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Claustrophobic

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Enclosed I am

Airless, breathless

Must confess to senseless

Gasping, panting,

Mindless ranting

One… two….breathe

I can’t control

The heart rush

Too much

Tightening, fear frenzy

Heightening

I can’t breathe

Just breathe

I’m boxed in, locked in

With no escape

Now I hyperventilate

 

In response to De’s Quadrille prompt at dVerse Poets Pub. Join in with us at 3 p.m. EST. Write a 44 word poem that must include the word “box”.

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Chimera

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From a window seat view

I watch clouds casting shadows

In puzzle-like fashion

Beauty mimicked from skies, majestic

To desolate, desert floors

In solitude they roam

Longing for home

I cushion them gently between

My thumb and pointer finger

Dreaming each piece into place

 

 

Its Quadrille Monday at dVerse Poets Pub and I am your host.

You are welcome to join in! Doors open at 3 p.m. EST.

Photo taken in flight over Nevada.

 

(St)ratification

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Life is an itch

And so we scratch

Underlying layers of lies

Shifty sediments of alibis

Searching for the glorious

Sheen of the bedrock

And as the stone cold truth

Stares blatantly

Into the naivety of our eyes

We scramble

To spread the topsoil

 

 

dVerse Poets Pub is celebrating 7 years!

We are not feeling the “itch” as we continue to inspire and be inspired by each other.

We are very proud of our Anthology

Chiaroscuro – Darkness and Light, dVerse Anthology, 2017

But yes….”itch” is the word for this week’s Quadrille prompt.

Your lovely host is Grace.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Nookwezigan (Smudge)

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For many years, I worked on a First Nations reserve. It was part of my job to become familiar with some of the Ojibway language and culture and to promote it within a daycare setting. Native American customs and spirituality have always intrigued me and still do. The legends and rituals shared with me by my co workers opened my mind to other ways of thinking. I admire the simplicity of thought and their many symbolisms of nature.

While attending a Native Early Childhood conference, I chose a workshop involving an outdoor excursion. We slowly climbed a steep, grassy hill, leaving gifts of tobacco along the way for ” the little people”. At the top we rested on large rocks and meditated on a breathtaking view of the valley below.  When we returned to the community center we sat in a circle to be “smudged”. Nervously I anticipated my turn as a seashell with burning sage was passed around the group. I watched as each of my native colleagues stood one at a time, directing the pungent smoke towards their body with beckoning hands. Drawing it close and gently pushing it away. Cleansing themselves of negative energy. I was welcomed into the ceremony, treated no differently than the rest. As I embraced the smoke I believed what they believed. This was healing.

 

bashkodejiibik

i am not Anishinaabe but

mino giizhigad

 

Translation:

sage

i am not native but

it’s a nice day

 

Written for Paul’s poetic prompt, “Medicine” over at dVerse Poets Pub.

 

 

 

Stuck

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She spoke in scars

Bitterness of broken heart

Sailing with the undertows

Salty sting of ocean tears

Refreshing her pain

There was safety there

Reeling to the beat of

“It’s- not- my- fault”

Making peace with the fog

So she didn’t have to see

 

Sunlight beckoned but

She reveled in the rain clouds

Trading rainbows for permafrost

Frozen, hard fast in the loss

In time, she’d rewind in the wind

Dust off the grudge and wrath

Wipe the mist from the mirror

To see more than lines on her face

More than the misery of this place

Cue the music

And dance wildly to the light

 

 

I am hosting Poetics at dVerse Poets Pub. We are writing to “Life Lessons”. “What is one thing (or more) that you have learned that you feel could change another life? Well at least improve it.” Please share with us in a poem. There is still time to join in. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Minor Disturbance

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You speak in cloudbursts

Torrential tongue

Twisting words to suit your weather

I have news for you

The forecast isn’t bleak

The sky isn’t falling though you

May be chicken and I, little

Your drizzle will fizzle

And I can play in the rain

 

 

For Kim’s quadrille prompt over at dVerse Poets Pub.

44 words of fun using the word “rain”.

Image credit: pixabay.com

 

To Listen

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I hear the rustle of reeds

Where meadow meets pond

Wails and yodels of the loon

The flit-flutter of dragonfly wings

I have powwows with the stars while

Luna spills stories into my cupped hands

The stoic oak articulates to me, his fears

And I stroke his tired skin

I heed to the beat of my own heart

And the steady rhythm of silence

But when words sail from your tongue

To faraway places

I am still learning

To listen

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

For this week’s Poetics at dVerse Poets Pub. I am your host and I am asking you to write a poem about something you are still learning. Doors open at 3 p.m. EST.  Join us!