Bagpiper by Queen & University Streets

At corner of street, by old courthouse
he stands in his kilt, tartan pattern & knee high socks
blowing his bagpipe as crowds cross & crunch their shoes-

above smog & din of cars & traffic lights 
his face a yellowed paper, hair delicately frail,
he spins a solemn note, hailing from old country-

The rhythm is grass & rolling hills
where wind marches with trees
& sky brimming of blue spring blooms-

Here time is slow procession-
A young man backpacking with his toddler, comes close-
Another man dragging his suitcase, listens & drops

a dollar in his open black case-
Impromptu, bagpiper switches to modern pop strains
to catch more coins & tourists ambling by- 

All too soon, sun hides behind grey clouds
Everyone hurries to & fro, tick tock of subway crowd
ear-plugged, holding Starbucks coffee or free 

metro news  in their somewhere-to-go stride- 
But for the old man
piping his lungs with city dust & crumpled bills -

Two blocks across, I turn into my building
his music now rain drop, pulled under tides
bobbing half-mingled with my breath-

perhaps a sob for the land that long disappeared - 

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Rhythm of the Road - During my lunch break yesterday, I saw this bagpipe player at the busy street corner.   He seems to be regular fixture plying the Toronto tourist-belt streets.

Photo credit:   here

Shape of the Moon on Easter Morning

is fading 
above willow tree
sky is chameleon cloud
grass is  white-frosted dust
as you turn,  gleaming half-spoon
crescent shadows chalk your body in mist-
i scatter egg-chocolates to find amid jars & pots-
perhaps i should be a beekeeper instead &  fill your holes 
with dead leaves, bark chips,  fallen pine cones, bird seeds-
my hands flutter to catch lingering stars & dewdrops 
as orange-breasted birds tiptoe-hop on twigs-
i wait for words to become visible on page
like i wait for spring to pour its honey
& green-wax barren maple trees- 
i know the harvest is
beautiful as new-
born dawn

Posted for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Shape Poetry
and Shared with Poets United - Happy Easter !!!

Working to grow out of my frame

Photography credit:   Ron Isaacs

Inside, I seethe  
of too much smoke & acid 

Leaves still their rise
to highest step, olive & grey

As my hands curl to fists
Quick to rage at slightest hurt & injustice

To grave displays of arrogance and power-
I should be collecting colors &

tea bags & wine bottles -
My cupboard is empty of feathers & recipes.   

At dawn, I see the moon
red-radiant, above the changing seasons

outside my window, I want to
frame & re-frame

my perspective, give thanks for 
every rain dance, every drum song,

every morning's lilting prayer-
I am working on this-


Posted for Imaginary Garden for Real Toads - Working on That & Collections - Thanks for the visit ~

Mask-e(d) over

White paper sticks to your skin & becomes sinew 
& dust your pores
tar & mud
The ruffled necktie is fat-tight around your neck
You get migraines thinking of tomorrow's meetings

This crochet togs does a good job
of hiding your bad-hair days & dull-tired eyes
You wear it often now
And as you amble, your robe brushes with chalk
& tail gates a car chasing a wild omen
The gum in your mouth salivates like a priest

There's a message scribbled on your wrists -
Is it from carnival house, looped in plastic bracelet
Smooth as marketing pitch
Or is it from ticket retailer, black stamped-
Valid for today only

The red-moon is in shadows
Smear tree sap, coat it again in bird plumes
Finery
In one eye
Dream starvation
In another eye

You lost the zipper tab
And you can't get out of the tight suit
Sleep-walk on streets
Armed with nothing, not even your ID card
No one notices you
anyway
in crowded 4:30 pm subway train.

Photography credit:    Phyllis Galembo

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Poetics - Photography of Phyllis Galembo ~ Hosted by Anthony P ~  Thanks for your visit ~

While doing my pre-spring routine, I smell lilacs

Snow has melted, grass is soppy bowl
Of twisted twigs and remnants of autumn repast

I open my closet and organize my clothes
Winter on the left side, spring on the right side
Each jacket folding, a seeding packet is open
To suckle and feed the still-cold garden

Each skirt unfolding, flowers tumult like buzzed bees
Pink, green, yellow & blue, I line my blouses
Like daisies on meadows, carelessly fluffed on hangers
I imagine being buried in pink cotton candy

While opening shoe boxes of sandals & flat shoes
I wrap my leggings, shawls, winter mittens - all grey
In another box, top uppermost shelf
All the boots are covered & filed like Christmas trinkets
Easily forgotten like yesterday's weather report

I paint my toenails salmon pink
Tomorrow is warm as baby's breath.
I put on my blue running shoes & my feet sprints out of the door
Even though my hands are half-typing my pre-spring checklist. 


Posted for Imaginary Garden for Real Toads - Sunday's Mini-challenge : Routines, smeared by orange juice
and Poets United - Thanks for the visit ~

Picture credit:  here

Changing voices

Photo by Grace @ Everyday Amazing

Paper Wishes (A Child's Verse)

One, two, three, four
Give me a wish
As you choose a color
Water, sky, hearts & sun

One, two, three, four
Write your wish
As I fold each paper side
Sky, hearts, sun & water

One, two, three, four
Tell me your wish
As you close your eyes
Hearts, sun, water & sky

One, two, three, four
See your wish coming true
as it floats like a pinwheel 
Sun, water,sky & hearts

Its now your turn
to give me my wish
Let's count & clap
One, two, three, four 

~0~0~

                           My daughter's drawing, Photo by Grace @ Everyday Amazing


Turning Fifteen

Thinned eyebrows, curled hair artfully messy
Your voice is low drawl, modulated words
You are a restless colt, long legs sun-kissed - 
Still you're my pearl, collarbone-pinned, iridescent as blue dragonfly.      


Posted for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Child's verse for Margaret's prompt
and D'verse Poets Pub - DIY form - Variation of Quatrain, unrhymed, 10 syllables for the first 3 lines.   The last line is an American Sentence (17 syllables).

My youngest turned 15 years old last Thursday.    Thanks for the visit ~   

Sea-swept

each leaf shaped mouth
each pearl ear drum
each salt crusted limb

drift as fragments  
a lost language, searching for mother tongue
yet a treasure

found on shorelines of pink corals
and seaweed sands,
scattered like seeds thrown by journeyman

here lies wisdom
that earth never tires in its birthing
here is joy, waiting to flow unto us 

scooped by my hand
the sun glistens glorious orange peel
and wind whirls tropical dance 

the shells turn their sides, folding pattern 
over and over, until whorled shapes become
towers, chapels, chimes, violins &  blooms

i gather the harvest from the sea
arranged on crystal bowl, dry-framed-
they remind me of home

Grace @ Everyday Amazing

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub- Hosted by Mary ~  I have collected sands and shells from the many beaches I have gone to when I was young ~  I have 4 bowls, this one containing the bigger finds ~ When we moved to Canada, I bottled the sands and wrapped the shells carefully so they don't break during the journey. 

Thanks for the visit ~ 

Sunset Mirror

Photographs of Sunsets as Reflected through Shattered Mirrors by Bing Wright

your face will be my mirror
not silver coated with metallic distortions
but serene with each dying light

the wingtips of gulls 
above sand-stroked pavement
opens to wind & raindrops

what flaws enthrall giant trees ?
what cracks bother the blue lagoons ?
only the stone is smooth from
turbulent tides

drifting clouds see open roads,
dirt & grit of cities & small towns,
winding & reaching for last glimpse 
of setting sun-

awash in pastels 
my hands catch embers of fading light 
& gorgeous blue sky 
reflects
in my eyes


Posted for Imaginary Garden for Real Toads - Poem A Day - Mirror, mirror, where I am hosting ~

Thanks for the visit & happy weekend ~ 

Inked by street artist

Streets whirl from wheels & neon lights

Metallic doors click  
Every second on subway
You close your eyes, basking the sun
You're muse above our electrical poles  

What dreams do you dream? 

Posted for Imaginary Garden for Real Toads - Taking it to the Streets & Word Count with Mama zen ~  Happy April Day ~

Picture credit:   here 

The spider above winding stairs

She spins her silky threads
Round & round in spooling orb

Her fingers restless, tapping & threading
Hair of deadly sting, velvet ropes to blacken hearts

Then she'll wrap the prey in a cocoon 
Above winding stairs, a crone by moonlight

She weaves tangled venom
All night, she mends the net like a fisherman

By morning, crystal dewdrops hang like worms
She waits, invisible, for her prey to step into trap

Then she wraps the prey in a cocoon  
Above winding stairs, a mother feeding her babies  


Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Poetics - Animal Symbolism or Antics - Thanks for the visit ~

Picture credit:   here