Yesterday's Shadow

whispered morning breaths

golden fire lies down her path

Willow stands weeping

yesterday's shadow welcomes

Autumn's naked silhouette  

Petrina Lesko

September 2011

linking to dVerse OpenLinkNight

The Raven's Truth Be Told

Mag 84



She whispers secrets

 into the night

the heavens mourn

the raven's truth be told

Petrina Lesko

September 2011

linked to Magpie Tales

Just To Be for dVerse Poetics

Today over at dVerse it is once again time for Poetics.  This week Joy has shared with us a bit of Edgar Allen Poe and Charles Bukowski to emphasize the impact that repetition can have in poetry.  Immediately I thought of a poem I wrote years ago that would be just right for this topic.  Please keep in mind, this poem was written far back in the day, before I got into poetry form, etc.  Hope you like it.

Just to Be

I look around me now,

As I sit and wonder how,

Each day I look to find the new,

But all I can want, is free and true...



I look around to feel,

As I sit the free is real,

Each day I look to find the way,

But all I can want, is through the day...



I look around me now,

As I sit and wonder how,

Each day I look to find the why,

But all I can want, is to see sky...



I look around to feel,

As I sit the free is real,

Each day I look to find the sun,

But all I can want, is to have won...



I look around me now,

As I sit and wonder how,

Each day I look to find the me,

But all I can want, is just to be...



I look around to feel,

As I sit the free is real,

Each day I look to find the me,

But all I can want, is just to be!


Petrina Lesko
May 1986

Revenant Painter

The Revenant, 1949, Andrew Wyeth
shared as Mag 82

Tap, tap, tap sounds beyond the open door,
yet he has relinquished his wait no more,
easing beyond the paled world we here see,
glides effortlessly... this reality.

For he is a shadow of yesterday,
touching upon lives now of those that may,
inhabit his world of delicate hues,
searching places where he once found his muse.

Inspirational souls that came to him,
close at heart and close to this his world's rim,
tendered moments found silently kept close,
speaking beyond the rhetoric verbose.

Never to seek the final event known,
focused as taught by NC to ill shown,
painted in 'abstraction' for depth and tone,
for seekers are lost when focus for throne.

Such was his way, to find strengths in beauty,
looking for depth, meaning in objects he,
beyond the obvious, what you would find,
giving deeper essence, this was his kind.

For always the soul lingers beyond grave,
to carry forth as the wind or the wave,
past the boundaries of this world's known rules,
to grace those left with gifts of these jewels.

© Petrina Lesko, September 2011

I have always been very fascinated with the depth in the works of Andrew Wyeth, one of the best known artists of the US in the mid 20th century.  Though his work is considered predominantly to be 'realist' he considered himself to paint in more of an 'abstractionist' manner looking beyond the basic obvious meanings of simple objects and the world around him.  He truly believed his works went beyond the landscape or portraits, that they expressed a deeper nuance of feeling and depth.

This week over at Magpie Tales, Tess Kincaid has offered this fine example of his work, The Revenant, as the prompt to inspire us writers and poets.  Thank you Tess, for a fabulous prompt... truly inspirational.

With Simple Grace

To touch each one with simple grace,
bow our heads with fear on our face,
of times in need, planted each seed,
fought for rights together would plead.

To see the world for what its worth,
looking beyond the dried up earth,
to nurture now, these plants some how,
tend heartened souls for all allow.

To walk today in remembrance,
for the ones lost and those still hence,
within your grasp, this place was clasp,
touched forever, free of their rasp.

Freedoms given beyond the day,
nurtured ways, come to you what may,
for tendered nights, and soulful sights,
given freely, encourage rights.

This always the voice of your ways,
to touch the world in such a blaze,
then the hours, we lost towers,
to grace upon our pure flowers.

To leave you lost, in his dismay,
crumbling beyond the words at play,
still in the fight, angel wings this night,
then lifting on morning breaths.. flight.

To take this soul with simple grace,
tears shed from eyes, love on our face,
of times in need, planted each seed,
embrace her gently now we plead.

Petrina Lesko
September 2011

Linked to dVerse Poets Pub for this week's Poetics...  In Memoriam

Just Moments Ago

Just moments ago with a gentle hand,
Tears fell here for were we to understand,
With softened ears you listened to our pleas,
Tenderly sifting hopes from simple dreams.

Guiding souls onward throughout all the days,
Empowering children, showing them ways,
To build their seeds into towering lives,
Able to reach goals if only one strives.

Never need raise the staff or the voice,
Integrity, morals for all the choice,
Twas dignity and grace forever shown,
Lending little ones space to be grown.

Just moments ago with a gentle hand,
Tears fell here, for were we to understand.

Petrina Lesko
September 2011
 
linked to OpenLinkNight over at dVerse Poets Pub

Stuck...

abandoned farm, Dublin, Ohio
photo by Tess Kincaid for
Magpie Tales

Stuck...

in the quagmire of

economic insecurities.

Stuck...

in muddy roads of

life's hazy days, worlds

washed loosely from

earthen crusts.

Stuck...

in the endlessness of

rain, pouring down

upon this place.

Stuck...

beyond hope of today,

tomorrow's freshness gleams.

Freed...

from everyday boundaries,

now flowing beyond deed lines.

Freed...

to begin anew, cleansed

by nature's tender mercies.

Freed...

from yesterday's limits,

inspiring new found strength

in oneself... worlds changed.

Petrina Lesko

September 2011

Inspired by this weeks photo prompt #81 found over at Magpie Tales.  Come share in the fun, write a short poem or vignette... or just read some wonderful writes by others.

Looking Through Windows



Red Umbrella, Christopher Shay
as shared at Magpie Tales



looking through windows

waiting for rain to bring home

those loved ones missing

still missing today

kept late by the storms passing

not yet home this night

looking through windows

waiting for rain to bring home

those loved ones missing

childlike wonder still

awed by the powerful rains

hoping for their return

looking through windows

waiting for rain to bring home

those loved ones missing

man passes windows

his red umbrella  reminds

time takes no heart loved

looking through windows

waiting for rain to bring home

those loved ones missing

creaking doors startle

branches banging the eaves too

long rainy days... wait

looking through windows

waiting for rain to bring home

those loved ones missing

Petrina Lesko

August 2011

In writing this piece,  I tried to capture the feelings when I was young...  When storms would pass our way, I would arrive home before everyone else in my family and then I would wait... searching the windows for signs of any of them to come home.  I would often times spend hours pacing window to window, wondering until one by one they would arrive home from their busy days, complaining of the delays the rain had caused.

This wonderful picture prompt was shared over at this weeks prompt #80 at Magpie Tales hosted by the talented Tess Kincaid.  There writers and poets come together to share their creations inspired by her weekly prompts.  Come join the fun, share your thoughts and get to know the most fabulous group of writers and poets.

Beyond the Moment: Poetics

Over at dVerse Poets Pub Brian Miller has challenged us for his Poetics post to explore what can only be seen with a 'third eye', those things that can only be known, beyond our true ability to see or touch something.  His post reminded me of the tenderness of this interaction with a dear friend from a few years ago.

She sat lost somewhere

beyond the moment,

not connecting to

the drivvle of her

favorite show...

Somewhere far

beyond our words,

drifting into the darkness,

"Momma is that you?"

Stillness filled the room

as she looked up, around...

smiling at what was there.

"Her dress is beautiful,

did you see it?"

"Don't go yet, it's been

so long..."  Silence engulfed

us, filling the crevices

of the space around us,

momentary glimpses...

"She died when I was

five.  Wasn't her dress

beautiful?  I'll be with

her soon, you know."

She sat smiling, looking

upward...

A calm slowly overtook

her fidgeting hands.  The

television continued to

drone on, noting the

world of victims of

the day's burdens.

Special Victims

contrasting the quietness

of her breath as it eased

from her lips, tender as

the child's hand.

Innocence of childhood,

a heart broken, a

mother's love stolen

from her on that

lonely dark road some

sixty odd years ago.

Tomorrow we would

need to drive that endless

road to nowhere, the

scarred bark branching

out to hold her.

A single tear trickled

down to catch the

edge of her smile,

her knowing one

day soon they would

be together again,

forever.

Petrina Lesko

August 2011

She Juggles Stars

I wanted to get a little more input on this one so I will be linking it over at dVerse ~Poets Pub for their OpenLinkNight.  Enjoy everyone.

Riding high there in the skies,

Magpie Tales #75

tightly roping within this world,

she juggles stars naturally,

as if this was her solemn place.

Eyes bewildered as Sirius flies,

her magic shines hot, up and twirled,

dancing aloft the world we see,

as before, this a new world's face.

In her efforts may come surprise,

for if she slips, from ropes be furled,

juggled there for those who will be,

upon the wires of fun we trace.

Eyes bewildered as Sirius flies,

riding there within the skies,

juggled there for those who will be,

dancing aloft the world we see.

She juggles stars naturally,

as if this was her solemn plea.

Petrina Lesko

July 2011

Here I offer a second take (inspired by thoughts of a friend's son who is in Australia, in school to hopefully become a part of Cirque du Soleil) on the wonderful prompt by Tess Kincaid, at her fabulous meme, Magpie Tales.  Come join the fun and see what flies for you.

Petals of Rose

soft petals of rose

sprinkled on waters for thee

his last goodnight kiss

Petrina Lesko

July 2011

Over at Jingle Poetry the theme for this week's Poetry Potluck just happens to be on Nature and Life so I shall also be linking there as well.  Hope you all have a fabulous week ahead.  I expect mine to be rather busy.

Sirius Cycle Rise

as offered by Tess Kincaid



as does the rise of Sirius say

cycling westward for day by day

just before the sunlit skies,

your Heliacal rise

draws forth all of eyes

on ropes these ones,

horizon's

edge to

play

Petrina Lesko

July 2011

This wonderful picture prompt was offered up today by Tess Kincaid for the 75th Magpie Tales prompt.  This is a fabulous place for writers and poets to come together and share.  To see what inspiration others have found, please follow the link and join in the fun.

Alabaster Storms

I'm  adding a link here to dVerse ~Poets Pub for their first session of Meeting the Bar: Crit Friday.  Looks to be a great place for writer's to get feedback (honest, evaluative feedback) on their poetry. 

Alabaster Storms

The orange sun sinks beyond
A barriered horizon,
I slip into your caress,
Warmth embraces my soul's ache,
Soothing me into the depths,
Beyond alabaster storms.

Tender pulses lift me out,
Beyond the coming darkness,
Into glistening moments now,
Floating above starlit skies,
Bubbling kisses so tender,
My heart settles to serene.

As your touch reaches beyond,
Easing the toughened moments,
Embracing the quiet... da dum,
Beating hearts slow, calming too,
Washing the days motions off,
Come to rest in your embrace.

Whirring worlds roar dim this night,
His voice beyond, who hoo hoo,
Cast iron gates fence apart,
Another howls in response to,
Saying it is I, who calls,
This night my place, echos...

The alabaster stillness,
Fragranced air tickles darkness,
Gardenia's matching tender,
The water's whir goes silent,
Rising above, tenderly step,
Beyond embraces into night.

Petrina Lesko
July 2011

Today is the final OSW over at One Stop Poetry as this wonderful sight comes to an end, closing today.  (It will be around as an archive for all the fabulous poetry that has been shared there.)  In it's finale, I will be linking this poem, written, experienced as I have sat relaxing in the warm waters of the hot tub nights, remembering days not forgotten.

On Winged Flight

As One Stop Poetry finds itself in its final days, hours...  Gay Cannon has presented us with Form Monday and Brendan MacOdrum as the host of Poetry and Myth...  For this wonderfully informative final lesson, link here.  It is a fabulous challenging and educational piece.   So for this weeks challenge, Brendan has offered this:  Post a poem that is somehow based on a myth or folktale. Put your history into its mystery; you’ll discover the gods are still very much with us, raising all kinds of heaven and hell between the margins of the page.


On Winged Flight

Born when death betook her head,
On winged flight, bestow instead,
Upon this steed, the hero rose,
To the shores wherefor he chose,
Slay the demon in hopes to wed.

Thus placed up in the heavens told,
Carried ye forth to mountains fold,
For with your step, the waters spring,
Placed in your care, from Hippocrene,
The Nine who hold, the Arts we mold.

To sing, to dance, for it is said,
Bestowed your care for we be led,
Tails painted Zeus, upon the skies,
For one to tell within belies,
Thus histories of hungers fed.

Yet we who care for this be led,
The voices spring and it was said,
These glories sung amidst our tries,
Be heard to you, be lost our cries,
For in the night, the stories bled.

And in the day we wander by,
In hopes to find, we swallow sky,
To feed the need within the mind,
Yet him and her, they see us blind,
For us the day is dark, we cry.

Yet be unheard, condemned are we,
When in the night, your tales we see,
But to those here, other things said,
'Voices you hear, just in your head',
So we must seek your world to be.

For in the night the Muses see,
Versions fortold, today's story,
 Alas we show a new found tale,
Yet there it be, a shadow's trail,
For with the Muse, we may be free.

Petrina Lesko
July 2011

Truth

truth lies within, yes?

masked beyond recognition

this

the only truth left

photo offered by Tess Kincaid
for Magpie Tales #74

Magpie Tales, a fabulous weekly prompt offered by Tess Kincaid, where writers, poets and you can come to share and enjoy the talents of some wonderful friends.

Whispered Art

In your Art, I hear whispers... words
Linking worlds, born of another ear.
Gentle sighs, awed by the image,
Eyes widening, stretching to tear,
Brushed images on wings of birds.

Hues darken upon the shore's sand,
Waves play high to hear the music.
Standing before, standing after...
As the seagull floats majestic,
Does the ship come home to land.

Gentle sighs, awed by the image,
Standing before, standing after...

In your Art, I hear whispers... words
Linking worlds, born of another ear.

Petrina Lesko
July 2011

This week's Poetry Potluck topic is Painting Whispers.  It was to see what art inspires in each of us, allowing the whispers heard and felt to flow through our words.  This is my entry for this week's Potluck over at Jingle Poetry.  Hope you all enjoy my interpretation of the whispers.

Yet A Sapling Still

Yet a sapling still beneath the canopies,
Standing tall I stretch forth toward its glimmer,
Shadows cast over me and I bend in winds,
Seeds planted all around, shelled beneath as I,
Reach forth, my branches bend with weighted fruit.

Fruit... they tell me will sweeten with age, blossoms,
Only to behold the secreted days here,
Held in shadows of those who were before me,
Still, standing tall, branching forth with outstretched palms,
Listening to winds whistle, nettled glory.

Yet a sapling still beneath the canopies,
Fruited planes, smooth crisp lines ripe from used blossoms,
Free of shadows cast, hope glimmers before me,
As the flowering bud, gently holds its shell low,
Nettled glory listens to wind whistle.

Petrina Lesko
July 2011

When I wrote this poem, I had an image in my mind for a drawing I would like to do, maybe even eventually adding painted whispers of color.  Looking again at topic for this week's Poetry Potluck, I will be also linking this piece over at Jingle Poetry... it seems to fit so well.

Gift



photo taken by Petrina Lesko

Delicate purple lines crowning cones,
Lace wrapped petals bursting in bloom,
Standing tall modelling height,
Talents acquired within,
Bestowed upon and
for your delight.
A Mother
Nature's
Gift.

Petrina Lesko
July 2011

Over at One Stop Poetry, today is Form Monday.  Gay has introduced us to Corbie Sinclair for a lesson on the Nonet.  'In writing it involves a poem with a total of nine lines. The first line must have nine syllables, second line eight syllables, third line seven syllables and so on until you end with one syllable. It has a ABCDEFGHI or alpha numerical form, so each line is a different ending word. The corresponding syllables are 9,8,7,6,5,4,3,2,1.'    This is my first attempt at this form and I found it rather challenging.  Stop over and give it a whirl.

Life Played Silently

People of Chilmark, Thomas Hart Benton, 1920

From within our shores of sunshine plays,
Upon the land and upon the sea,
Basking in the days of carefree ways,
Games played silently, we all could be.

Simple words spoken within the hands,
Havens cherished, explored, be thus shared,
Martha's vintage language of the sands,
A language evolved beyond presence cared.

Evolving days of lessons to learn,
Schooled in hearts beyond from shores to main,
French signs transformed yet may we discern,
Blending worlds within the hand explain.

To bring to this American shore,
Become these words spoken - ASL,
From island families long before,
Words shared with hands and spoken by all.

As all could be, no barriers would see,
For in those days, hearing spoke with hands,
To share and be a community,
To work, to play, joined upon these sands.

From within our shores of sunshine plays,
Upon the land and upon the sea,
Basking in the days of carefree ways,
Chilmark people... life played silently.

Petrina Lesko
July 2011

The above photo prompt was offered by the wonderful Tess Kincaid over at her Magpie Tales, a fabulous place for poets and writers to share with like-minded artists, creating and basking in the sunshine of life.  Please come join us!

Like Crumbling Spires

Like crumbling spires thus bleed for thee,
Stone-faced moments filled with passion,
Skyward reach, these souls are now free,
Delicate hearts tendered ashen...

Days filled with mortised memories,
Facades artistically hiding...
Crack strewn hearts tender as the breeze,
Life's lost friends held in time biding.

Yet hope casts the dawn's rays of light,
Doors open welcoming the day,
For spaces restored from one's plight,
Shimmering with love show the way.

Like crumbling spires thus bleed for thee,
In my heart always, friends were we.

Petrina Lesko
July 2011


For this week's 'almost' final Sunday photographer interview over at One Stop Poetry, they have introduced us to Neil Alexander. 

Photographer Neil Alexander is a lifestyle and travel photographer as skilled at capturing the essence of people, as well as the landscapes they walk.