untitled [summer]

 

summer

my balcony of zinnias-

blooming pink, red and tangerine 

an empty nest

amidst the birdsongs, i scatter the sun

flower seeds

Summer 2025

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - MTB, A Revisit with The Cherita, hosted by Merril Smith.  Thanks for your visits and comments.

Riverwood

tall red maple leaves are inviting

we walk inhaling the cool light

moss, wood ferns, wildflowers edging 

our pathway of pebbles & grass 

we pass the storm-struck fallen tree

scattering bark, a haven shed

for chipmunks, squirrels, buzzing bees

and birds with wings of black & red

terrain is rugged yet wood-soft

at the credit river, we marvel-

wood duck, mallard, and blue heron

catching fish & blueing sky joyful

Riverwood, Mississauga City, Ontario

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Let's Take a Walk in the Woods - Thank you for your visits and comments.

imposter syndrome

i am going bananas

over my empty bag

i take out my fishing rod & reel

and cast the line over the lake 

it is summer & sun

has blued & sparkled the shore

stones, sands, pebbles, low tide

i take it

crackles, bouts of silence, birdsongs, sweat

running down my back

a tremor pulses

and i reel in the line to look at my catch

is it lost door key? 

is it freshwater salmon?

or maybe a lost train ticket?

nope

it is the shape of 

a woman's torso

robust, unpretentious, glorious

the randomness is serendipity

the nothingness is everything

and this sits right with me:  

lens of the uncertainty of the poet

                       The Uncertainty of the Poet

                                                   Giorgio de Chirico

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight.  Please join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.   Thank you for your comments and visits.

the color of my days

i.  monday

white is the color

of regret, an un-

painted bowl left on table

ii. tuesday

i am color-

less sheet of blue static-

-unsent messages

-unfinished thoughts 

iii. wednesday

i can eat the sun-

flowers all day, but my

tongue is dragon fruit -

coloring the rain water pink 

iv. thursday

it must be the sand

or the sandpipers

how else can my mornings

be joy-struck, bicolored musings of sky 

vi.friday

i walk these city streets 

and see different shades of color 

from skin to hair to eyes-

i do not pretend to be colorblind

your story is different from mine

but it is the same ocean tides that 

powers your lungs & mine to go out

there & protest & march- 

vii.satuday

i read the 

books & albums

as if they sugar candies-

it was sticky with colorful memories

of the past

though its all in black and white

viii.sunday

and what of black?

it is erasure

it is sacrifice

not a color lacking 

a seed 

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - MTB Synesthesia.  Thanks for your comments and visits.

steps to my arrival (here)

 

Cut the twining cord quickly

with a sharp scissors

Use the cord clamp to stem 

the bleeding

It will not hurt (for now)

The scars will fold under my navel

As will my native tongue

sink to the bottom of my belly of fears

Learn the language of 

weather politeness of 4 seasons

Handle the etiquette

of fork & knife with ease

Still the waving hands as intuition

& glaze the summer skin to winter ice

Walk the balancing act

between following & not following

between listening & not listening

To myself & this pathway that I have

chosen, from brave idea to blistering reality

of starting over in a new country

a 360 degree turn

from one journey to another

Jump as if there is no bridge

to return to, 

Even if each detour, is a dead-

weight of self-blame 

Even if every mistake is a sword to

the carefully constructed excel timeline-

In the rearview,  

Plow along as elegant swans, with no outside 

signs of breaking point

What kept me sane, gentle as raindrops?  

 

Writing poems

A balm & thread to my turmoil

Strewn away as spinning dandelion fluffs

on a windy summer day, scattering

verses lead to stanzas, rhymed 

& unrhymed, each poem 

a journey to

Forgive & find myself

after patching & stitching faded lilac

blooms & falling autumn leaves to my sleeves-

I am (wholly) grateful

For marking 20 years in this land, we now call home

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub: Poetics:  Building from the Broken hosted by Mish.  Celebrating this day as our first day in Ontario, Canada with my family.  What a journey it has been! 

coward

you lied

when you brazenly told the new group

that you are wild & adventurous

one person took your word

& tested your boundaries-

he knocked at your hotel

door at midnight

you are new <here>

strangely, this city is brimming of cloves,

nutmeg & spicy hot peppers-

you are writing a new page

in this exciting theatre stop

your head is swimming with beer & crackers

enamored with the lure & lore, you

are making a a bold move

(in your head with clouds)

you plump up your plumeria-

misted pillows

& settle down deep in your bed, ignoring

the knocking at your door-

the phone ringing with urgency-

you recall that you are just a visitor here

& must go back to your home 

base later in the day-

your luggage & plane tickets are ready-

there are some doors that you 

need not open-

there are some bridge planks 

that you guesstimate is too short for you 

to land firmly on shores-  

you just prefer everyday life 

to be boring 

as a dissected frog-

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub- Poetics:  A View of One's Own, hosted by Dora.  Thank you for your comments and visit.

becoming

you wanted lines to be perfect

yarning silk to flawless hues

yet your face is moody spring, unkempt 

yearning for moon's kiss & blues

observe the shedding of olive skin 

obtuse as words you scrawled on walls              

offer sage leaves & feathers, & spin

oats & seeds, the wild voice calls

begin each day with tender hands

bathing in light, forgiving yourself 

bedazzle with larks, jiggle run on sands 

becoming is chaos, off-the-shelf

enter at-your-own risk show, you scrap

endurance with pride, & you also fall 

endless times, until you fly without a map

edging lakes, you cup palms & call-

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetry form is Trolaan.  Thanks for your comments and visits.

this room is under study

the room is triptych

a distortion of the manifesto:

space, silos, substance

there is no roof

nor ceiling, only sky & clouds

are our constants

whatever lies beyond

the dark blue skyline is anyone's

guess

spin your story & see 

where this takes you-

imagine:  there is no wall

or cabinets to display photos

or keepsakes, yet

every absence holds shape 

of what can be 

every unopened door stirs & tears

of what may be 

you are told

this room has two doors-

but what you see is not just two doors 

the openings are everywhere

also the ground is unlevelled, moving

under your feet, folding & unfolding-

you roll over

get egg wash all over your face

& unroll again & again

this ground is not a vanishing point-

the room is under study

for you see so many possibilities

and in this moment, you are 

both light & darkness

both ending & beginning

Kay Sage, entitled, My Room Has Two Doors (1939)

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight.   The image is for the optional prompt but I also used some words from our Tuesday's Poetics, In Our Words, hosted by Melissa Lemay.

Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.      Thanks for your visits and comments.

spring

mother arrives with a knife

cutting down the dead tree with swift blows-

pulling back dull curtains, bagging old

autumn leaves & winter bones with twisted bow    

this is a season of hardiness as stubborn

bull, plunging into the open air with grit & breath

of a seasoned traveler, braving the rain & roller- 

coaster wind, driving head first to sow seeds & spores

spring season arrives with false starts

much like a failing review of a premiere movie night-  

or a disappointing first-look of famous landmark-

it is a short season as the cherry blossoms trees-

yet in every spring season, you marvel its art-

thick thistles of flowerets- 

gnarly green fingers rising from mud-

red-veined leaves, delicate as old woman's hands-

  

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub- Poetics:   Getting Hooked on Opening Lines, hosted by Kim Russell.  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.  Thank you.

Ten Ways of Looking at the Crossroad

I.  

The sky is a glass

Of mourning blackbirds

I stand rooted, a weeping willow 

At the crossroad    

II. 

A sign 

Falls flat on grass

Knocked down by errant wind-

This ceased to be a cross-

                                           road    

III.

Two sisters stood at the crossroad 

One chose the sun, west of the forest   

The other chose the moon, east of the river

When they met again after a year,

Their faces were maps

Their hands were cups

Hued of their journeys 

IV. 

At midnight

Your reckless heart rips away

The bandages

And follow the unmarked road 

V.  

From the distance

A crossroad

Strikes a shiver of excitement

Like choosing an ice cream flavor & toppings- 

VI.  

He walks with me 

And the crossroad turns into 

A boat ride in the canal

VII.  

At the crossroad

I felt every pebble, gravel & slab

beneath my feet

VIII.  

Death arrived

At this crossroad

Early Sunday morning

IX.    

When she gave an ultimatum - 

The crossroad  

Became a street marked with dynamites 

X.     

Your face is

A book

Stamped with crossroads

I have yet to figure out

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetics - Fated, hosted by Merril Smith.   Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.