Choices

 

i close the door

& walk out of the building

& wait 

this can be a beginning

or an ending

or maybe a middle muddled situation

or a detour 

my feet & lungs are anxious

to know of my decision

there are many choices

but by now,

i write my story on sands

and journal my walks on origami paper

these are not set on stones

but built on windy re-takes and mid-

night revisions 

for every decision - this is 

which comes with one big exhale of relief

there is hundred fold sharpness of - this is not

but here is tricky part

you learn to live with this over time

-the fullness & emptiness of it-

& if you are lucky,

you will have your 2nd or 10th time around

the time carousel

and this time, you can make <another> choice-

-witness the first sunrise or sunset- 

with the eyes of a child

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub:   Poetics : Choice by guest host, Christopher Reilley.   Join us when the pub doors open at 3 pm EST.

scents in the house

i.

a twig of rosemary

a fist of fresh basil leaves

a dash of pepper & thyme & lime

on homemade soup and grilled meats- 

the table top creases of ripe blue berries

and yellow banana oats muffins-

i'll wait here >>>

after i devour my plate 

of canned dog food

ii.

fallen

green crab apples on ground-

brown-edged

maple leaves on sun-burnt grass-

smell of early autumn

iii.

down the rabbit hole at the back of the house

i trace back

the city where i grew up

small park around the church & stores-

smelling of sugar canes & fresh sugar fields-

every street corner filled with rice sugar treats-

the summer heat fills my nostrils like smoke-

my bones are diabetic now

but my hands search for that sweet air of sugar-

the cotton-candy-kind-of-missing one's childhood

iv.

i press my cheek

on my grandchild's head of curly curls-

in between sticky fingers of saliva drools

i inhale sweetness of soap & sunshine-

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - A World of Scents, with guest host Jo.  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.

earthly home

 

all around me, earth

filling me with its soft breath

& hardening my skin of rocks 

the salt is my lifeline

the sky is my sea-green world

though i am just an oyster

within me, is home

to a pea crab

within me, is white mountain

of pain

within me, is food & brine

to lavish & cleanse

within me, is forest

of solitude 

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub- Tuesday Poetics - the four elements, hosted by Sarah Connor.  I have chosen the element of earth (the other choices are fire, air and water).  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.

Fever

 

fallowed yellow, you're the autumn

i sink into, blur lake bottom

your tarot hands are cool blue

soothing my butterflies coup

you tell me, i'll be okay 

moon fever will pass like whey

fallowed yellow, you're the autumn

i sink into, blur lake bottom

Posted for dVerse Poets pub - Poetry form is Octelle.  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.

The Octelle, created by Emily Romano, is a poem consisting of eight lines using personification and symbolism in a telling manner. The syllable count structure for this verse is 8, 8, 7, 7, 7, 7, 8, 8, and the rhyme scheme is aa/bb/cc/aa. The first two lines and the last two lines are identical.

In August

I. 

red is the torrid skin

bare to the summer sun

flesh turns beet red & tomato plump

hips swaying to the outdoor music festival

tongue devours the cool ice & wine, sweet

as peaches, plums and strawberries

golden yellow, dark velvet, earthly brown-

we celebrate ripeness in all its colors & spices

II.

red is the torrid sky

scorching the grass to dry pale paper

burning the borreal forest to ash & soot

the sky is smoking darkness during the day

the smell of destruction is invasive 

as gypsy moths, all that was vibrant and tall

are now burnt by growing wildfire in an instant

the charred soil is a reminder that death

stamps, entwining with life's abundance

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetics, Sometimes August isn't recognized, hosted by Sanaa Rizvi.  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.     During the summer months here in Canada (July to August), we get wildfires in the forests. It is a total destruction of homes and communities.  

Time in a Loop

 I lean into the summer light

With a whiff of yesterday's song

Heat was sweltering, our palms sweaty 

Figuring out where's the exit, under all the confetti

Confetti strips on my lashes, 

Lashes wet from rain, weight of blues

Blues polished under the silver moon

Moon is grand but a stoic muse

I gave him nothing to reel & relish

All our memories crashed in the hard drive - perished

All my poems tossed in the black sand

We figured out that peace comes with heavy strands

Strands of shadows & rough greys

Greys in rainbows after the quick storms

Storm of hail lulls, with the burst of afternoon sun 

Sunroom, where it all started like a dream

We now wander in circles, ever widening

Our calendars out of sync, tides are running

In a knot of missed hitches, time is a loop 

You and I mirror, yesterday in a swoop

Note:  This is a variation of Loop Poetry.  The other ones are:

I.   Summertime in Ontario

Yesterday’s cold dusted in a blink

Blink, and the minute turns

Turns to long hour, my eyes

Eyes the clock, sun burns

Morning air is humid, crackles

Crackles turn to birdsongs

Birdsongs break the crisp hum, hush

Hush! where’s the rain, so far along

Evening paints a peach cooler time

Time is patient as sugar maple trees

Trees so vibrant green, summer is a toast

Toast to begonias, blue sky, buzzing bees!

II.  Weekdays in a blur

Monday {yawns} opens the door to Tuesday

Tuesday rushes in, fluffs the pillows for Wednesday

Wednesday offers ice wine & hot gossip to Thursday

Thursday laps it all up, in cruise control, awaiting Friday

Friday is in a pink party mood, dancing until early Saturday

Saturday is in no hurry, lounging in pajamas until Sunday

Sunday is <lost>in book & clouds, forgetting time & Monday

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Loop Poetry.   Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST and try your hand in loop poetry.  There are 3 variations of loop poetry and I have shown all 3 here.  Thanks for your visits and comments.   

Variations:

1. Stanzas, writers choice on the number, no rhyming, the last word, first word scheme is maintained.

2. One long stanza, no limit on number of lines, no rhyming scheme, the last word, first word scheme is maintained.

3. Couplets mixed with 4 line stanzas, the last word, first word scheme is maintained in the stanzas. It can also be used in the couplets. Rhyme scheme is ab, cc, defg, hh, ii, jklm, nn, oo.

a fraction of infinity

in a bunch

a fraction of the skin

of yellow bananas

turns speckling brown spots

ripening in haste,

multiplying in shades

darkening over the days in platter

as freckles on my cheeks

(visible patterns)

tiny as spiralling dots

(not as wild as sunflower seeds)

as crow's feet & wrinkles under my eyes

(growing webbed lines, creased by wind-)

burn under summer sun

(infinity plays in my mind)

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetics - Fractuals, hosted by Lisa Fox.  My post was inspired by looking at the bananas, which is ripening so fast in summer.

Thanks for your comments and visits.

The gift came with instructions

 

She gave us a gift in box: packets of seeds

Bearing various shapes - bird's feet, fish's eyes, clouds, bones

Holding the promise of fruits from caring deeds

We took the storms, thoughtless insults and sharp stones

That came our way. Instead we made maps, beads

of peace, stories from forests, lakes and pine cones-

Our one voice echoed with other voices

Our two hands multiplied with calm choices 

What we could not imagine, happens:   kindness

Rooting, growing, removing our blindness

Spreading from home to home, this gift that binds us

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Eleventh Power (and More) - The poetry form that I have selected has the following elements:

1. stanzaic, written in any number of 11 line stanzas.
2. syllabic, 11 syllables each.
3. rhymed, rhyme scheme: abababccddd or ababababccc.

There is also an option of a List Poem in an 11 line stanza.  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.  Thanks for the visits and comments.

Late for breakfast

 

“Never love a wild thing…If you let yourself love a wild thing. You’ll end up looking at the sky.” ― Truman Capote, Breakfast at Tiffany’s and Three Stories

she's artless

allowing the sun to smear 

her skin of dew and blue wildflowers

her shoulders are a soft bed to lean

your weary head to

her hands are tender tendrils

but once she holds on to a rock or tree

they are resilient, strong as rope

during autumn her face is a work of art

fading & wrinkled lines, silver threads,

orange-brown speckles, the golden hours

of conversations are short but meaningful

we say our goodbyes with warmth of steeped tea - 

cozy, not clinging so tight, but letting

go easily as breeze, carefree as blue sky

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub:   Breakfast at Tiffany's, hosted by Linda Lee Lyberg.  I chose this quote as an inspiration and epigram for my poem.  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.

seeds for a successful harvest

 imagine: 

a fruit from seed 

sun-warm & greening from fresh rain 

you nurture it everyday

with fervor of busy bees

each nod & nudge

celebration of small steps -

one small leaf

one flower blossoming

each tendril binding 

to core of it all:

mother earth

Growing cucumber, herbs & other vegetables on my balcony

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Quadrille, Let's Celebrate, hosted by Merril D. Smith.  This is a 44 word post with the chosen word, Celebrate.   Happy 11th anniversary dVerse!!!!!  On a personal note, my attitude towards celebration is the same with gardening - small steps towards a goal is worthy of a celebration.

Thank you for the support, visits and comments.