Folding the clothes

On the bed, newly dry socks  
- scatter like colored marbles -

Collarless shirts meditate 
- which one goes to which one -

But folded always, once and twice
- they quiet down, like sleepy children -  

Even big towels fall into predictable squares
- shorts, into smaller squares -

Pants fold and greet themselves, 
- while undergarments relax, deflated balloons -  

Office shirts wrinkle in sleep
- buttons exchange gossips across hangers - 

This is close to a zen moment
- neat piling and tidy tucking in drawers -

Almost like raked stones in Japanese garden,
- before they tumble down like storm clouds -



Posted for:  D'verse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight - every Tuesday.

From Mayer's Experiments:  Writing household poems 

And this picture made me smile:   


   

Notes before leaving

                                                                                        © Isadora Gruye



If you should leave, don't make it on Sunday
       When I'm baking chicken topped with butter-  

Not on Friday, when I'm eager to come
       home from work, drooping eyelids, aching thumbs-

Monday might be a good day, when my mind
       dwells on unfinished work, like a sour rind - 

Thinking of pay cheque by Thursday, time flies
       like a beggar, as I file & refile -    

Instead, pack your bags on Tuesday after-
       noon, when I'm drunk with paints, pens & verses- 

Hands sag like autumn leaves,  forehead sweaty - 
       Outside, neglected plants sniffle on wet

Tissues, the lone tree snaps like rubber band - 
       I won't noticed that you are gone - as planned -




Posted for:   Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Poem in 14 lines
and Poets United  

Updated:   This poem has been selected as Poem of the week - Thank you ~

Graffiti Alley

  Rush Lane "Graffiti Alley", Toronto City

Aerosol paints streaking brick canvas

colorful squares on busted windows

bold fire balls & guns flaming

empty street

abandoned building

of broken pipe dreams & rusty fences  

See the faces,  drawn in charcoal

& greased fat,  years of toiling

in underground tunnels like rats-

“I see you---“  

from duct-taped note on pane

when no one is looking

underneath the dirty stairway or

behind the urinal walls--

“Don’t think!  Feel! “

“I do….”   Scribbling name  

& date underneath

before I leave --

before these walls are torn down 

& painted white from mayor’s order—Vandalism! --

I inhale their stories, 

grafted skin & soulful eyes-- 

like a map to another lost city-- 

Posted for:   D'verse Poets Pub  

Story and picture credit:  Toronto Street Art or Vandalism - here

language of flowers

Grace @ Everyday Amazing

a seed grows in my mind
     unlike anything i have seen
          mysterious unfolding, a gem-
i take the slender brush,  

        paint
the blooms and leaves -
            speak   
        the language of flowers -

petals rise, one by one, army
      of pastels & verses -
            rooting, overflowing canvas,   
across barren garden  



Posted for:  Imaginary Garden for Real Toads - Form Challenge - Following the syllabic count of 8-6-8-6   1-4-1-6   8-6-8-6
and Poets United 

in the old city

Grace @ Everyday Amazing

Old Quebec, Quebec City

the artilleries are silent now, 
black shiny sentinels, facing the river
mindless of tourists wandering about, 
like ghosts, oblivious to history-

after more than 300 years of icy winters,
narrow streets are empty of horses
& gunpowder that tore the city into 
fragments and searching for its roots-  

only tall golden towers are bustling 
with the rich and famous, as if its walls never 
forgot its gilded beginnings of French verses
& stiffly crusted English cakes--

if these chipped buildings can talk, 
what stories would we hear-
if these cannons can speak 
in deep gravelled voices,
what betrayals would we know -

across the benches, sun-warmed,  
tulips bloom  amidst foreign scents & words,  
needing no diplomacy, its bold arms
draw an invisible map- 

i slowly walk, listening to echoes 
of those who have walked before me 
but really,   
i am still trying to find my place --

Posted for:   D'verse Poets Pub - Poetics - Hosted by Mary  

the words always lead me back to you

                                                          Grace @ Everyday Amazing


to say YES 
like the first day of spring,
all seasons long 


to say NO 
to leaving & giving up  
when things falter & break 


not to DWELL in the past
where mistakes rifle the door frame,
slammed in anger & pride


but to SEED this love
in the everyday care, like a gardener
or poet with his words --   





Posted for Imaginary Garden For Real Toads - to answer the question:  What is Love ?  
The title is from the last line of my poem, You
and Poets United - Committed  ~  Happy Hearts Day to you ~

winter morning

Grace @ Everyday Amazing 

morning dawns in white 
icicles,  dangling like sharp spears from
brown-tiled roof, winter seeps colder than ever   

veiling the trees, bare 
and seedless, in muted symphony - pristine   
as morning dawns in white

sky heaves in palest pink 
and lavender clouds, slowly melting the
icicles, dangling like sharp spears from 

my window, crusted in sprinkled crystals--   
all is quiet, not a bird nor squirrel scampering the
brown-tiled roof, winter seeps colder than ever  

Posted for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads:   Chained Rhyme: Cascade - Hosted by Hedgewitch ~  A cascade is a poem where each line of the first stanza serves in sequence as the last line of the following stanzas.

Curious as a cat

they looked like sweet ripe fruits 
peeking from bush behind the house,
capturing the fancy of a 6 year old
whose legs are forever running like wheels-

like a curious cat, she grabbed a fistful blooms,    
marveling them like prized marbles, so smooth  
& pungent,  she hesitated on whether
she would show them to her friends, or taste them first --

adventure blazed like a runaway train 
& fearing none-- 
she took a bite on the reddish fruit,  
stinging, burning tongue, blurring eyes--fire-fire-- 

she spat them out, running like mad to the kitchen--water--water--

never--never-- would she bite into a hot pepper again --   

Hot pepper plant

Posted for:   D'verse Poets Pub - Mining the memory

and Poetry Jam - Yes or No ~ 

lighted path

Grace @ Everyday Amazing

gift me

a winding path

where no footprints nor twine 

can restrain my verses, broken

& true 

                                 

                 cast me

                 without shadows 

                 to fear unlike puppets 

                 in theatre, silver-masked, hollowed 

                 & less    

                                          steer me

                                          closer to light  

                                          where leaves breathe and the wind

                                          runs like a free bird, majestic 

                                          & healed

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Poetics of Groundhog 

and Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Poetry Form: Cinquain - 

I have used nature image with syllable count: 2-4-6-8-2

Hummingbird in yellow

Original painting by Kim Nelson

On lush greens and yellows
I perch on a branch
filled with nectar & insects 

Flowers bloom in summer sun 
from my wandering bill,
as wings beat rapidly in the air      

Racing heartbeats,
I fly backward and forward 
like spider weaving silken magic

Until tiredness weighs like stones,   

I rest, 
tiny gardener in 
land of giants

Posted for Poetry Jam - We are to write from the point of view of an animal--any animal but a human.   Well I received this painting of the hummingbird in the mail today from Kim Nelson, so I wanted to write and express my thanks for a wonderful painting.   Thanks Kim ~

and Flash Fiction Friday 55 -  A post in 55 words for the G-man.

Hummingbirds do not spend all day flying, as the energy cost would be prohibitive; the majority of their activity consists simply of sitting or perching. Hummingbirds feed in many small meals, consuming many small invertebrates and up to twelve times their own body weight in nectar each day. They spend an average of 10–15% of their time feeding and 75–80% sitting and digesting.