One maple leaf

Grace @ Everyday Amazing

a leaf falls

into a bed of leaves

bruised-black, yellow-starched, pressed

wet on the city’s ground

perhaps one more leaf

will not matter to the harried pedestrians

or window cleaners high up on the buildings

perhaps it will only matter

to the street sweeper or the corner beggar

where 1 is more than a number

chalked on graffiti-broken walls  

I pick a red leaf  

on my palm it is flaming:

a dragon’s wing, a shooting star, a beating

heart

above the buildings, 

our one red mapled-flag is flaring in the wind

it is raised in half-mast this week in respect

to two fallen soldiers  

red poppies will soon adorn our lapels.

I am grateful for this autumn sky, brushing

every single fallen leaf

with its glorious soul-print, loyal & true      

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub

Weapons for War

Picture credit:   Colossal

Before war
is the war
                      of words

That burns our mind
That changes our faces to birds 
                      of darkness

Before air
convulses to
                      smoke

& steeps the tongue
with arid bitter
                      stones                    

Before space is a crypt
That strikes &
                      strikes

Until all the sky is fireball 
Until all the land is wasted ash

There is you & i
At opposite sides of
                      grain fields 

We hide snakes & poison 
under our cloaks 
                     
We tally hate & splintered bones 
And boast of treasures 
as if its our right
as if its our prize 

Under the wind-broken tree,
We put on our costume & war paint
choosing our weapons carefully

We create our theater & drama:
                       Sounds of men dying
                       slow
                       Sirens as the city rips to 
                       craters  
We did nothing to stave off
                       hate &
                       rumors of defense
We stood mute with 
                        no answers           
                        no resolutions

We are already at
                        war


Posted for:   D'verse Poets Pub - We are talking of war ~  Hosted by Gabriella ~

Voyage of lost souls

The path of Lost Souls

Photography:   Brooke Shaden

in the dead of winter season
you build a trail
of paper boats
beside the dock of black ships

at night, when all is still
you set them sailing towards western sky
where the red moon waits

to run its silver-blue fingers
across its bows, like a violin player
threading silk strings with sweet air
of oblivion

i pause and watch you
waiting by Lethe, underworld river
this is your ritual
disguising tricks with musical flair
to tempt & slaughter my energy


under my red veil, 
i conceal my remaining possessions:
witch hazel oil, fire wand
& finally, my mother's crescent -shaped knife
which your rustic hands will gladly pay
for a feast
of my sacrifices


i have given up many things for this voyage - 
      my innocence to discover names of every truth
      my roots to hold one forbidden fruit   
      & taste its skin & seeds, for myself 

and i will not be deterred even if 
you say that I am  
      on the path of lost souls
      cusp between earth's deepest divide:  shadow & light
      a ghost on long dusty road
wind-struck,

searching to find what she has lost

irretrievably 




Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight - Hosted by Brian Miller
And Imaginary Garden for Real Toads - Get Listed for October - Ghost Stories

We are to used at least 3 words  from the wordlist from M:
fairy, portal, sacrifice, feast, smoke, winter, slaughter, spirit, veil, ritual, trick, disguise

In the heat of local elections

Photography:   Joel Robison

We are pawns in this political game

moving to & fro, invisible faces

spinning left & right, our voices tamed

We are strings pulled by media blame  

running up & down, an endless chase   

Because we are pawns in this political game

We work dawn to night, trading our name

For grey, no black & white pieces

spinning left to right, our voices tamed

By street banners, which all look the same

We sweep aside real issues under the table  

Because we are pawns in this political game

Marching to orders, we claim

we are happy to live in this rich city, a place,          

spinning neither left nor right, our voices tamed

Tell me, black bird

which way is the voting booth ?

I am just a pawn in this political game

spinning round & round, my voice tamed

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub -  We are talking about news ~  Hosted by Mary ~ Thanks for the visit ~

The Mysterious Incident of Salmon during Autumn-time

October, Annual Sockeye Salmon Run, Adam's River, BC Canada 

This river is our primal mother

She beckons to us every year to spawn 

from Pacific Ocean, we hear her call like no other

We swim upstream against the swift waters

circling mountains to age-old forests drawn

by this river, she is our primal mother

Here, the mule deers & black bears wander 

Here, bald eagles & ospreys fly high, we return

from Pacific Ocean, we hear her call like no other

Coloring our skin red & roboust as summer

Into her arms, we lay down our heads come dawn

This river is our primal mother

She, who nourishes our offspring under

wise eyes of cottonwood trees.  She, whom we lean on-

from Pacific Ocean, we hear her call like no other

Gathered in one kinship, my brothers & sisters

hear the same natal beat pushing us on 

To this river, our primal mother

from Pacific Ocean, we hear her call like no other

The Adams River run occurs every year, but every fourth year (called a "dominant" year), the numbers are much higher. 2010 was the most recent dominant run. According to Canada's Department of Fisheries and Oceans, the Fraser River sockeye run of 2010 was the largest since 1913, numbering an estimated 34 million fish.

Posted for Imaginary Garden for Real Toads - Mini-Challenge by Kerry - In other words
and Poets United - Thanks for the visit ~ 

Photo credit:   here

Sun, moon

Sun Photography by Alan Friedman

Sun


Star, you're the faithful one
stirring our eyes to fire
shaping seeds to ripe fruits.
Speak to us as a sage: 
steadfast, calm, so we may
swaddle your heat through each
sky storm splitting the land

~0~0~0~~

Moon Photography by Alan Friedman

Moon

Moon, cast your magic spell-
moonshine above the trees
milk pearled, dreamt  by poets
marveling you. Some nights 
myth turns you to a monk
meandering the space 
muting the sky, stone grey.    




Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Pleiades - Thanks to Vandana Sharma for guest hosting ~

Doodling with words

I doodle on edge of the noodle.   
A flower wears power then snitches on the boy.
The boy walks on paper hat, itchy as a tart.   
Where the clouds slips, I also lip sing aloud.
Latin in Manhattan, English is ticklish, like licorice. 
Maybe I should be eating a strudel instead.
Or canoodling with the whole caboodle. 

Instead I doodle oodles of wiggly lines
Curvy lines, vines, pines and nines
In the center is the sea of peas
Rushing, thrashing, blushing blue
Suffocating the dark is a spark
Grass grows underneath my teeth
Wheat is whey, milk is silky
Playing with words is swaying with birds.   



Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Hosted by Bjorn Rudberg ~  A poem with no meaning but relies on sounds.

Picture credit:   here

If I were

If I were a word, I'll be always at the tip of your tongue

Warm as ripe red plums
On autumn season

Or perhaps melting ice cube
On summer night

If I were a word, I'll keep your memories as keys

Blazing as flames
On long cold winters

There will be no betrayals
As every seed will rise on first day of spring

If I were a word, I'll map the flight of geese & butterflies

Turning out of sight
To where the sun rides a unicycle over the blue ocean

If I were a word, I will boldly travel with my eyes closed
Forget gravity, fear & making mistakes

Listen to chatter of hummingbirds 
Billow where the wind goes

Towards you
Of infinite possibilities

Brooke Shaden

Posted for:   Poetry Jam - If I Were
and Poets United Mid Week Motif - Exploring

October rust

Painting by Brad Kunkle

I am restless tonight while shadows are obsessed with shape of the lamp.

The moon wears raven mask and comes into my room with glass of water.

She sits and reads the book while I bury my emptiness in a lacquered box.

Language arrives with new set of colours - wheat, rust and nest of bones.  

Posted for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - 55 Words
and Poets United - Thanks for the visit ~

Shadows & light in the deepest cave

layer upon layer 

pearls grow white-cancer

boning every space

left empty by sea, and you

here, my words are granite

~0~0~0~0~

what the light touches
what the soil breathes under cave
become seed, forest
greening grey stones, every hurts-

here, my heart is a bird song

Inside Son Doong Cave, World's Largest Cave, Vietnam

Posted for Imaginary Garden for Real Toads - Hannah's Challenge

and Poetry Jam - Magic