Tuesday, June 11, 2024

mind the gap

i step into the subway train

as the wheels grind & groan

the comfort of routine descend

from passing buildings & trees

my thoughts wander

wayward as dandelion fluffs

over the skyway of cars

over bridges of street art & protests 


this space is unbothered by time

this dark tunnel is a fog of poems

this window overlooks gravity

& spots a majestic bird of prey flying


carrying me

over faceless passengers glued to screens 

& hurried texts & to-do-lists-

how far do I go?

what unknown stops await me?

my eyes rest on the valley of blue

where the lake calms & cajoles

a murmuration of birds 


until a whistle breaks

rudely intrudes my train of thoughts

my subway stop is here,

my seat is cold metal & plastic

my backpack weighs a ton

mind the gap (subway sign)

footsteps & faces crowd in

the city, whose clock hurries by



                                        Rick Amor (Australian) “The Agent,” 2019 Oil on canvas 81 x 117 cm

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetry in Liminal Spaces, hosted by Dora.  Thanks for the visits and comments.

Tuesday, June 4, 2024

the owl and me

 

The owl gave me a book

I was excited to open it

Is it a book of wisdom?

So I can follow it, a river

ever flowing, a bird knowing

its way home


But when I read it, what came

To me is a cacophony of sad poems

The melancholy of death songs

The owl looks at me

His bulging eyes filled with questions

His huge body carved by half-moon

Unmoved by my restless hands


Then he points to me a pen

Nudging me to write my words

Listen to my tides & heartbeat

Grow my own feet & feathered wings

Map and unmap my journey


I want to fly to the sky, I say 

The owl is still, waiting for me

I scratch the pages with ink

I scour the edges with electric

moods and soulful dances

A flow of energy curls within, crisp as rain

I lose myself in the salt of verses

and valley of melodies and refrains


I forget where I am

Standing on a tree of life 

Singing to the wind - my song



Artist:    Catrin Welz-Stein



Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - PoeticsdVerse Poets Pub - Poetics hosted by Lillian Hallberg.   Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.   

Thursday, May 30, 2024

Sounds

There is an itch in my throat

Dry cough, ugh,ugh,ugh

Bubbles up my cheeks

I gulp it down with water

Trying not embarrass myself

In an open space office with cubicles

All around me, the office buzzes

of tapping of keys and busy fingers, 

Snapping of headphones

I catch snippets of small & serious talk


This is nothing compared to

the summer construction outside-

Snarling buzzing of equipments

Clanging chinging of metal on metal

Whizzing of sand & dust & pollen

Screeching brakes of trucks

Beeping horns from impatient drivers

The city is a hive of buzzing energy


I sigh

At the end of the work day

After being enveloped in 

The chug-chug-grating of train wheels

I step into the garden

Splattered with light and flowers

Chirp-chirp goes the birds

Zip-zoom for the bees

Ringing laugher of children from the park

Humming, tinkling from trees & leaves

My plants are greening & grinning

It is a good summer day



Posted for dVerse Poets Pub- MTB by host Bjorn Rudberg, where we are incorporating sounds in our poem, Onamatopoeia.  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.  Thank you for your comments and visits.


Thursday, May 16, 2024

lilacs

 


lilacs bloom during my birthday week   

along the pathways, they are all white  

and pink with fragrance a streak           

of jasmine and rose-almonds, spring    

air is cool while sunny sky is meek       

i walk on clouds, i write about love       

i gather dainty blossoms that reek        

of rain, promises and silky nights-          

lilacs on the vase, clustered & chic   



Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetry Form, Magic 9.  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.  Thanks for the visit and comments.     

Monday, May 13, 2024

here (this place)

 



is where dandelions and wild

flowers bloom

and where

red maple and lilacs rise to

greet the spring morning


hello yelllow!


is planted roots, 

4 seasons

and city bursting & bustling 

of hues, stories & languages


we're settled now

this place 

we call


home!


Posted for dVerse Poets Pub- Quadrille - hosted by De Jackson.  This a 44 word post with the chosen word, PLACE. Thanks for your visits and comments.

Tuesday, April 30, 2024

self-help

i read a poem or a book

and give them away

i gather every leftover tears & misses

and stir them to my green tea

i put down the mirror 

and go for a walk in the park

or go to the unbeaten path, somewhere

strange & new to marvel the trees

i palm a fallen leaf or stone, 

and get lost in the wonder of its veins,

palettes, ridges & wrinkles


i bake my mother's bread 

and travel back in time

i try out my daughter's salad from IG

and heard the birdsongs outside the kitchen

i bury my nose among the wildflowers

and found my valleys & hills

i inhale the beat of your verses

and discover my music

i grab every chance to unfold & re-

fold and fold into my-

self, a butterfly every season



Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetics, How About a Selfie, hosted by Punam.  Thanks for your visits and comments.

Thursday, April 25, 2024

morning commuter



he was earth-skinned and sky-scarred
with his dark brown jacket, black beanie,
dark jeans and black shoes

he got in the transit train to Toronto & stood
with left hand cupping his ear, conversing about
rides, station stops for the entire 30 minutes ride

was he talking to God?
because his jacket elbows & sleeves were
frayed & tattered, as well as his jeans & worn shoes

his fingers keep pointing to the train subway
map, marking his destination to the west, further
than my stop.   he did not sit down but stood pacing

and talking by the exit doors.   his voice - 
a lost wind, a lone bird without a flock -
swearing & mocking to the invisible party

was he talking to God?
because his hands were empty
because his pockets were empty

his eyes, the black sun
or was it a black pearl?   or was it my
eyes reflecting back, wanting daylight to arrive

& banish the darkness from the tall stranger






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

Thursday, April 18, 2024

dear traveller

 

Do not wait for me

I have found my map

Though my pockets are lined with sadness

I carry your gift, a wild flower yellow pin


I have found my map

And travelled to another country

Carrying your gift, a wild flower yellow pin

Reminding me to smell the flowers along the way


While travelling to another country

Your letters keep me company, soft as light

Reminding me to smell the flowers along the way  

Will our paths cross again?   Maybe, I'm hopeful


Your letters keep me company, soft as light

Though my pockets are lined with sadness

Will our paths  cross again?   Maybe, you said.  

Please, do not wait for me.




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

Tuesday, April 16, 2024

Insomniac

Let us talk about insomnia

at 3:15 am.   A dark bird sits on my bed


& wants to talk about his ambition.   I am 

curious, where does ambition come from?


Is it a seed that suddently grows into

giant tree out of my head?  Is it a slow


painting of canvas, taking shape, defining my face?

The bird wants to climb Japan's Mount Fiji.


The bird wants the fancy feathers of peacock.

And fling himself to the moon.


His ambition is burning his feet after jumping

over fire stones after piercing the hornet's nest


Well I had enough of the bird chatter dream

I want to talk about my ambition - that 


fire within me that refuses to die when an idea

Comes to me, like a buzzing bee 


over the blooming yellow daffodils

Deafening sounds, lively chitter-chatter  


As my heartbeat is running faster and 

faster.  Sleep is forgotten library book.  


My feet are itching for calm after 

leaping into the air, like a gazelle


bounding out to the open fields

My spine tingles as if a lover's touch


stole my sleepy head.   Finally 

dawn comes with pink hues and holds


a giant mirror to my small idea bulb, 

now scribbled with crooked arrows.   Will I survive 


the scrunity of harsh reality? Dark bird, remind me 

again, where does ambition come from?    


Come to me in circles.  

Come to me, piercing my bosom.





Posted for dVerse Poets Pub- Poetics hosted by Sanaa Rizvi.   The theme is Maggie Smith and Conversational Mode of Address.  Thanks for your comments and visits.

Tuesday, April 2, 2024

Other Worldly

 


we are floating in dust & gas

we catch burst of light

as well as the tail blue-violet of darkness 


                                                                         there is an awakening 


we are shapeless yet shaped

by forces unseen, more powerful than ocean's

turbulent waves & scorching as

volcanic eruptions


                                                                         a daffodil blooms 


a nursery of beginnings of space &    

matter.  over time, where do we cast 

ourselves listening to the waves 

of energy & light  


                                                                        budding leaves of tulips rises


around us, clusters of stars & dark matter

colliding, collapsing, pulling & pushing as if

following the blue print of Master Hands


                                                                       digging the soil, soft as rain


the black hole divides

us,  the sun completes our divinity

though we are mere specks, wrapped

in the continuum of light


                                                                          a season of firsts, spring




 Photo by John McKaveney: The Orion Nebula. “This is an active star forming region about 1400 light years away, of condensing gas and dust, illuminated by newly forming stars. Our solar system formed in a region much like this about 5 billion years ago. The photons that were observed when this picture was taken, left the nebula in 624 AD.  At that time, Mohamed had just won the Battle of Badr, in Saudi Arabia, the classical period in Europe was ending and the middle ages beginning, the Mayas were just beginning to build their largest pyramids, and Europeans had not yet set foot in North America.  Throughout this entire time, those photons of light were traveling through space to be captured to form this photograph, where their journey finally ended.”


Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Stepping Out of this World, hosted by Lillian.  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm.  Thanks for the visits and comments.