False Spring

I listen to western wind's murmurings - 

Birthing songs by iris and daffodils

High-pitched cries by broad winged hawks nurturing- 

There is restlessness in the air, the chills

Of winter are ebbing low & bordering

Small buds & silky tendrils sprouting gills

Shedding dark skin of soil & instinct to cling

And inhale the marvelous light of spring

The sun's crimson fingers brings fresh mirror

Sketching the pale grey sky blue as bluebells

Coloring the leaves young and green, clearer

Than raindrops that shimmers with silver spells

But all that is short-lived as once more, furor

Of winter wind comes back, peeling back shells

Of green & draping its white coat, unasked

It's false spring.   We all huddle back, hands clasped!  

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetry Form:   Ottavo Rima or Sonnetto Rispetto.  We are learning this traditional Italian poetry form.  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.

cold & lost in the song

 

What was that I see

Over the bridge

Not two lovers walking in dance-steps

Not line of cars threading slowly

Away from the green lamp posts 

To where the lake swallows 

                                               you    

It is bleak darkness

As if the sun is lost behind trees

As if all the colors got sucked out

And wounded tightly in hard fist 

Or is it I who is 

                                               lost                                                            

A bird 

with wings heavy as pewter 

with no driving instinct to return 

To where "home" is

That is nowhere between

                                               me   

and the goddess with lion's mane 

Magnificent but so pale                                 

As ghost, listless and weary as 

                                               i

Where is the zest for life?

What secrets did we keep that broke our peace?

Our yesterdays changed us

All the energy is spent

                                               lost    

And though there is this undeniable longing

inside my chest

To return to the familiar womb

To gather all the light once more

and embrace your laughter

i am content with the cold

absence of

                                               you            

René Magritte, Homesickness (1940), oil on canvas.

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub:   Everything We See, hosted by Melissa Lemay.  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm for the ekprastic challenge.  Thanks for your visits and comments.

my hand holds a pomegranate

 

I swallow the seeds  

spilling

warm sea in my womb 

bless my body

- a child -

untouched by sorrow

bestowed from darkness to light

through slumbering fog

hear my plea

heal bleeding pain

i'm weary but hopeful

when will our child of love be born?

Created by Microsoft Bing (AI)

Posed for dVerse Poets Pub - Quadrille, hosted by Punam. This is a 44 word post with the chosen word, slumber. Thanks for the visits and comments.

the hands of the artist

the middle finger of my right

hand

   grows a tree

white tap roots skitter

down

   interweaving with my veins

branches protude 

fingerlings swimming upward-

   against gravity

northbound -

    this is homeward drive

where mollusks are plenty    

my body is listening

   leap

capture the raging

   tides swelling within-   

this warm clay

coarsely molds friction & fire

   with flights of fancy

to sculpture -

wings are not required 

   the fruiting is art

   

Artist Credit:   Anastassia Zamaraeva

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub -  Poetics - 2024 Poets Leaping hosted by Lisa Fox.  Thanks for your comments and visits.

   

February morning

in a canvas of white

maple trees are empty baskets

while pine trees are lush of cones

along ice-covered pathways-

such a grey dreary sight

yet with slight touch

of sunrise, rolling clouds,  blue sky,

the morning is leavened

by puffs of yellow-butter radiance

Posted for dVerse Poets pub - Quadrille, hosted by De Jackson.  This is a 44 word post with the chosen word, TOUCH.  Join us with a poem when the virtual pub doors open at 3pm EST.  Thank you for your comments.

The Garden

Welcome to The Garden!

You may walk barefoot here if you wish.

Inhale the fresh air.

Sit on the benches under the shades of trees

Eat the fruits that you find

  Your hands will be holding the sun's warmth

  And the dewness of rainclouds 

Our trees here are grand as 

Cathedrals reaching for the sky

But watch out for poison ivy and stinging neetles

  The giant hogweed can cause burns

Traveller, there is no judgement 

  Of where you came from 

  Of what is the color of your skin 

We would love to hear your stories

  if you are so inclined to chatter 

  Over teapot of orange blossom

If you choose solitude and soil

  Abandonment with vines is the upward course

If you seek knowledge from the trees

  Meditation with the bees is the eastern path

And if you wish to walk further

Nearby a river runs in ziz zag pathway

   Refusing to run straight

 

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetics, Its Written in Stone, hosted by Dora.

Thanks for your comments and visits.

sky-painting

a cup of tea

simmers with aroma

you sip its warmth

as blues shuffles the air

evoking happy times-

you write your verses

imagining time is splatter of color

you draw on sands

vermillion sky-

mumuration of starlings-

you, being carried away

on clouds

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Quadrille hosted by Lillian.  This is a 44 word post with the chosen word - Imagine.  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.

the business of busyness

some of us see you as woman

in flowered hat

cool as a spring blossom

no one can guess that beneath

your walk with an air of elegance

that you are filled with piths of sadness

an emptiness that you cannot bottle

and put a label

so that your therapist can check

its shape

its hues and dunes

its composition 

her moon eyeglasses

could not decode where it

started nor prescribe the cure

so you carry a big purse of fullness 

and work your hands with busyness

your schedule is so booked

you blank out lunch

you forget to go outside 

and inhale the scent of lilacs & tulips-

real flowers, that is

if only your therapist knows

that the only thing that brings you a smile

are the birdsongs

Woman with Flowered Hat

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

yesterday's blossoms

 

Under almond tree, I remembered you

murmuring blues, your face a poem

I traced with walnut ink & red feather

Wrinkled leather were your cheeks, soft rain

Softer still were your fingertips, milk-warm

that stirred a storm, clanging all my shores

Unmooring my usual road, I read fear

Instead of dear, purring adventure

I gathered all my luck, lures, tunes & rides

And ran- from the moon-tides, me & you

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Toddaid, hosted by Merril Smith.  Join us at 3pm EST to find out more about this poetry form.  

when nerves are fire

when i arrived

sky was dove grey

as your face, cloud-pinched 

by pain

i wash your hands 

fragile as crepe paper

soothing gentle words 

believing

i give you relief 

but torment is intense

your nerves are fire

you say, 

being old is not fun

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Quadrille, hosted by De Jackson.  This is a 44 word post with the given word, PINCH.  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.