To Touch with Grace

Over at Jingle Poetry this week for the Poetry Potluck the topic is "Muse, Art, Music and Poetry".  Giving much thought to this subject matter, it has brought me to this:  the task of the Muse in creating all Art, Music and Poetry....  This is what I came up with:

To Touch with Grace

Delving into places to reach,
Reach within the depths of the soul.
Touching tenderly there to breach,
As whales above the waters roll.

Leading the reader to a place,
To a place beyond simple words,
Connecting with their soul through grace,
Deeper meanings than mere thoughts spurred.

Like the artist placing his hue,
On the canvas layered with paint,
Yet the masterpiece dost ensue,
Catenation boldly or faint.

Thus leaving ever the footprint,
Embed within another heart,
The unforgotten touch of glint,
A spark ignites, the passions start.

Feelings... thoughts beyond the mere muse,
Tenderly touching deeper skin,
Simple selections, words I choose,
Gathered and placed like in my tin.

Treasures and wonders all are here,
Sharing with others, this we do,
Special gifts placed with care my dear,
These things written from me to you.

Treasures and wonders all are here,
Reached within the depths of my soul,
Special gifts placed with care my dear,
To touch with grace another soul.

Petrina Lesko
April 2011

Being that it is about time also for OSW over at One Stop Poetry, I shall be linking there as well.  Hope you all enjoyed this interpretation of the wondrous Muse.

Journey to the Sea

Illustration by:  Clara Burd
as found at Monday's Child: fair of face

Hello my friend, how are you today?
Oh please, won't you come along with me,
It's not far this journey, but fun you'll see,
Please, please, tell me you will, won't you stay.

I will ride my steed along the shore,
Dreaming as you run with us far more,
We'll ride to the castle along the shore,
I'll pause for you too see him by the door.

Hello my friend, how are you today?
Oh please, won't you come along with me,
We'll journey through meadows, yes but we,
Can not go far, for we have just this day.

To ride like the wind and play some more,
Climb on the rocks and hear your lion's roar,
To the castle we'll ride just like before,
Then trot along the sea upon the shore.

Hello my friend, how are you today?
Oh please, won't you come along with me.

Petrina Lesko
April 2011

I am linking this poem over to Monday's Child: fair of face  where this wonderful illustration by Clara Burd was offered as this week's prompt.

Chlorophyll Highlights

Tender pink petals glistening,

The day's misty morning springs forth,

Like a kaleidoscope of hope,

Sun rays fragmenting through damp air...



Mag 63



Her tree lined canopy unveils,

Blue spruce sparkling upon the rose,

She drinks in the moisture of light,

With chlorophyll highlights she dawns.

Petrina Lesko

April 2011

Thank you again Tess, for a breathtaking picture prompt for this week's Magpie Tales, a fabulous venue where writers can share with others and entertain the muse.  For some spectacular reads in poetry and prose, please join us at Magpie Tales for this weeks prompt, #63.

Blank White Echoes...



photo by Greg Laychak
as shared at One Stop Poetry on their
Sunday photographer interview

I wheel forth in the depths of nothingness,
Down hallways of my mind, blank white echoes...
Yesterday's moments of sunshine glisten,
In damp misty moments of today's tears.

If I could rise, see the outer gardens,
Memories of jasmine filling my soul...
Glimmers of days gone by, tender touches,
Breezes of the heart held out beyond walls.

Instead, endless unmarked moments fill days,
Long corridors to nowhere mark my world...
Bleach stained floors leading to countless doorways,
Each one could be mine, yet none seem to be.

Lost lifetimes left unshared in loneliness,
Aging bitterness stinging the heartstrings...
Forgotten in a world tucked away now,
Dignities stolen in the darkness of time.

I wheel forth in the depths of nothingness,
Down hallways of my mind, blank white echoes...

Petrina Lesko
April 2011


This wonderful picture was shared over at One Stop Poetry as this weeks photo prompt for the Sunday Photography Interview with Greg Laychak.  He is a fabulous documentary photographer worth exploring.  Please stop by to see all the other great talent shared.


Mom, where do...?

Mag 62 photo prompt

"Mom, where do eggs come from?" asked Timmy.  "She told you, eggs come from chickens... remember at Grandpa's house.  We went to the chicken coop and picked the eggs up from the nests." answered Shelly.

She continued to stand in front of the stove, a smile across her face.  The toast popped up, she pulled the slices from the toaster and placed them on her own plate.  Picking up the knife, she scooped some butter and began to spread it across the slices.

"Mom, where does bread come from?" asked Timmy.  "She told you, bread comes from the wheat in the fields, you mix it up with the... mix it and put it in the oven." answered Shelly. 

"So bread comes from the oven, like the meat does," chimed Timmy. 

"No, not from the oven, it comes from the wheat fields... like the corn does.  Remember the big ears of corn on the tall plants in the fields at Grandpa's house.  You have to get this right, Timmy.  Bread is wheat, it comes from the fields."  Shelly instructed. 

"Oh yeah, that's when Grandpa let me ride on the tractor with him... I like tractors.  Mom, can I have my  own tractor?..." asked Timmy.

Petrina Lesko
April 2011

Another wonderful photo prompt offered by Tess over at Magpie Tales.  Sitting pondering it this morning while eating my toast and sipping coffee, I imagined hearing the above conversation between two young children sitting at the table eating their breakfast while Mom finished preparing her own.  Come join the fun over at Magpie Tales and share your own inspiring take.

Favorite Things...

Over at Jingle Poetry this week, the topic for Poetry Potluck is 'A few of my favorite things'...  I thought this would be a great opportunity for me to share a little more of myself than I usually do, and join others in sharing some wonderful poetry written by all the great poets hanging out there...  Please come join in all the fun.

Children playing, sliding on slides,
Climbing trees, swinging on swings,
Puppies discovering butterflies,
These are a few of my favorite things...

Taking a long walk in the moonlit night,
Sharing memories tender, for joy it brings,
With friends, spending time always feels right,
These are a few of my favorite things...

Walking down a forest path as it winds,
Sitting beneath the stars as the river sings,
Watching animals in nature, any of all kinds,
These are a few of my favorite things...

Reading poetry and words that are kin,
Writing tales to share, thought ponderings,
Listening to soft music, chocolates in tin,
These are a few of my favorite things...

Spending quiet time looking out to the sea,
Discovering life's mysteries and all it brings,
Creating art and words, these are for me,
These are a few of my favorite things.

Petrina Lesko
April 2011

Not Much Left to Lose?

This fabulous picture was shared over at Thursday Tales as this weeks photo prompt, offered to those of us who write... to inspire.  To view it at it's original location and to see more by the artist, click here: http://veniamin.deviantart.com/art/Not-Much-Left-To-Lose-12304113.



Not Much Left to Lose
by Veniamin

To design our day's journey, one must contemplate all that has been, all that will be.  Where do we wish to find our destination?  The music helps, as I sit and fiddle with my instrument, watching the world pass by... as have the days of yesteryear. 

It was quite the day long ago, I was walking down by the shore, contemplating life as I do now.  Contemplating all that I had, the gold wristwatch, the gold chain around my neck... the black linen suit, white shirt, pressed to a tee.  All mementos of who I had become, all trinkets of my days of hard work.  Those were long days, leaving early in the morning before the sun came up and ending with me slinking in the door way past nightfall.  Those were lonely days too... 

Coming home to an empty space, furnished well, yet no one to laugh at my jokes.  No one to listen to my tales of success, beating out the next guy, selling one more than he had.  No one to share the long dark nights with.... Those were indeed lonely days.  No one to know I had been jumped there along the shore.

I laid there for what seemed an eternity... my skull cracked on the left side, blood pooling in the earth near the rock, my leg shattered from the bat they used to take my legs from under me.  The gold watch gone in an instant, the chain ripped from my neck, the linen pants torn where they snatched the wallet from my pocket.  Those trinkets had become a welcome sign to take the life from my lonely existence... with no one to know as I lay there along the shore...

The days now are full, as I sit and share the burdens of my journey with those who pass by.  Ellie comes searching when I don't come in by supper.  Never again shall I lay there along the shore... waiting to be discovered, waiting to be helped up when I have stumbled along the way.

She is such a beautiful woman.  Her hair tied back, those high cheek bones, the sensuous lips that speak so tenderly of all mankind.  Lost souls she calls them.  Those evil boys who ripped my soul to shreds, ripped the success of my days away as they swung the bat. 

Sometimes I wonder, did they have any idea?  Did they know what would come of me?  Or did they only see the gold watch, the gold chain, the trinkets of my success... the trinkets of my loss.  She reminds me when I call them that... my life-giving trinkets.  Days now are full of her, days forever shared by two hearts never to be left for dead again.

Yes, to design our day's journey, one must contemplate all that has been, all that will be. Where do we wish to find our destination? The music helps, as I sit and fiddle with my instrument, watching the world pass by...

The Sunday Scribblings prompt this week was Design...  Thinking design led me to the journey of life, which fit well into this brief tale, brief experience I was working on.    Hope you all enjoy this and are having a wonderful week.

Ancestral Images



Mag 61

Ancestral images transmute once swirled,
Like acid-washed remnants of aged-long rhyme,

Memories etched in some other lifetime,

Fragmented pieces, a different world.

Taste of this glass, flavoring years be twirled,
Thoughts dark night, unclear... living crumbled time,
Ancestral images will be unfurled,
Like acid-washed remnants of aged-long rhyme.

Sipping sensations, altered thoughts are whirled,
Life's lost hearts of family's broken climb,
Day's forgotten moments given to crime,
The mind's lost illness, less packaged and pearled.
Ancestral images transmute once swirled.

Petrina Lesko
April 2011

Another challenging Magpie Tales prompt, as offered weekly by the wonderful Tess Kincaid.  Thank you Tess, for inspiring deep thoughts with such provocative images.  Please come join us for a fabulous share.

Secrets to Share


The following illustration by Florence Edith Storer was offered this morning at Monday's Child: fair of face where many talented writers come together to offer children's poetry based the illustrated prompt posted each week.  Come join us.

Illustration: Florence Edith Storer

Secrets to Share

we gathered

within blustery

summer days

awaiting

secrets held to share with friends

 our special moments

Petrina Lesko

April 2011

The poetry form shared here is Shadorma, a spanish form taught today over at One Stop Poetry in this weeks form lesson.  This is my first attempt at Shadorma and I will be linking there at well.

Creativity Lingers



photo by Lauren Randolph
as offered @ One Stop Poetry

Sunday Photography Interview

Reality's fenceposts holding strong,

Creativity lingers, drifting...

Images held a part, can this be?

Mind's matter questions, could this be wrong?

Moments in time planted like stakes,

Life whitewashed for all those who see,

Words rise from the depths of beings,

Deflated lives fell within time.

Creativity lingers, drifting...

Realitiy's fenceposts holding strong.

Petrina Lesko

April 2011

This, my entry for One Stop Poetry's photography interview of Lauren Randolph this week, a puzzling prompt of opposites.  Stirring far-fetched worlds, and reminders of how topsy turvy life can really be at times.  Hope you all enjoyed my take.  Stop by there to share your take and explore more about Lauren Randolph's wonderful photography.

RIP my Friend

I posted this poem four months ago today, sharing the excitement, the eagerness that my roomate's dog Lucky always showed in every moment spent outside.  This morning she got out and ran for the 'Freedom of nature' that I spoke of in the last stanza, eager to chase the scent...  She disappeared faster than we could follow.  While we were out searching, trying to catch a glimpse of her whereabouts, she met with a dangerous road.  Unfortunately, she did not navigate the nearby busy street well enough in her eagerness this morning.  My roomate found her a short distance from our home, beyond help.  I thought it fitting to repost this poem as she is now chasing scents and living the 'Freedom of the hills and fields' with our other friends whom have passed on.  Rest in Peace my friend, rest in peace.  You will be dearly missed!

Lucky Dog Dreams



We walked, eyes wide open into the vast space,
You stand aware of each breath of wind,
Each voice hidden in tiny spaces, searching the day,
Trespassing through the rose bushes, catching scents,
You stand aware of each breath of wind.

Ears perked, listening to the whispers of the frog,
Head cocks to watch the flame-like leaf swirl,
Fluttering downward, catching a breath, twirling,
It lands in the lifeless bed, flames laying down to ash,
You stand aware of each breath of wind.

Wings flutter past, catching your wide open eyes,
You spring forth, the excitement welling up, eager,
The bird dances in the air above, only to land beyond,
Beyond the length of your leash, just beyond hope,
You stand aware of each breath of wind.



Moments of Guidance, reminders of all that is close,
Excitement burns within your soul, eager to see,
With eyes wide open, to see the Freedom of nature,
Desire burning within to chase after rabbit scents,
You stand aware of each breath of wind.

Petrina Lesko
December 2010

White Mountain Ash

Had just a quick glance at the prompt early this morning, then  a busy, busy day in the high 80's with scorching sunlight...  Hours upon hours later, I sit here trying to let all of the busy moments rinse away with thoughts of rain and this wonderful prompt.....

Mag 60 at Magpie Tales

Dim darkened clouds, angered skies sash,

Holding your tears well into the night,

Greying worlds collide.

Tensions well beneath holding too tight,

Thundering voices, lightning crash.

Drenching moments bathe in a flash,

Rinsing free tender hearts of sunlight,

Colorful worlds pride.

Emerging seeds blossom within sight,

Rising wonders, white mountain ash.

Stormy skies abide,

Colors rising stride,

Timbers reaching, white mountain ash.

Petrina Lesko

April 2011

I am linking this poem over at Magpie Tales for this weeks prompt #60.   Now I'm off to check out all the other wonderful poets.  Please join us.