Late summer

Wrinkled black maple leaves fall on the ground

Green crab apples dot the fruit trees (again)

Orange sun dips and dims ever slowly, a clock

unwinds, music when soft voices die-

The season in transition begins -

a limerence - short-lived- with nature

Joy in all its exuberance as rain

pouring down, refreshing as cold ice on hot day

Wilting petals, incomplete poems & unopened books

remind me that birds will soon fly south of the border

I'll bottle up this music of birdsongs

& sweetness of child's laughter in the park

The smell of smoke from grilled meats

lingers, as well as the crisp evening air that drapes the sky

With autumn grey.    With a coat, I sip warm chocolate, 

inhaling the last of summer blooms & harvest of fruits

Music, when soft voices die,

Vibrates in the memory—

–Percy Bysshe Shelley, Music when soft voices die (Note/Credit to the poet)

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - August Transitions, hosted by Merril D. Smith.  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.

between us

your silence hovers, builds a wall

raindrops fall

that i could not see the blue sea

you lost me

in maze of doors, words so careless 

(or) i lost you, us- sky's starless 

my half-moon eyes betray reckless

fears & anxious longing for you 

my shadows overwhelm me (sighs)

raindrops fall, you lost me, (or) i lost you, us -sky's  starless

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - MTB:  Spanish Rain in the Ovillejo - hosted by Laura Bloomsbury.   Join us for this challenging poetry form.   

French Onion Soup

When I made this soup in our first month of

marriage, it was a soggy soup of tasteless onions 

But you finished it all up anyway

Embracing me for my (lack of) cooking skills

Time was the best ingredient in the kitchen

I know that now after more than 3 decades of

family & raising the children

There is no perfect recipe to follow, but practice

makes it easier.   I didn't know that white, not

yellow onions, was the best for this recipe

That I needed to cut & stir the many layers of buttered

peeled onions (10 cups) for a long time (at least 40 minutes) in a pot

I did not know that the long caramelizing process

brings out the sweetness of the onions

Peeled away are silky translucent skin

Turning the color of char & slightly brown under the fire

Adding garlic, fresh thyme, wine & bay leaves 

Made this chicken stock richer, flavorful than I ever thought 

possible.   Pair with buttered bread and white wine

You sighed with delight over this (heavenly) soup

How is it possible that (you say) you have

never changed at all - you are still as beautiful 

when I met you.   I smiled at you and noted that you

are not wearing your glasses.   The french onion

soup made you giddy, I say.   I wipe away the

stains from my hands, now slightly wrinkled, bent & patient 

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetics - Peeled Away with guest host Melissa Lemay.    Join us when we talk all about onions when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.    And yes, I now know how to make this delicious French Onion Soup.   

wake up & touch the grass

i wake up in the morning waiting for the sun

to soften me, soft as linen, softer as mud pie

my fingertips are tapping, checking the blue sketch

of canvas, granite silver stones, the studs, the slow motion

of time, rocking me to stupor, here in my pink dress, white

socks, shoes off, floating, i twist my body to bend

into the hourglass of sweet complicity & simplicity

but this solid bed of recycled plastic is hard, my thoughts

run grey, spiral to crawl, crash, cramp__

i cannot move to lift myself off this loneliness, this rabbit hole_

tell me you care, tell me to touch green grass,

tell me to get off the phone & social media,   

this body swells of longing for rain, soil & seeds,

sounds of birdsongs, the smell of pine trees 

i want to drown in my dreams of clouds, as the sun 

softens me, soft as linen, softer as mud pie, sinking to earth 

María Berrío, Closed Geometry, 2022, 

paper collage and watercolor on linen, 72 1⁄8 × 90".

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - We are writing Ekphrastic Poetry based on the 3 artwork selected in the prompt.   Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.  Thanks for the visits and comments.

song credits (to us)

 

we're blending the lyrics & notes

to strum of guitar riffs

you drunk-sway as goldfish in fish-

bowl

i play the piano (off)key

as soaked flowers  

by summer rain

our faces are blue

with sweet refrains & kisses

bravely, we watermark the album 

with our names

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Quadrille:  Pouring Out Our Poems - Hosted by De Jackson.  This is a 44 word post with the chosen word - water.  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.

summer of calendula

 

i count more than 12 petals

sun-radiant, golden lemon bright,

red specks in the center

we are bee-struck over your

healing prowess

though your size is my palm 

your willowy sway

in the breeze, safron scent of mint

and thyme

brings a joyful morning

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Quadrille hosted by Lisa.   

Happy 12th anniversary dVerse!

june diary: strawberry moon

this kiss, yours -  is an unbridled sonnet

tart as wild juniper berries in gin

brimming with seduction & sloppy grin

unpredictable as crashing rocket 

who would have guessed, we like chaos & black 

not sweet strawberries, but peppery to  

roll our tongues in shock, like a strong brew-

we adore brightness & shadows, a stack

of poems.  if we cared what they say we are-

not compatible, crazy kids with wheels-

we would not be here, love drunk, twined in teal

in a heartbeat, your eyes are silver stars 

you gift me a lush garden of verses: 

unrhymed poetry, dance beats, blue metric,

guitar riffs, rocking my world electric-

there's no time to dally in rehearsals

               

your lyrics unravel me, spilling ink

moon tides, my lungs on fire, i flower pink

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub- MTB with John Donne and his Heroic Sonnet hosted by Bjorn Rudberg.  

I reworked some of the lines I wrote here and made this a longer poem, following the sonnet model as requested by Bjorn.  Thanks for your comments.

under our sky

 

the forest is burning

(&)

you ask me a question

you will get an

answer

differently

(when I'm 40)

(when l'm 60)

last year or next year 

because my present

is ever changing

as clouds in bleak smoked sky

as silkworms searching mulberry leaves

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub- Quadrille - hosted by Lillian Hallberg.

This is 40 word post, with the chosen word, PRESENT.  Thanks for your visit and comments.

sisterhood

 

we were born on sawdust and torn tweed

scattered along plains of wheat and weeds

we suckled on old goat's milk and blue scars

etched on bodies of our mothers searching for stars

we grew up suffering through our & their pain

never knowing the joy of freedom & our names

how we fought and grinded with vigor

as we took blows to go through the rigor

we are stronger when our voices are melding 

to bring justice & peace, all with a good ending

we now stand humbled but proud women fighters

as we made this, our way, survivors

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub -  When "we" writes Poetry, hosted by Laura Bloomsbury.  Thanks for your visit.

The Quality of The Thimble

The thimble is thinking of imposter's 

syndrome.    Bigger than sunflower,

but softer than guitar strings.  It gets a summer

job watering the garden of a grocery store. It

thinks it is all easy, until it forgets to wear

sunscreen & gloves and pricks its fingers 

from tiny thorns.   It keeps on bitching

that the pain everywhere is brutal to deal with. 

The thimble wilts very quickly in the summer

heat.   Like a banana which you buy greenish but

turns brownish spots in 2 days.  So you must

consume it quickly like sugar snap peas,

or radish when quickly pulled out

from the soil, crisp and slightly peppery.

The thimble loves April's Fool.  It likes to 

eat melting ice-cream when walking

to a farmer's market.   

It is also a memory box.

Keeping all the crochet bonnets and 

half-sewed materials, and all the 

unfinished verses,

no titles, just a tumble- 

weeds of words.  

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Quality Poems hosted by Kim M. Russell.    Inspired by the style and poem format of The Quality of Sprawl by Les Murray.