Tuesday, September 13, 2022

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.


Tuesday, September 6, 2022

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.  

Tuesday, August 30, 2022

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.

Tuesday, August 23, 2022

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.


Tuesday, August 16, 2022

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.


Thursday, August 11, 2022

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.

Tuesday, August 2, 2022

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.  

Thursday, July 28, 2022

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.


Tuesday, July 19, 2022

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.


Thursday, July 14, 2022

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.


Tuesday, July 12, 2022

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.

Monday, July 11, 2022

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.   


Tuesday, June 21, 2022

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.   



Thursday, June 16, 2022

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.   


Tuesday, June 14, 2022

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.



Monday, June 13, 2022

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.


Tuesday, June 7, 2022

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.

Thursday, June 2, 2022

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.

Tuesday, May 31, 2022

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




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.

Thursday, May 26, 2022

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.



Tuesday, May 24, 2022

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.





Thursday, May 19, 2022

spring morning appointment

 

let's meet under the maple tree

the sky is periwinkle blue

the garden is rain-sprinkled, new,


greening & lush, i will bring tea

& you will bring your silence, soft

as dawn, nesting of spry pines, washed


warm amber, soothing our knees

will we mellow & flow into  

radiant spring morning?  i hope so 


there are birdsongs & rowdy bees

& wild dandelions to blow

& red daisies to string & stow


& blooming pink lilacs to see

& wind to chase.  this is no ploy

our pockets will be full of joy!


let's meet under the maple tree

greening & lush, i will bring tea

warm amber, soothing our knees

there are birdsongs & rowdy bees

& blooming pink lilacs to see




Posted for dVerse Poets Pub, Constanza Form,  hosted by Bjorn Rudberg.  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm.  Thanks for the visit and comments.



Tuesday, May 17, 2022

because I can


i bloom as lilac

in mid-may, magenta-pink

lush & heady as honey

dew drops from mid-

night rain

lingers on clumps of pastel stems- 


i twine this bouquet

of pear & apple fruit flowers,

violet iris blooms-

all gifts from late spring & sunshine

on my hair


as seasons change

so do i 

an iteration, not perfect as star-

fish nor crazy as bouncing cart-

wheels, but moving forward


yellowing as wild dandelions-

greening as soft tendrils of vegetables-


because i can - 

dance <between words> under the moon-

light



Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetics on Compound Words, hosted by Lillian.  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.  Thank you for your comments.


Tuesday, May 10, 2022

Ode to a breakfast (with mangoes)

 

they dressed you in cream

heavy fluffed in butter cake

drizzled in chocolate syrup


but i love you best

freshly plucked

from tree

my hands scooping your flowering-

green-eyed by rain

skin yellowed as papaya


with plump flesh

sliced flat across the seed-

a blend of tangy sweet as jasmine & citrus


halved, quartered & diced

you bring the sun's warm

belly within you


here's my young legs racing towards

the smell of unsweetened chocolate brew,

the steam of rolled sticky rice

mellowed in coconut milk

with a dash of salt


wrapped 

in slender palm leaves,


with ripe mangoes

my mornings are gifts from tropical land





Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Bon Appetit Poetry with guest Misky.  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.

Thursday, April 28, 2022

thankful

 

i trace the moon's face with ink

darkness & starlight

- a stunning flower, a pearl-

thank you moon


i gather the blue from the sky,

the unburdened flights of gulls & 

serenity of murmuring tides-

thank you lake


i click & tap on black keyboards

my hands are busy bees

hopping & gliding along excel sheets-

thank you work colleagues


i read the words of dead poets

as yellow daffodils rise & bloom (again)                     

as birdsongs fill the air (again)     

thank you garden        



Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight - Thanks for joining us!                       

Monday, April 18, 2022

the night on chalkboard


let's red-chalk the sky

with celestial wings of dragonfire


let's stamp the trees

with blizzard of star lights


let's singe the garden air

with cumin and tumeric


the words roll-choke around my mouth

then spill

magical spells 


on flamingo legs,

rocketing to the moon



Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Quadrille, hosted by De Jackson.  This is a 44 word with the chosen word, CHALK.  Thanks for your visits and comments.

Tuesday, April 12, 2022

one day


the sky will be a mushroom of blue butterfly wings

the ground will be tallowed with yellow pollen

the trees will be needled with green & pines


the streets will be lively with music

the buildings will be festooned with flags & kites

the church bells will peal with gladness


you will sing again with nightingales

dancing in your yellow skirts & teal hat

relish the family meal of beet soup with garlic bread


i will tally the days with light lamp

and jelly beans in my jar

keeping faith


the sun will keel the broken sails

and rise above the long shadows of grief, dust & dire


dappled light,

at the end of this tunnel, awaits you


Artist:   Vika Muse


“Freedom” – 
This artwork was made due to the hope, that we have the light at the end and the name of this light – is the Victory. That we will survive and rebuild our country.

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetics:  The Light of "Vika Muse", hosted by Mish.

We are getting inspiration for our words from Vika Muse.  Thanks for the comments and visits. 




Monday, April 4, 2022

the paradox of the changing clocks


minute hand moves 

forward, but escape wheel

is stuck


-tiny buds wilt in tail of winter's breath-

-leaves shiver-shrink from false

spring's embrace-


grip this season 

of becoming

as the blossoming earth

peels back


-dead skin-

-mourning dress coats-

we thirst for life

(deeply)



Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Quadrille hosted by Lisa.  This is a 44 word post with the chosen word, SEASON.  Thanks for the your visit and comments.


Thursday, March 24, 2022

Tea at 5:00 pm

 

i leave this familiar abode

in the morning, time moving fast-

the train


noisily chugging across tracks 

behind city streets, underground

tunnels


in the dim lights, my mind wanders

to summer nights when blue rules - sky 

and lake -


slow the sunset tides, slow the burn 

of sands & fading music - bell

rings - stop! -


her fingers are now tapping time-

billable hours, accounting

minutes-


she becomes the clock in the room

tallying with her purse until 

it's time


to head west, passing by strangers-

time moves slow as a sweeper's broom

slow as 


stitched tulip.  trees are calling.  house

is warm tea, inviting.   i meet-

myself




Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetry Form is Synchronicity.   Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm.  Thanks for your visits and comments.


Tuesday, March 22, 2022

Swooning with the moon

I.

The early morning sun holds a mirror

Painting yellow sunflowers on my face

Look, maple trees are wearing green slippers

And flowers are knitting hats with a lace

Busy as bees


II.

The mid-summer sky is an anagram

Where I rearrange the tidy letters

Into clouds of swirling sea tides & kelp

Where boats crammed of tourists, heave, sway & roll

I swoon with geese


III.

The end of the summer night is a page

Half scribbled in blue, hastily as kite

Lost in the rolling fog.   I masquerade

Sipping the last bottle of smooth red wine

Moon on my knees




Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Colour me Poetry, hosted by Sarah Connor.  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.   Thanks for your visits and comments.





 

Monday, March 21, 2022

you write your words


on paper

blue-smudged, yellow-curled of verses

lifting us in lark

of fun, light as clouds


months later,

on grieving your leaving,  

we read 

your letter

<dart-folded plane>


we should've been giggling

but your voice cuts

& weighs heavy as stone door 

we cannot close



Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Quadrille, hosted by De Jackson.  This is a post of 44 words, with the given word, PAPER.   Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.  Thanks for the visits and comments.

Monday, March 7, 2022

after the strong southwest wind

 

when your eyelids shut


do you recall white-pink sands 

or the rage behind mud-graffitied walls 


do you see the bluest skim of lake

or spiralling darkness of missed turns of road signs 


weep

but open your eyes 

the light 

inside you

is never spent



Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Quadrille hosted by Bjorn Rudberg.  This is a 44 word post with the chosen word - EYE.  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.  Thanks for your visit and comments.


Tuesday, March 1, 2022

Clothes


The wind beneath us

Misses our sweat, stains & messes


Rinsed in clean water

Scrubbed in soap & bleach


We jiggle & jam to be free 

Instead you pin our shoulders on


Lines with brown clips

Hooked our faces to marvel


The heat from this cloudless day   

Our bows are scattered across


Blues, pinks, blacks & whites

The sky watches the chorus


of birdsongs & buzzing bees

The green in the grass is new


You peer from the window

ready with your basket & starched hands


to fold us over your skin

Cotton-  softly sagging, frayed edges


Linen-  loosely wrinkled, stretched out

Smelling unabashedly - wind-kneaded, sun-baked -



Franz Marc, Flatternde Wäsche im Wind (1906)



Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetics, March Wind Ekprastic, Hosted by Merril D. Smith.  Thanks for your visits and comments.