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.  

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.

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.

threading the threads

my mind is a puddle of fluff & fuss

my hands are busy clocks & cords

you tell me, it is not complicated-

it is either this way or that way

this way is to walk with the cat

or that way is go inside the room and wear 

tall crown I made, a Queen's golden crown

or a joker's cone cap

and if I choose a joker's cone cap,

is it going to make me laugh to oblivion

because I know my indecision of things

can really get in the way - see the empty 

table?   you tell me - easy,

walk with the cat, as if it is 

really a quiet walk on the path, out  

out of this churning madness of choices

in my head, a nest of noisy birds

waiting for mother's treat & ultimate goal-

freedom

[walking out & away with the cat]

in my dreamscape, I am a white horse 

bolting out of the frame, towards the moon

but my feet are rooted in threads, deep in silos-

where and when (things past)

Gertrude Abercrombie:  Where or When (Things Past), 1948, Collection of the Madison Museum of Contemporary Art

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

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.

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

 The False Mirror by Rene Magritte

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

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.

ode to a banana

 

my hand holds

you as a slice of sunshine

folded skin

yellowed as honeydew

your pulp is not sulty as a plum

nor mysterious as dragon fruit

you are a yellow stripe in a strawberry field

of exotic and colorful produce

plucked & peeled

you are my comfort snack

as a well-worn shirt

i wear 

through all the 4 seasons

many will have you fried in

sugar & cinnamon 

or boiled as a steamed fish

or mixed in breakfast oats

mashed

you are home made bread

here is the tea:

i prefer you

fresh and simple as a daisy 

bringing me

easy cares as light as butter-

fly wings

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight where I am hosting.    Happy Thanksgiving to those who celebrate it.    Thanks for your visits and comments.

autumn wishes

 

Blue windspells, slivers of sunlight, apple trees 

Carve us in silhouettes of geese in flight

Keeling in gratitude, with fruits, sweet & scarred

Blue windspells, slivers of sunlight, apple trees 

Hold us awed by falling leaves - plum, gold & russet

Filling each grey hour with pines & yearning 

Blue windspells, slivers of sunlight, apple trees 

Brighten our nights, warm as butternut soup

Folding time pink as origami cranes

Posting for dVerse Poets Pub- OpenLightNight.

Join us with a poem when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.  Thanks for your comments!

Just saw

 

I saw what you did

with the trees

Along the road & into the valleys

weaving to the lush forest

I saw what you did 

with the birds, hawks & butterflies

There were other creatures too

whose silence is now deafening when

You cut down that mother tree

with your giant saw, with disdain & lack

of empathy.  Thereafter

we all saw the giant warehouses covering

the landscape as sawdust,

the soft pink sky forever hidden from our eyes-

So don't complain now why

your fruits taste like plastic

And the air is a violent red, itching your lungs

And the land is ash, sinking with every fervered breath 

Just Saw from 

Erick Johansson

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

the season of blossoms and catkins

 

above the weeping willow tree, the blue sky

shimmers with shrills from black ravens, heralding 

the season of tiny crowns & catkins & blossoms

emerging with dazzling sunset of pinks and reds

my window frames a day of popping colors-

above the weeping willow tree, the blue sky 

trills along with robins in building their nests

while magnolia trees perfume the air with vengence -

it's the season of tiny crowns & catkins & blossoms

sun-painted as dandelions or star-dusted as sakura

i swoon as if i have never seen flowers in my life

under the weeping willow tree.   the blue sky

transforms my words into daisy-chain verses

turning all my empty boxes into seedling pods 

it's the season of tiny crowns & catkins & blossoms

the morning light evokes a joyful sigh 

as trees regain their leaves & tulips begin to bud -  

above the weeping willow trees, the sky blues -

it's season of tiny crowns & catkins & blossoms

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight.  Join us with your 1 poem when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.  

Our city is bursting with cherry blossoms trees, magnolia trees and catkins from the weeping willow trees.  Outside my "office", the birds are building their nests (under the balcony), and the ravens have returned.  I love the spring season.

a feast (a list)

 

my nostrils filled with spicy chicken soup, my fingers warmed by buttered bread

a foggy morning, clouds on my head, dewdrops on my feet

an upbeat R&B music, soft humming of appliances in the house

a winter blue plate, oiled by spices, white painted over cracks

the hush of the room, mess of clothes & accessories, smell of soap & towels

bare garden, a pot of spring seeds, soggy splayed summer leaves

an empty page of the book, unanswered questions, hanging conversation

the silence of trees & birds, scattered fallen leaves, broken flower shrubs

slow drip of melting winter ice, fading sunlight on walls, faint sounds of laughter

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

thankful

 

i trace the moon's face with ink

darkness & starlight

- a stunning flower, a pearl-

thank you moon

i gather the blue from the sky,

the unburdened flights of gulls & 

serenity of murmuring tides-

thank you lake

i click & tap on black keyboards

my hands are busy bees

hopping & gliding along excel sheets-

thank you work colleagues

i read the words of dead poets

as yellow daffodils rise & bloom (again)                     

as birdsongs fill the air (again)     

thank you garden        

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight - Thanks for joining us!                       

bones from the sunken ship

 

lay me down

on craggy rocks, where cedar and pine trees 

veil the blue sky

let my bones be salted

by seagulls & shrunken dried by sun & clouds 

i will float

not a lost map

nor a ghost from 18th century sunken ship

but to the vibrancy 

of turquoise waves &

woodpecker's incessant tapping 

on pine tree

Big Tub Harbour, Tobermory

Posted for dVerse Poets, OpenLinkNight, hosted by Mish.   I just came back from my vacation in Tobermory, Ontario and some of the lines are taken from my time there.  Thanks for the comments and visits.

mo(u)rning tea/ anniversary

 

before the birds sing

& yellow daffodils unfurl

pour yourself a teacup of mint & jasmine

& write your story of regrets on the pages 

of notebook:  line by line

the words appear waiting      as if motionless

the verses turn wanting        as if suspended

you know all of them, lingering at edge of light 

beautifully absent

but you have learned something by now

you have not mourned them   

you burned your bridges

Posted for dVerse OpenLink Night,hosted by Mish.   Inspired by Tuesday's Poetics prompt on bridges.  Thanks for the visit.

Cicada

you own the night with your voice
drumming our flesh with city vibes

the moon beds you with starlight 
& silverdust, we turn to moonflowers

yet your eyes are bright sun-
flowers even when your bones

are weary, your breasts are heavy
with scars, still

your words are warm honey
& herbed tea, spooned by kindness  

as you watch over the vessel of your
bloodline & friends vine in tangled joy

now as our hands are weeping
we're also smiling with birdsongs of your memories

i breathe 
your spontaneity & zest for life

there are no black or white lines
only colors spilling out from pen & lens

rest in peace, friend



Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - OpenlinkNight.   Please join us when the pub doors open by 3pm EST.  This poem is in remembrance of my school mate who died this week.   

today, i am a daffodil

the world is a globe
of swirling dust & dead leaves
covering the streets
empty of cars & bustle of city

i hold it, slanting
to where a single sheen of light
glows & spreads
its palette of hues & birdsongs

tiny buds of daffodils,
moss & wild blooms
are birthing, babbling
with smell of earthworms

rhythm of life surges, swells
with measured beats
listening to ancient call of earth
                                                      & i follow



Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight - We are open to read your poems.   Come and join us when our virtual doors open at 3pm EST.   Stay safe and healthy.

December days

i don't measure the days
     white-ashed clouds & snow
piles up my garden
     & ghosts the nights of faded ink
instead i marvel at every

sunrise, hint of savage pink
     crowing gloriously of spring songs
& beat of your nectarine heart
     in the wild abandon of the dance
     
     

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight - Join us for our last OLN for 2019.    Thanks for your visits and comments.

Wings

you stride with your walking stick
left to right, left to right, along corners
up the stairs & alleys
along subway doors

i can't imagine what you may not see-
not this winter season full of greys 
but the magic of spring
you
young gazelle, 
raising your face to raindrops

i know you believe in angels 
though
you see, i see not one, not two but many
hands, including myself 
reining you from falling onto the tracks
guiding you along
wishing you nothing but good
tidings 
along your journey 

white hawk on tree

silent sentinel on the watch-

my morning, a gift-

Posted for dVerse OpenLinkNight.   Happy Thanksgiving to our US friends!  Thanks for joining in when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.

One spring day

morning mist  
bridal veils of white   
rain hymns on my cheeks

skirt me emerald green
with thumbs so new
dewdrops slip from my crown-

robe me blue
deep shade of lake
pregnant with reverence

slipper this path-
dash of yellow tulips & whiff of
pink magnolias

and I'll spin
in the jar:
birdsongs, cotton stars
and sun-roasted spice

                                               Blue-eyed wild flower, Riverwood


Posted for dVerse Poets Pub- OpenLinkNight, Hosted by Lillian Hallberg. Join us with a poem when the pub doors open at 3pm.  Thanks for the visit.