december winter

 

I. before the sun sets

sunlight swells as mushroom

above skeleton-boned trees

so warm as maple syrup

yet so brief as a passing cloud

i savor its divineness

breathing in the blessed heat

bestowing stillness

a gift 

II. freezing rain

snowflakes on wooden porch

sparkly white diamonds

that turns into black ice rain

{deadly}

i slipped & fell

as the bird falling from the nest

effortless as a paper, breaking bones

how i wish i could have scooped it up

breathing wind into its wings & eyes

i tread carefully now

missing the birdsongs in the garden

{life}

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Zen Poetry, which I am hosting as our last post for 2022.  Join us when the virtual pub doors open at 3pm EST. Happy Holidays and Happy New Year!!!  

an infinity of endings

 

you....   get roller coaster nightmares

(&) mutiny of blues & fire storm

-perfect for star-gazing-

for this gnarled gardener's hands

you...... forget - life is now - leaps into

empyrean of sunlight on fading grass

with the eyes of a child -

i inhale.... sweetness of soap & sunshine

of solitude 

Sunday is <lost> in books & clouds, forgetting time & Monday

i sink.... into blur lake bottom

you and i mirror yesterday>>>> in a swoop

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - MTB - In my end is my beginning, hosted by Laura Bloomsbury.   I have taken the endings of my poems for the last months, and rewritten them into a new poem.

a feast (a list)

 

my nostrils filled with spicy chicken soup, my fingers warmed by buttered bread

a foggy morning, clouds on my head, dewdrops on my feet

an upbeat R&B music, soft humming of appliances in the house

a winter blue plate, oiled by spices, white painted over cracks

the hush of the room, mess of clothes & accessories, smell of soap & towels

bare garden, a pot of spring seeds, soggy splayed summer leaves

an empty page of the book, unanswered questions, hanging conversation

the silence of trees & birds, scattered fallen leaves, broken flower shrubs

slow drip of melting winter ice, fading sunlight on walls, faint sounds of laughter

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

november

creeps in, a foggy morning

a blur of maple & birch

leaves are falling into heap

weaving colorful & soft bed

do you recall the burning

fires of dawn, or the time we

went bazaar shopping for cheap

clothes, munching on sugar bread

but your face is blank, warning

me that your memories are

sliding into deeper sleep-

this is something we long dread-

in overcoming mourning

you forget - life is now - leap!

           Autumn leaves                    

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - MTB, hosted by Bjorn Rudberg.  The poetry form is a bref double form, with 3 quatrains and a couplet.  I have used the rhyme scheme of a-x-b-c for the quatrian and a-b for the couplet.  See you at 3pm EST when the pub doors open for more poetry.

travel note - dear sis (aug 1963-april 2018)

 

red hibiscus by the gate opens up

to the morning sun, each petal surging

with glorious energy

the house remains the same

as if you and Dad are still here

your photos, your clothes, travel albums,

Dad's electronic gadgets & records 

still litter the shelves & tables

its hard to believed it has been more 

than 4 years, with the graves (yours & Dad's)

carefully tended

with yellow bells and red flowers, and grass-

i see that the cemetary is being spruced up for

the visitors who will clog the markers & graves

with candles & prayers in remembrance

of the dead on Nov. 1

the tradition is to travel and visit 

with flowers, food, stories & merriment 

laughter will be heard

as it is

indeed a celebration

of happy memories

of friends and family connections

i came to visit quietly and briefly

your travel mementos are still gracing the walls 

your prayer inspired frames are still set up in the bathroom

your Zen-inspired garden outside the bedroom is thriving

though we are all moving on

we remember you and Dad with love

This is a follow up post to my original post titled, may you see field of tulips on your journey.

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Dia De Los Muertos, hosted by Mish.   Pub doors open at 3pm.

travel diary (+12 hr time difference)

 

i smell the green of tropical plants

under the unrelenting sun

humid air

perfumes

grilled seasoned meats,

rice rolled sweets, coconut-sugar treats

one scary note was

driving the car & sharing the road

with motorcycles bee-swarming

left and right-

you get roller coaster nightmare- 

Red Hibiscus

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Quadrille, hosted by De Jackson.   The selected word is SCARE, to be written in 44 words.  My post is a bit different from the Halloween theme, but its a scary reality when driving around the Philippines (and other Asian countries).   Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.  

the bassist

 

unfinished music sheets & riffs

untied laces on messy floor 

unhurried words, disconnected  

unguarded, you could have fooled me

music is your pill, oxygen 

muffling all the suttered sadness

muscles uncoil, your fingers fly

mutiny of blues & fire storm

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Using the head rhymes in the Traditional Mongolian Meter.   Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm

the beats of the city

this city is a chameleon

one day, it is silver granite with shiny buildings

one summer dusk, it is festive & noisy with tourist buses

one October night, it is artsy, soulful with balloons & stage lights

one winter night, it is pristine snow & mud, booming with silence

 

blue-draped by Lake Ontario

this is an entry port for immigrants, 

a nook to find one's space & voice

a stairway to higher ambitions & studies

yet this city can be a deathbed

indifferent to the calluses of one's labor

a rusty knife to those needled arms

hazy with alchohol addiction

a bitter soup to the lost & homeless prowling

the train stations for coins

for all that it is, colorful & flavorful 

a blend of many cultures & languages

a peaceful bounty to the endless flow of refugees-

it is a steady rock

to the hopefuls-

this city is filled with second & third chances-

there is redemption 

that is, if you didn't knock yourself out

in the first round

-accept the gifts of failures & learn from it-

over time

for me, this city becomes a boat 

laden with coats, blankets, music sheets, silk

& spices from all over the world-

you ride along its sails

& draw & redraw your own map

& when you are sick of the city lights,

there is a road up north, filled with apple trees

-perfect for star-gazing-

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetics:  Allen Ginsberg and The Beat Generation, Hosted by Sanaa Rizvi.  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.

The pomegranate garden

Unstitch my mouth of black threads & brine

Unbound my hands, I am in search of garden

I am marking with red seeds, this path, mine

Not on your ancient books or shrines

Not on your laws with heavy curtains

Unstitch my mouth of black threads & brine

Your morality police lacks spine

My voice, my face etched with burdens

I am marking with red seeds, this path, mine

Searching for my own power & shine

Your cruel blows kill - I can't pardon

Unstitch my mouth of black threads & brine

Do you fear that I will get out of line?

I am Eve and Anahita

I'm marking this body with red seeds, mine

With sacred twigs & water from the garden

I'll draw rockets, stairways, freedom

I unstitch my mouth of black threads & brine

I am marking with red seeds, this path, mine

The Pomegranate Garden,” acrylic on canvas mounted on shaped wood panels, 74 x 57 x 8 inches

Inspired by the Iranian artist, Arghavan Khosravi, Colossal.

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight.  Join us with your poem when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.  Have a good weekend!

seeds

within my gardener's pockets are seeds

i harvested all seasons-

round & small as buttons

flat & pointed as pins

white, brown, speckled, yellow, black 

or shiny and pearly

i have all the colors- 

soon, i will open my shed for more seeds-

mottled, scarred, rusty, half-pitted ones-

it comes

from all over my travels

i have kept them in the darkness for the season

but now it it time

to scatter them in the wide fields

all the seeds are covered with soil & water & compost

i don't know which ones will take root & grow

some will blossom in a few weeks with leaves

some will decay underneath the soil and never

even bloom

but this i know:  all are good 

so are the sky, sun, rain, cloud storms and creatures

pollinating and moving the pollen & grains-

there will be good fruits to harvest

there will also be plants to prune and throw away

one rotten apple does not mean the tree is not good

sometimes we just need to look for other good apples 

& often times finding one good apple is enough

for this gnarled gardener's hands

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub -  A discussion on Good and Evil, hosted by Punam.  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.  

early autumn

 

We walk on a few fallen red maple leaves.  It is still in the early fall season as most of trees have their leaves.   The leaves have started to change colors to pink lemonade, beige and honey, forming a delightful umbrella versus the grey sky.  We talk about how quickly summer time has passed as it was suddenly my dad's 5th death anniversary in September.   Time has softened the memories into an old movie projector and I can pick out the reels with happier and carefree times.  Soon, our footsteps lead us to a river, flowing with rhythmic beat to the wind.  

beneath the glass sky,

leaves spark a fire of colors-

river ripples, ducks- 

Posted for dVerese Poets Pub, Haibun Monday - September Song, with guest host, Xenia Tran.  The virtual pub doors open at 3pm EST.

rocket man

 

let's wander under the skirts of the stairs

& the elbows of the turrets

& spiral down to the edge of the dark forest 

my blue suit is ready for flights of imagination

my hand draws axis on sun windows and 

arching bridges to nowhere points

i have pinpointed a planet-

a belt with a red moon and young stars-

i drink your green bowl of solace

as you zip up my meandearing compass

my launch lug is filled with your lush meadow

and melancholic dove songs

i am ready to blast off to  

the skelter helter sky & stardust

my moonflower queen-

you can be sure of one thing:

there is no home like

you

Credit:   Lee Madgwick

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - The strange houses of Lee Madgwick, hosted by Sarah.   This is my choice, among the 5 photos we are to write about.  Pub doors open at 3pm EST.

list of summer's bounty

 

my lazy left eye draws

the half-moon, a solandis 

as i capture the last of summer's bounty-

peachness of ripe oranges  

abundance of tomatoes in boxes 

fallen rose petals

a susurrus of the cool breeze

slow drawl of honey bees

burble of chickadees on red barbarry shrub

babble of racing black squirrels

bloom of the last yellow bud of cucumber 

greeness of rotting crab apples

empyrean of sunlight on fading grass

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub- Poetics - There's a word for that, hosted by Mish.  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm.  

Choices

 

i close the door

& walk out of the building

& wait 

this can be a beginning

or an ending

or maybe a middle muddled situation

or a detour 

my feet & lungs are anxious

to know of my decision

there are many choices

but by now,

i write my story on sands

and journal my walks on origami paper

these are not set on stones

but built on windy re-takes and mid-

night revisions 

for every decision - this is 

which comes with one big exhale of relief

there is hundred fold sharpness of - this is not

but here is tricky part

you learn to live with this over time

-the fullness & emptiness of it-

& if you are lucky,

you will have your 2nd or 10th time around

the time carousel

and this time, you can make <another> choice-

-witness the first sunrise or sunset- 

with the eyes of a child

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub:   Poetics : Choice by guest host, Christopher Reilley.   Join us when the pub doors open at 3 pm EST.

scents in the house

i.

a twig of rosemary

a fist of fresh basil leaves

a dash of pepper & thyme & lime

on homemade soup and grilled meats- 

the table top creases of ripe blue berries

and yellow banana oats muffins-

i'll wait here >>>

after i devour my plate 

of canned dog food

ii.

fallen

green crab apples on ground-

brown-edged

maple leaves on sun-burnt grass-

smell of early autumn

iii.

down the rabbit hole at the back of the house

i trace back

the city where i grew up

small park around the church & stores-

smelling of sugar canes & fresh sugar fields-

every street corner filled with rice sugar treats-

the summer heat fills my nostrils like smoke-

my bones are diabetic now

but my hands search for that sweet air of sugar-

the cotton-candy-kind-of-missing one's childhood

iv.

i press my cheek

on my grandchild's head of curly curls-

in between sticky fingers of saliva drools

i inhale sweetness of soap & sunshine-

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - A World of Scents, with guest host Jo.  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.

earthly home

 

all around me, earth

filling me with its soft breath

& hardening my skin of rocks 

the salt is my lifeline

the sky is my sea-green world

though i am just an oyster

within me, is home

to a pea crab

within me, is white mountain

of pain

within me, is food & brine

to lavish & cleanse

within me, is forest

of solitude 

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub- Tuesday Poetics - the four elements, hosted by Sarah Connor.  I have chosen the element of earth (the other choices are fire, air and water).  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.

Fever

 

fallowed yellow, you're the autumn

i sink into, blur lake bottom

your tarot hands are cool blue

soothing my butterflies coup

you tell me, i'll be okay 

moon fever will pass like whey

fallowed yellow, you're the autumn

i sink into, blur lake bottom

Posted for dVerse Poets pub - Poetry form is Octelle.  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.

The Octelle, created by Emily Romano, is a poem consisting of eight lines using personification and symbolism in a telling manner. The syllable count structure for this verse is 8, 8, 7, 7, 7, 7, 8, 8, and the rhyme scheme is aa/bb/cc/aa. The first two lines and the last two lines are identical.

In August

I. 

red is the torrid skin

bare to the summer sun

flesh turns beet red & tomato plump

hips swaying to the outdoor music festival

tongue devours the cool ice & wine, sweet

as peaches, plums and strawberries

golden yellow, dark velvet, earthly brown-

we celebrate ripeness in all its colors & spices

II.

red is the torrid sky

scorching the grass to dry pale paper

burning the borreal forest to ash & soot

the sky is smoking darkness during the day

the smell of destruction is invasive 

as gypsy moths, all that was vibrant and tall

are now burnt by growing wildfire in an instant

the charred soil is a reminder that death

stamps, entwining with life's abundance

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetics, Sometimes August isn't recognized, hosted by Sanaa Rizvi.  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.     During the summer months here in Canada (July to August), we get wildfires in the forests. It is a total destruction of homes and communities.  

Time in a Loop

 I lean into the summer light

With a whiff of yesterday's song

Heat was sweltering, our palms sweaty 

Figuring out where's the exit, under all the confetti

Confetti strips on my lashes, 

Lashes wet from rain, weight of blues

Blues polished under the silver moon

Moon is grand but a stoic muse

I gave him nothing to reel & relish

All our memories crashed in the hard drive - perished

All my poems tossed in the black sand

We figured out that peace comes with heavy strands

Strands of shadows & rough greys

Greys in rainbows after the quick storms

Storm of hail lulls, with the burst of afternoon sun 

Sunroom, where it all started like a dream

We now wander in circles, ever widening

Our calendars out of sync, tides are running

In a knot of missed hitches, time is a loop 

You and I mirror, yesterday in a swoop

Note:  This is a variation of Loop Poetry.  The other ones are:

I.   Summertime in Ontario

Yesterday’s cold dusted in a blink

Blink, and the minute turns

Turns to long hour, my eyes

Eyes the clock, sun burns

Morning air is humid, crackles

Crackles turn to birdsongs

Birdsongs break the crisp hum, hush

Hush! where’s the rain, so far along

Evening paints a peach cooler time

Time is patient as sugar maple trees

Trees so vibrant green, summer is a toast

Toast to begonias, blue sky, buzzing bees!

II.  Weekdays in a blur

Monday {yawns} opens the door to Tuesday

Tuesday rushes in, fluffs the pillows for Wednesday

Wednesday offers ice wine & hot gossip to Thursday

Thursday laps it all up, in cruise control, awaiting Friday

Friday is in a pink party mood, dancing until early Saturday

Saturday is in no hurry, lounging in pajamas until Sunday

Sunday is <lost>in book & clouds, forgetting time & Monday

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Loop Poetry.   Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST and try your hand in loop poetry.  There are 3 variations of loop poetry and I have shown all 3 here.  Thanks for your visits and comments.   

Variations:

1. Stanzas, writers choice on the number, no rhyming, the last word, first word scheme is maintained.

2. One long stanza, no limit on number of lines, no rhyming scheme, the last word, first word scheme is maintained.

3. Couplets mixed with 4 line stanzas, the last word, first word scheme is maintained in the stanzas. It can also be used in the couplets. Rhyme scheme is ab, cc, defg, hh, ii, jklm, nn, oo.

a fraction of infinity

in a bunch

a fraction of the skin

of yellow bananas

turns speckling brown spots

ripening in haste,

multiplying in shades

darkening over the days in platter

as freckles on my cheeks

(visible patterns)

tiny as spiralling dots

(not as wild as sunflower seeds)

as crow's feet & wrinkles under my eyes

(growing webbed lines, creased by wind-)

burn under summer sun

(infinity plays in my mind)

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetics - Fractuals, hosted by Lisa Fox.  My post was inspired by looking at the bananas, which is ripening so fast in summer.

Thanks for your comments and visits.

The gift came with instructions

 

She gave us a gift in box: packets of seeds

Bearing various shapes - bird's feet, fish's eyes, clouds, bones

Holding the promise of fruits from caring deeds

We took the storms, thoughtless insults and sharp stones

That came our way. Instead we made maps, beads

of peace, stories from forests, lakes and pine cones-

Our one voice echoed with other voices

Our two hands multiplied with calm choices 

What we could not imagine, happens:   kindness

Rooting, growing, removing our blindness

Spreading from home to home, this gift that binds us

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Eleventh Power (and More) - The poetry form that I have selected has the following elements:

1. stanzaic, written in any number of 11 line stanzas.
2. syllabic, 11 syllables each.
3. rhymed, rhyme scheme: abababccddd or ababababccc.

There is also an option of a List Poem in an 11 line stanza.  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.  Thanks for the visits and comments.

Late for breakfast

 

“Never love a wild thing…If you let yourself love a wild thing. You’ll end up looking at the sky.” ― Truman Capote, Breakfast at Tiffany’s and Three Stories

she's artless

allowing the sun to smear 

her skin of dew and blue wildflowers

her shoulders are a soft bed to lean

your weary head to

her hands are tender tendrils

but once she holds on to a rock or tree

they are resilient, strong as rope

during autumn her face is a work of art

fading & wrinkled lines, silver threads,

orange-brown speckles, the golden hours

of conversations are short but meaningful

we say our goodbyes with warmth of steeped tea - 

cozy, not clinging so tight, but letting

go easily as breeze, carefree as blue sky

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub:   Breakfast at Tiffany's, hosted by Linda Lee Lyberg.  I chose this quote as an inspiration and epigram for my poem.  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.

seeds for a successful harvest

 imagine: 

a fruit from seed 

sun-warm & greening from fresh rain 

you nurture it everyday

with fervor of busy bees

each nod & nudge

celebration of small steps -

one small leaf

one flower blossoming

each tendril binding 

to core of it all:

mother earth

Growing cucumber, herbs & other vegetables on my balcony

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Quadrille, Let's Celebrate, hosted by Merril D. Smith.  This is a 44 word post with the chosen word, Celebrate.   Happy 11th anniversary dVerse!!!!!  On a personal note, my attitude towards celebration is the same with gardening - small steps towards a goal is worthy of a celebration.

Thank you for the support, visits and comments.   

a letter (to myself)

so you have dropped 

your shield 

of plastic of red and blue

& timid fists 

running away from the loud-mouths

in the playground

it was more pathetic in school

when no one wanted to play 

with you during recess time

you

speaking with a different tongue

growing up in a different part of the country

to them, you were a strange, foreign sounding girl

who hid in the library & empty classrooms-

a wild flower, with easily-trampled upon

petals

that time is done

i tell you now, that time will pass

like tides

people & events change all the time, 

what you didn't know was that

every insult & hurtful words

toughened your skin and gritted your teeth

as you grew up 

as an adult 

as a mother of your village

your voicebox became stronger 

everyday

you pick positive thoughts & vase them

on your table

you fly your flags & keep your boundaries

some days, you wish you are holding that

small shield - plastic of red and blue -

as if it was an amulet, armor or a sword

but then you remind yourself,

you've have made a shield over time-

its called self-love

self-care

self-respect

it's a river, all flowing 

within you

Posted for dVerse Poets pub - Handling Peer Pressure, hosted by Sanaa Rizvi.  The idea came to me when we gifted my grandson a plastic Captain America shield.   He was very happy to get it like it was a powerful real shield.   For myself, I am now able to handle any peer pressure.  It comes with time & a lot of experiences.  Thanks for your visits and comments.  

Just a note that dVerse will be going on a 2 week summer break and that we will be back on July 11.   

History Lessons

This land has a history

Of pretenders who crown themselves

rulers

Of tax people who believe

that gold currency is thicker than blood

Of ruthless charlatans

who proclaim -

follow my words and ask no questions 

This land has a history

Of idealist students & artists who said

honesty is the best policy

Of street protesters who

were arrested, silenced and killed

Of mothers whose children

were banished to reform schools

and returned with Samson-cut hair

A birth name is forgotten

A native tongue is lost

A folk song is never played

An umbilical cord to earth has been

forever severed

Who does this land belong to?

There is bounty for all 

Forests, seeds, fruits, flowers, lakes

But the puppetiers and despots

have changed the script

and rewritten history to suit the fate lines

on their palms

I write to you

young people of this land:

hear the sadness of matriarch elephants

listen to the loneliness of ancient trees

take heed of the whale song from the sea

all that glitters is not gold

Heed my warning:  

Those who do not learn from history

are doomed to repeat it*

*Quote from George Santayana

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Meeting the Bar with guest host, Anna Montgomery.  Fall seven times, stand up eight where we explore aphorisms, myth, and fables by writing our own gnomic poetry. I have used maxims and aphorism in my poem.   

An invite to a party

 

Each guest will bring

A poetry book to read

To a garden party

Brimming with roses & tomatoes

Smell of peonies, spice of citrus

We will listen to each guest

Read the words

Of dead poets

Of living poets

Their own poems in draft format

It does not matter

This is not a euology

But a banquet of imagery & paradox 

Amidst tea cups and wine glasses

A valley grows with pear & apple trees

A cloud storm erupts with sunflower seeds

A lake shimmers with bluest of blues

We voice each spoken word with vibrancy

of buzzing bees

We will each have our turn 

with word salad, 

soup of alliterations,

and generous helpings of hyperbole

then, we will enjoy the dessert of 

exquisite haiku from Basho and Issa

Then each guest will select a book

from my bookshelves

or exchange poetry books with each other

To bring to their home

What a fun merry-go-round of books it will be!

The books will outlast us

eventually

At 6pm, the party will end

No goodbyes will be said

Only see you at the next one

On the way out, each guest

will receive  

thank you note with

my unfinished poem:

Twilight glows vivid violet & red-orange

“A certain butterfly is already on the wing.”

Quote:

• “A certain butterfly is already on the wing.” Vladimir Nabokov

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Words of Departure, Hosted by Laura Bloomsbury.  Join us when the virtual pub doors open at 3pm EST.   Thank you.

under the painting of strawberry pink moon, you

 

write me 

bass drum robust lyrics

heart pounding swaying beat

moving limbs to salsa  

then a slow saxophone mood

scooping blues & easy guitar riffs

spooning us to drowsiness, a spell  

we add running-out-of-time kisses,

shiver of throbbing sun

in this cozy windowless room 

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub- Quadrille, hosted by Sanaa Rizvi.   This is a 44 word post with the chosen word, SPELL.  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.  Thanks for your comments.

Summer Meadow

the morning mist rolls away

budding blooms & sage leaves sway

summer blends the sky soft griege

painting everything so new:

field of violets, vulgar & vicacious

startled eyes of deers, clear as raindrop

meet our city's rust, filling the shadows

of our sadness & grief, time slows

our footprints fade amidst the wort 

our words mingle with wild flowers 

we discovered our peace & backs

in the silence of wayward tracks

we inhale the growing heat, blessed

that we have found a moment of rest

 

 by Carl Zimmerman, Deer in the Summer Meadow

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub- Sun, Sand, Storms and Celebrations:  Summer Ekphrastic, hosted by Merril D. Smith.  Join us when the virtual pub doors open doors open at 3pm EST.

my garden bed is buzzing

 

may your summer morning be bright

as purple salvia, flashier than eggplant

dangling from vine, lush & lethargic

may your garden flowers bloom

with spike of ginger & tantrum of cumin

as bees hum a hot peppery buzz

<an alarm goes off>

i wake up 

and there is a down-

pour, 

my garden boots are 

muddy greasy

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub- Meet the Bar with Dissonance, hosted by Bjorn Rudberg.  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.

The Unravelling

"(There are) many stories which are not on paper, they are written in the bodies and minds of women."

By Amrita Pritam

Unweave these threads across my face

They are bondages that muffles my voice

My word has weight, my name has grace

What you see with nary a shadow or trace 

Of question, interest or life, is a mirage

Unweave these threads across my face

You'll hear my sad songs welling from vase

Broken a long time ago, a bleak montage

My word has weight, my name has grace

I recall them, underneath this shame of lace 

Over my thin shoulders cowed low

Unweave these threads across my face

That you will see me truly, in a place

Worthy & joyful.  I'll let the words steep, stir-

My word has weight, my name has grace

Out of my belly & bosom, into your palms

To hold my face, bare, sun-warmed  

Unweave these threads across my face

My words have weight, my name has grace

Source

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub, Poetics:  Women are people: invoking Amrita Pritam with guest host, Punam Sharma.  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.

Snapshots of late May (early summer)

 

morning brings promises of peonies- 

sky mirrors an invitation-

tarry with the chores

and fold away the to-do-lists

i pause at half-planting the store-

bought vegetables in container pots-

i listen to birdsongs

& marvel the bees in the garden

the forget-me-nots dally

with blue iris & blossoming rose buds- 

the summer air is delicious

as freshly baked sourdough bread-

in a minute, wind blows white seed-

heads of a dying 

dandelion, puffy wispy clouds

beyond my grasp-

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Join us for OpenLinkNight when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.  Thanks for your visits and comments.

Watchers, A Murder of Crows

in the dusty streets

no one minds you

strutting with snarl

with mean spitted eyes

with greedy shoulders

with oversized ego 

but we watch you

every day 

perched from our steel power lines

high above, joustling at a slightest breeze

we watch your goings in & out

in this city marked with hot brown & red roofs

the sun does not touch us

though the night feeds us with weeds

the sky does not hide our hunger

we are on guard, black & bleak

bitching with clumps

of violent energy, waiting in wings  

we wait for your road-kill rage

of one dead squirrel

or your junk food garbage

just

toss out your coke can & burnt 

last fries

we will swoop down

waves of hysteria in doom

see, there's one big crow 

strutting with snarl

with mean spitted eyes

with greedy shoulders

with oversized ego 

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - A Corvid Poetry, hosted by Ingrid. Thanks for your visits and comments.