"Everyday in every way I’m getting better and better" - Emile Coue
snowdrift hides dead flower shrubs and feathers
my hands are ice-numbed, knitted white, blued feathers
pine and fir trees weave their green lushness
lifting my spirits from gloom donning black feathers
sundial casts a long graceful shadow
while crescent moon rises with single feather
Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Quadrille, hosted by De Jackson. This is a 44 word count, with the given word, LIFT. Thank you for your comments and visits.
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.
We chatter to sangrias and songs
In Vintage tees, we cheer to yesterdays
Look up, there's a full moon beckoning-
A blue moon, silk & serene, round-eyed
Silver light, its wholeness lifting us
To gaze beyond trees, city lights, cars
Blue moon, give us the longing for stars
Map our hands with sage & bay leaves
We are soft as ocean, flowing into you
Posted for dVerse Poets Pub- OpenLinkNight.
Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm. Thanks for your visits and comments.
this kiss, yours - is an unbridled sonnet
tart as wild juniper berries in gin
brimming with seduction & sloppy grin
unpredictable as crashing rocket
who would have guessed, we like chaos & black
not sweet strawberries, but peppery to
roll our tongues in shock, like a strong brew-
we adore brightness & shadows, a stack
of poems. if we cared what they say we are-
not compatible, crazy kids with wheels-
we would not be here, love drunk, twined in teal
in a heartbeat, your eyes are silver stars
you gift me a lush garden of verses:
unrhymed poetry, dance beats, blue metric,
guitar riffs, rocking my world electric-
there's no time to dally in rehearsals
your lyrics unravel me, spilling ink
moon tides, my lungs on fire, i flower pink
Posted for dVerse Poets Pub- MTB with John Donne and his Heroic Sonnet hosted by Bjorn Rudberg.
I reworked some of the lines I wrote here and made this a longer poem, following the sonnet model as requested by Bjorn. Thanks for your comments.
let's red-chalk the sky
with celestial wings of dragonfire
let's stamp the trees
with blizzard of star lights
let's singe the garden air
with cumin and tumeric
the words roll-choke around my mouth
then spill
magical spells
on flamingo legs,
rocketing to the moon
Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Quadrille, hosted by De Jackson. This is a 44 word with the chosen word, CHALK. Thanks for your visits and comments.
harvest moon, cast your magic spell-
moonshine above the trees, we'll dwell
on your milky dreams, do not tell
us poets that we cannot write
myths, songs & sonnets of black knights,
sad ballads of yesterdays, sprites
enamored with lost love, don't quell
our secrets, so we may tear
down books & canvas with no fear-
torch monuments with our spears-
only pen letters that moves, swells
our ribs to waves of darkest sea
our heart with songs by the bees
our feet to stardust, far & free
we hold you - a pearl, breathing shell
Posted for dVerse Poets Pub: Poetry Form is Zéjel is a Spanish form with Arabic influence. The pub doors open at 3pm EST. Info about the form:
Here are the basic rules for zejel:
First stanza is a tercet (3-line stanza) with an AAA rhyme scheme
All other stanzas are quatrains (4-line stanzas) with a XXXA rhyme scheme, so the second stanza would be BBBA, third CCCA, fourth DDDA, and so on to the end of the poem
Lines are usually 8 syllables long
I thought him first a ferryman, but I was wrong.
He wore the night as one walks with a cane.
Slipping on an ancient body, he was an old
hand to assist you in your crossings.
Next, I thought of him a sentinel & maybe I
am right. He watches the night closely as I count
time striking at midnight before the new year. His
black suit scarcely moving in the wind. His eyes
an orb of midnight oil, brooding as crows
Casting shadows in this street in middle
of the town square. I first ran into him,
waving my passport, asking him where was Kipling
station. He pointed it to me in the map & even
gave me tips to reach the airport. I thanked him
as if he was a locksmith. He brushed it off, saying
the city can be a puzzle
if you don't know north & south, east & west
in his grave watchman's voice.
That's me, confused as a lost cloud
With a ring of copper keys on my hand.
He said, a bunch of keys confused him. He prefers
one fishing line & hook.
I was getting on my way when another man
approached him for help on directions.
He said that I am not a wand maker but I can show
you where to fish, where the water pulls, how to reel
in a catch
It now occured to me what he really was.
He is a tide maker.
He listens to the currents & shapes the tides.
He catches the moon and puts it
inside the street lamp.
And he holds the one silver key to close & open it
To whoever knocks at his door
and ask him
Please, give me back my secrets.
Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetics: Exploring the Narrative Voice, with guest host, Ingrid. Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.
the days blur in sulfur
time is raging sky of crimson & smoke
and come nights
your eyes are teacups of insomnia
the intensity of your secrets eat you
your dreadful premonitions wither you
as if all your life events
are open book somersaulting in street corner
bring the watcher
he is a guardian riding on swallow's wings
he hands over the
key of the moon to
you
& you
are hallowed in silence,
made of candlelight
& cosmic heartbeats
catching feverish dream of cathedrals afloat in the universe
Posted for dVerse Poetics: Let Your Words Be Your Paintbrush, hosted by Lillian. We are writing about the work of artist C. Welz-Stein. Join us when the pub door opens at 3pm. Thank you.
