Thank you

 

To the aged librarian down the hallway:

Who thought it was cool that I had

clouds on my hair & detective glass

when reading books during lunch time

Who smiled at me when I would

return a book on time & borrow it

again, because he knew it was my favorite

From you, I learned 

the secrets of lost languages & uncharted

lands between the dusty shelves of the library 

To you, who gifted me with  

"a quote, a thimble of poems, hand me

a way to set sail"

I have found the ship filled with stories

and wild things, that I have decided to 

keep on sailing, forever looking out for pirates

*quoted lines from Bjorn Rudberg's Navigating Uncharted Seas, from The Aged Librarian series

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Friends in Blogosphere - hosted by Punam.  The library was my sanctuary growing up and I have made friends who share the same love for books and poetry.   Thank you friends!

AI Poet 3

To be on the brink of colour

Coming out of shadows

Is to stand at the edge of a cliff,

With the wind in your hair

Your eyes catches the sunlight

The soothing hum of bees & birdsongs 

Vibrance of wheatgrass and red vines

Wild flowers peeking above shrubs

The sky moves in murmuring waves 

Painting each frame with shades of blue

Above the draping weeping willows 

Underneath your feet breathes life

At winter's end, there is a symphony

Between the soil & headless flowers 

All at once, their fragrance is a lilac melody,

A beckoning that rises and floats.

To be on the brink of colour,

Is to count past the days of grey

And long nights of white grief,

To grasp and take that very small step

To where light bounces from tree to tree

You stitch the colours inside your pocket

And spread the quilted blanket on the floor

Season of flowers is around the corner

*****

The poem above is a revised version of the AI poem below:

To be on the brink of colour,

Is to stand at the edge of a cliff,

With the wind in your hair,

And the sun on your skin.

It's to feel the world around you,

In all its vibrant hues,

To see the beauty in everything,

And feel it infuse.

The sky is a canvas,

Painted with brushstrokes of gold,

The trees are alive,

Their leaves rustling bold.

The flowers are a symphony,

Each petal a note,

Their fragrance a melody,

That rises and floats.

To be on the brink of colour,

Is to know that life is a gift,

To be savoured and cherished,

With every breath and lift.

For in every moment,

There is a chance to see,

The magic that surrounds us,

And set our spirits free.

So let us embrace the colours,

That paint our world so bright,

And bask in their radiance,

As we walk into the light.

This poem was created by Chat GPT:  To Write a Poem:   To be on the brink of colour.  This line is credited to Vikki on Twitter:

"To be on the brink of colour as if I've sorted the wrong days from the hapless season..." ~ L'Atelier De La Vie

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub:  Meet the Bar Artificially, hosted by Bjorn Rudberg.  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.  Thanks for your visits and comments. 

the kiss

the night sky is blushing with secrets-

slow rise of the full moon by seagrass

smell of tides & milk flowers turning red

my lungs on fire, spinning words on my head 

(kiss me)  we're running out of breath and time

my skin tingles from the salted margarita limes

your lips swoop down, dizzy as a bee

a kiss so soft as velvet, or was it an earnest plea

for a promise of something more, elusive

yet rain-soothing & kiss-smothered by flowers

you will paint me, you say, with marmalade

sun on my hair, my wrists jaggling with jade

your stolen kiss is a sonnet i slow dance 

inviting my words to unfold & take a chance 

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetics:  A Prelude to a Kiss, hosted by Kim Russel.   Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.  

green green grass of home (a remembrance)

 

her eyes are cloudy grey

her body 

pinked by sugar & vermillion summers 

slumps to searing pain

the sadness

from missing his presence for the last year, 

hurt her deeply

(soon)

she'll hear swooning music

of his laughter

impersonating TomJones luscious baritone 

rising

calling

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Quadrille, with host Linda Lyberg.  This is a 44 word post with the chosen word, Music.  Rest in Peace to my aunt (and uncle), whose favorite singer was Tom Jones.  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.  

falling into winter's deep sleep

sew me

with bandages of light

with lint of yearning wings

with ointment of cloves & ginger

pour into me

threads of buttressed hope

words of charity

patches of red maple leaves

happy memories of blooming trees

i will drink the tea

of valerian roots & fall into deep sleep

with scents of rosemary leaves

& sweet wintergreen 

i dream of spring

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub- OpenLinkNight, hosted by yours truly.  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.  Thanks for your comments and visits.

a work in progress: self-portrait

 

i didn't know it then 

but youth was quicksilver in time-

i still talk to my young self

who is self-conscious, rebellious 

& anxious, as if carrying the world atlas

on empty pockets 

in the mirror

my forehead is now furrowed like my dad 

my hands are wrinkled like my mom

i am aging into their likeness 

though i am also drawing my own portrait

the young girl is still here

curious & resilient with the tides of

work & technology

every day is a day of rising to bloom,

not being a thunderstorm or lightning 

in a bottle, but to be

someone who is (still) finding her voice

between her ambitous knuckles & mushy heart,

striving to merge her excel left brain with her artsy right side

with gratitude, she has

made a house to her own liking

in the wall, she writes a note:

your self-worth is not in your inbox

you are where the light rests

against the winter darkness, it is where your children

find you, serene as seagrass

neatly folding laundry at the end of the day

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetics - Resolving to Resolve, hosted by Punam.

I have used 2 themes/advice for my post:   Your self-worth is not in your inbox.  

At the end of each day fold your clothes and put them away, no matter how tired you are.

Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.  Thanks for joining us.

summer & winter

I.

 

here is an assortment of shells

pink, white, coral, and bones

it holds

sunlit days, rippled tides of spells:

shark's eye, cones, conch, small stones -

king's gold

on a clear fish bowl filled with sands - 

amber smooth as chai tea 

i sigh

for beaches & summer's long hands

when the sky is so blue

i fly

II.

we watch snowflakes spill - glass flowers

on barren fields & woods

calling

we gather light from short hours -

wicks, lamps & yellowed goods

falling

finally the moon is ours-

darkness is a cocoon

wrapping

midnight sky with mulberry stars-

silvering trees, we swoon  

clapping

The above is the example in the dVerse Poets Pub post.

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Memento.   Join us when the pub doors open to discuss the poetry form, Memento.  There is also an option to write a free style poetry with a theme about memento, using symbolism as a poetic device.  

brooding over you

 

imagine

red hibiscus by the gate opens  up

minute hand,  moves 

you.... get roller coaster nightmares

(if) they dressed you in cream

red is the torrid skin

my lazy left eye draws

(of) may your summer morning be bright

(but) this city is a chameleon

the wind beneath us

gather the weekday's leftovers

blued, bloodless, brooding

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - MTB:  Finding It First, hosted by Laura Bloomsbury.   The lines above are from the first lines of my first poem in each month of 2022.

the (uni)verse

 

why do we allow the frivolous to rust

our mind and spark ill thoughts to stain the night

have we forgotten, we're born of stardust

shaped from the turmoils of black wind's gust

scattering seeds to birth trees & wings to flight

why do we allow the frivolous to rust

our heart to stone, busy with erecting a gold bust

believing in our immortal blight

have we forgotten, we're born of stardust

sundered or whole, we will return to dust

our buildings & crowns will be lost bight

why do we allow the frivolous to rust

our will to froth instead of passion & lust

our warmth to ice, becoming a ghost of sprite

have we forgotten, we're born of stardust 

even if we have lost sight of sun's cradled fire

inside us is an imperishable light

why do we allow the frivolous to rust

us, have we forgotten, we're born of stardust

Posted for OpenLinkNight329 - dVerse Poets Pub - Hosted by Linda Lee Lyberg. Happy New Year!!!!!

my e-calendar 2023

I fill my work calendar with big stones. I organize my activities and set my career goals for 2023.  Family's birthdays and other milestones are colored in spring green.  Also my timetable for vacations & personal days from work are marked  in bright pink.    That block of time is precious, like a gift to be carefully unwrapped, slowly after each tear.  

However for my personal life's goal, the calendar is open.   I welcome the blankness of the canvas because it means new things and challenges for me.  Though I am keen on regularly walking, hiking and reading in my down time,  I invite time to ghost me, while I ponder on my verses & mystery of the night sky. 

mud-stained sky is glum

melting ice by craggy shore-

birds glide, swelling tide 

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Haibun Monday, hosted by Kim Russell.   Our poetry community is back! Cheers to 2023!