"Clouds
Are so gorgeous
Just as clouds--
They border the edge of heaven
In great, rolling, billowy puffs...
Or they float
In little trailing wisps
Across the sky...
Why do poets try
To liken clouds to mundane things
Like soapsuds?
And cotton...
Or even sea foam?
Clouds
Are too gorgeous
Just as clouds
To pretend they are anything else"
(Grandmother Joy, 1942)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I tested her comment
--soapsuds or sea foam--
out of curiosity
used Google to roam
as it turns out, in 1932
there was this little ditty
I wonder if Grandma knew?...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Soapsuds, soapsuds, in my hair
Soapsuds, soapsuds, white and fair;
Tell me mother, tell me true,
Are the clouds just soapsuds too?"
(T.G Nichols Co. Inc., Kansa City, 1932)
Down where the oregano is blossoming bright
The roses have grown quiet in their delight
Daylilies are shooting up spikes with buds
I truly long for sweet love, as I swirl the soapsuds
The burst soapsuds dissipate.
Six doves outside my window
Enjoy their meal, congregate.
Wings whirr, head to the gingko
Baby phoebes see surroundings.
With wide mouths expose tastebuds
Hunger each day compounding!
I look, then see burst soapsuds
So much happening outside my kitchen window view that I forget the dishwater is getting cold and chores going undone.
June 20, 2023
As the soapsuds disappear from the water
My short life will end like a jotter
He'll call me home
Because I am surely His daughter
Inspired after reading a Rubai written by Gershon Wolf
jotter-n-a small notebook for jotting things down
To handle dreadful time, to cherish it
although I have no gall for such-
past the ennui of night’s workload,
this jive which I embrace relentlessly
fizzles like soapsuds in my nails;
a voice quelled with the dirt of blue mood…
How lethargy chokes me, its tar roasting
my senses humid as air, more apt for birds,
that I cruise along an alley where piano tunes
with acoustic strings invite a certain madness--
the scent of rhythm and blues perks
ached limbs, gradually tapping a free
movement pleading abandon…cheeks lighten,
enthralled by an opulence of notes;
till I scream, yes, time, though you're a dreadful bane,
I will hold you wildly, once again.
1/6/2018
For Craig Cornish: Blue Contest
As I stand by the kitchen window I must say
My chin against my chest spent from working all day
Warm wet soapsuds adhere to my hands as I pray
Washing the seasoned tableware, running away
Unfasten thoughts of daily drudgery workday
An incredible tranquil moment sets at bay
As I gaze out and see the caramel gateway
The sun’s glow starts to wane at a distance array
Warm honey caramel bathed yard melting a way
Freezing out my emotions from the day to day
Reality dream walking through a hue archway
A fond moment stolen in time beside me lay
1/15/2017
I saw her by the kitchen window,
hands engaged in fixing dinner,
a whistle from her lips embroidering
the night air. Breaking into song, her
face a portrait of beauty and grace.
Hands in soapsuds now, cleaning
dishes then wiping them dry with
the care she would exercise as if
she were dabbing away a child's
tears. Pots and pans now scrubbed
to mirror cleanliness she placed
them lovingly back on their shelves,
flicks off the switch, plunging the room
into darkness, the music receding
as she moved from the kitchen
into the living room, gradually
disappearing until it was if she had
never been there. Only her fragrance
remained.
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