What random object has been left beside the door?


I slowly navigate down our flights of stairs
pondering the mystery that lies at the bottom.
The mystery of objects left….
Yesterday a bag filled of clothes
Last week a frying pan, a playpen
Today, will it be a pile of books
or a set of towels?
What random object has been left beside the door?
Where did it come from?
Where is it to go?
I wonder who leaves these objects and why?
Truly, I don’t really want to know.
I want the mystery, the secret
to continue intriguing me.
These random objects left beside the door
each have a story, a lost history
a tale I am free to imagine just
how I want it to be.
The objects we have left behind
a pair of glasses, a pink sweater
significant or trivial
forgotten or missed
they are pieces to our story
pieces of life we have left behind.
I almost forgot…
What random object has been left beside the door?
Today, a stack of old dishes.
River 9/10

at Dusk, it Begins…. (revised)

at Dusk, it Begins….

stillness shields the air and
parched earth from the humid day
it begins to lightly rain

a burst of light
brightens the dusk lit eve
diminishing the calm
announcing the arrival

from the West come winds
lifting trees into slow dance

echoes of thunder vibrate
beats from beneath
sprinkles grow to drops
the parched earth drinks

the wind picks up and howls
whipping the huge maple around
around in a frantic dance

reaching boundaries and limits
revealing truths of me

bolts of light explode in thought
forming silhouettes of trees
exposing their surrender
night engulfs day

unlocking the power
two forces explode
releasing their hold

the wind moves on
rain begins to slow

the horizon lights up
in a burst of electric white
scattered across the sky
a distant rumble fades

a smell grows of
new rains and
cleansed earth

renewed in life
imbued in me

once more
River 7/10

his poem was inspired from my ramblings during a thunderstorm.  At one point, sirens went off and we went to the basement. Also, I was inspired by the writings of  slpmartin with the writing style. :)

*revised from a poem earlier in the summer. Are they different? Find the older version and compare them.  🙂    same name just scratch revised.  🙂

Their first Moondance

for Monday Potluck (video & poem prompt)

Time Stands Still

* For Magpie Tales ~ Mag 32


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when spirits touch….

Duel Poetry
by Charlie Martin & River Urke

the call of a lone wolf
echoes
through the deepest corners
of the northern forest
a sound so primeval
from a forgotten soul
a wanderer of time
a time before men
walked the mossy path
alone, separated
and divided from all
now their relative calls
out their names
pleading for them
to return to the old ways
when men knew their brothers
and walked with their sisters
a time they lived side by side
no blades between or
tar soaked earth
only the warmth of love
for one another
a deep respect
for all who shared this place
and walked upon this path
a thousand miles far
the call of a lone wolf
resonates, passing through
earth, water, fire, and air
a girl lifts her ears
and speaks to the wind
brother I hear you
your voice is my voice
your sadness is mine
the lone wolf replies
young one, I carry
too heavy a burden
for your soft back
the girl smiles
and says to the old one
then let us do as before
and share the burden’s
of this world

Charlie and I did it again! A duel poetry challenge. We were finished in less then a day.  🙂

Duel Poetry a prearranged poetry writing challenge  between two people to evolve a new poem where each writer must respond to the other writer’s lines  (4 -5 ) until both parties agree that the poem is complete.

Come hither…..

Come and Compete
at the

Masquerade of Balls

You may think you will win
The chances are thin
The Joker is here
A court puppeteer

Competing with the final nine
Bulging tights and red wine
He says he will win
A problem knows his twin

Royals will judge the final pairs
Two get specialty of the Airs
The higher the bedder
The finer the rounder

The winner will have the honoralls
The highest of all balls!
Good Luck !

*2nd poem for Monday Potluck. lol! Don’t ask! I couldn’t resist!  🙂

Masquerade Ball

Come one! Come all!
To the Fairies Eve
Masquerade Ball!

Circle around! Enter Here!
Grab a mask of delight
Make sure it’s on just right

Find a seat! Now, don’t be shy!
Dews of rainbows cold & sweet
Wings aflutter with the beat!

Strums of chords of Blue alight!
Poppy seeds and cattail reeds
There stands Joker by the weeds!

Masks of shadows vines of color!
Gowns of petals swirl wonders
With the thought of his blunders!

Night is moving all to fast!
Bits of web and honey comb
Laughter with a friendly gnome!

Beauteous Lunar circles one last hall
Announcing the end
Of this years Ball!

Come again! Until next years call!
To the Fairies Eve
Masquerade Ball!

*For the very first Monday Potluck!

Tea with Fuller and a Few More *revised

thanks to Google images

Wouldn’t it be something
to be at a
Transcendentalism meeting
back in the day with
Thoreau
Whitman
Fuller
Oh…
that would be amazing.

I would fit right in
challenging conventional thought,
challenging each other to
think outside the box
write even better.

I can see it now…
My arms flaring,
eyes glowing,
thoughts pouring,
passion uttered
with every word.

That is when I got a word in
with all those philosophical minds.

Protesting 19th Century
Culture and Society.
Resisting conformity from
Unitarian Doctrines,
Harvard Intellectuals.
Writing and debating for
Freedoms of thought,
Religion, and person.

I would be friends with
Margaret Fuller.
Two women
among a few more
in a group of men.
Intelligent,
Strong
Women.
Feminists
voicing their thoughts,
their opinions
for the centuries of women
that were hushed
and would be for
generations
and still are.

All of them at the table
living way before their times.
The strength,
the perseverance
it took for them to continue
opening the doors for
You and I.
People were laughing at them,
others shunning them,
a few applauding.
While, we will never know
how many hid away
with their writings.

I would love to tell them
their writings are studied today,
praised for the thought and work.
I would love to tell them
they were a part of change,
Inspirational to many,
Revolutionary to thought.

I need to tell them
The truth about Indians.
Culturally
Religiously
Persecuted!
Misunderstood and
unjustly Romanticized
their time through my time.

It would be something
to go back in time
and have tea with
Thoreau
Whitman
Fuller
All the members of the
Transcendental Club.

It would be something,
Unforgettable!
Even if I could only tell them
Thank You!

©River 6/2010

WAU_tab(‘t34ocuyal0ra’, ‘left-middle’)

I Just Will

There was an overwhelming feeling.

I have been letting someone down.

My fear stopped me short of my goals.

It is not like me to let another get in my heart.

I did not want to be Carly Simon.

My heart was held hostage.

I want to make this right.

What I have is mine.

Just the sharing does not make it his.

That is all I have to say about that.

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