Nutty over this fruit

                                                             Dragon Fruit

Have you tasted this food?  
Dragon fruit
One with pink scales & pulp like grits  
Split it
The taste is a sweet kiwi & melon
Grab a spoon 
It's crunchy as nuts on cool afternoon
Imagine a strawberry pear
With tiny black seeds on skin so fair 
Dragon fruit, split it, (then) grab a spoon! 


Written for Poets United - Food, hosted by Sumana and  D'verse Poets Pub - Ovillejo, hosted by De Jackson ~ I am trying my hand in this form, which is a ten line verse.

Basically, broken down line by line, you’re looking at (aa bb cc cddc): 
1. A longish line.
2. A shorter line that rhymes with line 1, and will become the beginning of line 10.
3. A longish line. 
4. A shorter line that rhymes with line 3, and becomes the middle of line 10. 
5. A longish line.
6. A shorter line that rhymes with line 5, and becomes the end of line 10.
7. A longish line that rhymes with line 5. 
8. A longish line. 
9. A longish line that rhymes with line 8. 
10. Line 10 combines lines 2, 4 and 6, verbatim, into a complete thought.

Check out the full article later when the pub opens at 3pm EST ~  Thanks for the visit ~

One lemon(y) afternoon

Grace @ Everyday Amazing

I found tran-
quil(i)ty on bed
of lemon-tarred leaves,
zest-stirred by autumn breeze

My eye-
lids drooped
to slow tick-tock-chuck 
of warm sun(shine) un-ra-vel-- i --- n----- g




Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Enjambment, Part 2 with Guest Blogger De Jackson
and Poets United, Tranquility ~  We have been enjoying a rather warm(er) autumn week ~

Before dawn & storm's landing

                                                       Credit to:  Joni Niemela



night sky is bathed in deep purple 
mystery, while moon is sword dangling
between two mountains & broad river
alone I am not
hearing the calls of migrating birds
& stampede of thousand wildebeests
i prepare to travel west 
where drum songs for the dead 
echo heartbeats 
of closing thunderstorm




Posted for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads -Micro poetry.  A decastich, a poem of 10 lines and Poets United ~  Thanks for visit ~

Gifts of African Night Sky

By Beth Moon

by barren land
ancient trees gnarled by storm dust
rise with garland 
& dress shimmering of silver raindrops-
tonight, she dances under diamond-lit sky



~0~0~



love the trees 
as your beloved children,
said her grandmother to her-
so she planted trees until her last day
tonight, she hears their music for the gods




~0~0~


think for yourself
and question everything,
her teacher told her-
so she broke bread with friends & strangers
tonight, under sea of stars, she writes





Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Gifts hosted by Ahbra Pal ~
and Poets United - Teacher, hosted by Susan 
Thanks for the visit ~

Unsettled artist visions of death

Photography by Ray Collins

Into the black waves, I would ride
In a single white boat 
My hands paddling the wooden oars
To the farthest point I see

Early morning is my time 
to submit to nature's will
My heart's a broken wheel
So faint, I am flat leaf

The sun is tugging a rope   
Pressing the weight of death
So deep onto my chest
I am a fragment

Knotted, undistinguished 
As shell bone or  sponge
Water rushes into my ears
I embrace brine & foam 

This sea & darkening sky
becomes a forest bed, I am
Giant kelp, floating mat
Letting the fish, sharks & lobsters 

Carry me forth, cell after cell
Weed upon weed, I say
To all living creatures
Take every part of me as food

And multiply in ignorance*


*Line and verses inspired by Unsettled Motorcyclist Visions of His Death by Thom Dunn

Posted for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Inspired by poems of Thom Dunn
and Poets United - Thanks for the visit ~

Self-Portrait

                                                                        Artist in his Studio by Rembrandt


In the light, your face is half moon
Etched on canvas, unfurling
Shadows of restless sea, I see

Jagged lines, brittle as sand dunes
Browning hues, lush as autumn's swirling  
In the light, your face is half moon

Silver-lidded, a mirage of June's perfect skies 
But August's unflinchingly death stares
Bestow shadows of restless sea, I see

Your singular passion, your wounds
Glint of secret core, raw as unrefined salt
No light nor half moon can dim, a face

Inked in velvet-red strokes, a darkening to swoon
A master boldly unrepentant as eagle swooping its prey
There are shadows,  restless as sea, I see  

Deep despair from love's lost
Grieving hands from burying a child
In the light, your face is half moon

Celebrated by many, your signature is known
But you breathe on cliff's edge, a yearning 
to live amidst shadows, restless as the sea, I 

Look for your bones under church's tombstone
Marked for men, broken and poor     
In the dying light, your face pivots a full moon
throwing shadows to restless sea, I see.....         me


Posted for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Ekphrasis - Hosted by Bjorn Rudberg
and Poets United - This started as a villanelle but I added more lines & didn't follow the rhyming scheme.    Thanks for your visits ~

The body's clock

Photo - Douglas Salisbury

"Look, the trees are turning their own bodies into pillars  of light"

In Blackwater Woods - Mary Oliver

his body knew not
seasons nor time's tempest 
but only its own heartbeat
slower than low tide 
on long summer's day

outside the sun beckons
orange pink light,
a mirror of new day    
but his bones are heavy
silted with mysterious roots   
curling stiff as purple-red autumn leaf 
he sinks into sleep
steeped with clouds
ever wandering with wind




Posted for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads- Play It Again, Inspired by Kerry's William Carlos Williams, and Susie's Bits of Inspiration, The Photography of Douglas Salisbury
and Poets United.   This is based on meeting someone who has irregular & mysterious sleep patterns. Thanks for the visit ~

When time is a mirror of the past

Crawford Lake, Milton, Ontario

by Grace@ Everyday Amazing

Not a breath of wind nor cawing of  black birds can rustle the lake's deep deep sleep.  It cradles time on its belly, pregnant of memories of the first people and creatures who once lived beside it.   By the lake's end, a garbled cedar tree watches over the lake, marbled in blue mystery. It is estimated that the lake is 10,000 years in the making and the remnant of the last ice age.

Summer breeze

is a gentle tap on my shoulder-

I stir not, nor lift

my giant hands from bed

filled with bones of my lost children 

Posted for Imaginary Garden for Real Toads - Poetry Time, Hosted by Karin
& Poets United - We visited this lake yesterday and toured some conservation parks as weather was summer perfect.  

Notes:  A 1971 study revealed Crawford Lake to be meromictic –  because the lake’s basin is deeper than it’s surface area, the lowest levels of water are very rarely, if ever, disturbed by wind or temperature changes. Without an annual turnover of water, there is little oxygen present in its depths and minimal bacterial breakdown, which preserves the layers of sediment that have built up over time. This build up provides an accurate record of the human and natural history of the lake and its surroundings. Studies of this sediment revealed the agricultural history of the Iroquoian people, and the presence of a pre-contact village. 

The beauty of the woman

The heart of the woman is wide-mouthed sea
Carrying child's lusty cries before dawn
On her swollen breasts nestle a tribe
On her broad shoulders ride warriors
Her bloodline is red as fiery volcano

The hands of the woman is baked brown by sun
Sweaty & dirty by toiling soil & tending chores 
She moves with a purpose, planting her roots
so her children will know her, of her
Her words are grain, spreading field to field-

The face of the woman is marked by every lash
Of windstorm, every tear of thundering clouds
Yet her demeanor is calm, murmuring of rain drops
On her body, round & laden as sudden flurry
of March spring blooms, beautifully astonishing- 

                                Henry Moore - Figure lying (Canada, Ottawa, 1930)


Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Muses from History - Hosted by Abhra ~ I was inspired by Henry Moore sculptures when I went to our Art Galley of Toronto ~
And Poets United - Beauty hosted by Sumana

The trespasser

When city slips into night beat
And streets are near-empty
of cars 
He comes out
marking back alleys
With his signature 
eccentricity

With pitted cheeks  
He struts
like he owns all street
corners 
yellow-pissed by homeless 
beggars
whores, pimps
drunkards 
gypsies with tarot 
And all the nobodies 

stencil-blued 
by moon
perfectly round
above split-level condominiums  

Graffiti Alley, Toronto City @Grace

Posted for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - 55 Words - Trespasser
and Poets United - Thanks for the visit ~

While waiting to die

Her weakened voice's a half whisper
But she's got eagle's eyes- 
Each day, her accounting fingers  
labelled, folded, parceled, incised

All her worldly possessions- clothes
Piled neatly by seasons
Shoes, boxed along with bags & hats,
Jewels--not for grievance-- 

She's a rose, darkly burnt,  ashes
Smoldering of last fire
Her body hears death's baritone
Yet she's busy- here, there - 

                                               Photography by Ars Thanea



Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Emily's Not So Common Meter (Emily Dickinson), Hosted by Victoria C. Slotto
and Poets United - Acceptance

I have learned that my daughter in law's 89 year old grandmother has been giving away her things and properties, upon learning that she is in the last stage of cancer.

Of grace & poise

She moves effortlessly
as a flower
bright orange red
with petal cups holding 
rain water & dew
bearing a thousand seed pods
to be carried away by wind, 
birds & bats.   

She balances each day
with children
with household chores
with nature's remedies
with a crown lighter than
basket of food on her head.

 

                                   Mayan Indian woman carrying basket on her head  by Robert Crum

Picture credit:   here

Posted for Imaginary Garden for Real Toads - Goodness Gracious, hosted by Karin G.
& Poets United - Thanks for the visit ~

Flower

Stones
at our feet

Time is the black milk 
we drink 
morning
noon 
& night

Our skin hammers 
hard walls 
seeking water &
adding petals

Sun flares
bloody red, hot oilseeds
on ground

One blindman's word above leaded sky:

flower

Picture credit:    here

Posted for the Imaginary Garden for Real Toads - Featuring the work by Paul Celan.   The post is inspired by his poem, Flower.
and Poets United - Thanks for the visit ~

Mirror, mirror

you are the polished
glass
my eyes mend
everyday
lush  
red lipstick
carefully drawn
over delicate wrinkles   

your edges are
stitched
with precision
while mine  
wallows
damp with shallow 
rain
& flaws with each
sharp thunder clap

i wince
under your bright
harsh light but
once the moon lingers
his fingers on your oval frame
you are ivory window
opening
you are third-eye needle
piercing 

beneath the milky 
layers,
a face
waiting to be unmasked-

   

Credit to  Brooke Shaden

Posted for Imaginary garden for Real Toads - Ode to Quotidian Hosted by Karin

and Poets United - Thanks for the visit ~

Spring's blessings

cherry blooms in pink
rain-scented, suckling soil's deepest light        
I'm carried away to sky

~0~0~


Today when the trees pink & rise 
     with spring's first step
Today when afternoon sun flirts  
     with the lilac & lemon tulips          
Today when the hawk catches the tail
     wind of rain-clouds
Today when someone I love is slowly dying 
    and when someone I don't know is dying
Today when someone steps away from the past
    and opens the door to a new journey
When the oranges ripen, fragrant 
    as long stem roses in a green vase   
Let the beauty of this day come inside
    resting its head on your chest 
As a child with a mother does, as they silently 
    watch the robins weave their nests-
Let its fierceness and tenderness hold you
Let its vastness be undisguised in all your days    

*Lines inspired by Jane Hirsfield, A blessing for the Wedding 

Grace @ Everyday Amazing

Posted for Imaginary Garden for Real Toads - Featuring Jane Hirshfield
and Poets United ~ I am on a semi-blogger break as we are preparing for the wedding of my eldest son this month ~  Wishing you happy spring in my part of the world ~  
And Happy Mother's Day to all ~

Ten Ways of Looking at Music

Photography:  K. Sparrek

I.     The gramophone is pillow
       cradling her sleep 
       whistling a music only she hears 

II.    The silence
       between the waves
       curled back string, taut - 
       the music in repose

III.   She walks with music
       of summer wind
       each step, cursive rhythm 
       
IV.  His words pierce her skin
      Swelling into scar
      Not even green tea
      nor music can soothe

V.   The digital music is light as air
      She walks
      with the clouds, cottoned to
      sun
      
VI.  The drums & piano keys
      war against each other
      His chest rises 
      with each horn's long call

VII. He was dancing as if the red ants
      are nibbling his feet
      The music must be sweet 
      as sugar 

VIII. Sleep eluded us
       So we order music
       as midnight snack &
       mambo as zombies

IX.   When the moon is new
       music draws us
       a star in our palms 
       
X.    She seeded music in winter-
       By spring, 
       it was hopping with orange-        
       breasted robins 


Posted for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Inspired by Wallace Stevens' Thirteen Ways of Looking at Blackbird
& Poets United - Thanks for the visit ~

Rust on first day of spring

It was one wet spring
lilac wore me
bluer than I could recall, my knees

jelly-dewed.   Your words were butter
luring me as a bee 
to feast the white tulips. Invisibly  

we silk-spun to lovers
against my family's wishes.   A stone
flowered under my breastbone

and my hands jerked, twisted rubber.
Was it the drugs you were spooning 
me or your coppery lies?   Pruning 

back, I vomit the moon's supper 
burning my stomach & every breath. 
Too late, your poison, a riverbed 

steeped of your true colours covering  
my bones, tarnishing blood  
to iron, rusting my tongue, petrified wood.       

Petrified Wood by Margaret Bednar

Process Notes:  While waiting in the hospital last night, I saw and overheard the drama of this family. The night ended with the very thin daughter being treated for epileptic seizures which the parents blame on her drug addled boyfriend.   

Posted for Imaginary Garden for Real Toads ~ Stretching metaphors in a free versed constanza form ~ and Poets United - Thanks for the visit ~ 

the night

the shadows we follow

by Brooke Shaden

Your hand is heavy, Night, upon my brow
I am flushed with fever, pulse incessant of waves
submitting to shadows like headless wind

The moon is draped in blue ice glace
I am woman, prying open the clam
holding the key pearling the sky bloody red

Exhale the ghost's captive gazes
Exhale anguished lies
Inhale the lover's whispers, Night,
Inhale rain, sultry smoky notes

I turn over to you, these words    
weld them into peridot 
dark olive-green

My mask cannot hide me now
And I come unbidden, birthing 
with mercuric heart-


Title, first line & words inspired by Nobel Prize Wole Soyinka's Night poem. 



Posted for Imaginary Garden for Real Toads - We are getting inspired by Wole Soyinka's poems and Poets United - Thanks for the visit ~

torn from the white sky

                                                           

By Alexis Arnold

white-washed by night
i fall headlong, torn
from the sky

a solitary leaf,
muted white by snowflakes &
icy northern wind

weaving an intricate
dance of death, slow waltz--
parry and thrust--  

until arms become 
stones, white crystallized to stillness- 
the moon, perched 

on window seat,
ghosts under shadows, whiter than white-

you're too late

 
   
Poetry form:  Lune - 3-5-3 word (almost)

Posted for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - 55 white words for Flash 55 Plus
And Poets United

For Elijah

No one heard you cry
as you curled tight in corner, blue-cold
Have I been remiss?  I miss you-

your toothy grin, white shirt & boots
Too thin & frail for polar cold
No one heard you cry 

As your pulse slowed, repulsing icy wind
Your high-pitched voice now low, hollowed   
I miss you - Have I been remiss  

In locking tight the doors
In checking to make sure you are safe
No one heard you 

As you ran out, a rabbit excited about
Making snowman & drinking warm cocoa
Have I been remiss?   I miss you-

No one held your small face
and whispered good night, my little angel
No one heard your cries this morning
I've been remiss, missing you-

~0~0~0~

I heard no bird songs

nor laughter pink as your cheeks -

Ice had seeped in, black-

Yellow-rumped warbler by M. Bednar 

RIP Elijah Marsh, 3 year old toddler who died after 6 hours of wandering outside his family's apartment.  The last picture taken of him showed him wearing only a shirt, diaper & boots, as he stepped outside at 4 am.  His family discovered him missing from his bed at 7:30 am. The weather that morning was -30 C with the wind chill.   Source

Posted for Imaginary Garden for Real Toads - Play It Again - Haiku & M's Word List- Absent
and Poets United - A villanelle of a sort ~ Thanks for the visit ~