Marie Antoinette portrait by Elisabeth Vigée-Lebrun‘Gray’ and Other Poetry by T.M. Moore The Society August 13, 2019 Beauty, Culture, Humor, Poetry 19 Comments Gray I feel a certain loyalty to gray. Gray days, gray sweaters, cars – gray everything. Gray soothes and calms. It doesn’t boast, or fling itself before you like some shades do (they know who they are). Gray broods, as if to say, “Let’s wait and see. Don’t get excited, sing the blues, or dance a jig. Just chill.” The thing is, gray is faithful, always there – no way gray ever lets you down. Gray won’t display, as if to seek attention. Gray will bring out other colors, let them show their zing and fleeting flair, so they can have their day. But mostly, gray adorns the tresses of the graycious lady who owns all my love. Baking Day Behind me, sounds of baking stir from in the kitchen. A concerto in three parts is on the program, as the tuning starts and instruments appear: a baking tin, bowls, spoons, whisk, mixer, and a sheet of thin brown parchment paper (just to keep the tarts from sticking). The ingredients these arts require arrive and take their places in the orchestra. She’s ready to begin. The maestro brings together all the parts: eggs, milk, three flours, some spices – each imparts its special contribution, its own spin. The concert ends in “Bravo!” and “Encore!” for sweet tarts, scones, and muffins by the score. Coin of the Realm (1) I. Money “Hi, Mrs. Moore? It’s Emily? I’m from the nursing home? I understand your mom is in the hospital? We’re wondering if we should hold her bed? You see, the thing is, well, about her bill? If she won’t be returning, then, I mean, about the fee? You won’t, I guess, be paying this month, so we probably can let your mom’s bed go to someone else? I see. Well, can you let me know sometime today? OK. You bet.” II. Grace “Hi, Mrs. Moore. It’s Emily, I’m from the nursing home. I understand your Mom Is in the hospital. Is she OK? Do you need anything? While she’s away, don’t worry about anything. Keep us informed about her progress. We’ll discuss her status here when it’s convenient for you. No problem. Your time’s better spent right now just taking care of Mom. Please let her know we love her, and you, too. You bet.” T.M. Moore’s poetry has appeared in numerous journals, and he has published five volumes of verse through his ministry’s imprint, Waxed Tablet Publications. He is Principal of The Fellowship of Ailbe, he and his wife, Susie, reside in Essex Junction, VT. NOTE: The Society considers this page, where your poetry resides, to be your residence as well, where you may invite family, friends, and others to visit. Feel free to treat this page as your home and remove anyone here who harasses or disrespects you. Simply send an email to email@example.com. Put “Remove Comment” in the subject line and list which comment or comments you would like removed. The Society does not endorse any views expressed in individual poems or comments and reserves the right to remove any comments to maintain the decorum of this website and the integrity of the Society. Share this:Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)Click to print (Opens in new window)Click to share on LinkedIn (Opens in new window)Click to share on WhatsApp (Opens in new window)Click to email this to a friend (Opens in new window)Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window) 19 Responses Peter Hartley August 13, 2019 A paean in praise of the colour grey? It’s the last thing I expected to hear on this site, but after reading this a few times I’m firmly persuaded. I give this little poem an A star, not to ingreyciate myself with its creator but because it gave me a good laugh, and because I always admire a well-constructed Petrarchan sonnet. The second poem I liked very much too as it attempts to make something almost sublime of the ineffably mundane. Reply T. M. August 13, 2019 Peter: Thanks. I think it’s a Shakespearean sonnet? Either way, I’m glad you liked it. Gray (or grey) is my favorite color for all those reasons and more. Reply Joe Tessitore August 13, 2019 Terrific poetry. Was the last word of your second poem an intentional pun? Reply T. M. August 13, 2019 I’d say yes, but that wouldn’t be true. But now that you’ve noticed it, I’m going to claim it. Thanks, Joe. Reply Joe Tessitore August 13, 2019 A man after my own heart! James A. Tweedie August 14, 2019 I noticed the same thing. Intentional or not the word sounded like a Picardy third—a dash of added spice to a classical recipe. Reply T.M. August 14, 2019 James: I’m sounding smarter by the day. I had to look up a Picardy third, but I know what that means, and I always brighten when I hear one. Now that I read the poem with yours and Joe’s comments in mind, it sounds better even to me. Doesn’t this say something about the mystery of formal verse? Peter Hartley August 13, 2019 A Petrarchan or Italian sonnet, the octet rhyming ABBAABBA though there is some latitude in the sestet. A Shakespearean sonnet rhymes ABABCDCDEFEFGG. Anyway whatever it is, you might persuade the undecided with this sonnet that it’s their favo(u)rite colo(u)r too. Reply T.M. August 13, 2019 Thanks for the clarification, Peter. Reply David Watt August 15, 2019 Tremendous poetry. You have a knack for choosing unexpected poetic themes. I look forward to the next batch. Reply T. M. August 15, 2019 David: Like you, I believe the poetry is everywhere all around us. What makes the poet, it seems to me, is the ability to coax the poetry out and let its presence appear. The challenge is more seeing the poetry that is there than writing the poetry that brings it to life. Reply Denise Sobilo August 15, 2019 Hear, hear! Poetry definitely is a way of being in this world. By the way, I can really relate to the juxtapositional contrast between the two sections of your second poem, being caregiver to my elderly mom and having had experience with both kinds of support systems. Superbly crafted. Denise Sobilo August 15, 2019 Hear, hear! Poetry definitely is a way of being in this world. By the way, I can really relate to the juxtapositional contrast between the two sections of your third poem, being caregiver to my elderly mom and having had experience with both kinds of support systems. Superbly crafted. Reply Paul August 15, 2019 These are delightful. And you are an absolute master of enjambment. And how sweet to end the gray poem as a love poem. And your keen facilities with meter and rhyme – are sublime. Reply T. M. August 16, 2019 Thanks to you both, Denise and Paul, for your kind an encouraging words. Reply Monty August 17, 2019 I agree wholeheartedly with Mr Watt about your “knack for choosing unexpected poetic themes”. All three pieces are classy . . as are your previous offerings to SCP. Reply T. M. August 17, 2019 Monty: You are too kind. I know you agree that we need to learn to see the beauty and wonder in even the most everyday things. Evan’s site is a boon and blessing to us all in that regard. Reply Monty August 20, 2019 Am I right, TM, in remembering it being yourself who wrote (earlier in the year) the image-accompanied poem about the piece of food lying in the snow, surrounded by a birds’ claw-marks? Reply T. M. August 20, 2019 ‘‘Twas I. Reply Leave a Reply Cancel ReplyYour email address will not be published.CommentName* Email* Website Notify me of follow-up comments by email. Notify me of new posts by email. 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