Thursday, May 25, 2023

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.   

Tuesday, May 23, 2023

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!



Tuesday, May 16, 2023

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.  

Thursday, May 11, 2023

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.

Tuesday, May 9, 2023

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


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

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.

Monday, May 1, 2023


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.

Thursday, April 27, 2023

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.

Tuesday, April 11, 2023

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.

Thursday, March 23, 2023

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.

Monday, March 20, 2023

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.

Tuesday, March 14, 2023

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.

Monday, March 6, 2023



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.

Thursday, March 2, 2023



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.

Tuesday, February 28, 2023

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!

Thursday, February 23, 2023

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. 

Tuesday, February 21, 2023

the kiss

the night sky is blushing with secrets-

slow rise of the full moon by seagrass

smell of tides & milk flowers turning red

my lungs on fire, spinning words on my head 

(kiss me)  we're running out of breath and time

my skin tingles from the salted margarita limes

your lips swoop down, dizzy as a bee

a kiss so soft as velvet, or was it an earnest plea

for a promise of something more, elusive

yet rain-soothing & kiss-smothered by flowers

you will paint me, you say, with marmalade

sun on my hair, my wrists jaggling with jade

your stolen kiss is a sonnet i slow dance 

inviting my words to unfold & take a chance 

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetics:  A Prelude to a Kiss, hosted by Kim Russel.   Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.  

Monday, February 20, 2023

green green grass of home (a remembrance)


her eyes are cloudy grey

her body 

pinked by sugar & vermillion summers 

slumps to searing pain

the sadness

from missing his presence for the last year, 

hurt her deeply


she'll hear swooning music

of his laughter

impersonating TomJones luscious baritone 



Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Quadrille, with host Linda Lyberg.  This is a 44 word post with the chosen word, Music.  Rest in Peace to my aunt (and uncle), whose favorite singer was Tom Jones.  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.  

Thursday, February 2, 2023

falling into winter's deep sleep

sew me

with bandages of light

with lint of yearning wings

with ointment of cloves & ginger

pour into me

threads of buttressed hope

words of charity

patches of red maple leaves

happy memories of blooming trees

i will drink the tea

of valerian roots & fall into deep sleep

with scents of rosemary leaves

& sweet wintergreen 

i dream of spring

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

Tuesday, January 31, 2023

a work in progress: self-portrait


i didn't know it then 

but youth was quicksilver in time-

i still talk to my young self

who is self-conscious, rebellious 

& anxious, as if carrying the world atlas

on empty pockets 

in the mirror

my forehead is now furrowed like my dad 

my hands are wrinkled like my mom

i am aging into their likeness 

though i am also drawing my own portrait

the young girl is still here

curious & resilient with the tides of

work & technology

every day is a day of rising to bloom,

not being a thunderstorm or lightning 

in a bottle, but to be

someone who is (still) finding her voice

between her ambitous knuckles & mushy heart,

striving to merge her excel left brain with her artsy right side

with gratitude, she has

made a house to her own liking

in the wall, she writes a note:

your self-worth is not in your inbox

you are where the light rests

against the winter darkness, it is where your children

find you, serene as seagrass

neatly folding laundry at the end of the day

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetics - Resolving to Resolve, hosted by Punam.

I have used 2 themes/advice for my post:   Your self-worth is not in your inbox.  

At the end of each day fold your clothes and put them away, no matter how tired you are.

Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.  Thanks for joining us.

Thursday, January 26, 2023

summer & winter



here is an assortment of shells

pink, white, coral, and bones

it holds

sunlit days, rippled tides of spells:

shark's eye, cones, conch, small stones -

king's gold

on a clear fish bowl filled with sands - 

amber smooth as chai tea 

i sigh

for beaches & summer's long hands

when the sky is so blue

i fly


we watch snowflakes spill - glass flowers

on barren fields & woods


we gather light from short hours -

wicks, lamps & yellowed goods


finally the moon is ours-

darkness is a cocoon


midnight sky with mulberry stars-

silvering trees, we swoon  


The above is the example in the dVerse Poets Pub post.

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Memento.   Join us when the pub doors open to discuss the poetry form, Memento.  There is also an option to write a free style poetry with a theme about memento, using symbolism as a poetic device.  

Thursday, January 5, 2023

the (uni)verse


why do we allow the frivolous to rust

our mind and spark ill thoughts to stain the night

have we forgotten, we're born of stardust

shaped from the turmoils of black wind's gust

scattering seeds to birth trees & wings to flight

why do we allow the frivolous to rust

our heart to stone, busy with erecting a gold bust

believing in our immortal blight

have we forgotten, we're born of stardust

sundered or whole, we will return to dust

our buildings & crowns will be lost bight

why do we allow the frivolous to rust

our will to froth instead of passion & lust

our warmth to ice, becoming a ghost of sprite

have we forgotten, we're born of stardust 

even if we have lost sight of sun's cradled fire

inside us is an imperishable light

why do we allow the frivolous to rust

us, have we forgotten, we're born of stardust

Posted for OpenLinkNight329 - dVerse Poets Pub - Hosted by Linda Lee Lyberg. Happy New Year!!!!!

Monday, January 2, 2023

my e-calendar 2023

I fill my work calendar with big stones. I organize my activities and set my career goals for 2023.  Family's birthdays and other milestones are colored in spring green.  Also my timetable for vacations & personal days from work are marked  in bright pink.    That block of time is precious, like a gift to be carefully unwrapped, slowly after each tear.  

However for my personal life's goal, the calendar is open.   I welcome the blankness of the canvas because it means new things and challenges for me.  Though I am keen on regularly walking, hiking and reading in my down time,  I invite time to ghost me, while I ponder on my verses & mystery of the night sky. 

mud-stained sky is glum

melting ice by craggy shore-

birds glide, swelling tide 

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Haibun Monday, hosted by Kim Russell.   Our poetry community is back! Cheers to 2023!