Morning At The Pond

The morning sun filtered through the branches of trees like fine lace,

while I walked the trail, enjoying the park’s solitude,

and listening to nature’s tunes.

A butterfly, in her stained-glass dress, fluttered by,

followed by a pair of blue and green dragonflies,

and a gaggle of geese overhead.

At the end of the trail, I came upon a murky pond below

a grassy hill and watched a school of minnows

swim about in chaos fashion.

I cast my line with exaggerated grace,

anticipating a great find,

but it would be too kind to say I tried.

I reeled in my line with such passion,

but instead of a squiggly fish,

my hook snagged a dirty dish

of a smelly, worn-out leather boot.

My face turned a bright red

and I wanted to hide my head,

But instead, I poured water from that boot onto the grass,

And to my surprise, there was a nice-sized bass.

 

 

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Terza rima Poetry

A Terza rima is a form of poetry with a rhyming verse stanza consisting of an interlocking 3-line rhyme scheme. The end word of second line to supply rhyme for first and third lines. Here is my example:

They rose from the dead

like gorgeous towers

in brilliant blue, yellow, and red.

Oh, they have such powers

to strike love in my heart

with the sight of their blooming flowers.

I hate to see them part,

For it seemed they just got here.

So, I’ll take them to the mart

and everyone will peer

at my dazzling beauties,IMG_0359

before they’re gone for another year.

Limerick Fun

A limerick is a five line witty poem with rhythm. The first, second, and fifth lines are longer lines and rhyme. They should have between seven to ten syllables. The third and fourth lines are shorter and rhyme. They have five to seven syllables. Here is an example:

There once was a man from Blether.

Whose skin looked like dry, old leather.

He spent all his time afloat

On a rickety old boat IMG_0749

That man just loved the sea weather.

Angel & The Puppet

angel-2813382_640

An English sonnet has 14 lines. Out of those, there are 3 quatrains or 4 line stanzas, and 1 couplet or 2 line stanza. It has a rhyming scheme of abab, cdcd, efef, and gg.  Here is my example.

The Angel & Her Puppet

Your face is a work of art,

Carved without any flaws,

Yet you’ve pierced my heart

And my sanity lies in your claws.

You’ve become my master.

My eyes glisten like fresh morning dew,

Yet translucent as alabaster,

For your beauty holds me together like glue.

Your smile soothes away the pain

Of another dark day alone.

Forgive my imaginative brain,

For it dreams of swimming in your cologne.

I’m a puppet pulled by your strings.

So, carry me away on your wings.

 

Mother Mt. Rainer

Here is a poem I wrote. In Washington state, Mt. Rainer can be seen from many directions.

Mother mountain towers over all

And watches her wide expanse of land.

Aspens in riches of gold and orange,

Yellow-leafed beeches and giants of evergreens

Cover the hills and valleys of her domain.

Waterfalls tumble from her crevices of rock

And splash the carpet of burgundy below,

Until it flows into the river main.

Her flock gathers at her hem.

Elk, deer, rabbit, and bear at her feet

And birds-of-prey circle a halo above her.

Bigfoot’s call wavers on the wind,

Hidden in Mother’s folds,

Yet deep he pressed his feet into her mud.

Magnificent is Mother’s beauty,

Yet she suffers through summer’s heat

And winter’s sorrows,

But stays strong through it all,

And gives us faith and hope.IMG_0256.JPG

 

 

Guide The Fisherman

Here is a poem I envisioned about the strain of a wife waiting for her fisherman to return to her.

THE WISH OF THE FISHERMAN’S WIFE

Guard my man that treads the skirts of the ocean miles,

For many empty days have I spent without my husband’s smile,

And waiting ’til the pang of partings has ceased.

May the moon bathe him with my love,

Drowning the burn in my heart,

And guide him through the furrow of the seas.

May he not be broken or lame,

Nor lose all his money playing games,

Or step on other’s toes,

When times are often slow.

Keep his will sturdy and brave,

And not lead him to his watery grave,

Or allow him to sit around and mope,

But make his arms strong

To reel in a full catch of fat fish,

And give him a reason to hope.

My eyes gazed out upon the heavenly view

And I dared not utter a clue,

In case my eyes had deceived me.

Across the velvet waters the schooner came about,

And my heart began to flutter,

My worries had been set free.

I wiped my tears on the corner of my ragged apron

And raced across the dock in anticipation.

The fisher-wives and I waved our aprons over our head,

Signaling to our men that we missed them from our bed.

As the schooner steered close to the dock,

The weathered men smiled and waved at our flock.

I shoved through the wives to get a good look at my man,

But my eyes didn’t see my sweet love,

And I began to fret and shout to the sky with my wounded pride,

All for the loss of my fisherman.

I wondered how I would ever pay the rent

And I began all over  to wither and fret.

Then a shock of red hair flared in my eyes

And  his face smirked at my disgrace.

Bill winked and I ran into his arms, smelling of fish,

And I dried my weepy eyes,

Thanking God for granting my wish.IMG_0723

The Secret Recipe

Here is a fun poem I wrote about my husband, (when he was a kid) and his grandmother.

I was three-foot-five and she was five-foot-three.

I was five years old and she was eighty three,

That special day I helped her make her secret recipe.

I stood upon a chair so I could reach the bowl,

While Grandma lined the counter with the ingredients, row by row.

She put in a pinch of this and a tad bit of that

And when I asked her what it was, she said. “To make us fat.”

I gave her a puzzled look and she gave me a wink,

But when I tried to copy her, all I did was blink.

Grandma laughed with jellied glee and slapped her bony knees.

Then she tweaked my nose and said, “A little butter, if you please.”

I gave her a tiny smirk and handed her a stick,

But she pushed out her lower lip and said, “Give me two more sticks.”

I chopped that butter up with a big ole’ wooden spoon,

While she dumped in half a moon of thick molasses.

I beamed up at Grandma and dreamed of that taste,

And how the neighboring lasses would be begging me for a piece.

“Best clean that gleam from your eyes,” Grandma uttered.

Then she added in a pint of sugar and I stirred it in until it looked like cream.

I poured in the vanilla, while she cracked a dozen farm-fresh eggs,

But she held up her hand and said, “Hold up a peg.”

Then she added in the flour, a cup or two or three,

Plus some that splattered onto my navy-blue jeans.

Grandma dropped in a spoon pf baking powder,

Some raisins drowned in rum,

And added enough corn syrup to fill a small wooden drum.

I stirred it all together, but that batter was mighty thick

And I pondered for a minute if this was some kind of trick,

But Grandma greased an iron pan and scooped that batter in.

Which made me wonder how she ever lifted that heavy pan?

She turned the oven on to three-twenty-five and placed that pan way deep inside,

While I stared at the door as the minutes ticked by.

That heavenly scent of cinnamon and ginger went ’round the room with its spicy flavor,

Which made the cowpokes beg for Grandma’s favor.

But they’ll have to step in the back of the line,

For I get that first piece, oh yes, it’s mine.

We’ll all have to wait for an hour or two,

Until that sweet cake is completely through.

“Hold onto your hats, boys. For that cake’s got to cool.”

Grandma’s brows creased as I snatched a small piece by the skin of my teeth

And I ran from the room and her hand with the spoon.

Fairy Garden

Here is a fantasy poem to delight the soul:

Nestled deep in the forest glade,

Past the circle of the toadstool’s shade,

Follow the mossy carpet path,

And find the place where the fairies play.

Did you hear their trumpeting from the tiger lilies?

Perhaps you saw their pixie dust glittering off the Rhodies?

Did you see them flying by on moths and butterflies?

Perhaps you heard them singing their babies lullabies?

Did you see them riding on the slugs and on the snails?

Perhaps you heard them squealing upside down from a wildcat’s tail?

No? Well, oIMG_0166pen your eyes wide

And perhaps you’ll see where they hide,

Among the shadows and the dapple of light,

And draw the fairies out with a dance in the pale moonlight.

Goodnight My Darling

With all the tragedies out there, I decided to write a sad poem.

GOODNIGHT MY DARLING

By Theresa Gage

Her velvet paws caressed my back,

As my dog snuggled close to my side.

I welcomed her warmth,

For it attacked the coldness of my grief,

That I had tried to hide.

My tears rolled free

Like the waves of the tide,

As I clawed the edge of our boat,

In my attempt to save him.

My boy was lost to the sea.

But I will see him in my dreams,

For our souls are surely tied,

And remember all the good times we had.

Goodnight, my darling boy.IMG_0445