Sleeping beauty

Beauty lies deathly pale in her sleep,
Forgotten by apple trees & lovers on the hill
Winter keeps a close guard over her tiny frame,
Her skin so white, with hair of darkest night-  
Her lips so red, bewitched by 
summer's end-

One April day, he walks into the forest
The sun greets him like a reluctant flame  
Melting the veil of secrets, capturing his eyes- 
He comes close and kisses Beauty's lips,   
so cold like ice- 

Beneath his fierce embrace,  
She takes her first breath, coming  
Alive with the softest shade of pink -
The wood trembles, like a tide turning
In mid-stream, her eyes awake, so blue,
the anguish of a storm- 

Then, she heaves again, failing
Like a weary bloom, deadly is the frosty 
Wind that bites on delicate skin, 
Color of an unripened apple,
too early, too soon - 

He could not awaken her -
Not with words nor songs from the robins-   
So he places white tulips & pine cones 
On her chest, and tuck back her long hair.   
Shutting down the coffin, he leaves the forest,
A lonely traveler, perplexed with 
false spring - 


Posted for D'verse Poets Pub and Imaginary Garden for Real Toads - Happy Easter ~
Shared with Poets United Picture credit:   here 

A sign, maybe

Maybe it is the sign of spring

    When I see a pair of geese honking 

           Above the trees, a trumpet heralding a new morning

Maybe they bring tidings from the south,  

    Grains from river, sticks from orange trees,

           The colors of the sun, bursting like pink tulips

Maybe they hear waves turning under the full moon,         

    Unmistakable beat of a primal dance, lost to me in my city shoes-         

            Beautiful as an infant’s cry, thrilling a mother’s heart

As white wings soar, remembering the path-   

    Their faith, steadfast in the unpredictable skylight-   

            Where heading for home, a beginning-

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight -  While going to work, I saw a pair of geese flying overhead our office.   There is a group of them that comes back every year, and the females would nest on the same spot, the plant box at the back parking lot.  Well, let's hope spring is just around the corner.  

Picture from Tumblr.com

Not to be reproduced

                                        Not to be Reproduced, 1937 by the Belgian surrealist René Magritte



You insist on the same pose - 
straight as a rod, black-suited in the light, 
dark hair, neatly assembled as piano keys-  

But I am not cut from the same mold - 
see the lines on my face & hands, colored
of earth, the grooves & stooped shoulders-

See this working bee, a farmer, a painter
with greasy hands, working on my canvas,
learning the difference of each planted seed-    


Posted for The Mag 161 - Happy Sunday ~

A reflection of her beauty

Grace @ Everyday Amazing

Keningston Market, Toronto

A flower blooms-
lavender, perfumed cheeks-
boldly inking the walls with stories  
- bloody-birthed, coarse as salt 
from far-away shores- 

Leaves grow with curried veins,
Underneath myriad of colors
- a heartbeat pulses-   
A tree, standing in the muddy river- 

Sunlight reflects her beauty,
fragmented yet uniquely whole-   
- this city, 
built on immigrants' dreams-


Posted for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Stretching Comparisons
and Poetry Jam - Reflections - 

I saw Mona Lisa in Black & White

Grace @ Everyday Amazing

 Kensington Market, Toronto

her face-   
above the street,
littered with signs & dirt,
reminds pedestrians that ART/ 
ist lives here -

breathes color, ye//ow & ripe
as red papaya in summer-
s h a p i n g  brick walls into  
living canvas, where seeds grow/

e-X-p-l-O-d-i-n-g  
to fruits, 

freely 
BE/
neath the sky-

               

Posted for OpenLinkNight of D'verse Poets Pub ~  Thanks for the visit  ~  Happy day ~ 

Graffiti art

Graffiti art in Kensington Market, Toronto

Grace @ Everyday Amazing

draw here:
happy face, round
as lollipops, merry  
as can be, with a brash note - i
was here 
  

~0~0~  

And this is for Kay's Sunday Challenge:  

put your 

smile & red nose - 

play the fool till they laugh

chasing tears & fears away, be 

a clown

Posted for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads -OpenLinkNight and  Sunday's Challenge - My memories of clowns are happy ones, specially attending children's parties and hosting parties for my children when they were young.

We visited the Kensington Market yesterday, Sunday and had fun checking out eclectic, vintage and international stuff.   A good day to be out and about, though it's still cold here.   Happy day to everyone ~

How to survive the first week

think before you print. 
think green.

you envy the importance
of office printers here - 
  they attract 
  traffic of paper loads -

and big vending machines -
  filled with shiny cans &
  sugary goodies to hasten the  
  yellowing of teeth- 

you scribble with pens,  
  labelled with CRM program - see
  you are compliant as a mouse-

remember the good side is always
the bottom line - more sales & 
  working hours, counted like abacus-   

you tap the keyboard & file- 
mute like hanging plants above,
  green as summer blades-   
  under bright lights, you  

plow through the day,
  putting your aches 
  in tea bags- 

Posted for:   D'verse Poets Pub ~  It's not easy being green ~  Hosted by Karin Gustafson

Happy St. Patrick's Day ~

Picture credit:   here

The book of wild flowers

You come
stealing the sun,
behind the bergamot
and tawny-ivy shrubs-

I twist
zigzag, stout-stemmed hips,
listening to the story of the grasses
& flowers that will not wait for snow-

You march by
shunning my thorns,
gossiping with the shallow daisies
& picking clusters of snowberries-   

I employ the strong wind
to catch you in the meadows
so you may hear
the silent roar of the vast- 


Posted for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Botanical Word List from De Jackson

At the creek

Etobicoke Creek

Grace @Everyday Amazing

A sharp descent  
   finds a broken bark, upturned to the sun,
   bridge yoked over cold running water

Above the frayed trees, 
   a black crow shrieks the silent sky,
   while an orange-hued bird sits majestic with a crown

An empty soda can & soggy paper
   reminds us of junk & city smog, just around 
   the corner like a restless bubble--

But the brown cramped leaves are warming  
   crystal ice melts, like receding hairline
   over narrow walkway, puddled soft by rough weeds--  

We are silent as rocks & shriveled blooms    
   a small stone ripples in the tide
   we leave, shaped like spring buds-- 

Posted for:   OpenLinkNight of D'verse Poets Pub - We had a spring-like weather last Sunday, a break from a depressing winter of grey clouds and rain.   

A daughter's prayer

                                                          Artist:   Chelsea Bednar

draw over 

       my third eye
       - sun's gift of light 
       my forehead
       - moon's arc for peace  

scatter your words     

      wet on my cheeks  
      - that I may understand the tears of others 
      bold on my shoulders  
      - that I may carry their cares like an offering    

rub sea-salt     

      on these hands 
      - to nurture children like seeds   
      on these feet  
      - to carry proudly your name 

Posted for:  Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - OpenLinkNight & Artistic Impressions with Margaret - The above is Chelsea's finished body painting depicting the African Mythological Goddess, Yemaya Oshun.   

Shared with Poets United

Thanks for the visit ~

Winter notes

Grace @ Everyday Amazing 

Monday
7:20 am 

                Cars & trucks trudge to the city,     
             
                Like newspaper with old news, free in the stands--   

                The morning rush steeps of tea, constant blandness        

9:28 am

                The manager asks for your opinion

                You weigh your words, like an old monk,  

                Knowing it will not make a difference

10: 52 am

                Outside your window

                Snowflakes cling on branches 

                Like starched petticoats, refusing to melt

12:45 pm

                Inside the Tim Horton’s coffee stop,

                Three men compare notes, creased & dotted

                With cream, refusing to drain their cups   

4:40 pm

                A car passenger asks for directions

                You draw your words on paper & snow-dusted window-

                Knowing it will make a difference


6:40 pm

                You inhale the kitchen:  aromatic dish & freshly cooked rice, 
  
                Even burnt cookies by your daughter smells like fresh apples--             
   
                The night drapes a warm blanket,  settled words. 
    

Posted for OpenLinkNight of D'verse Poets Pub