"Everyday in every way I’m getting better and better" - Emile Coue
has lost count
of wilting lilacs leis
& awry summer spells
has curious eyes
for rust peeled colors
beneath glossy covers
has locksmith hands
on old clock
while you
between teacup
stirrings & musings
wait for a phrase
to cleave you right
as light
i dance to your sun-
light of green & shamrock
a speckle of butterfly wings
a rustle from birds & chipmunks
wildflowers of pale pink & blue
forget-me-nots swish to breeze
above, the maple and oak trees
tower & stretch their young limbs
the forest is tended by sky, clouds,
wind & rich soil teeming by small creatures
busy bees are hard at work
here is soft bed of fern & moss
here is beating pulse of red
berries, here is musk from damp soil
it is a full house
there is no place like home*
*"There's no place like home" - Wizard of Oz, 1939
Watch the video of Riverwood from my Instagram
Posted for dVerse poets Pub - hosted by Mish. I chose this line from the list of movie quotes. For the long weekend, we went hiking and breathing in nature. Have a good week.
Scribble a summer day
Lilacs scents in the air
Birdsongs fill morning steps
Serene blue is the sky
Paint me a carefree noon
Blue iris blooming joys
As children's red balloons
Buckle kites, straying toys
Compose an evening tune
Setting sun on my tea
The rising flower moon
Pink star we hope to see
he walks with his wounds
underneath his jacket, protesting
words on placard, his voice
a war song in the streets
above the din, old tower bell
chimes
clock wound tight
as wings of departing birds
echo
tides of moon
i keep a storm watch
Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Quadrille, hosted by Lillian. This is a 44 word post with the chosen word - Wound. Thanks for the comments & visits.
I. spring is a simple
daisy
or dandelion or daffodil
tulips rising slender
wonders & joys
easy and sweet as magnolias
mysterious as cherry blooms
i smell life
vibrant as cardinals & blue birds
hopping & pecking on grass for worms-
beautiful & red earth you are
enough for me
II. a white flower bud,
wrinkled & bent as green grass abounds-
a tree shrub, still bare
limbs & not one leaf sprouting on its
arms shiver in the cold wind-
amidst shadbush & thriving red maple trees,
one baby bird
falls off the nest,
waits & shivers into emptiness
i was wrong,
spring is as complicated
as spring snow, dooming
what little life there is
to ice & stone
merciless or merciful, what
is your purpose?
i cannot decide
I thought him first a ferryman, but I was wrong.
He wore the night as one walks with a cane.
Slipping on an ancient body, he was an old
hand to assist you in your crossings.
Next, I thought of him a sentinel & maybe I
am right. He watches the night closely as I count
time striking at midnight before the new year. His
black suit scarcely moving in the wind. His eyes
an orb of midnight oil, brooding as crows
Casting shadows in this street in middle
of the town square. I first ran into him,
waving my passport, asking him where was Kipling
station. He pointed it to me in the map & even
gave me tips to reach the airport. I thanked him
as if he was a locksmith. He brushed it off, saying
the city can be a puzzle
if you don't know north & south, east & west
in his grave watchman's voice.
That's me, confused as a lost cloud
With a ring of copper keys on my hand.
He said, a bunch of keys confused him. He prefers
one fishing line & hook.
I was getting on my way when another man
approached him for help on directions.
He said that I am not a wand maker but I can show
you where to fish, where the water pulls, how to reel
in a catch
It now occured to me what he really was.
He is a tide maker.
He listens to the currents & shapes the tides.
He catches the moon and puts it
inside the street lamp.
And he holds the one silver key to close & open it
To whoever knocks at his door
and ask him
Please, give me back my secrets.
Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetics: Exploring the Narrative Voice, with guest host, Ingrid. Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.
