Wysocki’s world always feels like a place paused in time,
and here the old house rises with its many angles~
gable stacked upon gable
like thoughts a century deep.
The clapboard walls hold the color of weathered memory,
a soft, seasoned brown
that seems to remember every storm
and every quiet morning after.
Windows watch from every direction,
small square eyes
that have seen too many seasons
to be surprised by anything now.
A cat sits on the fence
as if appointed guardian of the view,
tail curled in the calm certainty
that nothing important escapes its notice.
The yard is tidy in that Wysocki way~
grass trimmed, path swept,
a place where time moves slowly enough
for chores to feel like rituals.
Standing in front of it
I sense a rush of stories
that never needed telling~
a house content to keep its history
folded into wood and windowlight.
The house feels like a pause in time,
a place where the wandering mind
can rest a moment
and imagine the lives still echoing inside.
Each May, the month of Mary, I believe?
To stables gables, wondrous nests to weave.
20 years espial by precious broods,
Amidst the beasts of burden,
yet unmoved.
Alas, the chestnut lad is here no more,
His brave old heart, no longer to endure!
My only solace now, a sweet refrain
Assuredly, to know he has no pain
With deep regret I’m suddenly aware
No Summers with swallows, hereafter,
shall we share.
Isn't it nice to think
that tomorrow is a new day
with no mistakes in it yet?
A new day with zero debts
and zero regrets.
Like a clean sheet of paper
untouched by ink..
nothing to shy away from,
nothing to rethink.
But...if I give you a clean sheet,
what will you write?
Will it be poetry? Will it be prose?
It could be fiction or fact, I suppose.
Will there be flights of fantasy...
or will it be rooted in reality?
If mistakes are made,
whether for good or ill, well...
when life gives you raspberries
make raspberry cordial!
Quote: "Isn’t it nice to think that tomorrow is a new day with no mistakes in it yet?” — L. M. Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables
Old age is a number filled with many years,
some with cheers,
some with tears.
I have worn my life with a guard,
now near the graveyard.
I have paid my past debt.
"Isn’t it nice to think that tomorrow is a new day with no mistakes in it yet?"
I can now daydream,
with a big smile and esteem,
no more mistakes is my new theme.
Hollywood casts its new shooting star
Opulence follows the tale
Larger than life lifestyle sits on green gables
Larger than life ego sips from golden goblets
Yearly excursion to the plastic surgeon
Whirlwind romances blow
Overseas to cease and desist two diseases
Oil of olay won't save the day
Dingy can't find a safe port
Hollywood's new shooting star shot with penicillin
An arrow a day keeps the shivers from quivers away
She still swears he gave it to her
Both attend the press conference with lawyers
Exuberant fans become ex-fans
Except when cutting red ribbons at fastfood takeout stakeouts
Nobody notices the smell for weeks
in the corner
of a blanched bungalow
sits a self-portrait:
loose bantu knots
the color of volcanic ash
her living nightmare
it was so much-
stampeding rain
wild winds
the icon of tropical thunder
with summer lightning
but the spite of ash
threatened the fete
smashed the sun
morning had broken
an island smeared
like God had face-palmed us
judgment for another place
another people
resting on your gables
the deadweight of ash
crashing queenie's
garden party
The Lord is come.
handling her Scriptures
squeezing the Holy Spirit
out of print
was she wholly confessed,
to be due robes of white
satin?
the sun reawakened,
ash washed away, passes
through her window
where she sits
cornered
I live in a house of seventy gables
With twenty kitchens and as many tables.
It's good for both winter and summer weathers,
'Cuz, in Spring, it flies - it's made of feathers!
Some old wooden houses are deep,
they have porticos, piazza, loggia,
gables, and cupola.
There rooms are arboreal
they knot,
curl
and jut.
A memory rocks me gently
in its timbered embrace.
I also have an interior
that has been crafted
by every branch
of an endless forest.
It is this depth of a life
constructed upon the growing
of one root.
My house, my portico,
piazza, loggia,
gables, and cupola
all reaching
inward
to where this whole earthy planet
is but a single seed.
Blend of yellow and blue, it's a pickle and lime.
It is jealousy's hue and a plant in its prime.
It's an emerald, jade, and a lawn-covered yard
And St. Patrick's parade and an alien's card.
On a pond it is scum, in Wisconsin a bay.
It's a gardener's thumb and a soldier's beret.
It's a salad and spruce and a phosphorous glow,
Part of teal and chartreuse, and a light saying go.
It is chlorophyll, dill, and a countenance ill,
Dollar bill in a till and Hibernian hill.
It is Anne's house of gables, a slime-covered wreck,
Jolly giant on labels, and Kermit and Shrek.
It is leprechauns, mold, inexperience, and tea.
It's the place putts are holed and a party and pea.
It's rebellious hair and a ghoul's ghastly teeth;
A pistachio, pear, and a Christmastime wreath.
It is mint-flavored jelly, a jungle and bean.
It's viridian, Kelly, and olive--it's green!
"O' Treasure each and every day while it is
Still young, and always remember to love
Jesus Christ, God's only begotten Son."
"This is the day that the Lord has made
We shall rejoice and be glad in it."
"Give us this day our daily bread and
Forgive us our trespassers as we have
Forgiven those who have trespassed
Against us and lead us not into
Temptation but deliver us from all evil
For thine is the kingdom and the power
And the glory for-ever, Amen!
"Tomorrow is a brand new day with no
Mistakes in it yet." Anne Shirley of
Anne of Green Gables.
more latter on 2/9/23
As I wend my way around curving roads
up high into the mountains
I finally arrive at the Eight Gables Inn.
I wonder what it is that drives me here!
Perhaps I have developed wings
and flew across the Atlantic towards
The Great Smoky Mountains
on my adventurous ride
to the Blue Ridge Mountains.
Tired I hope the Inn
will live up to its reputation.
The sun is setting as I view
the purple orange skies darken,
whilst here and there lights
in desolate cottages twinkle in the dark.
I hasten to my private bath
and slowly sink in the warm water,
overpowered by the smell of soapy foams.
Pleased with my silky skin
I put on a plush bathrobe
luxuriously enjoying the feel
of the soft fabric against my spores,
and with a graceful dive find myself
on top of a feather-top bed.
This is the life of luxury...
Until I feel the taste of blotting paper
that cover my whole mouth.
I open my eyes and know
it was all a dream, alas.
A blind flight
above a brooding sea.
Dawn levers the darkness.
Ireland rising.
Whitecaps, bright tumbled cliffs.
Briny turf, moss-rooted walls,
wind-havens and cottages.
So green!
Tidal meadows run to dewy swards.
Patchwork pastures knitted to bogs.
Then the sodden towns,
oyster shell gables glisten like new peat.
Verdant hills raise rocky turrets.
In only minutes the far coast appears;
goose-gray Muir Eireann;
the land sliding westward.
Ireland will always be like this;
a gull bobbing between high waves.
now seen, now lost.
I find beauty in the unkempt places ~~
Sticky beehives with perfectly formed combs,
A child's playground sea of dirty faces,
An overgrown garden with ugly gnomes,
Sagging gables of long-deserted homes.
I look for more than people likely see ~~
Wondrous events occurring in past tense,
Places long untouched, lovely by degree,
Feelings of beauty lit from innocence,
Well-crafted stories hinging on suspense.
I long for beauty in the dour mundane ~~
Making the minus a clear positive,
Finding some loveliness in the profane,
To be learned in the raw provocative,
Turning low grades into superlative.
[LIFE]
SECOND PLACE WINNER
Written July 1, 2022
For "It's All About Three Q's" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France
[15-10 syllable lines in 3 Stanzas checked by HMS
The ababb of the English Quintain with rhymes
checked with Rhyme Zone]
#16 on Poetry Soup's 100 Best New Poems List
August 24, 2022
#20 on Poetry Soup's 100 Best New Poems List
August 15, 2022
A Yorkshire terrier in Coral Gables
should be honored in Aesope’s Fables
When a brat stole her bone
she ate his snow cone
Moral: Your victim just might turn the tables!
Some old wooden houses are deep,
they have columns and porticos,
piazza, loggia, gables, and cupola.
There rooms are arboreal
they knot. curl and jut outward
as the limbs of a still treeing houses.
Once in a house like this,
I recalled the broadleaf woods of my childhood,
a memory that rocked me gently
in its timbered embrace.
I came to know that depth of my life,
its internal architecture
one room grown from another -
the many mansions.
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