borrowed lights

 

the ashen sky is falling

land exhales fumes and smoke

shadows widen, rehearsing

what comes next -

or so it seems

in the rearview mirror

my hands, empty bowls

my body, battlefield

storm-tested terrain

my feet, sore from stone-shard ground

or so it seems

in the rearview mirror

but here, right now

winter sun holds 

bare maples stand, listening

snow hushes what survives

i am here, attending

not to the dimming of borrowed lights,

but to the spark i carry-

fire struck from pen and paper,

time marked without

vines of regret

let us spring

toward the pale tree

where brightness still gathers

                              Inspired by:   Extinction of Useless Lights

                                             by Yves Tanguy

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight, our last one for the year 2025.  Thank you for all your visits and comments.  See you in January 5, 2026.  

December Tableau

 

I unbox gold trees

trimmed festive red bows

there are amber lights

tricking my eyes - moon-

seeds or neon lights-

cold nights, fevered dreams- 

December blues paint

falling snowflakes from

silver dusted sky

still the heat of you

remains - pillows, book-

marks,  coffee-stained mugs

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - MTB - Picture This in Six, hosted by Laura Bloomsbury.  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm.

sewing me

 

with maple leaves & apricot threads

along the pattern drawn in my head-

a mash-up of seasons

pinched in circles 

crinkled by moss & moonworts

there's a backstitch

to loop into,

brown as long tail of winter wheat

then scattered red as pomegranate seeds 

what hardness i have is softened

what stiffness i have is uplifted

to the steady clacking of the needle plate 

though the hemming is sloppy

and the binding a crooked line 

i am 

resilient as feed dogs,

threading & unseaming each patch 

as i go along

my floral-spiked hair is loose bobbin

my feet the bias, popping with color

i ease into an

applique sutured in green

spring words leaping from my lips

sun's breath on my hair

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Come Sew With Me...Sort of, hosted by Lillian.  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.  Thanks for your visits and comments.

November morning

 

November morning unfolds

heavy fog, drizzled grey sky, strewn apple seeds -

northern wind grows bleak and old

as maple trees stand bare, beads

of light knuckled by darkness, stalk-thin as reeds

Winter season turns the field

to ice; rose shrubs to broken sticks, fluff to stone-

the weeping willow, half-keeled,

waits out the cold, still alone

we stumble in thick socks, knitting warmth from bone

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetry Form is Spanish Lira.  This is a stanza form of 5 lines, with 7-11-7-7-11 using the consonant rhyme of aBabB.   Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.  Thank you for your visits and comments.

So This Is Mississauga

 

This city is a lyrebird

echoing voices

from every corner of the world

Arriving through Pearson Airport

the road unfurls - smooth, bright

lights shimmering beyond rows of maple trees

You may be lost at first,

but the stories of travelers & immigrants,

remind you the world gathers here -

Asian bowls, Italian plates,

South American sweets, vegan bowls

farm fields and stones giving way

to tall silver towers & landscaped streets

Beneath it all,

Credit River threads through conservation parks,

past pines & fallen maple leaves, pouring itself

into Lake Ontario

This too is the city

At Riverwood, we listen for the 

quick tapping of a woodpecker

Down at Lakeshore, we follow

the long blue stretch of the lake 

towards the Toronto's skyline

We breathe the crisp winter air

jackets and toques pulled tight

watching geese and swans glide

white on white

our mittened hands warm as our socks

Note:  “Mississauga” translates “River of the North of Many Mouths”. This is a major suburb of Toronto, Ontario.

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - So This is Ted Kooser or Local Wonders, with guest host, Jennifer Wagner. Tell us about your city. Thanks for your comments and visits.

autumn musings

 

who braided willow’s hair and left a shoe? 

a question sways beneath October’s breath. 

sky flickers blue where red and gold shine through, 

the sun drifts slow along the edge of death

each leaf unbuttons light the season knew

crab apple tree binds glass in morning grains

as if the sea once hummed beneath its veins.

the forest ferns hold silence in its sleeves

soft needles fold the world in tender chains

what does earth dream on, beneath fallen leaves?

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetry Form is Dizain.   Thanks for visiting and commenting!   

Credit River

 

the river's mouth is wide open 

gently pulsing tides under autumn's

foliage of maple and oak trees

along trail ways auburn & chestnut

fallen leaves, we go

downwards, downwards

listening to shrills of wood peckers 

and birdsongs from the robins &

Blue Jays, riotous beavers & frogs

leaping, leaping

along with salmon and trout

swimming from rocky broad bend

to marsh of cattails, weeds & grass

peak season is here

our fishing rods & paddles

swirling, swirling

to catch the harvest of the season

from this land we call home

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Dipping our Poetic Paddles, with guest host, Truedessa.  Thanks for visiting and commenting.

the sleeping gypsy

the heat of the desert

calms my body to sleep

tired bones slump on red sands

sun-shifted by blue sky

moon rises silvery

above snow-capped mountains

begging me to play and

dance with my mandolin

but i am kicking coins

and cares away, stillness

wrapped by brown earth

ignoring the curious lion

where goes my dreaming

i say, where my gypsy

feet & heart are free &

wild - there, here i am 

 

The Sleeping Gypsy

by Henri Rousseau (1897)

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

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.