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.