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Today's prompt twinkle or corode Use one or both words within the poem. In Gratitude Both eyes don't twinkle anymore,It seems with age the glimmer fades,slowly coroding to dim sightbut, corrective lenses fixed thatuntil a clot blew in one eye.A grey cloud now obscures vision.A stroke of sorts, who ever knew?Gatefully the other still sparks. ~~Judi Van Gorder

Coming of AgeI know you are expectingan image of youthfultransition projectinginto enlightened adulthood.But that is long past for me.I'm more familiar withthe more currentlyofficial cross overfrom aging to very OLD.You think you know,heard jokes, have been told,and observed your elders,but no warning can prepareyou for the perpetual achein your joints, thinning hair,the short-term forgetfulness,recalling things long past,and an ever-increasing awarenessthat the future is no longer vast. ~~Judi Van Gorder

To suck few drops of nectar out of the sand in the arid desert, While your heart is desperately walking these thirsty days. To chew the rust and let the iron flow into your weak blood. To be tasteless as the water and uncaring as the clouds of February, to hunt the dust and carry the air in your blue hands. To be lonely as the moon and sudden as the lightning. To be so old but yet so young And let the flowers poison you pleasantly. To be stronger than God and steadier than the dots and vivid ultimately. To be soft and yellow, dark but reflecting, azure but so carmine. To be not like them.A matchless gleam, indispensable shrine. To forget this life and talk to the flowers and be insane in your wisest awhile. This is how happiness runs to you and you Elate without the wine.

No tears , no fears , no light, But your heart is gushing sun. Melancholy tune in the dust Covered. And the dreamy tide is foaming Wishes. A scent makes the pluses seen, And every morn a new summer. Eyes as the ocean deep and life-beating As lovers' Not just hoping , but a stinging dream and Sweaty prayers. Not a stilling leaf ,but a growing flower. Glory end and endless nights , a golden Frame varnishing the meretricious picture. The seeking of new ,the sight of the bird, The novel morrow and the spring that borrowed seraphic feathers for his Meadows. Fangled day for us , unused to sow Many a colored rose , many a perfume and Many more...., forevermore.

April's Super MoonA golden globe pinks the April night sky.A glowing reminderof a cyclical universein perpetual motion.With tides in and outand nature's rosy renewal in spite of this grey spring arrival.We shelter insideavoiding the toxic rain of viral infection and long for the rainbowof face-to-face smilesand warm touchof another's hand.We wait prinked with hope. ~~Judi Van Gorder

Full Worm Moon Last night in the southern sky I watched as the Full Worm Moon reigned.This March moon illuminateda softened terra beckoning birdsto pluck wiggling worms from its surface. Glow from the orb's soft rays penetrated an overcast mist that blot out the sparkle of far away stars. The super moon's orbit closed on us and magnified its attraction. Bathed in the moon's glow in rhythm with the pulse of the earth - a push and pull, I danced with arms outstretched. ~~Judi Van Gorder The Freedom of the Moon by Robert Frost

Stretching It OutThe subliminal stain of pain,reminder of stage, space and strain,returns again each morning,it's fetched and stretched and for awhiletells of life lived, a chosen style with fragile thread, a warning.Though my body, once quick and strong,with time has mellowed, not so wrong.My dance song, a playful tune, is slowed but rings of all good things and challenges that bring me wings.Still, stings from age come too soon. ~~Judi Van Gorder Notes: ▼ Verse Form: Cywydd Llosgyrnog

April 4 Sleepless in Occidental I've come to realize along with getting old comes confidence, wisdom, knowledge, and experience. I love that part of it. Unfortunately, it also brings a nightly dose of creaky joints, a thirty year old mattress, the need to pee, mushroom heat, and tingly feet. Hence, fitful sleep. Yesterday I bought a new mattress. ~~Judi Van Gorder Prompt: fitful sleep

Weeds In My Garden Sunday, the sun made a visit, the air was washed and I spent much of the day outside, pulling weeds. I sit, I don't kneel anymore, God doesn't ask my body to be humble, just my heart, besides, there's nothing more humbling than arthritic knees and a body getting old. The weeds pulled up easily, the earth was soft, it had rained the previous three days. I filled my lungs with unblemished air, the ocean breeze cooled my skin, while sweat seeped from my pores from the Spring sun's zeal. Nature renews, I keep getting older and there are always weeds to be pulled. ~~ Judi Van Gorder

Can't Keep a Good Man Down Somewhere over France, they shot down my true life hero, my Uncle Ray. World War II fighter pilot that day, survived to return to the USA, ninety-five years he hung around. His neck was broken when shot down "was his lucky day", he used to say, married his nurse, found love that would stay, a good life with laughter, work, and play, Dad to two girls, they're still around. A baby when he was shot down, my first memory, he rescued me. He always made me laugh, he would be my counsel, mentor, he guided me. I felt safe when he was around. ~~Judi Van Gorder Notes ▼

Howling at the Moon and Other Cosmos Poetry News Good news Cosmos Fans! I am continuing to get published. Foliate Oak Literary Magazine will publish my poem, 'Fake Things" in their next edition. Plethora will publish October Falling Rain in their next edition. I also have just published my first Instagram poems, follow me on Instagram as I intend to create a lot more now that I know how to do it. And then I will create Pinterest postings, Tumblr postings, YouTube postings etc. Advice on how to work with these platforms would be greatly appreciated. One day soon my work will appear across the entire Cosmos which is fitting since I am the Cosmos, you dig? You can check it all on my blog, https://theworldaccordingtocosmos.com. I’ve just updated it with lots of fresh content, including audio versions of the poems posted below. Check it out!. here is the poem, Fake Things. Check it out. Fake Things We live in a world Of fake things Fake Products Fake News Fake Calls Fake Politics Fake Sports Fake Business Fake Leaders Fake People Fake friends Fake sincerity Surrounded 24/7 By all the fake things How can anything real exist? Is it all nothing but fake things Designed to deceive us all? note: will be published in Foliate Oak Review. I just updated my blog, the world according to cosmos with a lot of fresh content. Go to https://theworldaccordingtocosmos.com to check it out And here is October Falling Rain which will be published in Plethora magazine. The falling rain Of late October Fills me with essential dread As I rush about And end up here Wherever here is The rain outside Seems like the tears of god As I sit Crying over my beer Thinking of lost love And failed dreams Wondering What went wrong? And what I can set right And the rain falls And the night darkens The rain is falling All over this man’s world And the rain falls And I sit Drinking my lonesome drink Lost in dreams Dreaming of what Could never be Thinking dark thoughts And so, I sit And dream the night away note: will be published in Plethora. I just updated my blog, the world according to cosmos with a lot of fresh content. Go to https://theworldaccordingtocosmos.com to check it out Final reminder. Plethora is also sponsoring a romantic poetry contest. The due date if February 10th! Here's my entry The Story of How We Met Note: This is a true story. For further details see Dreams and the Unexplainable– a Chicken Soup for the Soul book, published in September 2017, It all began in Berkeley, California In the springtime of 1974 One fateful afternoon I was sleeping in my high school Physics class. I looked up and saw a tall, beautiful Asian woman standing there looking at me. She was the most beautiful women in the universe to me I screamed out, who are you? She disappeared as if she was beamed away from my dream. I knew that someday I would meet the girl In the dream Little did I know I would have to wait until 1982 Starting that month I began having the same dream Month and month and month. Always the same. She was saying something in a strange language. Then one day I had the dream and knew that she was in Korea. So, I chose to go to Korea In the Peace Corps, Somehow knowing That I would meet her there. One day A year after the Peace Corps ended A month before I planned to leave to return to the U.S. for graduate school That morning early in the morning I had the last of these dreams. This time I understood her. She said, “Don’t worry. We’ll meet soon.” That evening As I was getting off the bus To go to my class I saw getting off the bus The girl in my dream. It was she! I was speechless. I did not know what to do. Over the course of the evening I ran into her several times. Finally, I was introduced to her. I muttered some lame excuse About wanting to find a Korean tutor and got her number. The next day she came to the gate Of my base where I was teaching ESL to Koreans She said that she had to speak with me. I told to wait in the library for about an hour, and I would cancel class and meet her then. We went out for coffee. She told me that she was madly in love with me And simply had to have me. I told her I felt the same way. I proposed five days later, And got married one month later. Does she believe this story? She claims she does not believe it Because it is impossible to be true. But I know that there are other worlds and other times. In a past life we must have been together somehow. And our love was so strong That it crossed over the barrier of time and space She found me in 1974, But it took until 1982 For us to actually meet. And it has been 36 years Since we met in the physical sphere Or 45 years since the dream began And I still recall the dream And meeting her I had no choice When I met her We were fated to be together Until the end of this lifetime And the next and the next Finally, in honor of the Blood Moon, here is my Howling at the Moon poem, a subset of my lunatic poems which I have just posted on my blog site. Just an Unhinged Lunatic Howling at The Moon On a moonlit late night I sat in a bar Drinking drams of demented, fermented dream dew Just an unhinged lunatic Dreaming of howling at the full moon Watching the world walk by Looking at all the fine looking babes Walking by the street Thinking wild, erotic thoughts Of endless wild libertine passions When into the bar Walked the most beautiful women In the Universe So wild, so free So wonderfully alive I did not know what to do As this vision of delight Sauntered through the bar In a skin-tight leather pants Looked so fine That my eyeballs hurt And finally, I had to say something So, I gathered up my manly courage And walked up to her And she looked at me And instantly bewitched my soul With a devilish grin I lost all reason And became a raving lunatic Unhinged lunatic Howling at the moon Foaming at the mouth A wild, free werewolf Howling at the lunatic light Of the full Moon Howling at The Moon I stood outside Between the trees In a field On the outside of town Beneath the lunatic rays Of the blood red full moon The lunatic lights of the moon Casts a wild primeval glow On me The hormonal chemicals are unleashed The wild beast within Escapes it chain And I howl with delight A werewolf Free at last To run amuck Free of its civilized restrains Throwing off its clothes Stripping naked Running wild Naked and free A wild man Enjoying his freedom Lunatic Howling at the Moon As I sit Under the lunatic light of the full moon Of the blood-red lights of the moon Full of wild passions The lustful beast stirs again And starts running and running Howling at the moon Riding into the new dawn On a demented Harley Davis cycle With two naked babes on his back Riding into the sun 90 miles per second At the speed of thought He disappears into the lunatic light Of the full moon And I wake up Alone in my bed Saying, man, that was quite a night I better not go there again The wild beast Laughs He has heard that before And I join The beast In howling at the Moon The End

April is National Poetry Month Many poetry sites are encouraging writing a poem a day. This thread is my daily poems for April. Comments are welcome Please join me in creating your own thread of daily poems, it is never too late to get writing. ~~Tink

Orb It's what they call a harvest moon although the harvest is pretty much over now. Round and orange and plump just sitting way up there in the November sky, marbled silence all alone not really shining more like a shadowed globe. These days I feel like that full of things to say yet isolated in the stillness shaded by loss and brightened by small joys, no more a fireworks display but a steady glow with just enough watts to find my way. --- --- Judi Van Gorder

I am faced with having to sell my DC condo and move back to Southeast Texas for some family reasons. I am suddenly and painfully aware of this compleat change in my life by having to go back. ---------- Vieillissement It is Saturday night in East Texas And I'll be with Mary, Bob, and Carol. Since I have already served at The Mass, The night might bring me Bela or Boris. I am nine and we still have black & white: The antenna is at least twelve feet tall. I'll have Count Chocula the next morning And then I'll go swimming in the gully. I have not yet started to cut the grass, or to wash the car, or to do laundry; I'll just make more memories to forget. --------- Mary Tyler Moore, Bob Newhart, Carol Burnett

Read about FULL MOON NAMES AND THEIR MEANINGS.

Here is a bit of fluff for the morning.... Morning Brew Breathe in the heady aroma of coffee brewing. Pour, then grasp the hot mug, warming palms to heart and peer into the dark, steaming, pool to find the entrance to the day. Slowly savor the smooth, bittersweet of the full bodied liquid, and feel the burn while it slides down the throat. Ahhh...... Good morning. . . Judi Van Gorder

An Old Cliché, Love Backs to the sea as the sun sets on our lives we stand, equal partners bound by a pledge and a ring. Our feet firmly planted on the shore we lock fingers to steady each other on the shifting sands and face forward for one more adventure, committed to watch our last sunrise together. -------- ----Judi Van Gorder

Explore the Craft of Writing Poetry Indian Verse The Vedas, an overview. Brhati ("that which grows" or "life's breath", God of Words) is an ancient Vedic stanzaic form. Brhati is named as one of the seven horses pulling the chariot of the sun. In verse the elements of the Brhati are: stanzaic, written in any number quatrains or 4 line stanzas. syllabic, 36 syllables per quatrain, lines of 9 syllables each. metric, the metric pattern of the line requires 2 heavy syllables. In English break the cadence with caesura and attempt to include a couple of long or heavy vowel syllables near the end of the line. ("heavy" is a dipthong, a hard vowel sound or a vowel followed by a combination of consonants) Too Many Years by Judi Van Gorder Sucking one more breath into scarred lungs, the once vibrant man suffers a life no longer desired. His passion and independence reclaimed by time. Other Vedas Anistubh Brhati gayatri Jagati Pankti Tristubh Ushnik II. Sanskrit Verse

Explore the Craft of Writing Poetry Welsh Verse Features of the Welsh Meters Welsh Codified Divisions Clogyrnach clog-ír-nach, the 16th codified Welsh meter, an Awdl, is associated with what I can only assume is the name of an ancient poet, Cynddelw and is framed with a cyhydedd fer couplet combined with a longer form. It is rarely used by today's poets. The elements of the Clogymach are: stanzaic, written in any number of quintets, combining a cyhydedd fer (a rhymed couplet of 8 syllable lines) and a tercet of two 5 syllable lines followed by one 6 syllable line of 2 equal parts, 3 syllables each. rhymed, rhyme scheme AABBA. The 1st phrase of L5 rhymes with the previous line and the 2nd phrase rhymes with cyhydedd fer couplet. flexible, L5 of the cinquain can be added to the end of L4 creating a quatrain or can be broken into 2 separate lines creating a sixain. Clog Ear Nach by DC Martinson Inside my head there is a fight That leaves me void of sleep at night: My ear infected, By cure neglected. Dejected - Till dawn's light. x x x x x x x A x x x x x x x A x x x x B x x x x B x x B x x A x x x x x x x A x x x x x x x A x x x x B x x x x B x x B x x A x x x x x x x A x x x x x x x A x x x x B x x x x B x x B x x A Youth Smooth lines with the color of peach, time invites them to dream and reach. Peer imitates, lust lures, promise baits, a world waits, ours to teach. --- Judi Van Gorder Prism Within the gemstone, facets glint like sun on snow with winter's tint, sparkling colors fuse in translucent hues mark my muse with fired flint. ---Judi Van Gorder

Stepping up to Tomorrow My poems don't say much anymore, I guess I'm not as deep as I thought or I've said all I have to say. Passion is something I pull from memory - once it led my life. Still tomorrow always comes, fires are to extinguish, one step follows the next business, politics, arts I've lived the cycles and survived. Maybe this is how it is as we approach that tomorrow that won't. --Judi Van Gorder

Freedom On the coastal cliffs shaded gray, I look out to a blackened sea. A spiny strata fragments under foot and a jolting descent begins. Needle pricks of stinging wind press upward into chest, throat and face. Sour bile rises like black tar boiling from the belly. . . fall or fly. . . . --- Judi Van Gorder.