Arthur Conan Doyle believed
the bright fae might not be myth,
maybe the Cottingley hoaxers
muddled his rational pith!
Perhaps if he'd gone to Ireland,
in groves of the Hawthorne tree
where troops of faeries romp wildly
weaving their magic to see.
Then he could think logically,
like a Victorian sage~
simple answers are often best:
believe, respect, always praise.
Benevolent tricksters, people
of the mounds parading forth
for good or ill, depends on your
deft-thinking and gifts of torte
Sitting on a long deck
At a trailer
In South Georgia
Wind in the Pine Trees
Reading Nathaniel Hawthorne
My stomach is empty
except for
this longing and guilt
A murder of Crows
loudly soar through
Creasing the boughs of the Pines
It is only
Them and I
And
Love that I left
Love that I lost
A hollow serenity settles in
I pull at the Scarlet Letter
Blazing on my chest
Hester exposed
As the Sun sets
A Possum skirts the front yard
Unnoticing me
He is my Kinfolk
An eater of ticks
An old world scavenger
Deceiving the world
Playing dead
Yet
I cannot
The blood on my hands
isn't mine
My shame is my scarlet letter
Sewn stitch by stitch by years
A scarlet letter emblazoned
An alphabet on my chest
A superhero’s symbol disguised
Find me a phone booth
Tear off my Brook Brothers shirt
Pull down my J Crew pants
It’s good to see my scarlet letter
Fly like a speeding bullet
Save us before we fall
Into the maddening crowd
Is it a superpower
When everyone has it too
No man is free from shame
All of us Hesters in disguise
Superheroes without shame
Some heroes act without applause
Some of us for Pearls in oysters
I can hear Dimmsdale’s sermon
My Chillingworth condemns me
My scarlet letter beats on my chest
My shame for all to see
My superpower my weakness
My weakness on full display
God chose the weak in this world
We bring shame to the strong
We are the stones of Zion
We cause the shameless to pause
Look back on our scarlet letter
Shameless in our exposition
Without shame what are we?
Without the scarlet letter
Aren’t we just numbers?
We sometimes congratulate ourselves
the moment of waking from a troubled dream;
it may be so the moment after death. ~Hawthorne
I finally found a man that grows fuchsias
as pretty as the ones Grandma grew
when she was young ~
before age crumpled her body
and weariness etched the meaning of life.
June Bride is the name of the one I chose,
and its brilliant beauty fills the shady corner
of my front porch;
it reminds me we are all espoused
to the Shade~
and just as Grandma has entered the union,
so one day shall I.
In memory of Grace Haven, 1908-1998
“I cannot endure to waste anything so precious as autumnal sunshine by staying in the house.” – Nathaniel Hawthorne
Fall
Whispers
Quietly
Playing gently
Dancing leaves, breathless
Praises singing
So calmly
Gifts of
Fall
the word barren means rocky land
a perfect name for a vast limestone area
in the The Barrens of Ireland
it is a desolate place with few trees
except for the Hawthorne tree that grows
but is
twisted and stunted
yet, wildflowers thrive in an array of colors
growing out of crevices in limestone slabs
of dried up lakes
during the summer months
from the crevices you will find . . . lovely purple gems
red Cranesbill, pink Rock Roses, and yellow Mountain Avens
and many, many more
maidenhair fern and moss love the damp crevice's
and in stony pastures of The barren
the wildflowers grow and thrive
creating a beautiful landscape ...
Peachy Keen was thrown into the ether by a young disc jockey
His name was Jim Hawthorne, and it was nineteen forty-eight
Hailing from Pasadena, California, he was loved by the teenage crowd
Always making up words, like Hogan, intriguing and delighting them
one of the few slangs that has to be taken in by tone of voice
It either means something is really excellent, and you love it
or it means it is not good, and you despise it,
so when you hear it, listen for either playful admiring tone or sarcasm
N. Hawthorne encouraged us to do anything, something, (heroic?) even though life brings huge discouragement: "Tell me not, in mournful numbers, that life is but an empty dream ..." PSALM OF LIFE
I had to pen something like poetry today
It's World Poetry day, they say (internet ads)
Yet today is over, on its way, where we "stay"*
In South Africa. No internet on other phone
By chance I tried this (MTN service), won
A reprieve, a respite, an extension to the day
A list of best poems: Poe's Raven, Sonnet 18
By the bard (Shall I compare thee to a summers day?)
Elizabeth Barrett Browning's love poem
And Nathaniel Hawthorne's PSALM OF LIFE
So my work - brief, bearing light - is done
And off I run ... In donker** Suid Africa again
* STAY has US connotations with cohabitation and vacation. In RSA, it is used for "live" (as in, Where do you live/stay now?")
** "Donker' is dark or darkness, in Afrikaans. I used it because of loadshedding: our notoriety for electricity cuts that has business & people in "revolt" here.
I walk through the pristine green
Follow the footpath around
And finally arrive at the unkempt
Natural burial ground.
The field has matured over
The past ten years
The Hawthorne now overshadows
The seat where I shed my tears.
Just a wild meadow now
No memorials or stones
Just a small wooden pegs
Over each repository of bones.
I kept my promise to you,
To survive and live on
Though the pain was intense
The first year after you’d gone.
But, all pain eases with time
And I learned to cope with life
Found the joy of a new love
With a loving, caring wife.
I don’t come here often now
But somehow I have to let you know
You gave me strength to continue,
I’ll never let those memories go.
“A flower of strange beauty, growing in a desolate spot, and blossoming in the wind.”
— Nathaniel Hawthorne
Blooming zinnias, swaying in the breeze,
Elegance attracting
cute little hummingbirds with ease,
Hues impacting;
Lemon yellow butterflies flit around,
Collecting sweet nectar,
Zinnias stand tall in the ground,
Sole protector;
Hearts flutter at the sight of these flowers,
Cheerfully spread good vibes,
Small, yet potent, they have powers
no tongue describes.
21st December 2022
For Constance La France's "Writing challenge - Zip, Zig, Zag, Zing" contest
The sun got tangled
in the branches of an old Hawthorne.
Daybreak hung down
in grey strips, like a torn parachute
among the knuckled finger-bones
of the grasping tree.
Meg, the younger sister of Bill,
wanted to shin-up and dislodge it.
we thought there was a good chance
we boys would catch a glimpse
of her knickers, so we agreed
to give her a leg-up.
Her skinny limbs, skirt hiked up,
snaking through the spiky twigs
until she was about half-way
to the sun.
Black branches shook
and thorns rattled,
then they loosened their grip
and the sun rose.
Meg whooped and almost fell.
We others grinned sheepishly;
Bill looked at us
as if we were all crazy.
I
When you have used up nerve, muscle, sinew
To be all you dreamed for others and for you
Then the soul alone can make you move at all
That is how U write like Rumi, Emily, Hawthorne
II
When death and evil seem greater than good
When darkness seems omnipresent, not God
Then Scripture within extracts - in pain - a Word
That stirs in U all U took on earth for living bread
robin's melody
rings true from the Hawthorn tree~
sweet sound among thorns.
*Image of The Moon Looking At Full by Pixabay.
“No man for any considerable period can wear one face to himself, and another to the multitude, without finally getting bewildered as to which may be the true.” – Nathaniel Hawthorne, The Scarlet Letter, 1850.
Pockets Of Moon and Men
Daylight is wiped away by a washcloth
transformed into a grayish dusk disguise
as an orb light removes a murky swath
its mask gone thus does the illusion dies
The facade exhibits cracked lines and holes
that crisscross its scenery seen in parts
an imperfect surface sway naught the souls
as amour captivate, affects sweethearts
It adjusts pained lives who have broken up
with all its flawed features mesmerize lives
minding trifling defects both share the cup
as keen as mustard errs also faults thrives
Opted pairs make-up after both were torn
Pocket-full-of-miracles pleased Hawthorne
2021 June 23
*1st Place*
ALL YOURS (Jun 25)
~~Brian Strand Judged 2021 June 26
*3rd Place*
Writing Prompt - Flawed
~~Constance La France: Judged 2021 June 24
Crystal dewdrop jewels pendent from leafless Hawthorne
over snowdrop pearls and early golden buds of daffodil.
A blackbird upon Sparrow, Peggy Gladys does adorn,
while morning light accentuates the name of Mitchell, Bill.
I look behind, my footsteps in the dew a path have worn,
past Throwers by the row, as well as Bunting, Jane. Stowe, Daniel.
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