Contrast Sketch

“Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance.” ~Carl Sandburg

A voice, with Conté crayon, draws

the light and shadow, all because

imagination wants to fetch

a life in words: a contrast sketch.

An echo is a study of

the shades and tints of hate and love:

a danse macabre, a blooming vetch,

a life in words: a contrast sketch.

In bright sunlight, a shadow grows

but not in silence: Poems. Prose.

It’s  ballet…jazz…it’s movement…stretch…

a life in words: a contrast sketch.

The shady sides of streets are just

one place to hide the pixie dust

which, when it’s found, can score and etch

a life in words: a contrast sketch.  

###

Notes: The form is Kyrielle.  My poem was inspired by the Poetic Asides' PAD prompt today of 'shady' (or shade and shadows, if so interpreted.) My muse also got a happy little assist from Saint-Saëns and Sandburg...and Bob Ross.