Star-Gazing by Marcia Meara

The Perseids . . . 
Lying back under 
The ink-blotted sky,
He tries out the words.
They tickle his tongue.
The Per-see-ids. Those
Pinpoints of brightness
And streaks of fire,
Lighting the night
In a spectacle
Older than he can 
Possibly know.

Look Dad, he cries,
Look how many!
I see a hundred,
Maybe a thousand!
I see them, too,
Dad says,
And together, they laugh, 
Delighted.
Joy shared, 
And excitement 
Doubled.

Come see the meteors,
Dad said, as he
Shook him awake
Just before dawn.
He crawled from the tent,
Rubbing his eyes, 
Then staring in wonder.
With the sky still a midnight black,
And bright stars wheeling overhead, 
The fireworks came.
Racing toward Earth,
One after another,
The Perseids. 
The miracle of hot August nights.
A late-summer light show
That electrified his soul.
His young heart transfixed
By the sight of the universe,
Lit with streamers
Of flame.

A meteor shower,
Dad tells him again,
But he knows nothing
So beautiful has a name
So ordinary.
Stars, he thinks, pulled loose
From the fabric of the sky,
And flung toward earth, 
Trailing silver and gold,
And bringing pieces of Heaven
To those watching below.

He holds up his hands,
Cupped reverently, 
To catch one of his own.
To be blessed by 
This summer magic.
He holds his breath, waiting
For the illumination
Of his soul to begin.
Falling stars,
Falling from the
Summer sky,
For him.

-Marcia Meara –

Summer Magic: Poems of Life & Love

Things I Have Learned #1 by Marcia Meara

TV ads we all endure
Proclaim loudly “We have the cure!”
You try it out, and find it’s good,
Why can’t they leave it as they should?
Beware the label “New and Improved,”
It really means you’ve just been scrooved.

😀

Poem of the Day: Attitude Really IS Everything

Still deleting emails. I’ve deleted over 18,000 by hand since 8:00am. I had to stop for a while, and get my head straight. Thought this might be a good reminder to keep a positive attitude.

Attitude Really IS Everything

No!
Yes.
You can’t!
I can.
Why?
Why not?
It’s all wrong!
It’s all right.
You shouldn’t!
I should.
You won’t!
I will.
It could be bad!
It could be good.
It’s too late!
There’s time.
You’re too old!
I’m still here.
You did it!
I did.

   – Marcia Meara –

Summer Magic

Poem of the Day: The Rope Swing

One more from the Mac at Ten section of Summer Magic. Hope you can feel  all the exuberance of a young boy spending the afternoon at a mountain swimming hole.

The Rope Swing

Sailing up, up into
Blue summer sky,
Hot rope rough against his hands,
He shouts with joy, and lets go.
For a crystal moment,
He hangs suspended,
Frozen in time
Like a fly in amber.
All awkward angles–
Shoulder blades and
Elbows, and
Knobby knees,
Painted against the sky,
Heart filled with fierce joy.

Dropping, down, down
Into clear green water
Cold on his skin,
He sinks to the silty bottom
And sits suspended
In an alien world,
Watching  the silvered flashes
Of tiny fish darting to and fro,
Startled by his sudden appearance.
I am a fish, too, he thinks,
And holds his breath
As long as he can.

Finally, he rockets up
Through a stream of
Tickling bubbles,
Breaking the
Surface of the water
With a loud whoop of
Childish exuberance.
All thoughts of becoming a fish
Forgotten as he
Scrambles out,
Shakes the water from his hair,
And, grinning, hitches up his
Baggy shorts.

He’s ready
To do it all again.
Flying through the summer air,
Dropping into the cold water
To commune with fishes
Silvered in refracted light.
Then leaping to the surface,
A boy of ten once more,
Laughing through an endless summer
Made perfect by a cool green pond,
And an old rope swing.

     – Marcia Meara –

Summer Magic: Poems of Life & Love

Poem of the Day: Summer Magic

Thinking about my sequel to Wake-Robin Ridge has me remembering how much I loved the idea of a little ten-year old boy who grew up camping in the mountains with his dad, every summer. The first part of my chapbook, Summer Magic, is called Mac At Ten, and celebrates those years of innocent childhood, as he learned to love those mountains with all his heart. Here’s one of those poems.

Summer Magic

Crawling quietly from his tent,
His dad still lost in slumber within,
He sits down alone on the granite slab,
Coltish legs drawn up to his chin,
And arms wrapped around skinny knees.
He gazes toward the pale horizon,
Watching the sleeping valley below.
With breath held in anticipation,
He waits for the magic
He knows will come.

There! A thin curve of molten red!
A far away sliver of fiery light
Breaks the horizon.
Rising slowly,
It bathes the tops of the rolling hills
In a brilliant spill of gold.
Mother-of-pearl dawn
Gives way to butter yellow
Morning light.

In front of his wide, blue eyes,
The world awakens.
Magic arrives and
Day is born,
Again.
He smiles to himself and wraps
His arms more tightly
Around his knees,
Shivering in private delight, and
Holding the beauty
Close within,
Having already learned
Some magic is
Secret.

  – Marcia Meara –

Summer Magic: Poems of Life & Love

Lending Fate A Hand

Lending Fate A Hand

Standing near the shop,
I watch.
People rush in and out,
Jostling, hurrying.
Carrying steaming cups
To offices nearby. 

I wait for the right one.
Finally! He exits and
Heads toward me.
My heart stutters
With pleasure
As I admire him.
He’s tall, wide-shouldered,
Very blonde.
A Viking in Armani.
Yes, I think. Oh, yes.
He’s just as perfect as
He looked yesterday.

With careful timing,
I step into his path,
And we collide.
Oh! I’m so sorry!
He stops, surprised.
Then bends to pick up my purse.
Handing it back, he smiles.
My fault, he says.
I should have been paying attention.

We stand for a moment,
Assessing each other,
Then I laugh awkwardly,
And flash him a look
He can’t mistake.
His eyes widen slightly,
His smile, as well.
And I know.
He’ll be here tomorrow,
Ordering latte, and
Looking for me.
I’ll be waiting.

     – Marcia Meara –

Summer Magic: Poems of Life & Love

Star-Gazing by Marcia Meara

The Perseids . . . 
Lying back under 
The ink-blotted sky,
He tries out the words.
They tickle his tongue.
The Per-see-ids. Those
Pinpoints of brightness
And streaks of fire,
Lighting the night
In a spectacle
Older than he can 
Possibly know.

Look Dad, he cries,
Look how many!
I see a hundred,
Maybe a thousand!
I see them, too,
Dad says,
And together, they laugh, 
Delighted.
Joy shared, 
And excitement 
Doubled.

Come see the meteors,
Dad said, as he
Shook him awake
Just before dawn.
He crawled from the tent,
Rubbing his eyes, 
Then staring in wonder.
With the sky still a midnight black,
And bright stars wheeling overhead, 
The fireworks came.
Racing toward Earth,
One after another,
The Perseids. 
The miracle of hot August nights.
A late-summer light show
That electrified his soul.
His young heart transfixed
By the sight of the universe,
Lit with streamers
Of flame.

A meteor shower,
Dad tells him again,
But he knows nothing
So beautiful has a name
So ordinary.
Stars, he thinks, pulled loose
From the fabric of the sky,
And flung toward earth, 
Trailing silver and gold,
And bringing pieces of Heaven
To those watching below.

He holds up his hands,
Cupped reverently, 
To catch one of his own.
To be blessed by 
This summer magic.
He holds his breath, waiting
For the illumination
Of his soul to begin.
Falling stars,
Falling from the
Summer sky,
For him.

 -Marcia Meara –

Summer Magic: Poems of Life & Love

Showers by Marcia Meara

Showers

Drip-drip.

Huddled and sighing
Inside the tent,
Boredom a damp presence
Keeping him company,
While Dad naps
To the sound of the rain.

Drip-drip.

Comic books scattered,
On his rumpled cot.
Superheroes as powerless
As little boys, while
The day spills water
Over all his plans.

Drip-drip.

No fishing today.
Those shimmery trout
Are safe in the stream.
No hiking alone,
That’s the rule.
What’s left to do?

Drip-drip.

Quietly, he crawls outside,
His stifled squeals
Turning to laughter
As the ice-cold water
Tickles his back.
This could be fun!

Drip-drip-drip-drip.

Rain falls harder.
He splashes wildly
Through silvery puddles,
Arms flung wide,
Laughing louder, and
Doing a rain dance all his own.

Drip-drip-drip-drip.

Awake now, Dad laughs, too,
Tossing him a bar of soap.
He grins at this new idea.
A rain shower? 
Why not, says Dad. May as well,
Once your rain dance is done, that is. 

Drip-drip-drop.

   – Marcia Meara –

Summer Magic: Poems of Life & Love

Indian Summer by Marcia Meara

Just sharing a poem from my Summer Magic collection. Enjoy!

Indian Summer

He sees her standing 
Below the falls,
Carefully balanced
On the slippery rocks,
And laughing
In the hazy October sun.

Only yesterday 
The ice-rimmed pool
Mirrored angry gray clouds,
And a wind out of the north
Chilled his bones.
Today, a warm yellow sun
Has eaten the frost,
And resurrected the ghost
Of a summer already laid to rest.

She’s wearing shorts, 
As if she knew 
There would be a reprieve
And dressed accordingly.
Dampened hems, and a
Misty sheen on 
Her long, slim legs
Bear testament to 
The wind-blown spray.
Her loosened hair is a 
Sable cloud swirling
Around her face, 
Smelling faintly
Of August nights
And tupelo honey.

She turns toward him, 
Radiant and joyful, 
Filled with a wonder
Most have long lost.
Her smile invites him
To let go of autumn,
To share the sunshine,
To be reborn in this moment.

Surprised, his mouth 
Curves in response, and
His soul cries,
Yes, oh yes!
Desperation gives voice
To need long ignored.
Yes, he says again,
This time aloud. 
I want the sunlight,
The warmth, the wonder.
Show me, teach me.
He takes her hand, and
Lets the sunlight
Flood his heart,
Thawing the frost within,
Setting him free.

   – Marcia Meara

 

Thank You!!

My heartfelt thanks to everyone who took advantage of the free promotion for Summer Magic: Poems of Life & Love. Sure hope you enjoy it! 

FREE Is GOOD!

Last day! Summer Magic: Poems of Life & Love is free for download on Kindle. Free is good, because…well, it’s FREE, and you don’t pay for it, and stuff. 🙂 Get it? Well, then go GET it! 😉

Summer Magic

Moccasins

One more for the night, also from Summer Magic: Poems of Life & Love. This is from the Mac At Ten collection. Hope you enjoy it.

Moccasins

Sneakers on,
Laces tight,
Crunching noisily
Along the path,
And wishing…
Wishing for
The silent tread
Of the Cherokee
Who walked these hills
Before him. 

Sighing,
He flings himself
Down on the rock,
And stares at the
Campfire.
I could sneak up on deer,
He tells his dad,
If I had moccasins.
I could walk
Quiet, quiet,
Down each trail.
Now I clomp,
Clomp, clomp!
They know I’m coming.
I’ll never see them
Before they
See me. 

Dad smiles.
Here, son.
Your mom said
To give you this. 

He takes the package,
Curiousity rising,
Even as he tears the paper.
What’s in here, dad?
What did she send? 

A flash of brown,
Soft In his hands.
He breathes in
The warm smell of
Leather,
And laughs with joy!
Moccasins!
How did she know, Dad?
Oh, look how soft they are!
I will be silent now,
Quiet as a mouse.
How did she know
I wanted these
So much? 

His dad smiles.
Moms are like that, Mac.
Moms always know what
Their children want most.
And Moms always want
Their children to have their
Heart’s desire. 

He watches his son
Tearing off his sneakers,
Sliding narrow feet
Into soft, brown leather,
Face aglow with delight,
Current dreams having
All come true.
And he wishes his son’s
Happiness would always be
As easy to come by as
A new pair of
Moccasins.

– Marcia Meara –

Lending Fate A Hand

Thought I would share one of my poems tonight, just for fun. Enjoy.

Lending Fate A Hand

Standing near the shop,
I watch.
People rush in and out,
Jostling, hurrying.
Carrying steaming cups
To offices nearby. 

I wait for the right one.
Finally! He exits and
Heads toward me.
My heart stutters
With pleasure
As I admire him.
He’s tall, wide-shouldered,
Very blonde.
A Viking in Armani.
Yes, I think. Oh, yes.
He’s just as perfect as
He looked yesterday.

With careful timing,
I step into his path,
And we collide.
Oh! I’m so sorry!
He stops, surprised.
Then bends to pick up my purse.
Handing it back, he smiles.
My fault, he says.
I should have been paying attention.

We stand for a moment,
Assessing each other,
Then I laugh awkwardly,
And flash him a look
He can’t mistake.
His eyes widen slightly,
His smile, as well.
And I know.
He’ll be here tomorrow,
Ordering latte, and
Looking for me.
I’ll be waiting.

     – Marcia Meara –

 

Summer Magic FREE Today!

Got up a bit late this morning, sorry! But for those who may have missed the earlier post, my book of poetry, Summer Magic, is free today, tomorrow and Monday. Hope some of you will take this opportunity to download it. Nothing to lose, right? And you may discover it is something you enjoy. If so, hope you’ll consider leaving a positive review on amazon. Thanks!

Summer Magic: Poems of Life and Love

Summer Magic FREE November 2 Through November 4!

Since I have been at the hospital with my mother daily and haven’t been able to post anything new, I thought it would be a good time to run a promo for my chapbook of poems. Summer Magic will be available for free download Saturday, November 2, Sunday, November 3, and Monday, November 4. Hope some of you will check it out. The verses are very special to me, especially those that are about MacKenzie Cole (from Wake-Robin Ridge) as a boy of ten, exploring the fun of the Blue Ridge Mountains. It’s free. You can’t lose! 😀

Summer Magic: Poems of Life and Love

Thoughts On Attitude by…ME!

Ever wake up with a thought in your mind that demands to be written down immediately? That’s what happened this morning, so I ran . . . okay, hobbled . . . out to my computer and wrote down this little bit of whimsy. Hope it makes you smile. And maybe makes you think, too.

Attitude Really IS Everything

No!
Yes.
You can’t!
I can.
Why?
Why not?
It’s all wrong!
It’s all right.
You shouldn’t!
I should.
You won’t!
I will.
It could be bad!
It could be good.
It’s too late!
There’s time.
You’re too old!
I’m still here.
You did it!
I did.

Ambush

Because I’m in the mood for poems, I thought I’d throw in another one. This time it’s one of mine, from a series I’m writing about a ten-year-old boy’s summers in the Blue Ridge Mountains.  Hope you enjoy it.

Ambush

–by Marcia Meara

Silent, sleek, deadly,
The predator climbs high, high,
And stretches out full length
On the smooth, sturdy limb.
Well hidden within heavy green foliage,
The wait begins.

Panting slightly as the sun climbs
And dappled light pierces the shade,
Heat rises, but keen eyes miss nothing
And sharp ears catch the first soft footfalls
Of unsuspecting prey, moving quietly
Down a curve of narrow trail.

Patience is everything.
Lie still, still, still!
No slight movement to cause alarm.
Hunger growing, mouth watering at
The smell of food coming ever closer.
Body tenses, ready to leap.

Humans are slow, pitiful creatures,
Lacking panther senses to warn them
Of danger lying overhead.
Teeth bared, growls erupting,
Body drops downward, 
Ready for the kill.

With a shout, the man falls,
Hand over his heart.
You got me, you little panther, you!
Don’t eat my fingers!
Don’t eat my toes!
I brought you peanut butter and jelly.

Gotcha good, didn’t I, Dad?
I was patient, like you taught me.
Grabbing a sandwich, he dances away,
Calling over his shoulder,
Race you to the pond now!
After lunch, I want to be a fish.

 

The Old Rope Swing

I thought maybe I’d share one of my poems tonight, from a series I’m working on, featuring a ten-year old boy named Mac, who has grown up spending his summers camping in the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina. He’s one of my favorite people, young Mac, and I hope you enjoy reading about him now and then.

The Old Rope Swing

Sailing up, up into
Blue summer sky,
Hot rope rough against his hands,
He shouts with joy, and lets go.
For a crystal moment,
He hangs suspended,
Frozen in time
Like a fly in amber.
All awkward angles–
Shoulder blades and
Elbows, and
Knobby knees,
Painted against the sky,
Heart filled with fierce joy.

Dropping, down, down
Into clear green water
Cold on his skin,
He sinks to the silty bottom
And sits suspended
In an alien world,
Watching  the silvered flashes
Of tiny fish darting to and fro,
Startled by his sudden appearance.
I am a fish, too, he thinks,
And holds his breath
As long as he can.

Finally, he rockets up
Through a stream of
Tickling bubbles,
Breaking the
Surface of the water
With a loud whoop of
Childish exuberance.
All thoughts of becoming a fish
Forgotten as he
Scrambles out,
Shakes the water from his hair,
And, grinning, hitches up his
Baggy shorts.

He’s ready
To do it all again.
Flying through the summer air,
Dropping into the cold water
To commune with fishes
Silvered in refracted light.
Then leaping to the surface,
A boy of ten once more,
Laughing through an endless summer
Made perfect by a cool green pond,
And an old rope swing.

     –Marcia Meara