"Everyday in every way I’m getting better and better" - Emile Coue
from seed, you grew tall
orange cupcake flower
i wanted you to bloom forever
but summer's end is here
[pause]
spin me out of summer blues
as flowers turn deep sun-blood
slow decay by wind chill-
dying/dyeing
ink, garden these verses
[within me]
i.
how come i cannot find
a playbook for young girls
so they can be
stormcatchers
& cartographers of their lives
instead of walking with bounded
feet and wounded hands
ii.
child
draw your dream in a paper
and tuck them in your pocket
-fisher of stars
-wind catcher
-queen of seven seas
-king of lost forests
your pimp will not want them
your jail keeper will thow away the key
they belong to you
in heat of hunger and cold of despair
in the lonely hours of darkness
unfold their inconceivable wings & glorious eyes
unflinching and unvanquished
fixed on you
no, you will not forget them
they belong to you
they cannot be bought
they cannot be sold
Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Stormy Weather, with guest host, Andrew Wilson. Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST. Thanks for your comments.
my dreams float
in the glass jar,
brimed in peach-
apple cider
i open the shelf
to admire its color- now amber-
gold & honey
in summer
but in autumn, the
liquid is deep cobalt-green
the sky takes on a sheen of melancholy
i cannot shake off
i think of another place and time
where the clouds are blue-grey
and the half-moon is glorious star-
i open the jar & inhale the half-
part of me, that swims between sun-
set and dusk
never quite framing the face half-
turning, walking between door-
ways
of meanings
and blank walls, i am
still air-scribbling, i am
dreaming
Posted for dVerse Poets Pub- Poetics: Dreaming up a Poem with guest host, Truedessa. Please join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST. Thanks for your visits and comments.
on shelf goes unnoticed
like brimed-sliced cucumbers you placed in pickle
jar
last summer
& last autumn,
there is still a jar of
home-grown dried calendula flowers in olive
oil-
you forgot to strain-
you wonder if your poems
are too mush-salty or
saffron-flowery
Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Quadrille 205, A Jar Full of Poems, hosted by De Jackson. Thanks for your comments and visits.
you are the gentle rain
on burning summer sky
slow patter on my eyes
lingering kiss that remains
you are the gentle rain
sketching greens as birds fly
scatter-skitter noise, your sighs
are calming clouds & quiet plains
you are the gentle rain
humming blues with bow tie
my hands are stirring chai
winding down, hushed vane
you are the gentle rain
Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetry form, Ballata (Italian verse). The rhymed, rhyme scheme is AbbaA bbaA bbaA . Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST. Thanks for your visits and comments.
we are clouds, rain
and storms
rushing through tracks
and roads
aspiring to be strong
as trees and resilient
as lake-
our elders want
us to leap
barriers and buidings
but this sum-
mer, we are flow-
ers, yellow-gold , slow-
stitching in bee-laden garden
& finding ourselves
Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Quadrille #204 - Summertime, hosted by De Jackson. This is a 44 word post with the chosen word, summer. Thanks for your comments and visits.
blue
blue iris
blooming blue iris
in spring, fresh as dew
heradling a season of flowers-
delicate pink hydrangeas,forget-
me-nots, red roses and orange-gold marigolds
lavender and purple, mixed with laughter & cries
of children, stories & jokes on mustard picnic blankets-
my balcony circled by bright yellow zinnas & orange calendulas
let me remember the pattern of joy
& the weaved threads of gladness-
sun-wheel of blessings-
before my memories
sloppily-slip in the
rain
Alma Thomas, The Eclipse (1970), acrylic on canvas, Smithsonian American Art Museum
Posted for dVerse Poets Pub- Poetics: Writing Something Beautiful, hosted by Melissa Lemay. Thanks for your visits and comments.
Dawn rises above the waters
Slapping the Venice Islands to gold
Crossing the arched bridge
Into the Rialto Market
My vest and robes are brown mud
My stall is stocked with fish & spice
From faraway lands, beyond the seas
Where the sun is goddess of ice
The tides are low as boats
Move towards the Grand Canal
In the square, under the Church bells
The market is noisy & aggressive as gulls
I barter and make deals
My word is good as gold
I sink my teeth to silver coins
To trade is to be bold
My pocket is lined with parchments
My biggest haul is selling slaves
Caught and weighed in the market
The skin of young men & women
are sold as concubines
Even convents need slaves
for domestic labor in the field, the galleys
are stocked with slaves until their graves
I sell death sentences
That dark gondolier is my slave
No festival mask can hide my gleaming eyes
As I stake my future in this market
Where I can reap great fortunes
Or where I can lost everything
By misfortune or due the wars
Midnight or dawn, this business is king
Notes:
The Venetian slave trade refers to the slave trade conducted by the Republic of Venice, primarily from the early to the late Middle Ages. The slave trade was a contributing factor to the early prosperity of the young Republic of Venice as a major trading empire in the Mediterranean Sea.
Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - MTB: It Begins at Dawn, hosted by Laura Bloomsbury. I had a fortunate experience of spending some time in Venice as part of my Italy vacation. I learned the good and ugly from the local tour guides. Thanks for your visits and comments.
your muse has black wings but
your words, breeze-light as rain
falling on heads, pink-pleated & flower-crowned
may your hours be filled with white
crisp pages & pen, smell of lavender & lemon
tea rising from the warm pot, taste of
freshly buttered bread, seranade of
birdsongs from robins, calls of owls,
laughter of children, chicory flowers,
sights of life unfolding
and vibrant river moving, you
are lifted
out of the silence of your space, out of
the skein of your clothes
the limbs of your books
the roots of your apple trees
(sorry, but the mail bag is full)
you are one with the rooks
rolling bowling calling squalling roiling boiling swirling whirling*
black wings glinting & stretching
& flying into starlit sky
I do not know the notes of your songs
nor do I know where you are heading to
but the windows are open
and i only know this:
thank you
for the gifts of wings & words
~~~
Inspired by her lines in Always Fire:
From ‘No mail – no post’:
“No words.
No rhymes, no poeming tonight,
just this blank space,
this white page,
stretching endlessly”
and
“Find me a space here,
tucked into the silence.”
‘This Doesn’t Feel Like Home Yet’:
“A bird sings,
but you don’t know the notes,
this window opens
onto streets you cannot name
and words you can’t decipher.”
Posted for dVerse Poets Pub- Poetics : In Conversation with Sarah Connor. Hosted by Kim Russell. Thank you Kim for the wonderful interview. Thank you Sarah for all the time you have shared with us at the dVerse Poets Pub.
she should be crabby
over narrow space,
heat & falling bed
but robin sits
claiming her space,
brooding in silence
awaiting eggs to hatch
come rain or strong wind-
ignoring nosy neighbors-
her eyes steady as sun
casting softest of light
on blooming zinnias
Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Quadrille, hosted by Merril Smith. The selected word is CRAB. Thanks for your visits and comments.
