Tag Archives: Poetry

#FlashFictionFriday: Reflections on the Water

A rough, log bench at water’s edge

Pictured in mind’s eye,

Reflections on the water

Of an evening long gone by.

I see us as we were that night,

Grandmother, lake, and me.

Flannel shirt over frayed housedress

Beside denims worn with style,

Philosophies and grand ideas

Beside wisdom without guile.

 

She told me why the stars were hung

In the inky sea above.

A brilliant ebb and flowing dance

A ballet of starry love

To cricket song and bullfrog drum.

But I was bored with country life

And lured by rattle and hum.

“What you seek you’ll never find

In neon glow and city block.”

I longed to leave that place behind

New paths I yearned to walk.

 

And now I stand on memory’s shore

With Grandma once again.

The lake, and shore, and skies above,

Have gone, and gone again.

And simple wisdom I have gained,

Reflecting on the lake,

Grandma’s wisdom still remains

In who I came to be

Though different paths I take.


Credits and Attributions

Reflections on the Water by Connie J. Jasperson © 2017 All Rights Reserved

Moonrise, by Stanisław Masłowski   PD 100 yrs [[File:MaslowskiStanislaw.WschodKsiezyca.1884.ws.jpg|MaslowskiStanislaw.WschodKsiezyca.1884.ws]]

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#flashfictionfriday: The Lilies Orange

I think upon the lilies orange

That grew beside the lake.

Such beauty there among the weeds

For loons and grebes to take.

The peace I found along that shore

Is gone and gone, I fear.

The thief of time has stolen it,

Gone these fifty years.

The lilies bring them back to me,

The lilies and the shore.

I see the high black hills beyond

Though I’ll walk there nevermore.

My childhood home, long gone.


Credits and Attributions:

The Lilies Orange, © Connie J. Jasperson 2017, All Rights Reserved

Orange Daylilies, By George Chernilevsky (Own work) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons | Wikimedia Commons contributors, “File:Hemerocallis fulva 2016 G1.jpg,” Wikimedia Commons, the free media repository, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?title=File:Hemerocallis_fulva_2016_G1.jpg&oldid=259430397 (accessed October 5, 2017)

 

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#FlashFictionFriday: Copper Starbucks Cup

 

I carry my coffee in a Starbucks cup

To the silver minivan,

A kid-hauler, a family bus,

An old lady’s junk hauling van.

I carry my coffee in the copper colored cup

And hit the road again.

 

The smoothness of the new highway

Matching grayness of the sky

The scent of coffee in my cup

Feeding birds take wing and fly.

My coffee and the Starbucks cup

Passing cows and llamas by.

 

My copper colored Starbucks cup

Hurtling south, or north I go.

Grandma’s on the road again

Get in the van, let’s go.

Coffee, cows, birds, and fog

She can’t be stopped, you know.


Credits and Attributions

Copper Starbucks Cup © 2017 Connie J. Jasperson

image: Copper Starbucks Cup © 2017 Connie J. Jasperson (author’s own photo)

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#flashfictionfriday: Foggy Autumn Morning Sunrise

September first has come to stay,

Summer’s moving on,

Cold and chill the break of day,

But we still greet the dawn.

Webs are hung with mist and dew,

Sparkling on the lawn,

I drink coffee on the porch with you,

And watch the rushing throng.


Foggy Autumn Morning Sunrise, © Connie J. Jasperson 2017, All Rights Reserved

Foggy Autumn Morning (sunrise) Arto J [CC BY-SA 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons

 

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#FlashFictionFriday: Oregon Sunset (reprise)

We sat on the beach near the fire,

Two old people bundled against the cold Oregon sunset.

Friends we’d never met fished the surf,

Children and dogs ran at waves’ edge.

Red sky, red mist, red sunset. Fire, water, wind, and you.

 

Wind whipped my hair, gray and uncut,

Tore it from its inept braid,

August wind, chill inside my hood, but I remained,

Pleased to be with you, and pleased to be on that beach.

 

The sea roared loud, filling my ears,

My blood and

My heart,

And where ever you are that is my beach,

My ocean, my sunset.

 

Mist rose with the tide, closed in and enfolded us,

Blotting out the falling stars and,

Laughing at our folly,

We dragged our weary selves back to our digs,

Rented, but with everything two old people needed.

 

The gas fire warmed me

And you warmed me,

And these memories warm me now

When snow blankets our inland valley

And Oregon seems far, far away.

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#FlashFictionFriday: Talisman (reprise)

 

Talisman

 

The evening sun lingers,

Red, golden,

Unwilling to set.

 

Time seems to stop.

This moment

Will be a talisman,

 

Hanging in my heart.

Warming me

When winter’s fist is closed.


Talisman, Copyright © 2017 Connie J Jasperson, All rights reserved, originally published Apr. 7, 2017 on Life in the Realm of Fantasy, http://conniejjasperson.com

Puget Sound Sunset, By Vladimir Menkov (Own work) [GFDL (http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html), CC-BY-SA-3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/) or CC BY 2.5 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.5)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons

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#FlashFictionFriday: Stolen Heaven

Hydrangea_cropped_July_11_2017_copyright_cjjasperson_2017 copy

Sunlight gently falling

On blue,

Lighting the green

Branches that support you,

Leaves that frame you.

Blue the color of

Heaven on good day,

Framed by a green

Limes would envy.

Sleep eluded me and

I was there at dawn,

Witnessing the splendor of

Heaven,

Stolen for a few brief moments

And illuminated by the sun.


Attributions:

Hydrangea © Connie J. Jasperson 2017 (author’s own photo)

Stolen Heaven © Connie J. Jasperson 2017

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#FlashFictionFriday: Tomorrow will be better

Morning came

Along with the bandages and healing,

Along with your frustration and helplessness.

Morning came

And I, as your mother, tended your wounds.

You didn’t ask for this burden.

You didn’t do anything wrong.

You didn’t cause epilepsy.

Tomorrow will be better.

Tomorrow your wounds will be healed

Even if your ego isn’t.


Tomorrow Will Be Better, © Connie J. Jasperson 2017, All Rights Reserved

Photo credit: After a great sun rise, Photographer: Simon Eugster, SSA CCA 3.0 Licence: {{GFDL}} via Wikimedia Commons

If you or a loved one are suffering from a seizure disorder, the Epilepsy Foundation has resources for you http://www.epilepsy.com/

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#FlashFictionFriday: Quiet of an Early Summer Morning

Passer_insularis_Smit

The quiet of

An early summer

Morning

Sinks into my soul,

Warming my spirit like coffee.

 

At twelve past five

The birds are present,

Singing,

Songs of love, poems of war

While I appreciate my coffee.

 

Feathered beings

Living swift and fierce,

Passionately,

As summer waxes into fall

And I enjoy my coffee.


Quiet of an Early Summer Morning, by Connie J. Jasperson © 2017 Connie J. Jasperson, All Rights Reserved.

Depiction of the Socotra Sparrow, from its description in the Proceedings of the Scientific Meetings of the Zoological Society of London. Female above, male below. Joseph Smit 1881 [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

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#FlashFictionFriday: Ballad of Jennet Adair (reprise)

Jennet, she lies

‘Neath the white rose tree

And never again will she

Play false to me

 

T’was not my hands

Round her lily-white throat

But would that I could

Drown her deep in the moat

 

Her hair was as dark

As summer is fair

Her lips were for kissing

Sweet Rose of Adair

 

Jennet, she lies

‘Neath the rose tree white

My brother will hang

For her murder tonight

 

Jennet, she lies

‘Neath the white rose tree

Never again will

Those lips lie to me

 

T’was not my hands

Round her lily-white throat

She ruined my brother

She ruined us both

 

Played us like pawns

In the age-old game

Until she did misstep

To her sorrow and shame

 

My brother will hang

‘Neath the town hall light

And who will tell mother

What happened tonight?

 

Jennet, she lies

‘Neath the white rose tree

And never again will she

Play false to me.


Ballad of Jennet Adair © Connie J. Jasperson 2016-2017, All Rights Reserved

The Ballad of Jennet Adair by Connie J. Jasperson was first published July 31, 2015 on Edgewise Words Inn, as a song her character, Huw the Bard, might have written. It is a story poem, written in a traditional, bardic style, and was inspired by the Child Ballads collected in the 19th century by Francis James Child.

Bouquet of Roses at the Window, Ferdinand Georg Waldmüller 1892 [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

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