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.