ice deep

encase me in your belly
down
deep 
basin of the lake

in stillness
hear sounds of
giant turtle, salamander,
turkey vulture-
gathering of burnt
corn, feathers,
bear skin

that crisp orange-yellow
of setting sun
doesn't ripple-melt me

i sleep
in the tranquility of ever-
                                      green 

  My photos of Lake Crawford, Milton, Ontario.
An Iroquoian village lived near this lake over 600 years ago.

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub  - Quadrille,hosted by Lillian.  This is a 44 word post with the given word - tranquility.   

Notes about Lake Crawford:  Meromictic Lake

The heart of the park is the eponymous meromictic lake: Crawford Lake. Do you know what makes this lake a rarity? The lake is deeper than its surface area, so the lowest levels of water are very rarely disturbed, and little oxygen reaches the lowest levels. It’s the unique qualities of a meromictic lake that led to an exciting discovery—where science unveiled local history. Researchers and scientists found ancient corn pollen deep in the sediment of the lake. The presence of corn meant settlements, and thus this began the research, which concluded, that First Nations groups settled in this area over six hundred years ago.

canvas

come dusk, you cross stitch your words 
into canvas, musing if gold threads 
can appear from air.  you marvel 
at frayed hues of butterfly, black wings
of crows, perched on street lines- 
you wait as moon grazes the night sky

imagine- sketching your face in sky
with bonsai trees & feathers, words
buzzing in your ears, squiggly lines
twirling in sand dunes, what threads
can capture, hold this  - your wings
are edging you to unknown - a marvel

of stars & beyond, a marvel
of abyss, uncharted dark sky
you capture what you see, wings
clipped, broken, then free as words
you don't need a map to spool threads
what you need is space, no lines

as you paint on walls, out of lines
where boats tug wispy clouds, a marvel
to catch on shorelines without threads -
now, you are running breathless, sky
is grey, with need to plump out words
bigger than your canvas, your wings

wandering bring me hope, my wings
one day, will unfurl, wriggle past lines
of square boxes, marry words
with panache and spice, I'll marvel
at tiny beetles under sky-
all the hands that nurture, pulling threads

apart, until threads become lines
inking wings and forests, a marvel
to see -sky of birds, my body of words




Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Sestina, Poetry Form, hosted by Victoria Slotto.   This is a my first work-in-progress sestina, so any feedback is appreciated.   This follows the pattern:

1. A,B,C,D,E,F
2. F,A,E,B,D,C
3. C,F,D,A,B,E
4. E,C,B,F,A,D
5. D,E,A,C,F,B
6. B,D,F, E,C,A
7. BE, DC, FA (The envoi of three lines with BDF midline and ECA as the end lines.) Note: The Poetry Foundation gives this variation on the envoi: FB, AD, EC. Use either one.

watching_protest march_

raindrops drip-drop-drip 
on roof as i eat  
words in safety of my home

but i know that smell-
streets crackling-exploding-burning 
with tension-    
                       firestorm

from afar

i wish you energy 
as you walk and let your
                        voices be your drum-
beats, blistering thunder-
claps across
                        mutinous         sky




Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Quadrille, a poem of 44 words, with the word, VOICE.   My poem is in support of the protest marches happening in other countries like Hong Kong and Russia.

August moon

Half moon, cradle of shadows and light
Needle our eyes to star-burst night
Thump our chests, mired in hemlock & brine

Half moon, cradle of shadows and light
Draw green corn and grain on our palms
Our eyes are blinded by red summer haze  

Half moon, cradle of shadows and light
May we fish abundantly in lakes 
As tides bow, searching for your fullness 



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

summer light

The gravel sand clacks under my shoes
I walk up the uneven road, wildflowers
astray with bees and butterflies sucking 
sweet fragrance under warm sun
Each floating seed, spinwheel 
of cotton dreams, I inhale 
   it all

The city's skyline is haze of grey
Against field of green pines
Chickadees flit, soft brown coats
as I color each falling petal
crinkled purple, pink and yellow
until I am sun-smudged, light 
    as air



Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Purifying the Mind, hosted by Linda Lee Lyberg.  Thanks for the visit.