The Hart of Poetry

Fellow blogonia Lorraine Hart will sing her own songs, but isn’t good at tooting her own horn so, drum roll please! It is with a great deal of pleasure that I bring to you dear reader a wonderful new blog The Poet’s Hart featuring the poetry of my dear blognian Lorraine Hart. Lorraine is a poetess, wise woman, photographer, writer, singer/song writer, expat-Brit who lives out on Key Peninsula at Home in Northwest Washington. I would like to add that she is my treasured friend. Check out her stuff!

Street Corner Poems on East Aloha and 20th on Capitol Hill

I am always excited to share blog spot I’ve “discovered” because I love to write and I love to read so here I am again. I would like to introduce to you a retired officer and gentleman who grew up across the street from my husband and eight blocks from me in Bellevue, WA. This blog spot is Street Corner Poems. I was friends with his older brother, but I’m happy to catch up with little brother Guy at an interesting time of his life.

Guy is a retired captain in the U.S. Navy who lives and writes in Seattle on Capitol Hill. Another brother gave me the heads up on what he’s up to all these years later. I am always in awe of poets because I haven’t the gift. If you’d like to see what a Puget Sound neighbor is writing click here.

Coming to the end of poetry month:

Can you believe April is winding-down already? I've spent a lot of my spare moments, this month, writing poetry. A big thanks to Kim for sending me a link to an April "Poem A Day" challenge at the end of March. It's been hair-pulling, squeaking an entry in when most sane people are sleeping marathon...but it's also been a creative joy, especially on those stay-inside days. I thought I'd share this one, prompted by the order to write a poem on an inanimate object. There's still a day and a-half left to Poetry Month...feel free to create in the comments!

The Vase

Ancient samurai of a vase
though this incarnation was
thrown, shaped and baked
just few short years ago,
broad, squat, misshapen warrior
robed for battle in pewter scales,
banded in brown at shoulder and hips
like the leather of belts and sheath,
it was to be broken for the crime of leaning
but, instead, came home with me,
the old soldier to his honourable place
by the door of my inner sanctum,
pushing back at the bookcase as if
guarding all the knowledge within.

The Poet's Corner

A Friend Waits

You are the friend

who waits for me,

steadfast on a rock

at the crossroads

of serendipity,

the journey between,

mine alone,

thy journey thine,

each and all

through time.

You are the friend

who waits for me,

steadfast in the cool

of new morning

that stirs a breeze,

the thoughts between

know and trust

our journeys twine,

each and all

through time.

You are the friend

who waits for me,

steadfast on the banks

of a river

that flows to the sea,

let sorrows between

rest here while

old rivers wind,

each and all

through time.

You are the friend

who waits for me,

steadfast by a fire

in the twilight

of what was to be,

we measure between

spark and flame,

this lighted line,

each and all

through time,

You are the friend

who waits for me.