punching time

 

Day in and day out, we punch time

Our fists blued, our eyes grimed

By smoke, we beat ourselves brain dead

Where does this end, this life we dread

We step off trains & skip sky dreams

Grinding hours for someone's creme

Sinking deeper to debts & weeds

Where does this end, this life we dread

We mute our voices to nil

Lacking timbre & jars to fill

Carrying hurts, chests rippled red

Where does this end, this life we dread

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub- Complaint, A Poem of Lament.   Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.  Thanks for your visits and comments.

beneath the earth

i want to be stamped

in spaces between verses

in crannies between bookshelves

my voice, a lone songbird

rising from the rain-soaked dandelions

to summer of marigolds & blue asters 

i want to be settled as

sand & sumac moving in rhythm with wind-

black cradled rocks digging deep in bush-

recite my incantation of wishes

for the yellowing of autumn leaves to

be buried in winter field of ice & white sky-

cover me in earth's seasons

rejoicing

i am from this land

and to earth, i will return-

seeds, pods, flowers, trees along the blue

mouth of Lake Ontario

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub- Tuesday's Poetics-The Four Elements, hosted by Kim Russell.   Thank you for your visits and comments.

 

Widow's Last Winter

 

Death - come & cover me - burs & soft twine   

Turning feet to plum,  bones to earth - bury

My face under orchid's sun, wild cherry 

My body is bent tree, crowing to wind

Pining to fly & ride the last ferry   

Death - come & cover me - burs & soft twine  

Turning feet to plum,  bones to earth - bury

This weighted sadness, blue trimmed with iced-rime

Spinning legs more than I care to carry  

Recalling a love, sweet as mulberry

Death - come & cover me - burs & soft twine   

Turning feet to plum,  bones to earth - bury

My face under orchid's sun, wild cherry 

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub- Poetry Form is English Madrigal. Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST. Thank you for your comments and visits.

threading the threads

my mind is a puddle of fluff & fuss

my hands are busy clocks & cords

you tell me, it is not complicated-

it is either this way or that way

this way is to walk with the cat

or that way is go inside the room and wear 

tall crown I made, a Queen's golden crown

or a joker's cone cap

and if I choose a joker's cone cap,

is it going to make me laugh to oblivion

because I know my indecision of things

can really get in the way - see the empty 

table?   you tell me - easy,

walk with the cat, as if it is 

really a quiet walk on the path, out  

out of this churning madness of choices

in my head, a nest of noisy birds

waiting for mother's treat & ultimate goal-

freedom

[walking out & away with the cat]

in my dreamscape, I am a white horse 

bolting out of the frame, towards the moon

but my feet are rooted in threads, deep in silos-

where and when (things past)

Gertrude Abercrombie:  Where or When (Things Past), 1948, Collection of the Madison Museum of Contemporary Art

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight - Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.

if not for winter, i would not know spring

if not for blue salt

i would not know blackness of ice

that wipes all shiny memories to paper blankness

if not for the polar vortex

i would not know the limits of my sadness-

in all ways, your absence is sharper knife that i can not hold

if not for the stillness

i would not know how powerful your

death wish is, between goodbye & falling asleep

if not for the last breath

i would not know mercy, kissing your brow

wishing nothing more than whole white sky to cover your eyes 

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Meeting the Bar Positively through Negation - Hosted by Bjorn Rudberg.  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.

January's blues

 

snowdrift hides dead flower shrubs and feathers

my hands are ice-numbed, knitted white, blued feathers

pine and fir trees weave their green lushness

lifting my spirits from gloom donning black feathers

sundial casts a long graceful shadow   

while crescent moon rises with single feather

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Quadrille, hosted by De Jackson.   This is a 44 word count, with the given word, LIFT.   Thank you for your comments and visits.

On butterfly wings

you open my eyes to beauty of wings

the sky is a wonder of light and wings

draw over my sadness with whiteness of snow,

my fears with fluttering of bold black wings

how the rain pours over wild forest-

spring will arrive, blazing, bagful of wings

paint the long summer days with bright orange 

& yellow, symmetrical, silky wings

when autumn arrives, give me grace to fall

chest thrumming to wind's spell, breaking my wings

Silky Owlet / Photographed in Papua New Guinea / Michael Sammut

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Art in Nature, Hosted by Melissa Lemay.  Thank you for your visits and comments.

at year's end, it is not

 

the loudest

[bang-pop-bang]

that impacts me the most

it's the nicks, 

slights, careless tossed words- jabbing 

a growing crescendo

that knees me to fetal position

on the flip side-

it's not loudest cheers of devotion

but thoughtful & everyday gestures

that tugs my heartstrings

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Quadrille #214, Going Out with a Bang, hosted by Punam.  This is a 44 word post with the chosen word, bang.  

Thank you for your comments and visits.

Winter Tree

 

pine

cones grow

lush as leaves

thick   of   winter

  snow, fresh as spring rain   

          musky    as    wild    berries           

        unadorned, a   stark    beauty-          

    night sky is   translucent    silver       

mirroring  spell  of  purple  darkness-

above the balsam fir and white spruce trees    

i catch

the stars

Posted for the dVerse Poets Pub - An Etheree Tree, hosted by Laura Bloomsbury.  Thanks for your visits and comments.

November

The leaves are speckled yellow gold          

Scattering dust on field, so cold                  

Where is the summer sun's chatter            

As sky turns grey and lake iced blue          

Birds and bees have flown away, true        

Late autumn serves harvest platter            

Filled with melancholy.   Night clings          

Of ripeness.   Awaiting sweet sting             

Of last breaths.  How you live matters     

Sugar Maple Tree

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Nove Otto.   Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.  Thanks for your visits and comments.