the season of blossoms and catkins

 

above the weeping willow tree, the blue sky

shimmers with shrills from black ravens, heralding 

the season of tiny crowns & catkins & blossoms

emerging with dazzling sunset of pinks and reds

my window frames a day of popping colors-

above the weeping willow tree, the blue sky 

trills along with robins in building their nests

while magnolia trees perfume the air with vengence -

it's the season of tiny crowns & catkins & blossoms

sun-painted as dandelions or star-dusted as sakura

i swoon as if i have never seen flowers in my life

under the weeping willow tree.   the blue sky

transforms my words into daisy-chain verses

turning all my empty boxes into seedling pods 

it's the season of tiny crowns & catkins & blossoms

the morning light evokes a joyful sigh 

as trees regain their leaves & tulips begin to bud -  

above the weeping willow trees, the sky blues -

it's season of tiny crowns & catkins & blossoms

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight.  Join us with your 1 poem when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.  

Our city is bursting with cherry blossoms trees, magnolia trees and catkins from the weeping willow trees.  Outside my "office", the birds are building their nests (under the balcony), and the ravens have returned.  I love the spring season.

spring fever

 

i have yellow fever

after spotting the egg-white moon

hiding behind the golden hair of willow trees

i hurry to garnish

marigold and calendula seeds in pots

the spring air is here

licking our faces with sugar rain

our skin is hungry for the heat

of sun, wheat fields, maple 

syrup running down bare maple trees

i can see daffodils buds & blue ivy stalks

& hostas leaves sprouting

where winter ice has torched it bare 

now, light lingers long into the night

marking the time for potting &

tilling the soil moist & ready for flowers

i can imagine the ripeness

i can smell the flowers

pink, blue, red, apricot, cream & specially

yellow ones 

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetics: Everything Yellow, hosted by Sarah Connor.  Thanks for your visits and comments.

under the crepe myrtle tree

i spread a basket of entrees-

bread of tulipped wheat

jam of lilac & lemon jelly

mudcookies & appled plum wine

you bring the orangeist sunflowers

with the plumpiest pillows & blankets-

we hug-cuddle as long-lost sisters

and oohed-aahed over orange cake

i place the buttersnaps & sugarwiches

on caramel daisied plates

there's gossip to be pickled & traded

& poems to read & spooned over

fresh pinappple bits-

we are going to have

the yarrowest & amberberried

picnic in the park

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub- Meeting the Bar:  Word play.  Join us for a fun way of writing poems - playing with words.  Thanks for your visits and comments.

the long hands of daylight

stretches along fields, 

bereft of green

foliage of spring

& wildflowers

winter is still dusting white

cracks of asphalt

but there's joy when light

shifts, collides & brushes the trees 

not with weary shell

but with robust yellow-peach 

strokes, glinting our eyes 

with color 

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Quadrille, hosted by Mish.  This is a 44 word post, with the chosen word, SHIFT.  Thanks for your visits and comments.

blue hour

if i can pour silence in a cup

i would like to drink it at night

not as warm maple tea

but cold as winter ice wine

not too sweet or spicy

to run down my throat to ignite

excitement or astonishment

but rather

the familiar hug of an old 

friend, that knows the hollows

& turns of my seasons 

& times when i need

to see the starlights and  

the new moon instead of

full-bodied white wintered sky-

what space i have drawn

is briefly magical as blooming

pink peonies

in between frames, 

i am unemcumbered by the weights

& stresses of the day

i get lost in the maze & snarls of words

-coaxing lines muddled with black birds-

as i inhale the crisp smell of pine trees

alas, the noise of the house

clatters & hums as the clock

steals away an hour & marks it:

(false) spring! 

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetry of Place and Space, hosted by Ingrid.  Thank you Ingrid!!!     There are references of the city and country where I have now resided for 18 years.   We have a long winter season.

Thunderstruck

 

your words are thundersnow

to my sunflower hands

your passion is lightning

hammering the wind 

i gasp at the intensity of your emotions

as the skyscape darkens, swells

for a moment, i'm iced blue 

then melting

i revel in the moment 

of storm's ardor

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Quadrille hosted by De Jackson.  This is a 44 word post, with the chosen word, GASP.   We had a rare thundersnow last Saturday.

Farewell

 

To the stalwart poet who shouldered on

Beyond the valleys and bedrocks of Seattle City

We dug into your swashbuckling adventures, Blackthorne

As well as your World War 2 stories of grief & love 

Though you have officially retired

Your gutsy voice and tell-it-as-it-is verses

Rise above the pub's din & chatter

Your eyes brimming with mirth & gladness of our group

Honesty is your calling card, 

Your words, raw and rouge, raging 

Against the status quo, Trump & his cronies

There is no mistaking your stance about life

And death

Do wake us up old ghost

And shake us out of our complacent boxes

We got work to do for our country & our neighbors

And most specially, labor on to be true on our words

Thank you!   

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight, hosted by Lillian Hallberg.  RIP to Glenn Buttkus.   Thanks for your comments and visits.

Thank you

 

To the aged librarian down the hallway:

Who thought it was cool that I had

clouds on my hair & detective glass

when reading books during lunch time

Who smiled at me when I would

return a book on time & borrow it

again, because he knew it was my favorite

From you, I learned 

the secrets of lost languages & uncharted

lands between the dusty shelves of the library 

To you, who gifted me with  

"a quote, a thimble of poems, hand me

a way to set sail"

I have found the ship filled with stories

and wild things, that I have decided to 

keep on sailing, forever looking out for pirates

*quoted lines from Bjorn Rudberg's Navigating Uncharted Seas, from The Aged Librarian series

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Friends in Blogosphere - hosted by Punam.  The library was my sanctuary growing up and I have made friends who share the same love for books and poetry.   Thank you friends!

AI Poet 3

To be on the brink of colour

Coming out of shadows

Is to stand at the edge of a cliff,

With the wind in your hair

Your eyes catches the sunlight

The soothing hum of bees & birdsongs 

Vibrance of wheatgrass and red vines

Wild flowers peeking above shrubs

The sky moves in murmuring waves 

Painting each frame with shades of blue

Above the draping weeping willows 

Underneath your feet breathes life

At winter's end, there is a symphony

Between the soil & headless flowers 

All at once, their fragrance is a lilac melody,

A beckoning that rises and floats.

To be on the brink of colour,

Is to count past the days of grey

And long nights of white grief,

To grasp and take that very small step

To where light bounces from tree to tree

You stitch the colours inside your pocket

And spread the quilted blanket on the floor

Season of flowers is around the corner

*****

The poem above is a revised version of the AI poem below:

To be on the brink of colour,

Is to stand at the edge of a cliff,

With the wind in your hair,

And the sun on your skin.

It's to feel the world around you,

In all its vibrant hues,

To see the beauty in everything,

And feel it infuse.

The sky is a canvas,

Painted with brushstrokes of gold,

The trees are alive,

Their leaves rustling bold.

The flowers are a symphony,

Each petal a note,

Their fragrance a melody,

That rises and floats.

To be on the brink of colour,

Is to know that life is a gift,

To be savoured and cherished,

With every breath and lift.

For in every moment,

There is a chance to see,

The magic that surrounds us,

And set our spirits free.

So let us embrace the colours,

That paint our world so bright,

And bask in their radiance,

As we walk into the light.

This poem was created by Chat GPT:  To Write a Poem:   To be on the brink of colour.  This line is credited to Vikki on Twitter:

"To be on the brink of colour as if I've sorted the wrong days from the hapless season..." ~ L'Atelier De La Vie

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub:  Meet the Bar Artificially, hosted by Bjorn Rudberg.  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.  Thanks for your visits and comments. 

the kiss

the night sky is blushing with secrets-

slow rise of the full moon by seagrass

smell of tides & milk flowers turning red

my lungs on fire, spinning words on my head 

(kiss me)  we're running out of breath and time

my skin tingles from the salted margarita limes

your lips swoop down, dizzy as a bee

a kiss so soft as velvet, or was it an earnest plea

for a promise of something more, elusive

yet rain-soothing & kiss-smothered by flowers

you will paint me, you say, with marmalade

sun on my hair, my wrists jaggling with jade

your stolen kiss is a sonnet i slow dance 

inviting my words to unfold & take a chance 

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetics:  A Prelude to a Kiss, hosted by Kim Russel.   Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.