travel notes

 

empty

my pockets are

not, not when red leaves fall

on fern-bogged trails, my hands gather

feathers,

pinecones,  

blue-green river 

tides, snow-capped mountains, trees,

birdsongs, sky's blue, my chest swelling-

joy-packed

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - MTB:  Cinquains Revisited, hosted by Bjorn Rudberg.  Thanks for your visits and comments.

autumn

 

my face, blank canvas 

my body, sand and stone  

until

you unlock me:

riddles, stories, rings, colors

your beating heart

is my green flag, furling sorrows 

to songs, stamping the sky 

blue, rubbing saffron & spice

on every blurred page of my book-

my northward wind

you gift me:  autumn's eye

drawing character lines on my face

my wrinkled hands hold closely

pot of red olives & spring seeds, i   

am 

sailing deeper & further across tides 

& mountains

with you

Ismael Nery - Infinity

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

August morning

is cooler, than last week's steady

torching of the garden & parks

on the kitchen table are summer's produce:

juicy peaches, ripe mangoes, melons, berries

from the nearby grocery store, including

pots of rosemary, basil and lemon grass  

the gifts from summer also include

home grown flowers from marigolds

to zinnias, whose seeds i will carefully

zipped up for next spring's planting

i love watering the back garden,

mesmerized by the sprinkling waterdrops

and even now that its a bit cooler,

i love the green lushness of the fields

savoring each rain downpour   

as maple leaves are slowly turning brown

what we planned at the start of year

has given us a clear direction:

this home is more precious than ever-

our spring's sale showing did not materialize

which turns out to be blessing after all

as i slowly hang up paintings, unpack kitchen gadgets 

from the garage, arrange a vase, curtains

cushions, bed coverings, books that

give our space a unique look

not the ubiquitous bland "perfect for sale home"

i breathe it all until plant questions intrude:

when to bring back all the tropical 

plants indoors?

and where to fit them all in our living room?

Posted for the dVerse Poets Pub - Poetics - Where do we go from here? Hosted by Melissa Lemay.  Thanks for your comments and visits.

untitled [summer]

 

summer

my balcony of zinnias-

blooming pink, red and tangerine 

an empty nest

amidst the birdsongs, i scatter the sun

flower seeds

Summer 2025

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - MTB, A Revisit with The Cherita, hosted by Merril Smith.  Thanks for your visits and comments.

Riverwood

tall red maple leaves are inviting

we walk inhaling the cool light

moss, wood ferns, wildflowers edging 

our pathway of pebbles & grass 

we pass the storm-struck fallen tree

scattering bark, a haven shed

for chipmunks, squirrels, buzzing bees

and birds with wings of black & red

terrain is rugged yet wood-soft

at the credit river, we marvel-

wood duck, mallard, and blue heron

catching fish & blueing sky joyful

Riverwood, Mississauga City, Ontario

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Let's Take a Walk in the Woods - Thank you for your visits and comments.

imposter syndrome

i am going bananas

over my empty bag

i take out my fishing rod & reel

and cast the line over the lake 

it is summer & sun

has blued & sparkled the shore

stones, sands, pebbles, low tide

i take it

crackles, bouts of silence, birdsongs, sweat

running down my back

a tremor pulses

and i reel in the line to look at my catch

is it lost door key? 

is it freshwater salmon?

or maybe a lost train ticket?

nope

it is the shape of 

a woman's torso

robust, unpretentious, glorious

the randomness is serendipity

the nothingness is everything

and this sits right with me:  

lens of the uncertainty of the poet

                       The Uncertainty of the Poet

                                                   Giorgio de Chirico

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight.  Please join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.   Thank you for your comments and visits.

the color of my days

i.  monday

white is the color

of regret, an un-

painted bowl left on table

ii. tuesday

i am color-

less sheet of blue static-

-unsent messages

-unfinished thoughts 

iii. wednesday

i can eat the sun-

flowers all day, but my

tongue is dragon fruit -

coloring the rain water pink 

iv. thursday

it must be the sand

or the sandpipers

how else can my mornings

be joy-struck, bicolored musings of sky 

vi.friday

i walk these city streets 

and see different shades of color 

from skin to hair to eyes-

i do not pretend to be colorblind

your story is different from mine

but it is the same ocean tides that 

powers your lungs & mine to go out

there & protest & march- 

vii.satuday

i read the 

books & albums

as if they sugar candies-

it was sticky with colorful memories

of the past

though its all in black and white

viii.sunday

and what of black?

it is erasure

it is sacrifice

not a color lacking 

a seed 

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

steps to my arrival (here)

 

Cut the twining cord quickly

with a sharp scissors

Use the cord clamp to stem 

the bleeding

It will not hurt (for now)

The scars will fold under my navel

As will my native tongue

sink to the bottom of my belly of fears

Learn the language of 

weather politeness of 4 seasons

Handle the etiquette

of fork & knife with ease

Still the waving hands as intuition

& glaze the summer skin to winter ice

Walk the balancing act

between following & not following

between listening & not listening

To myself & this pathway that I have

chosen, from brave idea to blistering reality

of starting over in a new country

a 360 degree turn

from one journey to another

Jump as if there is no bridge

to return to, 

Even if each detour, is a dead-

weight of self-blame 

Even if every mistake is a sword to

the carefully constructed excel timeline-

In the rearview,  

Plow along as elegant swans, with no outside 

signs of breaking point

What kept me sane, gentle as raindrops?  

 

Writing poems

A balm & thread to my turmoil

Strewn away as spinning dandelion fluffs

on a windy summer day, scattering

verses lead to stanzas, rhymed 

& unrhymed, each poem 

a journey to

Forgive & find myself

after patching & stitching faded lilac

blooms & falling autumn leaves to my sleeves-

I am (wholly) grateful

For marking 20 years in this land, we now call home

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub: Poetics:  Building from the Broken hosted by Mish.  Celebrating this day as our first day in Ontario, Canada with my family.  What a journey it has been! 

coward

you lied

when you brazenly told the new group

that you are wild & adventurous

one person took your word

& tested your boundaries-

he knocked at your hotel

door at midnight

you are new <here>

strangely, this city is brimming of cloves,

nutmeg & spicy hot peppers-

you are writing a new page

in this exciting theatre stop

your head is swimming with beer & crackers

enamored with the lure & lore, you

are making a a bold move

(in your head with clouds)

you plump up your plumeria-

misted pillows

& settle down deep in your bed, ignoring

the knocking at your door-

the phone ringing with urgency-

you recall that you are just a visitor here

& must go back to your home 

base later in the day-

your luggage & plane tickets are ready-

there are some doors that you 

need not open-

there are some bridge planks 

that you guesstimate is too short for you 

to land firmly on shores-  

you just prefer everyday life 

to be boring 

as a dissected frog-

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub- Poetics:  A View of One's Own, hosted by Dora.  Thank you for your comments and visit.

becoming

you wanted lines to be perfect

yarning silk to flawless hues

yet your face is moody spring, unkempt 

yearning for moon's kiss & blues

observe the shedding of olive skin 

obtuse as words you scrawled on walls              

offer sage leaves & feathers, & spin

oats & seeds, the wild voice calls

begin each day with tender hands

bathing in light, forgiving yourself 

bedazzle with larks, jiggle run on sands 

becoming is chaos, off-the-shelf

enter at-your-own risk show, you scrap

endurance with pride, & you also fall 

endless times, until you fly without a map

edging lakes, you cup palms & call-

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetry form is Trolaan.  Thanks for your comments and visits.