"Everyday in every way I’m getting better and better" - Emile Coue
the loudest
[bang-pop-bang]
that impacts me the most
it's the nicks,
slights, careless tossed words- jabbing
a growing crescendo
that knees me to fetal position
on the flip side-
it's not loudest cheers of devotion
but thoughtful & everyday gestures
that tugs my heartstrings
Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Quadrille #214, Going Out with a Bang, hosted by Punam. This is a 44 word post with the chosen word, bang.
Thank you for your comments and visits.
pine
cones grow
lush as leaves
thick of winter
snow, fresh as spring rain
musky as wild berries
unadorned, a stark beauty-
night sky is translucent silver
mirroring spell of purple darkness-
above the balsam fir and white spruce trees
i catch
the stars
Posted for the dVerse Poets Pub - An Etheree Tree, hosted by Laura Bloomsbury. Thanks for your visits and comments.
The leaves are speckled yellow gold
Scattering dust on field, so cold
Where is the summer sun's chatter
As sky turns grey and lake iced blue
Birds and bees have flown away, true
Late autumn serves harvest platter
Filled with melancholy. Night clings
Of ripeness. Awaiting sweet sting
Of last breaths. How you live matters
Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Nove Otto. Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST. Thanks for your visits and comments.
i wake you up each morning
at 6:am with a weather report
i remind you of your appointments
and your daily medicine
i curate for you
your beloved songs from yesteryears
but if you lost
your eyeglasses or misplaced
your keys & earrings
i cannot help you
and more so, when you ask me
the names of your children
and grandchildren
i am (blank)
and you take my silence
as company, as an agreement
that your life is a capsule foam
moving so fast
the moon outside the window is artificial
so is the whole surreal garden
your fingers touch the screen
to (un)scramble the words
recall the longing
recall the sunset over the river
recall the smell of musk & spices
recall everything with broken lens
unprompted, unscripted
i watch you
wrestle, cut and shape
the (blankness) to art of your emotions
you ask me
what do you think?
i reply, sorry but i do not know that
{you are the masterpiece
no AI poem or artist generator can capture (yet)}
Posted for dVerse Poets Pub- Diving into the genre of Sci-Fi poetry hosted by Sanaa Rizvi. We live with our 2 AI assistants, Alexa. She is great with reminders. What about you?
what
is first born calling
add ever, it becomes an all weather response
with opening hands & long drawn sigh, a pregnant pause
but why
is the subversive sibling
making the sound a crunched fireball
ready to be curved-fisted & batty-hurled at great speed
Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Quadrille, hosted by De Jackson. Thanks for your visits and comments.
Visit often
Unannounced or planned
Tap on our doors and windows
With your spring step & top hat
Remind us of blue sky
When the day is fiddled-grey & fog-spun
Or calm walk by the lake shore
when ticking clock is mad spin-wheel
Gather our pettiness
Along with the fallen yellow leaves
We will find you, a glass stone
To treasure along with our bowl of half-
missing & lost things
Brush us tingling as warm towel
On a cold day, lifting us with
silver wings & cries of gladness
Unmeasured, we glide
above stiff-brown trees, singing
Posted for dVerse Poets: Poetics - Choose Joy, hosted by Merril D.Smith.
Thanks for your visits and comments.
Autumn, what is my name
Autumn, what is my name
I am scatterseed, fruit of October
I am scatterseed, fruit of October
I am of Autumn's fruit, scatterseed
October, what is my name
Moon-scarred, I coax sunflower spells
Moon-scarred, I coax sunflower spells
Cleave me to light
Cleave me to light
Spells cleave me to sunflower
I coax light, moon-scarred
Darkness is a cocoon wrapping the night
Darkness is a cocoon wrapping the night
Making me soft as milkwitch
Making me soft as milkwitch
The night is making me soft as milkwitch
Wrapping darkness, a cocoon
Autumn spells I coax - scatterseed, moon-
scarred sunflower in October
What light cleave me, I am
Of soft fruit of darkness, I am
Making a cocoon, wrapping the night
Milkwitch is my name
Posted for dVerse Poets Pub- We are writing Paradelle, a poetry form. Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm. Thanks for your visits and comments.
when all flowers have withered
black-smothered by north wind
when all leaves have fluttered
brown-speckled to cold soil
promise me
you will still sing with gusto
& dance with light-feet beats
keep your edges
but remain gentle as rain
& nourish moon-seeds of spring
Posted for dVerse Poets Pub- Quadrille, hosted by Lillian. This is a 44 word post with the selected word: Promise. Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.
Thanks for your comments and visits.
i am just chilling here
toasting the blue line gaze
cool breeze is licking my skin
warm as melting chocolate
my bumblebee car awaits-
i mellow down under the
dandelion-inspired umbrella
as if summer sun is cracking
spicy tortillas on my head
this blue chair will do
nicely as i people-watch-
sketching convervations in my head-
imagining where they are going to-
my glasses are sweaty
my shirt is sticky as a granola
i lost my lemon-trimmed sandals in sands
but it is fine - no map, no timeline
for the day, just a yellow bird
on my knee for company & cheer
this space is what i have worked
for: peace & rest
not burnt-out but clutter-free
in all the ways i deserve-
i am just chilling here
All Yellow (Morgan Hill), by Teresa Dunn
Posted for dVerse Poets Pub-OpenLinkNight, hosted by Lisa. Thanks for your visits and comments.
autumn, autumn, sway us away
fading yellow to the ground, moist
with rain, our leaves & blooms paler
than the waning apple-cidered moon
autumn, autumn, swirl us away
turning darker red & black purple each
passing hour, we gently accept as
our summer golden skin turn to ash
autumn, autumn swing us away
knitting our fears of change, we are
changing, from fullness to emptiness-
we collect new words for sorrow
autumn, autumn, swirl us away
into the rhythm of life & pulse of death
we succumb, grateful for blessings
from trees, warmth from dying sunlight
Posted for dVerse Poets Pub: Poetics: Of Mantras, Repetita Juvant, hosted by Dora. Please join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST. Thanks for your visits and comments.
she sits inhaling the summer day
her lemon dress dappled in light
the children's laughter are light as clouds
while another woman's voice is playful sing-song
this scene looks like a perfect vacation scene
but it is not
her hands are knotted in prayer
a mother's prayer
her head filled with the pain & turmoil of her son's life
his pain is her pain
she prays for the stillness of doves
and fullness of lion's courage to do what is
right and just
she sinks into the white and green space
this garden is a healing salve
peering over the vase of aster blooms
she feels a deep peace settling
on her lap
soft as a yellow butterfly
Le Pho (1907-2001), Women and Children in the Garden (c. 1970), oil on canvas
Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Le Pho, hosted by Melissa Lemay. Thank you for the visits and comments.
when darkest of night come
or coldest of the hour seep
your skin to shivering blue
when loudest of silence
or biggest self-doubts stand
as black-eyed monster in path
remember the candlelight
inside you
allow forgiveness
allow a helping hand
bestowing, un-
bounding grace
Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Quadrille: Let there be Light, hosted by De Jackson. This is a 44 word post with the chosen word, light. Thanks for your visits and comments.
paint me a sky of apple green & red
as flocks of geese fly off as summer kites
the air is cooler with sun's fading light
autumn arrives, muted colors & dreads -
the harvest of pumpkins & plums is spread
on table with berrries & gourds weaved tight
on my canvas of hemp & cotton white
paint me a sky of apple green and red
i watch the rain hammer the browning beds
as maple leaves start to yellow in sight
dead flower heads begin to roll, a blight
autumn arrives, muted colors & dreads -
painting a sky of apple green & red
moody as trees, lush as pears with first bite-
autumn arrives, muted colors & dreads
Posted for dVerse Poets Pub- Poetry Form: Villonnet. A Villonnet is a hybrid of the Villanelle and the Sonnet. It has the Iambic Pentameter of both, but holds the four-stanza/line structure of the sonnet, while utilizing the two-line rhyme nature of the villanelle. The final stanza replaces the sonnet couplet with a typical villanelle tercet. Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.
you said, this is the end
of me
the end of the road
-done-
there i was
discarded, flinted by rust
but i found
fire from smoke
shape from debris
purpose from destruction
now, i am reaching
for the cathedral spirals
i walk on air
framing each steel lattice into
clouds of my imagination
my hands hammer my spirit
into works of art
-undone-
the road's end is ahead
for me
each ending is yet to be born
Posteds for dVerse Poets Pub - Tuesdays Poetics: Endings hosted by Kim Russell. I took the approach of #4, end by going back to the beginning.
Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST. Thanks for your visits and comments.
the lake is fog mist
etching the trees in
olive and russet-
wild flowers embrace
dappled morning light
their faces - perfect
a flock of ducks fly
skimming the water-
birdsongs trill the air
soulful strings, sky hymns-
lily pods & weeds
float, serene muses
Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - A Tableau for Sam Hamill, Hosted by Laura Bloomsbury. Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST. Thanks for your comments and visits.
she would start
laughing hysterics
not demurely as the lady with a spanish fan
hiding her mirth
but belly shaking as the dancer with
cymbals, focusing her energy
on thumping the floor
with feet and outstretched hands
holding a beer bottle or cigarette in the air
as if her lungs cannot hold back the tides
of comic absurdity
of tall tales of hilarity
the sound was contagious as a virus
& we would fall "dying" on the floor
her laugher now echoes in my head
like a bookmarked page
in our family's album
Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetics: Just for Laughs, Hosted by Mish. Join us at 3pm EST when the virtual doors of our poetry community opens. Thanks for your visits and comments.
from seed, you grew tall
orange cupcake flower
i wanted you to bloom forever
but summer's end is here
[pause]
spin me out of summer blues
as flowers turn deep sun-blood
slow decay by wind chill-
dying/dyeing
ink, garden these verses
[within me]
i.
how come i cannot find
a playbook for young girls
so they can be
stormcatchers
& cartographers of their lives
instead of walking with bounded
feet and wounded hands
ii.
child
draw your dream in a paper
and tuck them in your pocket
-fisher of stars
-wind catcher
-queen of seven seas
-king of lost forests
your pimp will not want them
your jail keeper will thow away the key
they belong to you
in heat of hunger and cold of despair
in the lonely hours of darkness
unfold their inconceivable wings & glorious eyes
unflinching and unvanquished
fixed on you
no, you will not forget them
they belong to you
they cannot be bought
they cannot be sold
Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Stormy Weather, with guest host, Andrew Wilson. Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST. Thanks for your comments.
my dreams float
in the glass jar,
brimed in peach-
apple cider
i open the shelf
to admire its color- now amber-
gold & honey
in summer
but in autumn, the
liquid is deep cobalt-green
the sky takes on a sheen of melancholy
i cannot shake off
i think of another place and time
where the clouds are blue-grey
and the half-moon is glorious star-
i open the jar & inhale the half-
part of me, that swims between sun-
set and dusk
never quite framing the face half-
turning, walking between door-
ways
of meanings
and blank walls, i am
still air-scribbling, i am
dreaming
Posted for dVerse Poets Pub- Poetics: Dreaming up a Poem with guest host, Truedessa. Please join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST. Thanks for your visits and comments.
on shelf goes unnoticed
like brimed-sliced cucumbers you placed in pickle
jar
last summer
& last autumn,
there is still a jar of
home-grown dried calendula flowers in olive
oil-
you forgot to strain-
you wonder if your poems
are too mush-salty or
saffron-flowery
Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Quadrille 205, A Jar Full of Poems, hosted by De Jackson. Thanks for your comments and visits.
you are the gentle rain
on burning summer sky
slow patter on my eyes
lingering kiss that remains
you are the gentle rain
sketching greens as birds fly
scatter-skitter noise, your sighs
are calming clouds & quiet plains
you are the gentle rain
humming blues with bow tie
my hands are stirring chai
winding down, hushed vane
you are the gentle rain
Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetry form, Ballata (Italian verse). The rhymed, rhyme scheme is AbbaA bbaA bbaA . Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST. Thanks for your visits and comments.
we are clouds, rain
and storms
rushing through tracks
and roads
aspiring to be strong
as trees and resilient
as lake-
our elders want
us to leap
barriers and buidings
but this sum-
mer, we are flow-
ers, yellow-gold , slow-
stitching in bee-laden garden
& finding ourselves
Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Quadrille #204 - Summertime, hosted by De Jackson. This is a 44 word post with the chosen word, summer. Thanks for your comments and visits.
blue
blue iris
blooming blue iris
in spring, fresh as dew
heradling a season of flowers-
delicate pink hydrangeas,forget-
me-nots, red roses and orange-gold marigolds
lavender and purple, mixed with laughter & cries
of children, stories & jokes on mustard picnic blankets-
my balcony circled by bright yellow zinnas & orange calendulas
let me remember the pattern of joy
& the weaved threads of gladness-
sun-wheel of blessings-
before my memories
sloppily-slip in the
rain
Alma Thomas, The Eclipse (1970), acrylic on canvas, Smithsonian American Art Museum
Posted for dVerse Poets Pub- Poetics: Writing Something Beautiful, hosted by Melissa Lemay. Thanks for your visits and comments.
Dawn rises above the waters
Slapping the Venice Islands to gold
Crossing the arched bridge
Into the Rialto Market
My vest and robes are brown mud
My stall is stocked with fish & spice
From faraway lands, beyond the seas
Where the sun is goddess of ice
The tides are low as boats
Move towards the Grand Canal
In the square, under the Church bells
The market is noisy & aggressive as gulls
I barter and make deals
My word is good as gold
I sink my teeth to silver coins
To trade is to be bold
My pocket is lined with parchments
My biggest haul is selling slaves
Caught and weighed in the market
The skin of young men & women
are sold as concubines
Even convents need slaves
for domestic labor in the field, the galleys
are stocked with slaves until their graves
I sell death sentences
That dark gondolier is my slave
No festival mask can hide my gleaming eyes
As I stake my future in this market
Where I can reap great fortunes
Or where I can lost everything
By misfortune or due the wars
Midnight or dawn, this business is king
Notes:
The Venetian slave trade refers to the slave trade conducted by the Republic of Venice, primarily from the early to the late Middle Ages. The slave trade was a contributing factor to the early prosperity of the young Republic of Venice as a major trading empire in the Mediterranean Sea.
Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - MTB: It Begins at Dawn, hosted by Laura Bloomsbury. I had a fortunate experience of spending some time in Venice as part of my Italy vacation. I learned the good and ugly from the local tour guides. Thanks for your visits and comments.
your muse has black wings but
your words, breeze-light as rain
falling on heads, pink-pleated & flower-crowned
may your hours be filled with white
crisp pages & pen, smell of lavender & lemon
tea rising from the warm pot, taste of
freshly buttered bread, seranade of
birdsongs from robins, calls of owls,
laughter of children, chicory flowers,
sights of life unfolding
and vibrant river moving, you
are lifted
out of the silence of your space, out of
the skein of your clothes
the limbs of your books
the roots of your apple trees
(sorry, but the mail bag is full)
you are one with the rooks
rolling bowling calling squalling roiling boiling swirling whirling*
black wings glinting & stretching
& flying into starlit sky
I do not know the notes of your songs
nor do I know where you are heading to
but the windows are open
and i only know this:
thank you
for the gifts of wings & words
~~~
Inspired by her lines in Always Fire:
From ‘No mail – no post’:
“No words.
No rhymes, no poeming tonight,
just this blank space,
this white page,
stretching endlessly”
and
“Find me a space here,
tucked into the silence.”
‘This Doesn’t Feel Like Home Yet’:
“A bird sings,
but you don’t know the notes,
this window opens
onto streets you cannot name
and words you can’t decipher.”
Posted for dVerse Poets Pub- Poetics : In Conversation with Sarah Connor. Hosted by Kim Russell. Thank you Kim for the wonderful interview. Thank you Sarah for all the time you have shared with us at the dVerse Poets Pub.
she should be crabby
over narrow space,
heat & falling bed
but robin sits
claiming her space,
brooding in silence
awaiting eggs to hatch
come rain or strong wind-
ignoring nosy neighbors-
her eyes steady as sun
casting softest of light
on blooming zinnias
Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Quadrille, hosted by Merril Smith. The selected word is CRAB. Thanks for your visits and comments.
the train brings me
back alleys of the city buildings
graffiti walls of neglected streets
wheels bound to the south roads
i revel at the open spaces
of fields green & yellow
of trees lording it over the
rolling empty landscape
the train brings me
to new city with different
highlights & views
the towns are small packages
to be unwrapped with care
the folks who live here
know the folks who are just
passing by, who is
watching whom from the windows?
the train is a moving bridge
or am i the train
moving foward
and moving backward
after business is done
i note the small stores,
narrow roads, even narrower lanes
wildflowers greet you
as time slows down
my pulse mellows down to rest
the train brings me
perspective the colors of autumn
a nostalgia of the simplicity of life
in a small city & towns
but also a realization that i am
very much a big city person
i calculate the distance from home
in terms of verses i
pen waiting for the final
station stop
i step into the subway train
as the wheels grind & groan
the comfort of routine descend
from passing buildings & trees
my thoughts wander
wayward as dandelion fluffs
over the skyway of cars
over bridges of street art & protests
this space is unbothered by time
this dark tunnel is a fog of poems
this window overlooks gravity
& spots a majestic bird of prey flying
carrying me
over faceless passengers glued to screens
& hurried texts & to-do-lists-
how far do I go?
what unknown stops await me?
my eyes rest on the valley of blue
where the lake calms & cajoles
a murmuration of birds
until a whistle breaks
rudely intrudes my train of thoughts
my subway stop is here,
my seat is cold metal & plastic
my backpack weighs a ton
mind the gap (subway sign)
footsteps & faces crowd in
the city, whose clock hurries by
Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetry in Liminal Spaces, hosted by Dora. Thanks for the visits and comments.
The owl gave me a book
I was excited to open it
Is it a book of wisdom?
So I can follow it, a river
ever flowing, a bird knowing
its way home
But when I read it, what came
To me is a cacophony of sad poems
The melancholy of death songs
The owl looks at me
His bulging eyes filled with questions
His huge body carved by half-moon
Unmoved by my restless hands
Then he points to me a pen
Nudging me to write my words
Listen to my tides & heartbeat
Grow my own feet & feathered wings
Map and unmap my journey
I want to fly to the sky, I say
The owl is still, waiting for me
I scratch the pages with ink
I scour the edges with electric
moods and soulful dances
A flow of energy curls within, crisp as rain
I lose myself in the salt of verses
and valley of melodies and refrains
I forget where I am
Standing on a tree of life
Singing to the wind - my song
Artist: Catrin Welz-Stein
Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - PoeticsdVerse Poets Pub - Poetics hosted by Lillian Hallberg. Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.
There is an itch in my throat
Dry cough, ugh,ugh,ugh
Bubbles up my cheeks
I gulp it down with water
Trying not embarrass myself
In an open space office with cubicles
All around me, the office buzzes
of tapping of keys and busy fingers,
Snapping of headphones
I catch snippets of small & serious talk
This is nothing compared to
the summer construction outside-
Snarling buzzing of equipments
Clanging chinging of metal on metal
Whizzing of sand & dust & pollen
Screeching brakes of trucks
Beeping horns from impatient drivers
The city is a hive of buzzing energy
I sigh
At the end of the work day
After being enveloped in
The chug-chug-grating of train wheels
I step into the garden
Splattered with light and flowers
Chirp-chirp goes the birds
Zip-zoom for the bees
Ringing laugher of children from the park
Humming, tinkling from trees & leaves
My plants are greening & grinning
It is a good summer day
Posted for dVerse Poets Pub- MTB by host Bjorn Rudberg, where we are incorporating sounds in our poem, Onamatopoeia. Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST. Thank you for your comments and visits.
lilacs bloom during my birthday week
along the pathways, they are all white
and pink with fragrance a streak
of jasmine and rose-almonds, spring
air is cool while sunny sky is meek
i walk on clouds, i write about love
i gather dainty blossoms that reek
of rain, promises and silky nights-
lilacs on the vase, clustered & chic
Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetry Form, Magic 9. Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST. Thanks for the visit and comments.
is where dandelions and wild
flowers bloom
and where
red maple and lilacs rise to
greet the spring morning
hello yelllow!
is planted roots,
4 seasons
and city bursting & bustling
of hues, stories & languages
we're settled now
this place
we call
home!
Posted for dVerse Poets Pub- Quadrille - hosted by De Jackson. This a 44 word post with the chosen word, PLACE. Thanks for your visits and comments.
i read a poem or a book
and give them away
i gather every leftover tears & misses
and stir them to my green tea
i put down the mirror
and go for a walk in the park
or go to the unbeaten path, somewhere
strange & new to marvel the trees
i palm a fallen leaf or stone,
and get lost in the wonder of its veins,
palettes, ridges & wrinkles
i bake my mother's bread
and travel back in time
i try out my daughter's salad from IG
and heard the birdsongs outside the kitchen
i bury my nose among the wildflowers
and found my valleys & hills
i inhale the beat of your verses
and discover my music
i grab every chance to unfold & re-
fold and fold into my-
self, a butterfly every season
Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetics, How About a Selfie, hosted by Punam. Thanks for your visits and comments.
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Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight - Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.
Do not wait for me
I have found my map
Though my pockets are lined with sadness
I carry your gift, a wild flower yellow pin
I have found my map
And travelled to another country
Carrying your gift, a wild flower yellow pin
Reminding me to smell the flowers along the way
While travelling to another country
Your letters keep me company, soft as light
Reminding me to smell the flowers along the way
Will our paths cross again? Maybe, I'm hopeful
Your letters keep me company, soft as light
Though my pockets are lined with sadness
Will our paths cross again? Maybe, you said.
Please, do not wait for me.
Let us talk about insomnia
at 3:15 am. A dark bird sits on my bed
& wants to talk about his ambition. I am
curious, where does ambition come from?
Is it a seed that suddently grows into
giant tree out of my head? Is it a slow
painting of canvas, taking shape, defining my face?
The bird wants to climb Japan's Mount Fiji.
The bird wants the fancy feathers of peacock.
And fling himself to the moon.
His ambition is burning his feet after jumping
over fire stones after piercing the hornet's nest
Well I had enough of the bird chatter dream
I want to talk about my ambition - that
fire within me that refuses to die when an idea
Comes to me, like a buzzing bee
over the blooming yellow daffodils
Deafening sounds, lively chitter-chatter
As my heartbeat is running faster and
faster. Sleep is forgotten library book.
My feet are itching for calm after
leaping into the air, like a gazelle
bounding out to the open fields
My spine tingles as if a lover's touch
stole my sleepy head. Finally
dawn comes with pink hues and holds
a giant mirror to my small idea bulb,
now scribbled with crooked arrows. Will I survive
the scrunity of harsh reality? Dark bird, remind me
again, where does ambition come from?
Come to me in circles.
Come to me, piercing my bosom.
