cherita

snow

covers the dead maple leaves

& city roads 

all white

soft as river sands

filling in all the emptiness-

darkness steeps

hours with greys & bloodless sky

where are the birdsongs & bees?

my pen hears them, scratching  

away the icy blues of the long night- 

winter's breath is tangerine

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Cherishing the Cherita by Laura Bloomsbury.  Thanks for your visits and comments.

ode to a banana

 

my hand holds

you as a slice of sunshine

folded skin

yellowed as honeydew

your pulp is not sulty as a plum

nor mysterious as dragon fruit

you are a yellow stripe in a strawberry field

of exotic and colorful produce

plucked & peeled

you are my comfort snack

as a well-worn shirt

i wear 

through all the 4 seasons

many will have you fried in

sugar & cinnamon 

or boiled as a steamed fish

or mixed in breakfast oats

mashed

you are home made bread

here is the tea:

i prefer you

fresh and simple as a daisy 

bringing me

easy cares as light as butter-

fly wings

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight where I am hosting.    Happy Thanksgiving to those who celebrate it.    Thanks for your visits and comments.

pirate

 

i pare a pear

ripe

ate it:

pit, ear, air

i tie a teepee

apart tarp

tar it:

tri-peat pitter patter trap

i err

(reaper)

art ate tea, tree, rare pieta

reel it:

R.I.P.

Posted for dVerse Poets - Anagrammatic Poetry, hosted by Bjorn Rudberg.  I have used the letters in my title as words in my poem.  Thanks for your visits and comments.

Stardust

 

A season of darkness descends 

Heavy as our worldly cares 

Of wars & long disagreements

Blanketing candle light with chill

Can we recall the bright sunshine

That books give us, turning hours to

Gold and greens the path we trod upon

Words filled us, stories infused us

Can we fall as sepia brown leaves

Soft against the wind, accepting

Of nature's cycle, dying to dust

Belonging back to soil, a moment

So brief, we are but a speck

So mote, where millions & millions

Have walked this way before

Have gazed to the sky with awe

That we are & all that we can be

is second in time, a blue dot 

Of infinity.  I float, light 

as stardust, the tide rises in me

Of hope, blue as comic ocean

Of love, calling us back home

Inspired by Carl Sagan's Cosmos.  He was the Director of the Laboratory studies and David Duncan Professor of Astrology and Space Sciences at Cornell University . He was the recipient of the Joseph Priestly Award "for distinguished contributions to the welfare of mankind", and the Pultzer Prize for literature.  He died in Dec. 1996.

“The nitrogen in our DNA, the calcium in our teeth, the iron in our blood, the carbon in our apple pies were made in the interiors of collapsing stars. We are made of starstuff.”

“One glance at a book and you hear the voice of another person, perhaps someone dead for 1,000 years. To read is to voyage through time.”

“The cosmos is within us. We are made of star-stuff. We are a way for the universe to know itself.”

Goodreads on Carl Sagan

YouTube, Pale Blue Dot

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - A Bookish Mood, hosted by guest, Dora.   Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.

autumn wishes

 

Blue windspells, slivers of sunlight, apple trees 

Carve us in silhouettes of geese in flight

Keeling in gratitude, with fruits, sweet & scarred

Blue windspells, slivers of sunlight, apple trees 

Hold us awed by falling leaves - plum, gold & russet

Filling each grey hour with pines & yearning 

Blue windspells, slivers of sunlight, apple trees 

Brighten our nights, warm as butternut soup

Folding time pink as origami cranes

Posting for dVerse Poets Pub- OpenLightNight.

Join us with a poem when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.  Thanks for your comments!

we are lungs and history

 

Under the maple trees, we fall

Soft as pinecones, sun-creased skin

We worry not where we land and rust

We embrace the autumn season

We are kin with elm, oak, pine, spruce

And so many more than we can count

We worry not where we fit & thrive

With wildflowers at our feet

When sky is blue, we breathe as one

At night, we dream of stars, all bright

We worry not about darkness

And bow to the tides of the moon 

We grow older than elephants

With wrinkles, warts & wounds

We revel our fruits & seed pods

Instead of poison, spikes and strifes

We are your lungs and history

But we can also be barren land

When forgetting about us, a voice calls

For war, spilling oil, blood and gore

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Writing from a Collective Point of View, Hosted by Bjorn Rudberg.

Join us when we open the pub doors at 3pm EST.  Thanks for your visits and comments.

haunted & uncrowned

your thin hands are those of a sparrow

poised to slump, defeated scarecrow  

no caws or birdsongs can reach you

no grunts or hoots from small creatures

can meander near your shadow

the green and lavender hues in the faraway

distance hurts your eyes

wallowing you deeper in your wounds & woes

how you allowed it to fester, red & rot 

can the wind make you swish & sway at all?

can the sun spark a seed of memories:  lush 

yellow green needles, pine cones and nuts?

sorrow seeps from every pore of your skin

oh the agony of being uncrowned leafless tree

bark beetle-bested, your inside is solid carcass

knees keeling

ribs reeling

tell me when you are ready for the

axe to fall

Georgia O’Keefe, Dead Piñon Tree (1943), 40 x 30 inches, oil on canvas, Gift of The Georgia O’Keeffe Foundation
2006.5.180 © Georgia O’Keefe Museum

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Haunted, hosted by Melissa Lemay.   Please join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.

the show, the frontman, at their very best

 

when the showlights are blazing bright

its time to put on cryptic smile

your inked arms are love letters, sight

on your fighter's stance.  this trial-

your art, your music are your knights

to knock down the rumors with style-

your band is the greatest- that's right 

(&) you're the best - chameleon with guile

waxing the theatre floor with green

grass, crooning to sky of shadows

there's a mirror of you, not clean

shaven, but stark naked, no prose

to mask real fear, loss, the scene

to question our life's highs and lows 

there are no answers in the screen

we left, beating hearts, with caws from crows

In response to the poem, When I'm among the Blaze of Lights

by Siefried Sassoon

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Dead Poet's Society, hosted by Kim M. Russell.

Join us when the pub doors open by 3pm EST.

burning

you can turn red hot, an angry wildfire

on this autumn season

but the cool nights have prevailed

casting a soft brushed-golden light 

on your skin

on your cheeks

browning

mellowing

slowing down

your pulse rate simmers to lethargic

wait

you bow to nature

autumn:  burning bush

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Quadrille hosted by Lisa Fox.  This is a 44 word post with the selected word, brush.   Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.  Thanks for your visit and comments.

flamenca in the plaza

when midnight strikes, let's meet-

bright moon is white knight by

pomegranate tree 

i'll bring my castanets,

clicking lights, red tight skirt

swishing & stomping feet

on fishbones cobbled steps-

you are red as wine

toasting the good harvest

with big bottles of cheers 

the plaza is buzzing

hands clapping fast, faster

we are swept along- 

tales of love & lament

we are sands in lost land

Pomogranate Tree, Spain

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Flamenca, Spanish verse form.   Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.  Thanks for the visit and comments.   Form:  The elements of the Flamenca are:

1. stanzaic, can be written in any number of quintains.
2. syllabic, 6-6-5-6-6 syllables per line to imitate the rapid click of the heels of a dancer.
3. L2 and L5 assonate. (same vowel sounds)

   
   

early autumn

the maple leaves are changing hues-

cranberry, ochre, toffee, velvet, ember

all radiant from the cool wind-no blues

to witness the dying summer blooms

i marvel the maple leaves changing hues

exploding  from green to colors to tickle

the fancy of poets & nourish the muses 

of artists.   imagine the harvest of sun-dried

fallen leaves on your hands & feet - whose

jolly idea was it to engulf you with earthly wishes-

maple trees are yielding (like myself), changing hues-

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetics, Folding Into Autumn, Hosted by Melissa Lemay.  Thanks for your visit and comments.   Fold Poem format by Gillena.

moon spells

We chatter to sangrias and songs

In Vintage tees, we cheer to yesterdays

Look up, there's a full moon beckoning-

A blue moon, silk & serene, round-eyed

Silver light, its wholeness lifting us

To gaze beyond trees, city lights, cars

Blue moon, give us the longing for stars

Map our hands with sage & bay leaves 

We are soft as ocean, flowing into you

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub- OpenLinkNight.    

Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm.  Thanks for your visits and comments.

bottles of memories

you drained the bottle of San Miguel beer

as if it was tap water

showing me, your first cousin,

how you have grown:

loud arguments for women's rights,

with cigarette pack (ignoring the surgeon

general's warning)

& a swagger pose for an 18 year old

i joined you and our cousins 

by grabbing a bottle of beer myself,

proud to show off that I can hold both the beer

& lively talk (a rite of passage as a teen)

the beer tasted a bitter lager to me

but the ice made me gulp 

each swig a little easier & bolder

it was never the bottles of beer though

or uncle's signature pork & beans dish 

that made this family gathering remarkable

our fathers (all 4 brothers) were gathered

around the table, expertly brandishing

the golden beer bottles

(we are poor imitators of their beer rowdiness)

with their eyes teary with mirth

as their wives 

chatted in another huddle, exhanging gossip

our fathers are the heartbeat &

life of this party

it was the jokes & silly advices

(repeatedly ex/changed over the years)

it was the sloppy conversations

(he said, she said versions)

it was the fake quarrels & rousing debates

(challenges issued & done)

my father's belly laughter

(young, rippling of energy)

that echoed in the night 

that i still remember 

long after our fathers

(all the 4 brothers)

have died, 

& yes after our

silbings & 2 aunts have died too

now, you (still a proud 

single first cousin) quit smoking & Scientology 

& rowdy arguments

we don't order San Miguel beer 

but sip our glasses of water with cheers

as we catch up with the lost years

in between 

the chasm is wide

but we warm up in our distinct sing-song vowels-

also, the family jokes still make us giggle

your face is soft sadness of sunset

and my hands are looking more like my

mother's 

as our voices fade, holding on to lost

letters

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Bottled Poetry.   Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST about what is brewing inside your bottle.  Thanks for the visit and comments.

anonymous (twitter) confessions, you

tell me 

you're pining for midnight kiss,

on starless night

your hair brushed by wings of

fireflies

i'll smile (with emojis)

& listen to musings

& delusions 

(uncensored) 

don't blame me though

for your life's choices

i'm just a girl

with 

(your)

confession account

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Quadrille with the chosen word, PINE, hosted by De Jackson.  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.   

Late summer

Wrinkled black maple leaves fall on the ground

Green crab apples dot the fruit trees (again)

Orange sun dips and dims ever slowly, a clock

unwinds, music when soft voices die-

The season in transition begins -

a limerence - short-lived- with nature

Joy in all its exuberance as rain

pouring down, refreshing as cold ice on hot day

Wilting petals, incomplete poems & unopened books

remind me that birds will soon fly south of the border

I'll bottle up this music of birdsongs

& sweetness of child's laughter in the park

The smell of smoke from grilled meats

lingers, as well as the crisp evening air that drapes the sky

With autumn grey.    With a coat, I sip warm chocolate, 

inhaling the last of summer blooms & harvest of fruits

Music, when soft voices die,

Vibrates in the memory—

–Percy Bysshe Shelley, Music when soft voices die (Note/Credit to the poet)

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - August Transitions, hosted by Merril D. Smith.  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.

between us

your silence hovers, builds a wall

raindrops fall

that i could not see the blue sea

you lost me

in maze of doors, words so careless 

(or) i lost you, us- sky's starless 

my half-moon eyes betray reckless

fears & anxious longing for you 

my shadows overwhelm me (sighs)

raindrops fall, you lost me, (or) i lost you, us -sky's  starless

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - MTB:  Spanish Rain in the Ovillejo - hosted by Laura Bloomsbury.   Join us for this challenging poetry form.   

French Onion Soup

When I made this soup in our first month of

marriage, it was a soggy soup of tasteless onions 

But you finished it all up anyway

Embracing me for my (lack of) cooking skills

Time was the best ingredient in the kitchen

I know that now after more than 3 decades of

family & raising the children

There is no perfect recipe to follow, but practice

makes it easier.   I didn't know that white, not

yellow onions, was the best for this recipe

That I needed to cut & stir the many layers of buttered

peeled onions (10 cups) for a long time (at least 40 minutes) in a pot

I did not know that the long caramelizing process

brings out the sweetness of the onions

Peeled away are silky translucent skin

Turning the color of char & slightly brown under the fire

Adding garlic, fresh thyme, wine & bay leaves 

Made this chicken stock richer, flavorful than I ever thought 

possible.   Pair with buttered bread and white wine

You sighed with delight over this (heavenly) soup

How is it possible that (you say) you have

never changed at all - you are still as beautiful 

when I met you.   I smiled at you and noted that you

are not wearing your glasses.   The french onion

soup made you giddy, I say.   I wipe away the

stains from my hands, now slightly wrinkled, bent & patient 

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetics - Peeled Away with guest host Melissa Lemay.    Join us when we talk all about onions when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.    And yes, I now know how to make this delicious French Onion Soup.   

wake up & touch the grass

i wake up in the morning waiting for the sun

to soften me, soft as linen, softer as mud pie

my fingertips are tapping, checking the blue sketch

of canvas, granite silver stones, the studs, the slow motion

of time, rocking me to stupor, here in my pink dress, white

socks, shoes off, floating, i twist my body to bend

into the hourglass of sweet complicity & simplicity

but this solid bed of recycled plastic is hard, my thoughts

run grey, spiral to crawl, crash, cramp__

i cannot move to lift myself off this loneliness, this rabbit hole_

tell me you care, tell me to touch green grass,

tell me to get off the phone & social media,   

this body swells of longing for rain, soil & seeds,

sounds of birdsongs, the smell of pine trees 

i want to drown in my dreams of clouds, as the sun 

softens me, soft as linen, softer as mud pie, sinking to earth 

María Berrío, Closed Geometry, 2022, 

paper collage and watercolor on linen, 72 1⁄8 × 90".

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - We are writing Ekphrastic Poetry based on the 3 artwork selected in the prompt.   Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.  Thanks for the visits and comments.

song credits (to us)

 

we're blending the lyrics & notes

to strum of guitar riffs

you drunk-sway as goldfish in fish-

bowl

i play the piano (off)key

as soaked flowers  

by summer rain

our faces are blue

with sweet refrains & kisses

bravely, we watermark the album 

with our names

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Quadrille:  Pouring Out Our Poems - Hosted by De Jackson.  This is a 44 word post with the chosen word - water.  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.

summer of calendula

 

i count more than 12 petals

sun-radiant, golden lemon bright,

red specks in the center

we are bee-struck over your

healing prowess

though your size is my palm 

your willowy sway

in the breeze, safron scent of mint

and thyme

brings a joyful morning

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Quadrille hosted by Lisa.   

Happy 12th anniversary dVerse!

june diary: strawberry moon

this kiss, yours -  is an unbridled sonnet

tart as wild juniper berries in gin

brimming with seduction & sloppy grin

unpredictable as crashing rocket 

who would have guessed, we like chaos & black 

not sweet strawberries, but peppery to  

roll our tongues in shock, like a strong brew-

we adore brightness & shadows, a stack

of poems.  if we cared what they say we are-

not compatible, crazy kids with wheels-

we would not be here, love drunk, twined in teal

in a heartbeat, your eyes are silver stars 

you gift me a lush garden of verses: 

unrhymed poetry, dance beats, blue metric,

guitar riffs, rocking my world electric-

there's no time to dally in rehearsals

               

your lyrics unravel me, spilling ink

moon tides, my lungs on fire, i flower pink

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub- MTB with John Donne and his Heroic Sonnet hosted by Bjorn Rudberg.  

I reworked some of the lines I wrote here and made this a longer poem, following the sonnet model as requested by Bjorn.  Thanks for your comments.

under our sky

 

the forest is burning

(&)

you ask me a question

you will get an

answer

differently

(when I'm 40)

(when l'm 60)

last year or next year 

because my present

is ever changing

as clouds in bleak smoked sky

as silkworms searching mulberry leaves

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub- Quadrille - hosted by Lillian Hallberg.

This is 40 word post, with the chosen word, PRESENT.  Thanks for your visit and comments.

sisterhood

 

we were born on sawdust and torn tweed

scattered along plains of wheat and weeds

we suckled on old goat's milk and blue scars

etched on bodies of our mothers searching for stars

we grew up suffering through our & their pain

never knowing the joy of freedom & our names

how we fought and grinded with vigor

as we took blows to go through the rigor

we are stronger when our voices are melding 

to bring justice & peace, all with a good ending

we now stand humbled but proud women fighters

as we made this, our way, survivors

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub -  When "we" writes Poetry, hosted by Laura Bloomsbury.  Thanks for your visit.

The Quality of The Thimble

The thimble is thinking of imposter's 

syndrome.    Bigger than sunflower,

but softer than guitar strings.  It gets a summer

job watering the garden of a grocery store. It

thinks it is all easy, until it forgets to wear

sunscreen & gloves and pricks its fingers 

from tiny thorns.   It keeps on bitching

that the pain everywhere is brutal to deal with. 

The thimble wilts very quickly in the summer

heat.   Like a banana which you buy greenish but

turns brownish spots in 2 days.  So you must

consume it quickly like sugar snap peas,

or radish when quickly pulled out

from the soil, crisp and slightly peppery.

The thimble loves April's Fool.  It likes to 

eat melting ice-cream when walking

to a farmer's market.   

It is also a memory box.

Keeping all the crochet bonnets and 

half-sewed materials, and all the 

unfinished verses,

no titles, just a tumble- 

weeds of words.  

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Quality Poems hosted by Kim M. Russell.    Inspired by the style and poem format of The Quality of Sprawl by Les Murray.

Emerald eyes of spring

 

Call me, I have emerald eyes

Watching the pink lilacs blooming

Under the glossy silver sky

Green buds are preening & swooning

Red flowerettes bloom - a marvel

Call me, I have emerald eyes

Brimming with spring steps so cheerful

Without wiles, witchweeds or guises

I scatter seeds, saplings arise

Under the bright sun's long hours

Call me, I have emerald eyes

Tying colorful wildflowers

Gathering pinecones, I pen words

Under maple tree, sweet as pie

This is where I'll be - heeding birds

Calling me with emerald eyes

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub- Poetry Form is Quatern.  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.   

the ArC

 

the spring weather is a contradiction

of hazy sun with a dirty glass sky

smeary, smoggy, soggy but also sparkly

just like myself when I pass by a mirror wall

what you see is blurry & opaque outline

what you don't see is the toil & tedious work

welding myself with heat, friction and iron

when there is no preset or map to follow

there is no certainty that I will be a whole canvas

or even a completed chapter of a novel

but I am making small steps to overcome my addictions

my doubts and yes my contradictions

Note:  poem inspired by Thorvald Hellesen

“Portrait of Mary Alice Eckbo” painted in 1914

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - An Artist Gets His Due - hosted by Lillian.  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.  Thank you!

 

 

a letter to Ilhan Sami Comak

I bring you the season of tulips

and lilacs from our spring season in Ontario

The smell of lilacs is fresh citrus

A reminder of how beautiful spring is

Outside of your prison bars

For more than 25 years

I come bearing the sounds of robins & bluejays

The sighs from the weeping willow trees

As I open the window 

There's black raven flying above our maple trees

Its powerful wings reaching for the sky

I weep when I think about prison walls & cages

We are meant to fly, unchained

And walk, untied

Not of fear or rage or bitterness

But with gentle voice

I hear you

Above the rumbles of dust storm 

The cry for justice

Between dusk and dawn

You will persevere with your will of steel 

One day, you will be walking free

And writing back to me

How you got lost in the forest

smelling the wildflowers   

with petals bluer than the sky

******

Note about the epistle poem:  

You can read three poems for and poems by Ilhan Sami Comak who has been in a Turkish prison for 27 years. He was arrested as an activist and later became a poet in prison.

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub- Poetics - Uncaging the Poet, with guest host, Paul from Parallax.   Please join us for the theme of justice for those poets behind bars, when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.  

Just saw

 

I saw what you did

with the trees

Along the road & into the valleys

weaving to the lush forest

I saw what you did 

with the birds, hawks & butterflies

There were other creatures too

whose silence is now deafening when

You cut down that mother tree

with your giant saw, with disdain & lack

of empathy.  Thereafter

we all saw the giant warehouses covering

the landscape as sawdust,

the soft pink sky forever hidden from our eyes-

So don't complain now why

your fruits taste like plastic

And the air is a violent red, itching your lungs

And the land is ash, sinking with every fervered breath 

Just Saw from 

Erick Johansson

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

while you were sleeping

 

Give me your feverish thoughts

Mothballed & hand-stitched in grey

A cabin, circled by oak trees

The twilight sky on summer's day

Wheat field is warm as amber  

The roar of wind, hoots by owls

I will bottle it up with moss

And set it to sail at midnight

New moon is a goddess 

And stars are glowing fireflies

I watch it adrift on waves

As if time is a standstill, much

Like you, sleeping as a baby

The past clings to you, blanket

Where will the bottle go, I wonder 

There are no maps & shores to keep

Where will it land with no compass

Who will open it with excitement

Whose heart belongs amongst wildflowers

Or with questions, whose mind dwells

On clouds, or maybe it will be

You

Awakening, with eyes of child

You can recall 

Where you had put away 

the pen, that magical pen

Where you drew all your flights with joy

Chorus of birds sang with you all the way

Credit to Erik Johansson, Surreal Photography

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetics - Slipping into Surreal Photography with Erik Johannson, hosted by Mish.   Join us for this wonderful prompt starting at 3pm EST.

mapmaker

the orange plumed robin's

belly is heavy 

sitting on twigged nest-

at top of willow tree

black raven shrills ((()))

returning as birds 

to breeding & nurturing

as rain drips-drums-

there is timekeeper 

and mapmaker (somewhere)

as maple trees spring

red-orange flowerets & emerald leaves

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Quadrille with given word, MAP by host De Jackson.   This is a 44 word post.   Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.

the season of blossoms and catkins

 

above the weeping willow tree, the blue sky

shimmers with shrills from black ravens, heralding 

the season of tiny crowns & catkins & blossoms

emerging with dazzling sunset of pinks and reds

my window frames a day of popping colors-

above the weeping willow tree, the blue sky 

trills along with robins in building their nests

while magnolia trees perfume the air with vengence -

it's the season of tiny crowns & catkins & blossoms

sun-painted as dandelions or star-dusted as sakura

i swoon as if i have never seen flowers in my life

under the weeping willow tree.   the blue sky

transforms my words into daisy-chain verses

turning all my empty boxes into seedling pods 

it's the season of tiny crowns & catkins & blossoms

the morning light evokes a joyful sigh 

as trees regain their leaves & tulips begin to bud -  

above the weeping willow trees, the sky blues -

it's season of tiny crowns & catkins & blossoms

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight.  Join us with your 1 poem when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.  

Our city is bursting with cherry blossoms trees, magnolia trees and catkins from the weeping willow trees.  Outside my "office", the birds are building their nests (under the balcony), and the ravens have returned.  I love the spring season.

spring fever

 

i have yellow fever

after spotting the egg-white moon

hiding behind the golden hair of willow trees

i hurry to garnish

marigold and calendula seeds in pots

the spring air is here

licking our faces with sugar rain

our skin is hungry for the heat

of sun, wheat fields, maple 

syrup running down bare maple trees

i can see daffodils buds & blue ivy stalks

& hostas leaves sprouting

where winter ice has torched it bare 

now, light lingers long into the night

marking the time for potting &

tilling the soil moist & ready for flowers

i can imagine the ripeness

i can smell the flowers

pink, blue, red, apricot, cream & specially

yellow ones 

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetics: Everything Yellow, hosted by Sarah Connor.  Thanks for your visits and comments.

under the crepe myrtle tree

i spread a basket of entrees-

bread of tulipped wheat

jam of lilac & lemon jelly

mudcookies & appled plum wine

you bring the orangeist sunflowers

with the plumpiest pillows & blankets-

we hug-cuddle as long-lost sisters

and oohed-aahed over orange cake

i place the buttersnaps & sugarwiches

on caramel daisied plates

there's gossip to be pickled & traded

& poems to read & spooned over

fresh pinappple bits-

we are going to have

the yarrowest & amberberried

picnic in the park

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub- Meeting the Bar:  Word play.  Join us for a fun way of writing poems - playing with words.  Thanks for your visits and comments.

the long hands of daylight

stretches along fields, 

bereft of green

foliage of spring

& wildflowers

winter is still dusting white

cracks of asphalt

but there's joy when light

shifts, collides & brushes the trees 

not with weary shell

but with robust yellow-peach 

strokes, glinting our eyes 

with color 

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

blue hour

if i can pour silence in a cup

i would like to drink it at night

not as warm maple tea

but cold as winter ice wine

not too sweet or spicy

to run down my throat to ignite

excitement or astonishment

but rather

the familiar hug of an old 

friend, that knows the hollows

& turns of my seasons 

& times when i need

to see the starlights and  

the new moon instead of

full-bodied white wintered sky-

what space i have drawn

is briefly magical as blooming

pink peonies

in between frames, 

i am unemcumbered by the weights

& stresses of the day

i get lost in the maze & snarls of words

-coaxing lines muddled with black birds-

as i inhale the crisp smell of pine trees

alas, the noise of the house

clatters & hums as the clock

steals away an hour & marks it:

(false) spring! 

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetry of Place and Space, hosted by Ingrid.  Thank you Ingrid!!!     There are references of the city and country where I have now resided for 18 years.   We have a long winter season.

Thunderstruck

 

your words are thundersnow

to my sunflower hands

your passion is lightning

hammering the wind 

i gasp at the intensity of your emotions

as the skyscape darkens, swells

for a moment, i'm iced blue 

then melting

i revel in the moment 

of storm's ardor

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Quadrille hosted by De Jackson.  This is a 44 word post, with the chosen word, GASP.   We had a rare thundersnow last Saturday.

Farewell

 

To the stalwart poet who shouldered on

Beyond the valleys and bedrocks of Seattle City

We dug into your swashbuckling adventures, Blackthorne

As well as your World War 2 stories of grief & love 

Though you have officially retired

Your gutsy voice and tell-it-as-it-is verses

Rise above the pub's din & chatter

Your eyes brimming with mirth & gladness of our group

Honesty is your calling card, 

Your words, raw and rouge, raging 

Against the status quo, Trump & his cronies

There is no mistaking your stance about life

And death

Do wake us up old ghost

And shake us out of our complacent boxes

We got work to do for our country & our neighbors

And most specially, labor on to be true on our words

Thank you!   

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight, hosted by Lillian Hallberg.  RIP to Glenn Buttkus.   Thanks for your comments and visits.

Thank you

 

To the aged librarian down the hallway:

Who thought it was cool that I had

clouds on my hair & detective glass

when reading books during lunch time

Who smiled at me when I would

return a book on time & borrow it

again, because he knew it was my favorite

From you, I learned 

the secrets of lost languages & uncharted

lands between the dusty shelves of the library 

To you, who gifted me with  

"a quote, a thimble of poems, hand me

a way to set sail"

I have found the ship filled with stories

and wild things, that I have decided to 

keep on sailing, forever looking out for pirates

*quoted lines from Bjorn Rudberg's Navigating Uncharted Seas, from The Aged Librarian series

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Friends in Blogosphere - hosted by Punam.  The library was my sanctuary growing up and I have made friends who share the same love for books and poetry.   Thank you friends!

AI Poet 3

To be on the brink of colour

Coming out of shadows

Is to stand at the edge of a cliff,

With the wind in your hair

Your eyes catches the sunlight

The soothing hum of bees & birdsongs 

Vibrance of wheatgrass and red vines

Wild flowers peeking above shrubs

The sky moves in murmuring waves 

Painting each frame with shades of blue

Above the draping weeping willows 

Underneath your feet breathes life

At winter's end, there is a symphony

Between the soil & headless flowers 

All at once, their fragrance is a lilac melody,

A beckoning that rises and floats.

To be on the brink of colour,

Is to count past the days of grey

And long nights of white grief,

To grasp and take that very small step

To where light bounces from tree to tree

You stitch the colours inside your pocket

And spread the quilted blanket on the floor

Season of flowers is around the corner

*****

The poem above is a revised version of the AI poem below:

To be on the brink of colour,

Is to stand at the edge of a cliff,

With the wind in your hair,

And the sun on your skin.

It's to feel the world around you,

In all its vibrant hues,

To see the beauty in everything,

And feel it infuse.

The sky is a canvas,

Painted with brushstrokes of gold,

The trees are alive,

Their leaves rustling bold.

The flowers are a symphony,

Each petal a note,

Their fragrance a melody,

That rises and floats.

To be on the brink of colour,

Is to know that life is a gift,

To be savoured and cherished,

With every breath and lift.

For in every moment,

There is a chance to see,

The magic that surrounds us,

And set our spirits free.

So let us embrace the colours,

That paint our world so bright,

And bask in their radiance,

As we walk into the light.

This poem was created by Chat GPT:  To Write a Poem:   To be on the brink of colour.  This line is credited to Vikki on Twitter:

"To be on the brink of colour as if I've sorted the wrong days from the hapless season..." ~ L'Atelier De La Vie

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub:  Meet the Bar Artificially, hosted by Bjorn Rudberg.  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.  Thanks for your visits and comments.