Easter Wishes

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Easter Wishes

I have a special wish for you
dressed in your Easter finest
I hope for you good things to come
and blessings of the kindest.

The eggs are hiding in the grass
our baskets by our side,
“Oh look, I’ve found an Easter egg!”
I heard you cry with pride.

Now baskets full let’st’s celebrate
with candy, eggs and cheer
enjoy your Easter Sunday
hold your friends and family dear.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2014

This picture was taken of my brother and me on Easter of 1963 in our living room in Michigan City, Indiana before church. That hair! Look at those legs I was a real Tomboy growing up.

My mom always got us new clothes for church on Easter and often made them herself. She made both of our outfits that year I loved that dress and apron. Good memories here!

Happy Easter Sunday to all of my fellow poets at Poets United! This isn’t linked to Imaginary Garden Of Real Toads or dVerse~Poets Pub but this is for all of my friends I write with.

Cake

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Cake

I was told there would be cake
a delicious flavor just for me
yet I grow tired of lingering
I’m crumbling into pieces
my life stale and tasteless.

I was told there would be cake
yet I find no sweet treat today
my kitchen sits spotless awaiting
the glorious gooey sticky mess.
Will I ever find that recipe again?

I was told there would be cake
as the years go by the craving grows
sitting alone at a table set for one
wondering if I’ll be left
holding an empty plate.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2017

Picking a protest sign to write about linking with Imaginary Garden Of Real Toads. Divorced twice with no children I still dream of finding that special man to share the rest of my life with. That would take the cake and be sweet indeed.

Grandparent’s Garden

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Grandparent’s Garden

Straight from the garden
carrots and peas
tomatoes and green beans
I eat as I please.

Berries and veggies
don’t make me frown
raw, sweet, and crisp
best food around.

Planted with love
straight from the vine
fresh from the soil
mine all mine!

grandma and grandpa
every spring a new garden
now sowing memories

© Rebecca Sanchez 2017

A rhyming/haiku style haibun about the best meal I ever ate with a seasonal haiku at the end written for dVerse~Poets Pub. I realize this is not a traditional Japanese haibun but sometimes having fun with my writing is more important. I still think it’s not a bad read.

That would be my grandparent’s garden which us kids grazed from every summer. They always planted extra to compensate. I miss them very much.

Truth

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Truth

Dust particles dance
within a shaft of sunlight
slowly crossing the room
traveling over my body
warm and comforting
like a lovers embrace
to the mirror where I stand
contemplating my mortality
the sun has become harsh
I raise a hand in denial.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2017

We are writing about mirrors this Wednesday at Poets United where I’ll link up then.

Haiku #31417

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haiku #31417

the kindness of strangers
the world relies on it-
we should not retreat

© Rebecca Sanchez 2017

I coded this artwork so it’s different than my usual work.

I wrote this for Gillena’s CKK Anniversary kukai 2017 (retreat), Poet’s United (the kindness of strangers), and shared with Imaginary Garden Of Real Toads (the Tuesday platform.)

Wonder Woman

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Wonder Woman

She can wash the clothes and hang ’em on the line
she can dress the children and make ’em shine
she feeds the pets and cares for you
yet he’s the one who wears the shoes.

She can look real pretty-she cleans up nice
you never have to ask her twice
her cooking wins at the country fair
yet he’s the one who drives her there.

She’s a real wonder woman she does it all
she does it all at his beck and call
empty inside, it pains me to say
this wonder woman has lost her way.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2017

This picture reminds me of that song, “He brings home the bacon, she fries it up in a pan”, and then something about her man. A real balancing act, keep it up or fall!

My mother’s marriage (the 50’s) and her friends had husbands like this, talented women who gave it all up for marriage and kids. Even today women do it, I did this somewhat myself (the giving up of my career without the kids) and still have a little regret about it now. Today I am older, single and wiser; I like it that way.

Written with Saturdays Image Write and Poets United.

Haiku #12917

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haiku #12917

light as feather
intimate as a lover
the sweetness of life

(c) Rebecca Sanchez 2017

Written with Imaginary Garden Of Real Toads and shared with Poets United.

We were to take this poem and condense it into something short and sweet. I offer the shortest form possible, senryu.

Sweetness, always

“Why such harsh machinery?
Why, to write down the stuff and people of everyday,
must poems be dressed up in gold,
or in old and fearful stone?

I want verses of felt or feather which scarcely weigh,
mild verses
with the intimacy of beds
where people have loved and dreamed.
I want poems stained
by hands and everydayness.

Verses of pastry which melt
into milk and sugar in the mouth,
air and water to drink,
the bites and kisses of love.
I long for eatable sonnets,
poems of honey and flour.

Vanity keeps prodding us
to lift ourselves skyward
or to make deep and useless
tunnels underground.
So we forget the joyous
love-needs of our bodies.
We forget about pastries.
We are not feeding the world.

In Madras a long time since,
I saw a sugary pyramid,
a tower of confectionery –
one level after another,
and in the construction, rubies,
and other blushing delights,
medieval and yellow.

Someone dirtied his hands
to cook up so much sweetness.

Brother poets from here
and there, from earth and sky,
from Medellin, from Veracruz,
Abyssinia, Antofagasta,
do you know the recipe for honeycombs?

Let’s forget about all that stone.

Let your poetry fill up
the equinoctial pastry shop
our mouths long to devour –
all the children’s mouths
and the poor adults’ also.
Don’t go on without seeing,
relishing, understanding
all these hearts of sugar.

Don’t be afraid of sweetness.

With or without us,
sweetness will go on living
and is infinitely alive,
forever being revived,
for it’s in a man’s mouth,
whether he’s eating or singing,
that sweetness has its place.”

by Pablo Neruda