threads of autumn

I look at the faces of my high school friends, and theirs mirror mine.  Faces delicately stamped by passing time.   Hands creased by toil, care and chores.  The fabric of our stories have become heavier and darker with increasingly sad stories of deaths, poor health, family and personal struggles.  I have migrated abroad in another country along with some friends, while some have lived in the same city.   Though our travels have taken us to different places since graduation, we have now arrived at the same spot - more tolerant, kinder and compassionate to each other.   Where disagreements and jealousy gnawed at our friendship, we now provide help, support and celebrate each other's journey.   Viewed within our group's narrative, I count each thread, weave, tug and pull with gratitude. Whatever change is coming my way, I can rely on this group of ladies to see me through.

   

wind builds a bed 
of fallen leaves with sun's luster-
sky brims - autumn's rust-

Autumn by Everyday Amazing 

Posted for dVerse Poets  - Haibun Monday - Transitions, hosted by guest Merril Smith.  Please visit us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.  Thanks for the visit.

Snapshots

he huddles under forlorn blankets
beside post, his belongings boxed,
all stillness
but for his cap begging for alms

                       winter is coming

she hears the aches in her bones,
wails of distress in her room
she pens a note:   
travel & listen to bird songs 

                       winter is coming

subway platform picks up haunting
strains of the saxophone, evoking music
of yesterdays, crumbling 
in sweet notes  

                      winter is coming

autumn leaves are dotted white
as trees shed their flaming colors-
my album of photos show, not grief
but tranquility   

                     winter is coming



Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Meeting The Bar - Repetition, hosted by Jilly.
Thanks for the visit.  

of what glitters at night

October glitters of roads 
dusty
Of fallen maple leaves
yellow
as  roasted plump pumpkin 
brown
as burnt paprika and sugared
cinnamon

Days fold quickly into heavy
silence
I tend to my secret
sorrows
Brushing them with moon-
light  
They gleam ... an early first snow-
drop

Grace@Everyday Amazing

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Quadrille, hosted by Kim Russell.   This is a 44 word post with the chosen word - EARLY.  See you when the pub doors open at 3pm.  Thanks for the visit.

Late autumn

The northern wind whips autumn trees to fray
Under clouds of grey, plum maple leaves stray
Strands of willow, brambles of berries roil
Faded petals - all pressed smooth in rich soil

A leavening, softening cold canvas
Of bare gardens, draped in dew-glazed sadness
I sleep buried under warm blankets, fluffy
Clasping handful of seeds, golden honey 

Grace@Everyday Amazing

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub -  OpenLinkNight - Hosted by yours truly.   Please join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.   Thanks for your visi

flawed designs

you saunter out 
                     of my depressive mind,
deformed idea
                     muddled in nest of cobwebs
your claws growing 
                       from seed, searching
for warmth
                     or for shaft of light
I hide you from 
                          sunshine and moon- 
eyes of strangers  
                        how could anyone 
assemble you like I do   
                                         
you, tarnished with flaws 
                     of all my failed designs   

yet beholding you, 
                              i collect 

every exhale 
                          of red-veined maple leaf
every scar 
                        of rippling river tide
every wings 
                          of promising butterflies
every verse   
                        unsaddled by violent wind 
                                                                 falling 

Images by Colossal:   Haunted Bodies by Christina Mrozik

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Beauty in Ugliness, hosted by Mish.  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.   Thanks for the visit.

True colors

He tarried, asking for time and one more
Chance, as if sorrow was not his whim
True, women are his weakness, keeping score
His true colors bared - she can't forgive him 


Outside, leaves of maple trees, birch, aspen
Turn to brilliant autumn tints, fanning awe
Sun muscles its way from grey, red jasmine
Her hopes - forgive herself, sharpen her claws

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Meeting the Bar, with Frank Hubeny.   We are writing iambic pentameter.  Pub doors open at 3pm EST.   

Growing into my name

My name came from a dead language 
Echoing a young mother's prayerful hopes 
For the eldest child to be favored by Almighty One
She, who defied her family's wish for marriage
Lit candles, knelt in the pews, beaded her tears to dusk-   

She called me by my second name
And I grew into it 
With a gentle sponge, sloughing off my rough edges
And as years passed, shaping my arms to paddles
My feet, into round hulls of boat 
My father gave me the wind sails  
I crossed oceans, learning to navigate sea of sorrows 

Though I tested boundaries of the reversed name - disgrace - 
I never got sucked and stuck in the pit 
Through all my journeys, my mother's devotions    
were constant as a lighthouse-

I sank into my skin
In all its wrinkles, wounds and flints
And as autumn leaves churn colors
so bright and dazzling, with every breath
a beating of sun's fire
a roar of wind's tempest

A grace of acceptance of this life's journey:
Gratitude

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub:  What's In A Name, hosted by Amaya.  Please join us for an interesting challenge.  Here is a bit of information of my name:

ORIGIN:

HEBREW  /  LATIN 

NAME ROOT:

(MIRIAM) (GRĀTĬA)

NATIVE NAME ROOT:

MARYÂM / MIRYÂM (מרים)

MEANING: 

This is a combination (composed, blended name) of Mary and Grace. It is of Hebrew and Latin origin and comes from the following roots: (MIRIAM) and (GRĀTĬA).

Miriam:  sea of bitterness or sea of sorrow

Grace:  gratia (favor, thanks, good will)

October

October opens its sorrows
to black birds and thick coarse
hands praying rosary 
beads

October spreads its wings
mildew gray as morning clouds,
churning reams of sunshine 
cold

October pulls the curtains down
velvet over fallen autumn leaves-
russets, deep reds as beating
heart



Posted for dVerse poets pub - OpenLinkNight.  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.   Thanks for your visit.

Chicken soup for autumn

The smells come for me

when I feel low, let down
when I am missing home, coming 
                                                  home

heat wafts my nose, slices 
my belly with steaming chicken 
soup, tickling my insides 
with spices & shrimp dumplings

my heart pumps 
                         sunshine, sticky as sugar
painting all over the house 
                         comfort, sewn by happy memories 

I am snugly warm
watching the      leaves   
                                   leap 




Posted for dVerse Poets Pub:   Poetics - Comfort Smells by guest Gina of Singledust.
Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.  Thanks for the visit.

Murmurs in the crowd

I move with the crowd, stepping forward, stepping back, as if in a familiar dance. My facial expression is reflected in the faces all around me.  My hands are curled in, protecting my space, so thin it is an invisible distance.   Am I unique and special?  Against the sea of humanity of every skin and hair color, I am but a speck, perhaps a leaf falling unnoticed to the pavement.  Commuting does this to you - a perspective of the other's heartbeat, a bigger world.

On the upside, there is comfort in the shared journey, even for a short period of time.  Wherever we came from, and where we are heading to, here is a communal space - a base of touchdown,  a point of reference.  There is safety in numbers, as if it is a validation that I am going to the right direction.  Even the clothes  and shoes I am wearing is validated by the crowd of commuters.   We are all mirrors of each other, glazed by city dust.

Outside the train, the windows tell a story of our changing seasons.   The maple trees have turned to pumpkin yellow, mellow orange and brown hues. Grey clouds and mist hover most of our mornings.   A chill nips the air and the geese have taken flight to warmer shores.    We huddle in our seats- coats, sweaters, boots- waiting for the doors to chime, opening to another flood of faces.   

murder of crows 
on power lines and street lamps-
sunset recedes, falling leaf-





Posted for dVerse Poets Pub, Haibun Monday:   Murmuration with guest host Qbit/Randall.  Theme:  One's self, En-Masse.  Please join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.