Summer Break

So, my daughter is on summer break and we are trying to have a somewhat scheduled day of activities together. We both love to read and write, both journal and creative writing.  We also both want to exercise together over the summer so we will swim this afternoon and are walking the other days of the week.

I'm hoping to get more than journal writing done with her.  She has great ideas for stories and has written some very nice little plays in the past.  I think it would be fun to write poems together.  She is better at rhyming than I am, in fact, I purchased a rhyming dictionary recently.

So along with my job hunting and working for my friends small business, I am going to be doing some fun things with my girl that will hopefully produce more poems in the near future.  After all, someday I may have enough to feel I can publish a small book of my work.

So leave you, my readers, with some poetic thoughts from a day not to long in the past when I took a walk along a small canal near our little cottage of a home.

'The sky, blue and clear,
Rimmed with clouds fluffy, white,
Sparse, scattered Spring clouds
Cling to the horizon daring not to venture
To the center of the heavenly azure dome.'

Enjoy the remains of the season and prepare for the increased warmth of the next my friends.

Yes, It's a new poem

Given all the time I now have, one would think I'd be producing so much work, poems, stories, etc.  Well, I wish that were true. 

Today, however, I took a walk in the cool morning air and was so inspired and refreshed. 

For years I have found that I go 'outside' myself when I am in nature, outdoors, away from the confines of society (buildings).  That happened to me this morning.  An open conversation happened between me and my Creator, something that hasn't happened in years.  It took only moments to remember that He is everywhere and in everything, at least in my perception.

This poem was born of that realization.

Everything is You

By Kimberly L McClune

April 19, 2012

Lord, I sense You

In everything.

Nothing is without You.

Hearing You

Trees whispering

As wind moves through,

Bird's song

One calling to another.

New petals

Stretching to the Sun,

Clouds drifting

Across the heavens,

Images of You.

Trees bark

Rough, textured by time

Yet gentle, soft

Sand against the tide,

I touch You.

Sweet floral perfume

Rising from a garden,

Rich, pungent pine

Carried down a mountain

Embody Your essence.

On my palate

Fruits, tart

Refreshing nourishment,

Breads, wholesome,

Crusty yet tender sustenance.

Yes, Lord, everything,

Everything is You.

Many things to tell my readers

Though my readers may be few, many things have changed since my last post which was entirely too long ago.

First I must mention that Edmund Vance Cooke, who penned the poem I posted in January, wrote many wonderful poems that I found after that post.  I send thanks to the kindly balloon artist at the local restaurant for recommending him.

Next, I will reveal that I am now no longer employed in the insurance industry and am free to search for employment of another kind, or attempt to continue in that vein.  I have chosen to try for further insurance work because it pays well for someone like me with much experience, however, my dream to be a writer cannot be ignored any longer.  Having the time and the great desire cannot be ignored.

I am, therefore, putting as much effort as possible toward writing.  With the wonderful help of friends, I have been able to connect with a few people in writing fields and have learned of some ways to get into writing as an occupation.

My next wonderful news is that I now have four, yes that's FOUR poems that have been accepted for publication by Poetry Quarterly.  I am bursting still with excitement about that news.  Just when I was content to only share my poems with my parents, a few friends and the people at the Writer's Circle at the library, I find that my work is getting noticed by those outside my little circle.

As Maria said in the famous movie, "When God closes a door, somewhere He opens a window."

Well, even though a rather important door closed for me, some very beautiful windows are opening and I am so glad for them all.

Finally, I will post a couple of newer poems that I have not posted before.

Dream in Color

By Kimberly L. McClune

February 26, 2012

Flashes of moments cross my mind

Faces known and unknown speak to me

What they say I can’t remember

For a moment I am in a house

Then I am by a stream

Oh, the colors of this dream!

At first a simple room, I am alone

Then crowds appear in a marketplace

Everyone is trying to go somewhere

Where, I don’t know no one will say

Yet we’re on a team

Oh, the colors of this dream!

In a field, with a child hand in hand

Picking flowers and singing

Yellow and orange speckled greens

Surrounded by houses, now in a yard

Following the sunbeams

Oh, the colors of this dream!

Walking with her, talking with her

Caring for her is my pledge

Winding road, speeding car

Dream it over, and over, and over

I have saved her it seems

Oh, the colors of my dreams!

Running, we are being chased

Who are they running with me?

It chases us down a hall filled with people

Around corners to the water tank

We must jump was its scheme

Oh, the colors of my dream!

***

Blustery Day

By Kimberly L. McClune

December 31, 2011

Constant wind whispers past

Pressed upon it

Wave after wave of gusts

Each stronger than the next

Howling, pushing, wailing

Forcing their way

Ringing through distant chimes

Whistling through trees

Branches bend, sway, dance

At once calm

At once fierce

Beneath the gusts

Ever constant wind

Like a locomotive

Pulling cars behind it.

Found new poem

Was out last night with my sister and our girls.  The very cool balloon guy sat and talked with us about poetry and poets. He shared the name of this poet and most of this poem with us.  Of course, I had to come home and check out the entire work.  It is so incredible and necessary for every one to know  it, I had to share.

I thought this was the only work of poetry this man ever penned.  It was great to learn he wrote prolifically.

Edmund Vance Cooke (1866-1932)

How Did You Die?

              1        Did you tackle that trouble that came your way

              2        With a resolute heart and cheerful?

              3        Or hide your face from the light of day

              4        With a craven soul and fearful?

              5        Oh, a trouble's a ton, or a trouble's an ounce,

              6        Or a trouble is what you make it,

              7        And it isn't the fact that you're hurt that counts,

              8        But only how did you take it?

              9        You are beaten to earth? Well, well, what's that?

            10        Come up with a smiling face.

            11        It's nothing against you to fall down flat,

            12        But to lie there -- that's disgrace.

            13        The harder you're thrown, why the higher you bounce;

            14        Be proud of your blackened eye!

            15        It isn't the fact that you're licked that counts,

            16        It's how did you fight --  and why?

            17        And though you be done to the death, what then?

            18        If you battled the best you could,

            19        If you played your part in the world of men,

            20        Why, the Critic will call it good.

            21        Death comes with a crawl, or comes with a pounce,

            22        And whether he's slow or spry,

            23        It isn't the fact that you're dead that counts,

            24        But only how did you die?

New Poems

Have been writing here and there, but the holidays have worn me out.

Here are a couple examples of what I have been up to lately.

Night Journey

By Kimberly L. McClune

January 5, 2012

Wakened by urgent need

Warm blankets left behind

Sweater and boots donned

Out into the pitch black night

Useless dim beam leads

Logs and bushes trip

Branches and brambles scratch

Run headlong into outhouse wall

Useless beam goes out

Drop flashlight

Blindly run hand over wall

Outhouse door lost

Search side by side

By side by side

At last! The door is found!

Handle turned, door opened.

Black, odor filled room

Gentle, careful steps

Slow, searching movements

Door slams shut, pushing me inside

Lurch forward, face first

Hands outstretched onto seat

Found it!

No harm, no foul (pun intended)

Careful completion of mission.

Wonder how to return safely.

**********************************************************************

Blustery Day

By Kimberly L. McClune

December 31, 2011

Constant wind whispers past

Pressed upon it

Wave after wave of gusts

Each stronger than the next

Howling, pushing, wailing

Forcing their way

Ringing through distant chimes

Whistling through trees

Branches bend, sway, dance

At once calm

At once fierce

Beneath the gusts

Ever constant wind

Like a locomotive

Pulling cars behind it.

Two new poems

These two poems are seasonal.

The first I wrote after continual requests from my daughter to write about the pumpkin patch the kids at her school had planted and tended all summer.  They just finished harvesting all their pumpkins this last week.

The second was written this evening and I am going to submit it for possible publication.

It is a work in progress so be kind with comments.  Constructive comments are always welcome.

Enjoy them both.  They have been fun to put together.

Our Pumpkin Patch

By Kimberly L. McClune

October 11, 2011

Just out the door

Down the stairs

Lies our pumpkin patch.

Seeds planted early

Sprouted in summer

Then became leafy vines.

All summer we watched

Little vines grow and

Leaves spring out,

Covering our garden.

As Summer faded

Vines ceased wandering.

They twisted and curled.

Deep green leaves fanned out

As our little patch expanded.

The fan leaves

Hide our small treasures.

Almost colorless,

Tiny pumpkins peek out

Looking for the sun.

By Summer's end

Vines overtook their bed

Draping down the sides

Onto the sidewalk.

One adventurous vine

Crept to the stairs.

Will it come up to visit?

Fall is coming!

Fall is coming!

Heralds our little patch.

Ripened pumpkins

Hide in tangled vines.

Lifting fan leaves,

One, two, three…

We pluck our treasures.

Although they're small

Our harvest is big enough.

*********

Christmas Wonderland

By Kimberly L. McClune

October 16, 2011

Colors blink across the ceiling

Flashes glow on the floor and walls.

We sit together enjoying the tree,

Humming favorite holiday tunes.

A handful of personal gifts

Placed beneath adorned boughs

Quiet words bid good night

Excited feet hurry to bed.

Heads lay against soft pillows

Waiting for sleep.

Will the jolly old man really come?

What will morning bring?

Sleep arrives and the night glows.

Snow filled clouds release their bounty

Into the cold night air.

A crystal veil shrouds the landscape.

Tiny gems glisten in lamp light

Icy fairy dust spins and drifts

Swirls and dances on chill winds

Alighting gently, quietly, peacefully.

Silent, secret snow gathers

Rooftops, branches, fences, lawns

All decorated with glittering crystals.

Snow ceases as dawn approaches.

A special light entices young eyes

Little noses press to windowpanes

Tiny hands embrace cold sills.

Behold a Christmas wonderland.

The night deposit of crystal joy

Ignites bewildered excitement.

Crystal frosted windows

Frame the delightful winter scene.

The landscape is transformed

No more dreary gray views

An enchanted world awaits.

With a gasp, the tree, the presents!!

Has he been here?

Little feet jump and prance

They fly to find Christmas waiting.

Surely this is a magical day.

Poem Revision

After sharing this piece with my Writer's Circle friend and my Dad, I believe the revisions based on their critiques and a fresh look are very good.  I hope you enjoy this version.

Crabapple Picking

By Kimberly L. McClune

September 13, 2011

Across the lane, awaiting branches dip down.

Dotted with ripe redness

The fruit laden limbs beckon us.

Bags in hand, prepared to claim our booty.

Fresh sweetness surrounds our senses

As Autumns goodness lies before.

Under a delicious canopy, the shiny red fruit,

Guarded by lush green leaves,

Peeks out,

Fingers tempted to pluck them.

A small thrill makes its way down our arms

Past our elbows, to our fingers

As we reach for first crabapples of the season.

The firm, ripe crimson apple, tinted with gold,

Eases gently from its bough.

Some drop to the ground as the branches shake.

Others cling, stubbornly, waiting to be plucked.

Reaching further inward and upward,

The maze of branches calls us to look deeper.

More treasure waits above.

Bags filling, and branches lightening,

The sun slowly makes its way across the heavens.

Woven leaf patterns play on grass,

On our shoulders,

We stretch up through the canopy,

Looking skyward for more luscious treats.

Round or oval; small or large; pear shaped or cherry-like,

Colors dance from pale reds to deep purples,

            Through striated gold and crimson.

Marveling at beauty so earthy, yet delicate,

            We examine each tiny wonder.

Awestruck, scent bearing breezes rustle through boughs

            Bringing Autumns true essence.

Each moment more exhilarating

Bags become heavy and full.

Our voices, carried on those scented breezes,

            Reach flowers afield.

Yonder trees answer with whispering sighs.

As the pilgrimage moves from tree to tree,

Unburdened limbs are free, reaching skyward.

We fill bag after bag, dragging them behind

            Along still green grasses.

Surveying our loot as the sun nears journey's end,

            Satisfied mumblings and laughs fill the breeze.

Riches loaded onto a cart and proudly paraded.

Plans for sweet and savory delicacies fill our thoughts,

            Plunder is borne homeward.

Revised September 25, 2011