Thursday, April 8, 2021

this scar on my left knee

is a pink flower petal

faded & crumpled origami 

a time-stamped map

my school girl's body turning to jump 

out from a van

as if i have wings

instead of coltish legs & black 

polished shoes

the door swinging back

its pointed edge, dull rusty blade on my skin

my eyes, once carefree & blind

suddenly became cautious 

of leaping & falling 

blind as maple leaf during autumn

(how i admire the faith of baby birds) 

i had other scars since then 

but you never forget the first time

you see your flesh, not a wrapped & bound book

but a living tissue, popping fat & pulsing 

red blood & bones, tiny veins

fragile as roots 

of a spring bulb

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub:  MTB, The Body & Poetry - where I am hosting about writing a body part/s as part of my history.   Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.  

Tuesday, April 6, 2021


i pluck happiness

from a pot of soil

it was wet from April rain

dazzling as first cherry bloom

i wash its

plumb leaves gently & encased it in glass

an ivory in perfect repose & sunshine 

muffling all the sadness in the rooms

but in the coming days

it was a dying 

flower shedding its petals

blackening roots


losing its colors, spice & flavor

quietly, it begged to be released

as a monarch butterfly

as a wild bird

uncaged, unfiltered, unmarked

over the back yard

& out into the sky

i toss it like a ball

of dragon fire

hissing above the pine trees

{i heard laughter}

In response to my original post:    {sadness}

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

Tuesday, March 30, 2021

Spin cycle: Spring


I fluff & fold away

winter blankets & thick socks

And put to wash my clothes 

on cold water spin cycle

The sun spreads marmalade 

hues on garden of budding greens

On the clotheslines

I hang 

flowering apostrophes & metaphors

and pin the conjugated verbs

with brown clips 

I flick away

the dewdrops of commas

stuck on my shirts

& shake out the dirt 

of hypenated syllabic words

hiding in my coat pockets

Later on, I will

pluck them & toss them all in the

laundry basket

unsorted & missing pairs & sun wrinkled

smell of maple syrup 

in the spring air

Posted for dVerse Poets pub- Poetics - Put Your Words in a Spin cycle - Hosted by De Jackson.

Tuesday, March 23, 2021

A Painter Without A Brush


the brush is a mongrel moon

a sop of soap stone, lump of foolish

grains in my hands, grey from winter

my fingertips are callous

unfeeling of any rhythm on canvas

i am slumbering shadow of dust

among the fine selections of books in garden

the sun brings a jingle of spring's eyes

as bouquet of wildflowers for the first

time & i am enamored with torrential clouds

of hues, shapes & hollows & tangent of words, whorls

of verses, as if famished, i drink it slowly

colors infuse & thrum, sharp as limes & lemons

my lips are basted by magenta & saffron spice

uncorked, honeycomb drips unabashed on ground

bees alight in morning blush of dewdrop

as if i am apricot tulip, budding rosy 

a new day, i 


Title from:  A Painter Without a Brush (Gerhard Richter)

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub -  Poetics:  The Poet as Painter,  Hosted by Laura Bloomsbury.   Please join us for a wonderful prompt at 3pm EST.

Thursday, March 11, 2021

rush of sunshine


when midnight strikes, i'm a thief

swallowing pale moon

penning words, as wintered trees

reveal bones - hush - soon.

sunshine lingers, love

etches a spell, rush of gold

i await - spring's dove

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetry form:  Sequidilla.   Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.  Thanks for your visit.

Seguidilla has seven syllable-counted lines (7,5,7,5:5,7,5), and rhymes the second and fourth, and the fifth and seventh lines (x,A,x,A,B,x,B)

Thursday, February 11, 2021

this winter morning (when it is -9 C)


the house is a tinder-

box of memories

windows overlook small garden

of papaya trees & bougainvilleas

so pink as delicate buds

our room of mint green curtains

is now empty of furnitures

a place of light & laughter

a world sieved in tropical colors

i smell sugar coated 

yams, rice-wrapped delicacies, 

unmistakable coconut palm breeze

wafting air

of celebratory spirit,

despite the tinge of sadness

our luggages all packed up

with boxes filled with 15 summer beach joys

& windswept photo albums

& sun dried clothes

& sugar cane fields

i take with me

this snapshot of my life -

& leave

the car 

& house keys

my purse bursting of anxious

gratefulness for tomorrow

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Meeting the Bar - Setting (Time and Place).  Thanks for joining in.

Thursday, January 14, 2021

Waltzing at night


this notebook is a bear

-hug I need

warm as fuzzy blanket

on winter night

my pen stirs the soup

of longing sun

of butterfly wishes

of spring seeds & peppermint sky

and i am there

with you

each page, smooth

spoonful of sugar custard

each chapter, drum

-beat of heady blues & wine

i fold its hands

cupped with sangria flowers

of my secrets

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - MTB:   Personification and Imagery.  Use any or both of these poetic devices in your poem.

Please joing us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST. 

Tuesday, January 5, 2021


 i left sadness as a half-peeled onion

on a platter

it saw no sunshine

but to my surprise, it grew

speckled leaves

the color of my eyes &

roots, the shape of my feet

i planted it in pot of soil

nurtured by winter cold symphony

& northern darkness

no petals grew

nor sweet fruits of long summer days

instead its roots spread

warming my blood

as spice, flavor, fire

in my belly

it became part of my body

watercolors my hours

& underlines my little joys

whistling with sigh & shiver 

hush of pine trees

Inspired by my Photo of the Growing Half-Peeled Onion

"Color arrives,
sometimes when
you least expect it."  
Inspired from post from Brain Pickings 

Inspired Poem by W. S. Mervin

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - A Conversation, hosted by Sarah Connor.  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.

Thursday, December 17, 2020

What's inside the box


blues & blue bows,


with messy mislabels, endings

of unfinished books, endings

with edges 

of contrition & sleeves of discovery

one door

opening to another door

maze of

                endings, that never


*a drop of ore,

a native flower,

a piece of splendor

day in and day out

Last 4 lines from *What Beauty does by Patricia Spears Jones

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - MTB - endings & beginnings, hosted by Peter Frankis.   Thanks for your comments & visits.   Have a Merry and Blessed Christmas.  Happy Holidays!   See you on Jan. 4, 2021!!!

Tuesday, December 15, 2020

Under Gothic Lights


Your perfume is black orchid of sadness

Enticing my shadows, rhapsody of madness

I shimmer into your quicksand of scars

Blood ink-stained verses drip, my hands are shears

wholly competing for your moon-starved eyes, I'm 

falling over your reckless mountains & dunes of desire

Above, stars are pelting unicorn's lights

Sky is castle of doomsday chaos in our sighs

We hear our hearts beat as birds of prey

Circling in unison - magic - in the fray

Our mouths are filled with dead flowers

And tumbleweeds, caressing stolen hours

Love, let's lie together, stroked (stroking)

in our failing universe, ash-smoked (smoking)

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Exploring Gothic as a Literary Genre hosted by Sanaa Rizvi.   Thanks for your visits and comments.   This is our last Poetics for 2020 before we go to our Holiday break.