Tuesday, March 28, 2017

Symmetry in Threes



rising in early spring
i grow with milky eyes
nestling amidst a whorl of 3 leaves

sharing the forest floor with ostrich ferns,
and wild ginger, my three-pointed bloom
a trinity of beauty

under shades of blue ash trees
my scent of lemon oil, alluring 
even as i droop by summer, i'm pink, pink, pink





Note:  large flowered trillium is the provincial flower of Ontario, Canada.  


Posted for D'verse poets Pub - Poetics hosted by Mish.  We are writing from nature's point of view ~  Join us when the pub opens at 3pm EST.

Monday, March 27, 2017

Tea (or whatnot), for two





in our
bowls of unruly peas 
and petulant teabags

my spoon's a balloon
lifting spaghetti noodles
from pink pot

i add
dreadlocks of cheese
and pockets of rose salt

my hands twist canister
of pepper&spice
where single bay leaf
blooms flavor

playful spring-
(burp)



Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Quadrille with host De Jackson ~  This is a 44 word post with the word BALLOON.  Come and play when the pub opens at 3pm EST.   Thanks for the visit~ ~

Thursday, March 23, 2017

Spawning the river


I.
When I am thirsty
I travel to drink in
This river of words –
Sun is ink, stones are parchment
I grow fins and kelp
Writing fishy tales    

II.
When I am in despair
I jog down to the river
Tasting sadness, chewing its edges
Swallowing bone and liver,
I wash it down with the blessings of trees
And leave, on river’s belly,
Single red feather


III.


When my tongue is dry
With crackers and oats
I go to the river to wash
Wildflowers are soap
Mushroom and moss are towels
Grit falls away, I am pink with lilies

Posted for D'verse poets Pub - OpenLinkNight - Join us when the pub opens at 3pm EST.  Thanks for your comments. 

Tuesday, March 21, 2017

Red River


I run through heart of the land, muddy, brackish, moving birch canoes, from dawn to dusk.    


i hang a red dress 
its folds billowing spiritual dance 

along grainy shores  

forked by roots of ancient trees 
i burn sagebrush

and i


count the years passing

of voices forever silenced 
stolen sisters, missing daughters-

only heartbeat of river remains-


I crawl with broken bones, washing away blood, footprints, sun-scarred skin under dark moon.   



Each year, dozens of Canadian Aboriginal women are murdered or disappear never to be seen again. Some end up in a river that runs through the heart of Winnipeg.


Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Poetics:  The River, hosted by guest host, Paul Dear.   And Happy World Poetry Day!   Thanks for the visit ~

Thursday, March 16, 2017

Blue impressions



dawn is a chimera
mixing the star lights
with birthing hour of light



quick is the rising mist -
blurring of sapphire, glint of topaz stones,
fragment of powdery clouds, shimmer of moth-wings 



here is the moment:
teardrop lingers in moon's eye
lash
frozen in frame
as giant wave
curling
cresting before crashing
into field of cornflowers



milk-spilled sky mingles with
dandelion-wrinkled rain-



I'm wrapped in drifting leaves
as i drive into city's white noise
serene as lake 





            Vetheuil In The Fog


Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Impressionism hosted by Bjorn Rudberg ~  Join us when the pub opens at 3pm EST ~  Thanks for the visit ~

Monday, March 13, 2017

A song clip


you're the refrain
my heart pings to
on a slow dance

the steady string 
at my kite's end 
bidding me - fly!

the woody arms 
when eaves are howl-
ing violins-

you're the steady tap- 
words beneath words-
pull of spring wind
beneath my steps-



Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Quadrille - 44 word post with the word SPRING.
Thoughts while watching a lovely couple, our close friends, renew their wedding vows last Saturday (25th anniversary)~  Thanks for the visit ~

Thursday, March 9, 2017

Five lighthouses on darkness


i.
thunder crackles sky-
wind picks up howling lament-
my lips bleed - darkness -

ii.
i taste darkness, briny-
stow me on boat, dandelion
weaving between stones-

iii.
brittle stone of ice-
teeth of unforgivin sins
claw deep, darkness,
a seed

iv.
bells are silent-
weeping willows in darkness
as I wave goodbye-

v.
sweep tower 
of bats
and darkness 
reefed with Dead man's fingers-



Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight - Hosted by Gayle ~  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.  Thanks for your visit ~

Tuesday, March 7, 2017

a building blueprint



here in corner,
facing east, dig up dirt
whale-width, length
of yellow submarine

pile sands and silt
layer walls honey-burnt 
by bees, and floors
sea-tiled, cool grass on feet

roof, tumbleweeds 
piled high like warm pancakes 
with fresh butter-
our hands itch for books, pen



build me sunrooms
at every nook- there, here 
where light brims pool
of spring blooms, shrubs, herbs, greens-



At late moonrise
Under the cupid's bow,
I raise my glass
wine toast for you & me



Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - DIY Building by Guest Host Sara McNulty ~  Thanks for the visit ~

Monday, March 6, 2017

Forest walk



We come here, from the metropolis, with giant's footprints.  

The hike is narrow, dirt trodden path with sign posts.   Up and up, the path runs along shallow caves of pre-historic years.   Shrubs and saplings crisscross with pine and spruce trees.  Here nature designs her own house - from limestone cliffs to soap-washed out ledges, to the jewelled crowns  of maple and oak trees.  Gnarled roots stand out along the way, thick and grubby.   Moss and wild flowers frolic, their leaves running zig-zag, then tumbling down the hills.  The air is cool, heady with scents of fallen leaves and rain.  The heart of the forest beats, steady slow hum, weaving with maverick trills and caws carried by wind.      

We leave the conservation area, conquered by green bath of forest.  Small creatures, bubbling with dew and birdsongs.

autumn leaves pile bed 
of silence- as birds of prey
climb peak cliffs, screeching-





Posted for the D'verse Poets Pub - Haibun Monday is hosted by Kanzensakura ~  The theme is forest bathing ~  In 1980, the Japanese began a type of healing/meditation/relaxation process called shinrin-yoku (森林浴) or literally, forest bathing. Join us when the pub opens at 3pm EST.

Thursday, March 2, 2017

Lost garden



his heart's a thistle, sparse skin and dry.   today, his eyes are moody blue when he is stuck in the room all day.  the suffocation is real, like someone is stepping on his fragile chest, when all he wants to do is be a balloon, untied touching the sky.  his tortured thoughts haunt him, a scar unseamed, a whispered scream.

during school's lunchbreak, he escapes with a walk around the block.  there is a slight drizzle overhead, hint of cloudy night.  the air is cool and damp, scent of trees soothing his nerves.   in a corner, he sits down to watch the pigeons haggling over breadcrumbs. some grey pigeons stand overhead the wires and roof tops like sentinels looking down at the streets. an idea brews on his head, an image stretching into infinity of patterns.   he takes his pen and draws what his mind is echoing, in fast paced strokes.   for a few minutes, he is a river, gliding with fish and tadpoles, absorbed with his artwork.   now he is a tiny insect, crawling diligently beneath layers of soil, grains and seeds.     his fingers inked with markings, he smiles.   his chest is all mushy now, filled with trills, caws and sunny leaves of a lost garden.



Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Prose Poem by host, Frank Hubeny ~  Try your hand in writing one when the pub opens at 3pm EST ~  Thanks for the visit ~