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.

Thursday, March 28, 2024

coaxing spring season


my mom forgets her thoughts, butterflies in flight

but not her prayers.  her rosary beads are bright as sunlight


where do you find yourself at end of the day

are you cradling a lady bug?  or do you stare at the moonlight ?


the shadows have their seasons too.*  filled with dead poets.

yellowing regretful sighs.   time to change curtains to spring light


i will etch the walls with songs.  with color.  with feathers.

because inside me, is cardinal, awaiting spring. with sky light


the white wall.  the blank page.  you stitch the emptiness

into fullness.  you are embroideried canvas & edged with light


*Line:  The Shadows have their seasons, too"  from John Updike, Penumbrae


Posted for dVerse Poets pub - OpenLinkNight - Hosted by Sanaa Rizvi.  Thanks for your visits and comments.  Poetry form:  ghazal.



Tuesday, March 26, 2024

the building (land acknowledgement)

you moonwalk out of the building

whose wall tiles are blue-etched in history


giant banners follow the marbled columns 

as you stand to witness sunset throbs 


in glorious colors, washing 

large window frames with ecru & peach tints


beneath black suit

how sober cold you hold yourself


refracted by city neon lights- 

you belong here yet not quite from the tilt of your head-


on cobbled steps, you marvel the carvings

and gothic shape of the building 


and hearing the folklore rising from the relics

and feeling its hot breath on your skin-


maybe it will take another decade or two

of walking & inhaling the sun-baked streets


to feel connected to the ancient land the building

stands after hearing the land acknowledgement


for now, you just want to respect 

the ties that bind us all under the eyes


of the ever-steady moon-

for now, you just want nothing more than be hurled


to the sky, star-wrinkled

glinting of mysteries, stirring in you an ocean of awe



Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Hosted by Kim Russell.   Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.  Thanks for your visits and comments.


This is an example of a land acknowledgement:  

Land Acknowledgement for Toronto

We acknowledge the land we are meeting on is the traditional territory of many nations including the Mississaugas of the Credit, the Anishnabeg, the Chippewa, the Haudenosaunee and the Wendat peoples and is now home to many diverse First Nations, Inuit and Métis peoples. We also acknowledge that Toronto is covered by Treaty 13 with the Mississaugas of the Credit.


Thursday, March 21, 2024

False Spring


I listen to western wind's murmurings - 

Birthing songs by iris and daffodils

High-pitched cries by broad winged hawks nurturing- 

There is restlessness in the air, the chills

Of winter are ebbing low & bordering

Small buds & silky tendrils sprouting gills

Shedding dark skin of soil & instinct to cling

And inhale the marvelous light of spring


The sun's crimson fingers brings fresh mirror

Sketching the pale grey sky blue as bluebells

Coloring the leaves young and green, clearer

Than raindrops that shimmers with silver spells

But all that is short-lived as once more, furor

Of winter wind comes back, peeling back shells

Of green & draping its white coat, unasked

It's false spring.   We all huddle back, hands clasped!  



Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetry Form:   Ottavo Rima or Sonnetto Rispetto.  We are learning this traditional Italian poetry form.  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.

Tuesday, March 19, 2024

cold & lost in the song

 

What was that I see

Over the bridge

Not two lovers walking in dance-steps

Not line of cars threading slowly

Away from the green lamp posts 

To where the lake swallows 

                                               you    


It is bleak darkness

As if the sun is lost behind trees

As if all the colors got sucked out

And wounded tightly in hard fist 

Or is it I who is 

                                               lost                                                            


A bird 

with wings heavy as pewter 

with no driving instinct to return 

To where "home" is

That is nowhere between

                                               me   


and the goddess with lion's mane 

Magnificent but so pale                                 

As ghost, listless and weary as 

                                               i


Where is the zest for life?

What secrets did we keep that broke our peace?

Our yesterdays changed us

All the energy is spent

                                               lost    


And though there is this undeniable longing

inside my chest

To return to the familiar womb

To gather all the light once more

and embrace your laughter


i am content with the cold

absence of

                                               you            



René Magritte, Homesickness (1940), oil on canvas.


Posted for dVerse Poets Pub:   Everything We See, hosted by Melissa Lemay.  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm for the ekprastic challenge.  Thanks for your visits and comments.

Monday, March 4, 2024

my hand holds a pomegranate

 

I swallow the seeds  

spilling


warm sea in my womb 


bless my body

- a child -

untouched by sorrow

bestowed from darkness to light


through slumbering fog


hear my plea

heal bleeding pain

i'm weary but hopeful


when will our child of love be born?




Created by Microsoft Bing (AI)


Posed for dVerse Poets Pub - Quadrille, hosted by Punam. This is a 44 word post with the chosen word, slumber. Thanks for the visits and comments.

Tuesday, February 27, 2024

the hands of the artist



the middle finger of my right

hand

   grows a tree


white tap roots skitter

down

   interweaving with my veins


branches protude 

fingerlings swimming upward-

   against gravity


northbound -

    this is homeward drive

where mollusks are plenty    


my body is listening

   leap

capture the raging

   tides swelling within-   


this warm clay

coarsely molds friction & fire

   with flights of fancy


to sculpture -

wings are not required 

   the fruiting is art

   


Artist Credit:   Anastassia Zamaraeva


Posted for dVerse Poets Pub -  Poetics - 2024 Poets Leaping hosted by Lisa Fox.  Thanks for your comments and visits.

   


Monday, February 19, 2024

February morning



in a canvas of white

maple trees are empty baskets

while pine trees are lush of cones

along ice-covered pathways-

such a grey dreary sight

yet with slight touch

of sunrise, rolling clouds,  blue sky,

the morning is leavened

by puffs of yellow-butter radiance




Posted for dVerse Poets pub - Quadrille, hosted by De Jackson.  This is a 44 word post with the chosen word, TOUCH.  Join us with a poem when the virtual pub doors open at 3pm EST.  Thank you for your comments.

Tuesday, February 13, 2024

The Garden

Welcome to The Garden!

You may walk barefoot here if you wish.

Inhale the fresh air.

Sit on the benches under the shades of trees

Eat the fruits that you find

  Your hands will be holding the sun's warmth

  And the dewness of rainclouds 

Our trees here are grand as 

Cathedrals reaching for the sky

But watch out for poison ivy and stinging neetles

  The giant hogweed can cause burns

Traveller, there is no judgement 

  Of where you came from 

  Of what is the color of your skin 

We would love to hear your stories

  if you are so inclined to chatter 

  Over teapot of orange blossom

If you choose solitude and soil

  Abandonment with vines is the upward course

If you seek knowledge from the trees

  Meditation with the bees is the eastern path

And if you wish to walk further

Nearby a river runs in ziz zag pathway

   Refusing to run straight


 

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetics, Its Written in Stone, hosted by Dora.

Thanks for your comments and visits.

Monday, February 5, 2024

sky-painting

a cup of tea

simmers with aroma


you sip its warmth

as blues shuffles the air


evoking happy times-

you write your verses


imagining time is splatter of color

you draw on sands


vermillion sky-

mumuration of starlings-


you, being carried away

on clouds



Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Quadrille hosted by Lillian.  This is a 44 word post with the chosen word - Imagine.  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.


Thursday, February 1, 2024

the business of busyness

some of us see you as woman

in flowered hat

cool as a spring blossom

no one can guess that beneath

your walk with an air of elegance

that you are filled with piths of sadness


an emptiness that you cannot bottle

and put a label

so that your therapist can check

its shape

its hues and dunes

its composition 

her moon eyeglasses

could not decode where it

started nor prescribe the cure


so you carry a big purse of fullness 

and work your hands with busyness

your schedule is so booked

you blank out lunch

you forget to go outside 

and inhale the scent of lilacs & tulips-


real flowers, that is

if only your therapist knows

that the only thing that brings you a smile

are the birdsongs




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


Thursday, January 25, 2024

yesterday's blossoms

 


Under almond tree, I remembered you

murmuring blues, your face a poem


I traced with walnut ink & red feather

Wrinkled leather were your cheeks, soft rain


Softer still were your fingertips, milk-warm

that stirred a storm, clanging all my shores


Unmooring my usual road, I read fear

Instead of dear, purring adventure


I gathered all my luck, lures, tunes & rides

And ran- from the moon-tides, me & you



Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Toddaid, hosted by Merril Smith.  Join us at 3pm EST to find out more about this poetry form.  





Monday, January 22, 2024

when nerves are fire


when i arrived

sky was dove grey

as your face, cloud-pinched 

by pain


i wash your hands 

fragile as crepe paper


soothing gentle words 

believing

i give you relief 

but torment is intense

your nerves are fire


you say, 

being old is not fun



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

Tuesday, January 9, 2024

the clarion call from the mountains

i see you, bighorn sheep

on the steep mountain ledge and crevice 


your hooves fitting & climbing

through rocky terrain, stealthy as poet's muse


[what is so grand about you?]


you carry your large horns, smouldering spirals

as stately crown as your rich summer brown coat


your watchful gaze is steady

on the wide field of grass & clover & sage


oak and fir trees dot along the unpaved roads

where predators prowl waiting


for your missteps & fall

[can you remind me what is so special about you?]


you are patient as the slow moving clouds

watching the blue sky expanding, unfenced & unguarded


as your wild heart, beating to the call of northern winds

there is a sacred 


pact between you 

and the mountain gods


[i respect it and wait for the clarion call]


Posted for dVerse Poets Pub- Creatures of the Blank Space, hosted by Dora.  Years ago, we visited the Banff Mountains in Alberta, Canada, where we saw the Bighorn Sheep by the mountain sides.   They are spectacular creatures with massive horns.


Monday, January 8, 2024

i found (an escapade)

the lagoon

soft sands & shimmering 

i lost track of time


forgetting how quickly this 

turned to high tides, rocky-rolling


i swallowed salt & seaweeds

are my eyes jelly-red?


where's the boat?  

the slumbering sea is now awake

hungry-pressed

for the moon's opaque eyes




Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Quadrille, hosted by Melissa Lemay.   This is a 44 word post, with the chosen word, lagoon.   Please join us with your poem when the virutal pub doors open at 3pm EST.

Thursday, January 4, 2024

let there always be light

 

when the moon hides


ribbons the clouds to purple

gathers the bones of trees

& stardust

and shapes our eyes


into a waning crescent 


remember the tides 

that brought us to the shores

[the first light, warmest of light]

igniting our blood to fire


to be born

again [and again] 


"Let there always be light, (Searching for Dark Matter)", title poem by Rebecca Elson.


Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight.  Thanks for your visits and comments.

Tuesday, January 2, 2024

notes for january

 I.


It is not the best weather

Grey skies and winter chill

Dulls my red fancy feathers

Still I go tap dancing, a thrill


II.


Her singing is not too bad

A little off key, she got the keys

Melodic refrains, we are so glad

The choir is humming as bees 



III.


It is not the best list process

A seed turns war between want and need

Escalates to what I want to frame

versus what I want to unframe

What I want to remember

versus what I want to forget

On the left side, a grocery list

and a travel wishlist

On the right side, a what-not-to-do list

and a where-not-to-go list

I find myself in a pickle 

So, I tie myself to the moon

And rocket launch the first one: 

journaling of my day & dreams  




Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Litotes of Yesterday, hosted by Sanaa Rizvi.   I have selected to use litotes in the everyday. Please join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.