Sunday, July 29, 2012

Another day

                                                                                      image by Zelko Nedic

your eyes adjust
to the light and shadows of the room

keeping still, you await for instructions, 
hand gestures with terse commands      

tongue limps low in submission,  
as your eyes, dulled barren in orange pot     

how your feet long to crawl and grip the dirt
how your neck desires for unshackled green field
how your lungs ache to howl in the full moon night 

but you grind your lips tight, 
fold your angst under shiny coat, 
put on your white over-all and black boots 

at least you still have a job  

Posted for The Mag 128

Friday, July 27, 2012

White memories

white pearl box 
forget-me-not blooms,
frozen kiss


arctic land
father's memories,
torch-lit night


fur blankets
wrapping wooden sled,
buried cross


sea iceberg
drifts as lone white bear,
silent cry

Posted for Real Toads:  Transforming Fridays :  Snow and Ice
and Haiku Heights:   Forget-me-not
and Haiku My Heart

picture credit:   here

Wednesday, July 25, 2012


                                                   Yellow-frayed memory
                                                   Cutting deep wounds
                                                   Black inferno
                                    Twisting sky                               
                                    Into backward time relapse             
                                    Dripping melancholy
                                                  Gather them all  
                                                  Ink and pen, cloud seeds  
                                                  Verses, red    
                        Stories, orange           
                        White escape
                        Revitalizing spirit
                                                 Awakening eyes

picture credit:   here

Sunday, July 22, 2012

In figures

                                                                            Figure Eight, 1952, by Franz Kline

black ink 
bold numbers in paper
spelling luxury and comfort
more than twice he is earning
perhaps more than he is wanting

white clouds
tough climbing on slopes
exhilaration of firm footing 
fulfilling rush on mountain top 
it's hard to price being master of

one's own journey 

Posted for:   The Mag 127  ~  Thanks for the visits ~

Friday, July 20, 2012

By the sea

lighthouse by the sea
stands silent, white sentinel  
braving the black tide   


glass windows closing,   
as blue waves crash against rocks,  
unfinished painting 


fisherman at dawn,  
scouting for fish and sea weeds,
candle-lit prayer    

Posted for:   Haiku Heights - Meaning
and Haiku My Heart

Happy Anniversary to Haiku Heights !!!

Photography:   Reena of Missing Moments 

Monday, July 16, 2012

My journey

there are roads under the rising sun
which takes you beyond white painted signs,
      cobbled streets, riddled with stones broken,
      pushing boundaries, shivering spines

there are some journeys that define you
mark creases deeply on your forehead
      circle eyes in laughter lines and woes
      seasons tongue of oils and garlic bread

here in my pale hands are the rice grains
to seed the grassland and cleave the soil
      of words into trees. behold the rain,
      sun and ocean, all new as i toil

each day, my spirit gathers firelight,
cadence, wheels and speed. bolder, i write  

Posted for OpenLinkNight of Real Toads and D'verse Poets Pub 
Happy Anniversary Month and cheers for many more journeys ~  

Picture credit:   Moment like this by Uwe eischens

Saturday, July 14, 2012


                                                                             Picture credit: La Rocque Harbour
                                                     Landscape photography by Alex Wallace

first poem
uncharted journey,  
sweet red plums  


lover's kiss
soft as butterfly,
summer rain


your goodbye,  
frame in black and white, 
stinging bee

Posted for Haiku Heights:   First ~  My first poem in this blog

Wednesday, July 11, 2012

The cotton picker

hot sun on face
aching and sore fingers  
with every cotton flower picked
she daydreams of nice house and 
table laden with food and cool wine 
maybe buy a nice dress and shoes to dance
at her cousin's wedding next harvest time. 

wiping sweat on face,
she carries sack of cotton at the end of day.
walking back to her rented room of
small bed, a picture frame of her family 
brings a smile to her lips and sparkle on eyes.  
crossing hands in prayer, she sleeps 
on a pillow cotton full of dreams.  

Posted for Poetry Jam:  Daydream Believers
and Theme Thursday:  Inspiring Things -  My hope for all migrant workers is for them to come home and be with their loved ones.   

Picture credit:

Sunday, July 8, 2012

Urban Dreams

                                                                 Chilmark Hay, 1951 by Thomas Hart Benton

he dreams 
of cornfields and hay strewn farm 
of table laden of fresh milk and bread
of simple life beneath the lavender sky

he sees
the city choked in dust and twisted steel
the street filled with foreign made goods 
the night complicated by debts and politics

he paints
heartland drawn from honest work
soil that his ancestors toiled and spilled blood  
countryside so his children may find their future, 

rooted in this land  

Posted for The Mag:   Thomas Hart BentonMore about the painter here.

I am proud to have this poem published in Nain Rogue, September 2012 (page 21).  Thanks to D'verse Poets Community for the support.

Saturday, July 7, 2012

Under the sky


morning sun,
soft raindrops on grass,  
  seeds for pen    


yellow star   
played in daisy field,   
burnt cornbread 


garden blooms:
white, yellow and red,
midnight storm  

Photography credit:   Uwe Eischens of Moments like these

Wednesday, July 4, 2012

Candle of hope

guilt bites our insides
at night when everything is still 

gnawing the lines of our stomach
with soured cream and bitter vinegar, 

maybe conscience is sleepwalking, 
but mother's scolding voice is sharp in the din, 

we bite our tongue, pursing red-lined lips, 
so we don't accidentally spill thorny secrets, 

eyes closed tight, so we don't see
cracks in the wall of the confessional box,   

we meander the wheat field and chapel hills
for a drop of blessed wine, the bloom of flower

fear of discovery and rejection cripples us,
making us afraid even of our shadows

black night is long and tortuous when the mind
is beset with doubts and uncertainties of our actions  

left or right, black or white, or maybe grey,
choices pull and push till we are lost in grinding wheels  

night turns to day, we find that life doesn't pause 
at stop signs nor waits for us to board the right bus 

we are selfish and flawed, yes, but there is a 
rainbow waiting inside all of us, an unlit candle of hope 

if we ask for forgiveness and in turn,
share that grace with others, our burden lightens 

and finally, we can forgive and love

our self 

Posted for:   Poetry Jam : Forgiveness
and Theme Thursday:   Life's Uncertainties  

Picture credit:  here