Thursday, December 5, 2024

Winter Tree

 


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.

Thursday, November 28, 2024

November


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     




Sugar Maple Tree

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Nove Otto.   Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.  Thanks for your visits and comments.   


Tuesday, November 26, 2024

[alexa is always listening], AI

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?




Monday, November 11, 2024

word play


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.

Tuesday, November 5, 2024

dear joy

 

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.


Thursday, October 31, 2024

October's spells


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.




Monday, October 28, 2024

at the end of road

 

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.

Thursday, October 24, 2024

Yellowing

 

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.

Tuesday, October 22, 2024

rhythm of autumn


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. 


Tuesday, October 15, 2024

the woman in the garden

 

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.

Monday, October 14, 2024

lighter than air


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.

Thursday, September 19, 2024

September sky

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 



Crab Apple Tree


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.

Tuesday, September 17, 2024

walking on air


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



Inspired by the work of John Pai


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.

Thursday, September 5, 2024

The Tableau

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



Washago, Ontario


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.

Tuesday, September 3, 2024

cherry's laughter

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.

Monday, September 2, 2024

summer's end

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]



Zinnia, Orange Cupcake


Posted for dVerse Poets Pub- Quadrille #207 Poem Spin Cycle, hosted by De Jackson.  The chosen word is SPIN to be used in this 44 word count poem.  Thanks for your comments and visits.

Tuesday, August 27, 2024

dream catchers

 


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.





Tuesday, August 6, 2024

i dream of dreams (i cannot remember)


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.

Monday, August 5, 2024

an unfinished book project

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



Unfinished home-made calendula oil project



Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Quadrille 205, A Jar Full of Poems, hosted by De Jackson.  Thanks for your comments and visits.  



Thursday, July 25, 2024

gentle rain


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.

Monday, July 22, 2024

summer plans 2024


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.


Tuesday, July 16, 2024

it begins with

 

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.

Thursday, July 11, 2024

Merchants of Venice

 

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.


Tuesday, July 9, 2024

Thank you, Sarah Connor

 

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.”


*Rooks at Twilight


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.  

Monday, July 8, 2024

brooding under our balcony


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.


Tuesday, June 18, 2024

a one-day business trip

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



 

Posted for the dVerse Poets Pub, Poetics, Travelling by Train - Hosed by Punam.  Thank you for your visits and comments.

Tuesday, June 11, 2024

mind the gap

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



                                        Rick Amor (Australian) “The Agent,” 2019 Oil on canvas 81 x 117 cm

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetry in Liminal Spaces, hosted by Dora.  Thanks for the visits and comments.

Tuesday, June 4, 2024

the owl and me

 

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.   

Thursday, May 30, 2024

Sounds

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.


Thursday, May 16, 2024

lilacs

 


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.     

Monday, May 13, 2024

here (this place)

 



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.

Tuesday, April 30, 2024

self-help

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.

Thursday, April 25, 2024

morning commuter



he was earth-skinned and sky-scarred
with his dark brown jacket, black beanie,
dark jeans and black shoes

he got in the transit train to Toronto & stood
with left hand cupping his ear, conversing about
rides, station stops for the entire 30 minutes ride

was he talking to God?
because his jacket elbows & sleeves were
frayed & tattered, as well as his jeans & worn shoes

his fingers keep pointing to the train subway
map, marking his destination to the west, further
than my stop.   he did not sit down but stood pacing

and talking by the exit doors.   his voice - 
a lost wind, a lone bird without a flock -
swearing & mocking to the invisible party

was he talking to God?
because his hands were empty
because his pockets were empty

his eyes, the black sun
or was it a black pearl?   or was it my
eyes reflecting back, wanting daylight to arrive

& banish the darkness from the tall stranger






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

Thursday, April 18, 2024

dear traveller

 

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.




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

Tuesday, April 16, 2024

Insomniac

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.





Posted for dVerse Poets Pub- Poetics hosted by Sanaa Rizvi.   The theme is Maggie Smith and Conversational Mode of Address.  Thanks for your comments and visits.

Tuesday, April 2, 2024

Other Worldly

 


we are floating in dust & gas

we catch burst of light

as well as the tail blue-violet of darkness 


                                                                         there is an awakening 


we are shapeless yet shaped

by forces unseen, more powerful than ocean's

turbulent waves & scorching as

volcanic eruptions


                                                                         a daffodil blooms 


a nursery of beginnings of space &    

matter.  over time, where do we cast 

ourselves listening to the waves 

of energy & light  


                                                                        budding leaves of tulips rises


around us, clusters of stars & dark matter

colliding, collapsing, pulling & pushing as if

following the blue print of Master Hands


                                                                       digging the soil, soft as rain


the black hole divides

us,  the sun completes our divinity

though we are mere specks, wrapped

in the continuum of light


                                                                          a season of firsts, spring




 Photo by John McKaveney: The Orion Nebula. “This is an active star forming region about 1400 light years away, of condensing gas and dust, illuminated by newly forming stars. Our solar system formed in a region much like this about 5 billion years ago. The photons that were observed when this picture was taken, left the nebula in 624 AD.  At that time, Mohamed had just won the Battle of Badr, in Saudi Arabia, the classical period in Europe was ending and the middle ages beginning, the Mayas were just beginning to build their largest pyramids, and Europeans had not yet set foot in North America.  Throughout this entire time, those photons of light were traveling through space to be captured to form this photograph, where their journey finally ended.”


Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Stepping Out of this World, hosted by Lillian.  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm.  Thanks for the visits and comments.