Monday, August 19, 2019

Carpe Diem Field of Flowers: Columbine


they say columbine
is the flower for my state
I've never seen one
growing in the wild places
on the hills or in the plains

~Cie~


Ghost Town Grover and Cactus Clem wanted to share their poems too!
Please understand that they wouldn't know
A Haiku from the sole of their shoe




A Columbine Poem
by
Ghost Town Grover

I might of seen a columbine
When I was working in the mine
Trouble is, I wouldn't know
'Cause I wasn't looking for nothing except for gold!


Cactus Clem's Columbine Poem

I might like to see a columbine
But what I really like is to drink wine
I like some beer and whiskey too
But I don't never eat no stew
Eatin' isn't in my plan
But I gotta drink 'cause I'm a Cactus Man 

To follow the adventures of Grover, Cactus Clem, and their friends, and maybe even find some good stuff to buy and support the Grover Hotel renovations, please visit the Good Stuff From Grover blog!

Saturday, August 17, 2019

Carpe Diem Weekend Meditation #98: Choka: Angels and Birds in Flight

Image by Christine Sponchia from Pixabay

soar and drift away
spread your wings and float away
flutter high in air
lifting up for bird's eye view
glide on the current
take off and rise up so high
hover overhead
levitate, luff, and then dive
flap and float about the sky

~Cie~


Thursday, August 15, 2019

Carpe Diem Field of Flowers: Peony


dainty peony
a garden's painted lady
makes a home for ants

dainty peony
ants climbing in the petals
seeking space to rest

a garden's painted lady
something from another time
and at once timeless

makes a home for ants
petals form a cozy bed
hidden from the sun

~Cie~


Wednesday, August 14, 2019

Carpe Diem Field of Flowers: Scarlet Pimpernel


here and there I seek
but I'm not likely to find
this side of the pond
that certain scarlet-clad chap
frolicking in Yankee fields

~Cie~




Tuesday, August 13, 2019

Carpe Diem Field of Flowers: Honeysuckle


I can remember
the smell of honeysuckle
New Mexico night

~Cie~


Notes:
I recently completed and am about to submit my manuscript for the Insecure Writers' Support Group anthology contest. The genre is middle-grade historical fantasy/action.
I normally write for adults. I find writing for youth extremely challenging. I ended up opting to write a lightly fictionalized autobiography of myself between childhood and my pre-teen years which centered around my imagination and the fantastical fiction genres which inspired me. In writing about myself I ended up opening a lot of pockets of unresolved grief.
The place I lived between the ages of four and nine was a semi-rural pocket in Albuquerque, New Mexico, where people could have small farms and keep chickens and such. We had a very large yard, a half-acre. Unfortunately, the house was in rather a shoddy condition and cockroaches the size of school buses had a tendency to get inside. The bugs are huge in New Mexico, and I was not keen on that. But I did love the little skinks and horned toads and such. We also had many beautiful plants around such as the honeysuckle vines, and the cicadas would sing us to sleep.
I was a very shy child and did not have many friends. The characters I met in fantasy worlds were my friends, as were my pets and the animals in our yard.
Although I was born in the Western United States and raised in the Southwest for a number of years, my parents were both from New York. When certain relatives would visit, they would ridicule my accent. A New Mexico accent is a bit of an off-Texas drawl. To this day, I bristle whenever anyone askes the seemingly innocent question: "where are you from?" To me, that question is loaded.