Early morning walk

Photo:  Grace@Everyday Amazing

In another part of our country, towards the west, a wildfire in Fort McMurray rages on.   People are evacuating and moving to safer towns leaving behind their burning homes.   I think about other cities burning now, not just from wildfires, but from war.    Migrants are still drowning and dying in their journey.   The political conversation across our border (US) is just as nasty with words of hate and destruction.   I walk steadily along path, marveling the weeping willow trees and few magnolia blooms.         

I inhale the cold spring air.   The stress of the workdays and negative thoughts unravel and disappear. My spirit embraces the new season of beginnings.   I see the field dotted with yellow daffodils and birds and baby squirrels leaping behind the bush.  The meadow is greening with dew and evening rain.    I smell pine cones and wet soil ready for seeding. Potted flowers hung from the balconies, welcoming to home. 

cardinals pirouette
as nature gifts me with spring flowers-
my heart is at peace

“Home is everything you can walk to.”

― Jerry Spinelli, Stargirl

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Haibun Monday - Hosted by Bjorn ~  Thanks for the visit ~

Sentiments of the Southwest

you stand

rock carved by wind storms

a solemn cathedral

with a thousand unlit candles-

i am sun-drunk pebble, awed-

Photo credit:   Mish

~0~0~

the clouds drape hymns 

over your moody terrain

rustic-low wind sighs

 as you trace your fingers

along the barren sand dunes

i, raw with rain, bloom in response

Photo credit:   Mish

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Sentiments of the Southwest, hosted by Mish ~   Thanks for the visit ~

When the white-haired man didn't skipped me in the subway line and-

Asked me for money
"I'm hungry-" 

my heart,
hardened with pseudo-beggars
hanging out/side

said No
Then, recalling single
banana in my bag
& while grappling with in/decision

my train arrives
(no-skipping-nor-playing-hooting)

the moment 
like
      teardrop,
             flashing bird-wings,
                      falling cherry bloom
                                                          is lost-

Credit here

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Quadrille - a post in 44 words exactly with the word SKIP.   I am back after a short break ~  Thanks for the visit ~ 

A monster's tale

I wait
as your boat is moored by deep cave

You weigh your choices:

Flee 
and forget 
what you have truly seen

Or spur me, fighting  
the venomous snakes, green-slithering  
with fiery orbs 

Or give me your lips
deadly sweet 
chimera of silk

to kiss 
to shatter the lies -

The curse upon me by jealous Goddess: 
My heart is not a stone-

MEDUSA

Picture credit:  here

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - We have guest host, Stacy, on folk tales and myths ~   

Thanks for the visit ~ 

Skydiving into the new season

peel away old skin  
untangle twigs, twisted with tattered leaves 
clear cobwebs and broken glass from winter's storm    

new buds thrust their faces
up above the rain-dappled ground, their tongues
hungry for sun-yellowed lashes     

spring comes hurling a giant ball whilst whistling with cardinals- 

Credit:  Colossal

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Quadrille - 7.   This is a 44 word count with the word TWIST.   The pub opens at 3pm EST.    We had a wonderful spring weather over the weekend, finally ! 

Word play

Origami Street Art

I forget them sometimes - their lilt and grace when arranged and folded like origami on the page. How soft and musical they can be.   How flexible they can bend, like an accordion.  How wide their palette, from demure white to fury red to intoxicating purple-lilac.  When used with brash and swagger, they can hurt with impunity.  On the flip side, silence is also a weapon.   Imagine when your muse leaves you with an empty vase or you get no response to a letter you sent.  They say your words define you.  So be careful of the words that you invite in - they will rage in your blood, and bleed from your pen.    

patch of moss, green

brims with abundance-

dawn is sweet, orange 

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight hosted by Bjorn Rudberg ~  Also, a haibun for our Haibun Monday hosted by Kanzensakura ~  Thanks for the visit ~  

Fantasy on cold winter night

Play the violin
Fiddle the lute
Drum the cymbals 

I am garden, keyed with seeds
Singing to the moon, coppery fire:
Melt the ice crystals, draw leaves rising & chanting-

Music of spring whips up a storm, dabbing the sky buttered-green- 

Painting by Elisabetta Trevisan

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Fantasia or fantasy with guest host, Lillian ~   Thanks for the visit ~

Two Sevenling poems

Sevenling (First meeting)


There are three things she recalls - 
the way he laughed with her,  gentleness
of his hands & sunset unfolding in his eyes

Language is a dance of spoken
words and unspoken thoughts.  It also nests
nuances, which seems to invite a kiss-

She knew he is a keeper

Picture credit:  here

~0~0~0~0~

Sevenling (Travelling) 



In the station, we check our list:  
luggages, tickets and coins
for the subway musician playing a folksy song

There are different rules for the rich -
luxury yacht vacations, private plane lounges 
and special tax treatment -

We travel via rustic train, smelling earth, tasting wind-

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Sevenling, hosted by De Jackson ~  Thanks for the visit ~

Train of my thoughts while riding one

Picture credit:   Pierre Folk

My head is plateau of unfin-
ished stories 
I wriggle with ideas, wet
with sudden downpour

Houses with secret doors 
& streets, unmarked
I thread fallen petals & keys, 
a necklace of lost hours

I marvel at the couple
standing face to face in crowd
their faces blooming as first
day of spring, sweeter 
than a sugar cup

My shoes are melting
with laughter from gossiping ladies 
& cooing with toddler strapped
in the stroller, wriggling his socks off

Though each train ride is a chameleon,
it's a constant clock in our city life-
Here comes my station stop
At click of door chime, I fly away-




Posted for D'verse Poets Pub -  Wheels of Steel, hosted by Bjorn Rudberg ~   I take the train everyday on my way to work so I see many kinds of people riding it.  
Thanks for the visit ~

Frozen pond

Credit:   Alex Ugalnicov

she said what she had to say

unbiased truth,
traumatic thoughts of young
woman, preyed by puppet-master

now she is offered
freedom 
if she can lie 
again

glimpse of her future
shimmering rose, pixelating
on wintered pond

she said what she had to say





Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Quadrille, hosted by Victoria ~  The word is shimmer, in 44 word count