Best Entryway Poems
Springtime dawns
Springtime dawns
just beyond
the screen door,
across the porch
Dew swept lawn,
emerald weave
shimmering moisture
collecting foot prints
strolling towards
an arched entryway
gingerbread trimmed,
covered in jasmine
alive with rainbow
flutters, prismatic
butterfly wings
partaking of
nature’s pure nectar
Beneath it a
flagstone walkway
abstract stones
assorted shapes
and patterns
meandering through
lavender and hollyhock,
daisies and tulips
and upon it
you and me
hand in hand
watching the sunrise
wash the sky
in floral hued quivers
as we welcome another
beautiful day
of love
Good morning Soupers
The Coming of Fall
~
Crape myrtle highlights
in chartreuse diversions,
oak tree decisions along brittle stem
Maple leaf push pins and ash scented postcards
Autumn approaches, its fingers to send
Northern now breezes
as petals start falling,
blending the colors of October dreams
Days count much shorter and windows are open,
change in direction a’ dance on the streams
Standing behind me now
caught in the mirror,
reflections of summer and hummingbird song
Leaves painted softer in patterns of wishes,
butterfly tickles may happen along
Warm apple cider
and scarves plaid and woolen,
hang from the pegs in the entryway hall
Come again welcomes on echoes of sunlight,
send out the greeting, the coming of fall
The first hint
I stood at the gate
and was shocked to find
the clasp unfastened
It swung freely on its hinges
as if it had not a care
to whom might enter or leave
I looked out towards the horizon
across the wintered over field,
a stark white landscape
I saw nothing but barren trees with
twisted branches creaking,
silhouettes reaching on an opaque sky
I felt scared and nervous…
what would happen now that the entryway
to my heart had been left open
Then I felt a hand on my shoulder,
and looking to my right, there you were,
smiling a sunrise on my face
So I pulled the gate closed,
secured it tightly as I found the first
hint of spring in your kiss
Good morning Soupers
A paradox is an entryway~
one that disappears the moment you walk through it;
somehow, though, you still end up
on the other side.
It is a question answering itself
by refusing to answer~
a mirror that reflects
only the act of looking.
Call it truth wearing its coat inside out,
logic tying its own shoelaces together,
hiding meaning in the very place
it claims cannot exist.
And the strangest part:
the more you try to solve a paradox,
the more it solves you.
Mama said Vitamin D was a cure-all
Basking in sunshine in the coldest winter
With sneezes, chest congestion and much coughing
I wrestled in red wood chairs getting splinters
Mama said prayer was the best road to good health
Pews in our church were infested by termites
Incense gave me headaches and caused me to tear
The old chapel was an entryway to last rights
Mama said to soak bee stings in Epsom salts
But that never stopped the pain or the swelling
Her next best solution was pure iodine
When poured on a wound, neighbors heard me yelling
Mama said many things that now seem senseless
Doctors propose treatments even more bizarre
So now I sit confined to my room each day
Afraid of what I'll catch if I stray too far
When early rose the sun,
came first steps and a smile.
Humane, you were the one
to give and never tire.
Not just a house, you said,
we're building on their dreams,
not just a door of wood,
an entryway to hope.
Cheerful at dawn's break,
never to complain.
Weathered but not weary
with hammer in your hand,
you caught not one but two
buses before light.
You worked till stars debuted
as crickets lullabied.
Never too tired to help,
you're rugged, strong and kind.
Never cruel words spoken,
you're merciful heart shines.
One touch of your hand,
one word from your lips,
one act from your heart,
you brighten dark days
with your selflessness.
You chase the bees and find
flowers in full bloom.
You face the wind and stand
like tallest mountain.
You reach out with arms wide
to embrace the world
and inspire all to love.
I strive to be like you,
the kindest soul I know.
Written 2/10/17 for Random Acts of Kindness Contest
Visit a place where you’ve not been before
And the first thing you face is the sturdy front door.
Of fiberglass, oak, tempered glass, even steel,
The entryway should have a certain appeal.
My country home door, though, was streaky with rust.
The paint was all puckered, the cracks filled with dust.
The glass in the windows no longer got clean;
My husband was tired of changing the screen.
So I finally gave in and we got a new door,
A portal to spiff up the entry décor.
It isn’t embellished, just simple and plain
But it’s neat, a condition I hope to maintain.
When visitors come, they may notice or not
For most likely, the old one was one they forgot
But I’ll welcome them all with the door opened wide
And embrace every one that I usher inside.
She built her nest of straw and mud,
anchored to the rocks on our entryway.
Through the glass in the front door,
we watched her as she sat up there
on her eggs, allowing babies to grow.
After they hatched, she hovered close,
quarreling at us for coming too near.
She sat motionless on the nest at night,
covering them for hours with her body,
warming with the spread of her wings.
I think she liked that nesting part best;
daylight brought endless hours of work,
bringing worms for wide, hungry mouths
and guarding nearby to keep danger at bay.
Then came the task of teaching them to fly;
an enormous effort for such a tiny mother.
We watched them grow too big for the nest,
crowding so their feathery butts hung over
the edge, their droppings cascading down
over the rocks, onto the porch below.
One morning's surprise brought a view
of an empty nest; the babies had flown.
Mother bird returned to begin once more.*
Amazed to see her back on the nest,
we opened the bird book to find her,
this Eastern Phoebe, who has found
home in Missouri, returning each year
to grace our mornings with sweet calls.
*Note: Our task was to suffer the obstacle course of a ladder, extension
cord, and a continuous fan on the front porch to keep baby birds from
smothering in the heat, plus scrubbing the crud off the porch floor. The
first two broods were okay, but, in July, the third try was a killer.
One day I heard a knock
Or more a rapid tap upon my door.
It brought me not acute alarm,
For it was noonday by the clock
And noontime rarely brings one harm,
So with my midday tea I crossed the floor.
I took a cautious look,
Through entryway devices in the wall
Known only by my spouse and I
And were well hidden in the nook
Where unseen eyes allow no lie
From ill-willed strangers who might choose to call.
When I peeked out this day
I gazed upon a rather portly man
Of middle years and fine attire.
A well bred man one then could say
But said today they'd be a liar;
No "well bred man" this man of darker plan!
I opened wide my door of oak
Which as it hung weighed over half a ton.
But physics did allow that weight
And we've had not a single bloke
To realign the door to this estate;
When intellect's applied the job gets done.
This stranger stiffened straight
Then from his waist he gave a courtly bow.
I smiled at him and said "come in"
And little did he hesitate
Before his rotund body pushed within
Without a pause or cause to disallow.
I turned to see his rear
Still moving deeper through my sacred place.
I heard myself let loose a shout
Which was a shout no doubt of fear
Of what this stranger was about
And why this rude intrusion of my space?
Dreams, an entryway to celestial exploration
Out of body we penetrate through meditation
The subconscious rises to visit lost loved ones
With star smiles that through seams of heaven run
Ladies squander lifetimes hoping for a ring
Travel to Saturn, who’ll share at our bidding
Deposit feelings of anger at the red planet
Mars absorbs them like a powerful magnet
Come dance with me through the galaxies
Hover far above Earth’s narrow balconies
We’ll tip our hats to the life-giving suns
Leave star-kissed blessings where the Milky Way runs
Let us soar through the Horsehead Nebula
Stare, bright lights can’t scar a dreamer’s retina
Are you prepared to journey with me
To worlds that charge no admission fee
The universe opens doors as we leave Earth’s land
But only the subconscious can explore first-hand
Until the day we can exceed the speed of light
We behold all these wonders in the mystery of night
And if we are lucky to enter heaven’s gate
With loves of the past we may conjugate
*For Barbara's "For Heaven's Sake" challenge
Section Ocho
Sylvia loved her 2 bedroom apartment.
She finally found a decent place
Well besides the rodents
And the 4 flights she treks
That dim hallway
Smelling of mold
And tattered souls
Knock, Knock, Knock
She opens the steel door
Resembling a solitary prison cell entryway
INSPECTION TIME
4 men dressed in the finest business attire from kmart
They look at her like a charity case
Exchanging smirks and snarky comments
She is beneath them
Like the soles on their $40 faux leather shoes
She worked in sewing factories her whole life
Until her hands were no longer functional
She worked hard for her $700 ssd check
The men smirk again when they see her ebt card on the kitchen table
Their tax dollars pay for her extravagent lyfestyle
That 2 bedroom apartment on the 4th floor
Collecting bottles to feed herself at the end of the month
She hasnt had a decent cut of meat in years
Chicken legs and corned beef
White rice and spam
But those are their tax dollars being wasted
One man utters:
"We know hes been staying here"
"Que" she replies
"Your thug grandson with the felonies"
Shouts another
"Hes only been here for a week"
He was sleeping at the city mission
She was fullfilling her grandma duties
Family is everything to her
"But rules are rules Ms. Vasquez"
If hes not gone in 2 days she has to move
But move where?
She waited 37 months to get this apartment
Confused she begs the men to let him stay
"48 hours Ms Vasquez" The portly inspector yells as the steel door slams behind the men
Sylvia has a decision to make
How she longs for paradise and gets hell in return
A single tear rolls down her sharp cheeks
"Juan stop hiding they left already"
He can see the pain in her eyes
" Dont cry Abuela, ill be just fine,
Ill pack my stuff and be out in time"
I watched in awe the laboring tenants of the birdhouse I'd made,
And for their family devotion, they (and I) have been amply repaid!
Mr. and Mrs. Wren became the proud parents of a couple of eggs,
And unto them were born two chicks with big mouths and wobbly legs!
The pair began building their cozy abode along about the first of May.
I watched from my patio as they stashed bits of grasses, feathers and hay!
They'd rest now and then 'tweeting' each other on the porch of their dwelling,
And not unlike we uncouth mortals, I sensed a bit of familial yelling!
Bye and bye, my ears heard two little birdies faintly a-cheeping,
And from the entryway I saw two little bobble heads shyly peeping!
Their wide-open mouths kept Mr. and Mrs Wren flying to and fro,
To fill cavernous craws with who knows what to help them to grow!
Then one bright morn I was privileged to see a wonder of God's Creation!
One little fellow emerged from the nest and paused with some hesitation.
Then, into the rising sun it flew from its perch - what a beautiful sight!
My soul was filled with elation - I had just witnessed the miracle of flight!
Entry for Soup's International Contest - December 2011
Slender, whispering and flaming fireweed surrounds
the gray-weathered clapboards of the deserted
homestead whose torn gingham curtains blow among
the paneless windows with the gentle breeze of
summer morning.
Silence is challenged by harmonizing birds
who serenade the observer of the rustic
vista with the ardor of a courting lover;
cobwebs woven by a tireless spider hang
among the eaves and entryway,
catching unsuspecting victims who dare
cross the threshold only to become the
larder of the eight-legged trapper.
Summer grass uncut falls beneath the soft soles
of the stealthy intruder as it muffles
the sound of pounding heart anticipating
the unknown beyond the latched, warped and
wooden door of the abandoned abode;
cobwebs are cleared by a willow stick,
the frightened spider scrambles to safety,
furious at the bold intrusion.
Slowly, the rusty latch lifts----what awaits the
curious visitor from within these walls?
Footsteps echo throughout the house,
rooms are empty, pictures are gone,
family and mirth are ghosts of the past,
nobody's home to offer a cup of coffee,
nobody's home to say goodbye.
The first cut
of roses
are in bloom
and I will
see them soon,
very soon.
They float
in a bowl
of Arctic ice-flow;
regarded highly
by the local Wal-Mart
feng shui
masters.
Made to hang and share
the air
with antebellum
paintings
of imagination mansions;
holding common court,
side by side,
with ancient saints
of former papal dynasties.
The sweet scent
of first bloom perfume,
exaggerated
in all three,
becomes, too soon,
disguised, sour, funerary
aromas of terminus musk.
Can these murdered
roses face rage
from the pastel haze
of entryway
Nirvana?
When contradiction
changes or disintegrates
thought,
immutable miracles might
be imbued beyond the common wrought.
You attained an interdiction
of proportional catastrophes
which indirectly praises
all the phases
of old Rome's historic papacies.
The dead red roses float
in symbiotic sacrifice
to long dead religions
and a joyous old South.
The new South seduced
by orgiastic myth,
reproduced,
to promote fevered pleasure
in sycophant seekers
of false history.
I found displayed
all the rages
of the ages
on the pages
in their own time -
placed by decision
of revisionist mind.
Integrity of lust,
indisputably pure
until sated
by objectified cure.
Then lost again
in retrieval of memory.
Now contaminated, fully,
by casual indoctrination
causing idiosyncratic
immolation of synaptic integration.
A self-destructive, cultural,
(*****sapiens specific)
neurotic guilt is causal.
Is there somewhere,
hidden in forbidden,
abandoned land,
a gated, grisly city
sealed and shut
by rusted nails?
Standing there
where citrus fruit rots,
in the sultry dusk of time -
Eden -
forsaken ruination of a city;
the failed garden of God.
Mom’s Tree House Apartment
Step inside, warm feelings greet you…
On the entryway wall, President Kennedy signed a condolence letter
from 1962, addressed to my Grandma, thanking her for Grandpa’s service in WW1.
Below, perched on an old credenza, the Milk Glass Chicken still delights her
grandchildren with a treat hidden in the Baby Chick alongside!
Glancing to the right, Dad’s Rosary collection (much used) hangs majestically,
a reminder of long-gone family members from cloistered communities, Mom
and Dad revered.
In the living room, above the expansive soft couch that always finds a family member
dozing peacefully after a long-journey home, a massive burl wood frame cradles
A fox -hunting lodge scene, with participants positioned around a blazing hearth,
regaling the hunt, while enjoying a pint.
Consuming Dad’s last days, I joined him for countless hours deciphering every person
In the painting, assigning rank and position to each, with intense minor details,
Joyously discovered, as if for the first time! A memory Dad possessed from his youth,
fox-hunting with his Dad.
In her bedroom, along the wall, Dad’s English Saddle, gallantly laden with his favorite
things, settles the atmosphere.
I pick up his favorite red hoody, and still inhale his courage.