Red – poem with friends

 

Red! Red! They call me red, but only once!

Redhead, redhead are you really red?

Red, red they call me red, the kid’s book said.

 

Red blazer, red roses, red blood of Christ in a cup.

Red candy, lipstick and rubies richly adorning.

Red skies, chilly day red cheeks better bundle up.

 

Berries ripe and red, straw and rasp eat ‘em up!

Red cardinal cries, red sweater tangles.

Red river floods, red eyes cry for Cherry the pup.

 

Ribbons, peppers, and a robin’s breast – counting up

The shades and shapes of red we see, are you?

Naughty Red Ridinghood, taking to granny a sup.

 

Fall leaves colored red, hands a ripe apple cup.

Chapped red lips from the cold, warmed with kisses.

Red hot sauce on red chili beans, that’ll heat you up.

 

Shiny berries red, soft beard and a big red suit,

Wrapped gifts, tags and ornaments on a tree.

Treats for all red velvet cake, licorice eat ‘em up!

 

Most vivid red saved for poppies, blood and tears.

Most hoped for red of farmer boy and man tractor!

Most precious red the one we are washed in.

 

Red the color of life, the color of passion, the color

Of my new computer, phone and camera too.

Redheaded women, dogs and  birds boldly go for we are red!

 

2011 Copyright Shanyn Silinski

Important note: I asked my friends and family on Facebook to share their favorite ‘red’ things, and I compiled them into this poem. I couldn’t have done it without them and I share any praise for this work with them. Love you all!

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Raven Musings

from Magpie Tales Prompt

Have you ever wondered, watching them fly,

how ravens see themselves?

Soaring high, tipping wings and darkening the sky,

do they cry for joy in flight or do they laugh?

Do they tip their eyes towards us and wonder why

we spend so much time on the ground?

When the ravens come to visit me here, sigh,

I have to wonder what they see.

I know when I see them, I want to fly!

Spread my wings and soar.

Darkly laughing in their way, low down, up high,

Clever corvid, black winged muse.

2011 copyright Shanyn Silinski

There be wolves

It is good and right to fear the predator,

those who are made of tasty meat.

Stay on the path and out of the wood.

Keep your head down, eyes narrow’d.

 

Shuffle, shuffle, stay hunched over

Ready like rabbits to dive into cover.

It is good and right to fear the wolves,

and lions and bears and shadows and night.

 

Stay close to the houses, don’t wander off.

You could be gone like the smoke, poof.

Keep your arms pulled in really tight

Stay tense and afraid, ready for flight!

 

Foolish little sheep, staring at the woods,

not knowing the dangers are closer to home.

Your keepers are scavengers, they prowl.

Blaming the darkness on us who howl.

 

Watching them would be wise, you know,

they have no loyalty, no code to show.

Silly little sheep, staying on the paths

not seeing the monsters shadowing behind.

 

Wearing mansuits, singing woman songs,

looking ever so much like here they belong.

Your tender meat to your own kind too,

they know you are sheep as well as I do.

 

Ghosting along through your dreams and tales

the wolves and their shadows cast darkly, long.

Fear the woodcutter, witch, merchant and king.

Our howls make you tremble, what a thing!

 

When their soothing voices are more deadly still,

and their soft hands sharply diving for the kill.

There be wolves, it is true, and you know it so

don’t be afraid of the dark woods at night.

 

There are greater innocence eaters than we

they surround you every day, you hardly see.

Telling lies and tales to keep you close by

“Stay out of the woods” be wise, wonder why.

 

Faerie tales are warnings, from the wildness

for the tame ones, like them, like you and you.

Listen closely, for the daemons you fear the most

are those who live, breath, eat and touch closest.

 

Dance in the moonlight, fear the darkness not

unless of course you are their sheep and get caught.

 

2011 Copyright Shanyn Silinski

http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2011/09/kerrys-wednesday-challenge_21.html

A slight tongue in cheek response from a wolfish poet to this challenge.  Remember, the predators are always stalking but you sweet tender sheep are always looking at the wolf when the slaughter man comes.  Watch carefully little sheep, keep your Shepherd close, and trust those dogs. Don’t listen to the stories that lead you astray.

No Dutiful Wife Am I

 

No dutiful wife am I.
No slippers for your feet,
No ruffled apron about me.

No dutiful wife am I,
Not in that way of some
Who imagine women as such.

Oh dutiful wife I am!
I will stand by you,
Fight for you and defend.

Oh dutiful wife I am!
Your dreams to cherish,
Your child to protect.

I won’t promise to keep
The house perfectly clean,
Nor the ironing done.

I won’t promise to be
Someone that I am not,
Some other time dream’d.

I promise to keep
Your heart safe by mine,
Your spirit held high.

I promise I shall be
All that I am, as best I can
For the love that we share.

No dutiful wife I am,
Warrior, priestess, mother
Lover, guardian and poet.

Ever I shall be, to me and to thee:
Faithful and loving and kind.
Your love to hold, the wounds to bind.

Not by some standard dim,
But for passion and faith,
For this my love shall grow.

For you, my dear, my love shall grow.

 

2010 Copyright Shanyn Silinski (Dedicated to my beloved husband, Earl)

Dear Me

Dear Me,
I think you should know,
it wasn’t your fault.
You didn’t do one thing wrong.
Wasn’t asked for,
wasn’t earned.
You were just a kid, you know?
No one listened, no one heard you.
Their silence said yes,
Your tears stained face cried NO.

Dear Me,
It’s not easy being here now,
knowing what we know.
That they could have, should have
done something, anything…but
they chose nothing.
You aren’t to blame, they lied.

Dear Me,
We are okay now, ya know?
They cannot hurt us,
they cannot blame us.
We know the road to freedom.
We have a voice to shout,
and we do.

Dear Me,
I love you, ya know?
Scars and rough spots.
Places that always seem sore,
that ache that doesn’t fade.
I love it all because, you and me
we survived. We are alive.

Dear Me,
Want to meet me by the pond?
We’ll skinny dip or dig in the sand.
want to meet me in the hammock?
We can read a book or have a nap.
It is our time now.
Let’s go play like the kids
we
never
were.

2010 Copyright Shanyn Silinski

Featured by Poets United for September 27, 2011 – with many thanks!

http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/2011/09/poem-of-week-dear-me-27-september-2011.html

Epistle poem prompt from http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2011/09/epistle-poem.html

 

 

 

 

 

Self Portrait

Magpie Tales Prompt

The Revenant, Andrew Wyeth

 

Why can’t we paint ourselves

as gently as we paint others?

Their whites are soft and ethereal,

ours harsh, lighting cracks and scars.

Their faces complete and serene,

ours incomplete, shadow bruised.

Our brush strokes blanket them softly,

salving imperfections in oils.

Strokes saved for us stay hard

finding edges and sharpening them.

Self portraits are never becoming

to the faces who know the self.

Some secrets stay painted darkly

even in the brightest palette of light.

 

Copyright 2011 Shanyn Silinski

 

and the rain came

 

and the rain came
misting softly at first
almost warm to the skin

we were fooled
thinking it was saved
drought over and done

the misting turned dark
the winds northerly moaned
the chill of fall descended

rain so needed puffs the birds
sends the geese honking south
drives the horses to running

grey skies announce the summer
ending and the fall beginning
and yet we watch the webs

spider webs, still secure, waiting
until the warm fall winds move them
Indian summer will come for us

warm winds, teasing rains and birds
birds moving south, moving north
flying, resting, eating and singing

the chill of fall chases me to my covers
duvets soft and warm pilled high
sueded blankets and snuggling

the leaves start to surrender
blanketing grass and lingering
wildflowers for a winter sleep

we were fooled by the rain
when it came it brought a
chilly reprieve forboding

winter’s arms i don’t miss
so I’ll dream of Indian days
flying spider webs and warmth

gathering the rich harvest
soaking up the last fall rays
storing it up, packing it away

no fear of wild fires now
it is wet and chilly, too cold
for flaming mischief

dogs burrow on the bed
tails wagging, noses under hands
loving to cuddle and sleep

the drought ended along with summer
the farmer rejoices for rain
waits to finish the fields

the gardener mourns
gathers wildflower seeds
blankets the last plants

eight months of winter
is getting too long
my summer times too short

2011 Shanyn Silinski copyright

Windows


She burnt up right there in the field.

Tires down to the steel belts.

Glass melted into brittle waves.

Seat springs finally as bare

as they’d felt on our behinds.

Cranks burnt off, windows

finally rolled all the way down.

Remains of wire and posts,

my new fencing pliers too!

Damn that truck for burning.

Almost got the tractor stuck

saving the fields from going up.

Wasn’t worth much before,

no, its not worth towing out.

Be a good spider web hanger,

empty window frames,

or maybe  a cow scratcher

That old Ford paid her dues

even in burning she added

something to the farm.

My little boy loves to visit

he yells and hoots about

the truck that burnt up

and the windows still

frame the prairie sky.

 

2011 Copyright Shanyn Silinski

For Thursday Think Tank at Poets United

http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/2011/09/thursday-think-tank-65-windows.html

Points to Life

If you look too close you won’t see it.

The chaos blurs the colors until they smear.

The green tshirt stained with tears from

red ringed brown eyes.

Tanned face flushed with sadness

then suddenly breaking into laughter.

Red dog, white dog, black dog and ‘houla dog.

Colors of joy, laughter, tears and fears

blend together in a mad life chaotic.

A life made of moments, points of life in the day.

Each one, alone, making little sense

but all together they make a life.

Living, loving, laughing, dreaming, fearing,

dancing, crying, hiding and playing with joy.

Fights and prayers blend together with

the colors of home, garden farm and life.

Each bit, lived fully, is whole and yet incomplete.

Together they create the wild impressionist painting

we call family, we call it us. We call it life.

Bright yellows, dull reds, a million greens and blues.

Birds, flowers, trucks and toys.

Sounds color it, tastes color it too.

A multidimensional place to call home.

It’s a chaotic place, wildly colored, splashing all over

nothing stays in the lines, in their place.

Over fences, under rails, through windows and doors

life overflows from moment to moment every day.

2011 Copyright Shanyn Silinski

Prompt from http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/

Poetry and Life

Welcome to my new poetry blog!  I’m so happy you are here!

I’ll be sharing new poetry, featuring guest posts and linking to challenges, memes and prompts.

I do hope you join us here often, and don’t forget to leave some love.