the choir of spring

Fay Collins Art

paint me a mirage of purple and lilacs
to bouquet the sky of grey & icy nights-
spring awaits, choir of colors, firebox-

i watch the rain hammer the bare backs
of trees as sun billows behind bland whites-
paint me a mirage of purple and lilacs

my hands are tarred in disquiet sacs
viewing heads of dead roses, a fright-
where's spring, choir of colors, firebox?

my eyes are strained, seeing snow in cracks
of climbing walls & flower pots, knitted tight
is this season a mirage of purple and lilacs?

i count the hours where i'll sit on hammock,
read my books with slow pace and re-write 
spring's arrival with choir of colors, firebox-

the gem in my canvas of cottonwood & hemlock-
my footsteps turn to fancy and air light                                
paint me, in a mirror of purple and lilacs
as spring arrives in choir of colors & firebox!





An edited post for dVerse Poets - Villanelle, Poetry Form, hosted by Sarah Connors.   This is the 4th poetry form for dVerse and the link will be open for 1 month.   Join us with your villanelle.   

the map that changed me

I wear a coat of red
inhaling icy air of winter 
from Blue mountains to Lake Ontario
at 2 C, my skin is tough as maple tree

As I stand on top of Centennial park hill
a black hawk swirls above wind-tossed sky
my eyes scan sunlit cityscape   
from Mississauga condo buildings & houses
to the CN Tower at the distant Toronto City

This land is not a stranger
Not anymore, from falling autumn leaves to
maple syrup, to toque & snow pants, trees in
Riverwood Conservation and Halton Hills parks

Though Downtown Toronto is familiar work map
I love hiking along Credit River & Etobicoke Creek
rejoicing with orange breasted cardinals,
red winged blackbirds, swans and geese 
clawing and feasting on rain-soaked soil 

Over 14 seasons, I flowed 
into nature's cycle, a single raindrop 
into the mighty Niagara Falls, encompassing 
all our small beginnings into 1 mighty roar - home

Centennial Park, March 25, 2019

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Geography, Poetics,hosted by Anmol.  Please join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.

black clouds

charred earth, i return to you
my voice hoarse as wind
murmuring goodbyes you don't hear
a fireball caught me

as my voice, hoarse as wind
was silenced by explosion
a fireball caught me
how was i to know death came

silently, an explosion
the sky was burning river
how was i to know death came 
from clouds, black by silt and stones 

as the sky turned to burning river
murmuring goodbyes you don't hear
from clouds, black by silt & stones, to
charred earth, i return to you



Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight - Hosted by Kim Russell.   
This poem is written for those killed in the recent Ethiopian airline crash, that killed 157 people on board. "Some family members have been given charred earth from the crash site to help remember their loved ones."

catching my silhouette

a black hawk

hunches inside of me

subway train grinds, 
moving the city 
in same direction
to east/west
then south/north

actually, the animal 

may be a giant whale

heaving one deep exhale

-who0000oosh-

overhead, perched on buildings 
are pigeons and gulls
scavenging scraps of bread
mirroring city folks, 
whose bodies move clock-
wise, counter clock-
wise

i listen

-hummmm-

of bees & hummingbirds

to murmuration of starlings

carrying me

to feet of wild forest 

to towering hair of willow tree

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetic Hum hosted by Gina.  I am always striving to hear my poetic hum above the noise of the city and my hectic work life.

The challenge:

What is the poetic hum in your life? What hums in the background of your life that inspires you as you unconsciously listen while you work and live? Is the drone always there or do you have to cultivate the inspiration?

lessons of life

Teach me tough love
Staking my stand, numbed with fear
Grow my hands thick, boxing gloves
When I'm speared by slights and jeers

Staking my stand, numbed with fear
Flint my spirit with fire
When I'm speared by slights and jeers 

Rocket my voice, clanging up to spire

Flint my spirit with fire
Through cloudy days & starless nights
Rocket my voice, clanging up to spire
Sky is my cathedral, pewtered in light

Through cloudy days & starless nights
Grow my hands thick, boxing gloves
Sky is my cathedral, pewtered in light
Teach me tough love




Posted for dVerse Poets -Thanks to Victoria Slotto for giving us some pointers in writing poetry forms.    This post is linked to Poetry Form:  Pantoum.  Any constructive feedback is appreciated.   The backgrounder for this poem is learning about a nephew who is being bullied in high school and is undergoing some self esteem issues.   The parents are also undergoing some tough times in supporting and helping him handle the situations. 

Thanks for the visit.

with a squeeze of lemon juice

as I turn the book

words leap, delicious as 
      sugar-spice
images and faces are luminous 
      as stars
i imagine pianos 
      playing   
away in winter-iced rooms 

sun is orange-rust flower
        peeling 
sky is shimmering river, glass 
        blued    
as i drink red wine spiked 
        with rum





Posted for dVerse Poets  - Quadrille hosted by De Jackson.   This is a 44 word post, with the word, SPIKE.   Thanks for your visit.

a man asks for directions

he is seated across me
         in subway train

in white jacket and pants
         he is lost cat
standing out
in sea of black and grey winter outfits

the woman beside him
         puts away her phone
gestures animatedly
         where to go, what bus to take, etc

her hands are whirling dandelions
her face is a lighthouse

the man leans in, 
        listening intently, clarifying information
he is pleased with the conversation

so much so 
that he bows his head slightly
        smiling delightfully
as he slides out of subway doors
        elegantly as a swan

his hand is holding a corsage 
his face is first day of spring dance 




Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight - Thanks for the visit.

the silent hour

I failed to see the hour of the sunset

In silent room, where vase of marigold

promises spring & stories untold

Your hands are still, pickled by distress

In silent room, where vase of marigold

hides from fury & sorrow no one can address

Your hands are still now, pickled by distress

It is time to weep & fold

And hide this fury - this sorrow -no one can address 

I refrain from gathering stones, my chest is cold 

Is it time to weep & fold

Remembering the times of cheers & guesses

I refrain from gathering,  stones in my chest are cold

Numbed by promises of spring & stories untold

Remembering the times of cheers & guesses

I failed to see the hour of the sunset



Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Hosted by Lillian.  The poetic form is Pantoum.   Please give your constructive feedback as this is my first time to compose a poem in this form.  I am not sure if my last stanza is correct.

Inspired by Tuesday's poetics, Turn, turn, turn:

For everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven:  a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; a time to seek, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away; a time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak; a time to love, and a time to hate; a time for war, and a time for peace. 

Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 American Standard Version (ASV)