Gone

 

how delicate is this life

that one word, one mis…step

the bending of one finger

can rip a hundred hearts apart?

the way the zephyr innocently snaps

a limb so sturdy lush and green

or the fate of the field mouse feasting on seeds

as red hawk’s talons take hold

the hiker’s boot carelessly crushing

the castle of the dawdling slug

or the fragile web that can only hold so much

of dawn’s dew drop tears

only love is infinite and still

time, thoughts, nature, earth…

everything else moves

everything else dies

 

 

 

For Open Link Night. Bjorn is our fearful leader and host as we go LIVE at 3 p.m. EST.

More details at dVerse Poets Pub.

mucked up

 

you planted me

in richest soils

spoke in sunshine-lies

I smiled through shadows, weeds

naive to your gnarly roots

creeping ’round my garden-heart

I forgave the rain

again

ripping petals one by one

but God sees your ways

and I will bloom

without you

 

 

44 words of poetry including the word “garden”.

We are honoured to have Victoria C. Slotto hosting our Quadrille prompt.

Doors open at 3 p.m. EST.

dVerse Poets Pub

 

 

 

 

Image credit: pixabay.com

The Big One

 

My husband asked me to pack a bag for an unknown destination. Meticulously sorting through my wardrobe, I consider every possible activity and climate. Will we swim? Hike? Dine casually? Upscale?  I pack my whole wardrobe.

We arrive at the U.S. border with all travel documents, including airline tickets, safely hidden from me, inside my husband’s leather jacket. It is still on the chilly side here. Spring has been teasing us, a matter of days ahead. He hands the customs officer our passports. “Where exactly are you headed to?”, he asks.  My husband takes out the printed tickets, places them in is hand and replies, “It’s a surprise for her birthday”. The customs officer looks closely at the tickets.  He bursts into a smile bigger than the tiny booth he is confined to. “Have a good time”, he says and waves us on.

The anticipation grows as we near the Detroit airport. We enter the terminal and I know this has to be the big reveal. I imagine the reaction of the airport attendant if I tell her I didn’t know where I was going. As I struggle to pull my overloaded suitcase towards the desk, my husband hands me my ticket.

VEGAS BABY!!

 

they say what happens

here stays, but I saw snowflakes

dance in the desert

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kim is our pub tender as we serve up some haibuns about birthdays.

dVerse Poets Pub

Haiku: At the Lake

 

blankets of blues

summer in sapphire and teal

I breathe between hues

seven ride the waves

still nuzzled in mother’s wing

paddling seasons past

gliding on thermals

freedom to speak or squawk while

clouds only whisper

It is Open Link Night at

dVerse Poets Pub.

You can link up ONE poem of your choice.

I am your host and hope you will join us. Doors open at 3 p.m. EST

 

 

If He Is The Homeless

 

 

Then we are the heartless
His eyes, cimmerian pools
Conscious waters we dare not tread
His words, rendered null and void
And so he holds the sign
Of failure, defined
As if guilty of existence
Beaten by this steel wool system
Of surface scratchers
Mirrored and jagged
Buffing them up
To send them back out

Dead people live on this street
Like the gray of pigeons, pecking
For rations of sweet sanity
Between dagger eyes
And swift kicks
Tears siphoned back from the edge
Hold more truth than sorrow
Tiny little diamonds
Of the highest clarity

Squinting, scanning for prospects
The sun exposes his lines
A tally of  tragedies
His glance, as empty as pockets
Races past the la-de-da
Seeking one heart, unbiased
One heart that drops the dollar
Without assuming it’s next exchange
And as it free falls to the pavement
He struggles to remember
How it felt to not be treated
Like a modern day leper

 

 

 

Sharing a previously written piece that seems to resonate even stronger during these times.

Today you are invited to be LIVE via video for the first hour of OPEN LINK NIGHT at dVerse Poets Pub.

After Thursday ’s OLN, we will have our two-week summer break.

The dVerse bar will reopen on July 13th.

Aspirations

 

” and the realization of the aspirations of the marginalized communities”

~Anmol (Alias HA)~

 

 

that would be me today

caught off guard by the door

opening way too soon

the virus too wandering and wicked

society too sheepish to see

that just cuz ya want somethin’

shouldn’t mean it should happen

I don’t even talk like this

but today, that would be me

standing in the margin

feeling nothing but alone

in a fight for those who

cannot speak because they too

are the marginalized

they haven’t even

learned…. to…. speak…. yet

 

 

A late submission for Amnol’s Poetics over at dVerse.  He has given us much to write about including protest and inequality but it was his own words that inspired me.

I made the very difficult decision of resigning from my job today mostly because of my belief that childcare and preschool programs should not open this soon, expecting very young children to abide by strict safety measures and self distancing practices. I have joined others in advocating for many weeks now, over 23,000 people to be exact….for the sake of thousands of children and yet, in some abstract picture, we still become the minority.

 

Image credit: pixabay.com

 

On Your Birthday

 

Announced today, we can hug.

In the park, you watch a tiny chipmunk scamper up a tree.

A cool breeze blows through your longish, white hair.

I watch you smile.

 

clouds move for the sun

time slips through silver threads

nature’s drum beats on

 

 

A Quadrille for dVerse Poets Pub.

Write a poem of exactly 44 words including the word “drum”.

Doors open at 3 p.m. EST. Happy to be your host.

Exfoliation

 

 

the sun seems oblivious

as I peel petty layers

fruitless, useless pieces

washed witless from the rain

my blank slate skin

 thirsty for stories, unwritten

I feel the shells of me slip, cold

lying translucent at my feet

I am without, yet with all

 

 

A 44 word quadrille for dVerse Poets Pub.

Linda is our host and the word is “slip”.

You can join in too!

 

Hey You COVID

 

you win

drafting me unwillingly

one more warrior

in a choke

….hold

I. could. die.

simply thinking about

the risk

you’ve offered me

on a silver platter

like the devil, sly

with guileful grin

but this fool isn’t your fix

I choose

to live

 

 

I am an RECE ( Registered Early Childhood Educator), “Educator” being the key word. Infants, toddlers and preschoolers learn through hands on exploration, purposeful play and socialization. In the midst of a pandemic, I will soon be expected to return to this environment where social distancing is not possible and little ones require close contact. I am not a health care worker but will be expected to assume the same risk. At 59, I am forced to decide between safety or an income. It haunts me daily.

 

 It’s Quadrille time at dVerse. De is our wonderful host.

The word is “fix” to be included in a 44 word poem.

 

image credit: pixabay.com

 

 

 

Steady Stream (Scream) of Consciousness

 

pixabay.com

 

 

Will I find the dream again? Somewhere in this new realm reeking of reality? I feel like I’m treading on the nothings of my days. Guilty of nothing. Achieving nothing. Feeling everything but nothing. Watching moments pass shamelessly into nothingness. Is that a word? I don’t even write this way. Horizontal thoughts wishing to waterfall once more. At least I’ve kept my not so subtle sense of alliteration throughout the aberration. Alas (what?) my poetic skin is paling, failing. Hmm…internal rhyme intact and that is whacked. Maybe I should slam. These words are not my jam. Who am I?

 

 

Sharing with dVerse Poets Pub. It’s Open Link Night! I am your host.

Originally written for PANDEMIC POETRY

Find us on Facebook

 

In Mid Flight

 

 

 

 

stillness speaks

like a bird with a broken wing

the way of song, essential

the freedom to fall, forgotten

heaven is for real

we are but a coke machine glow

between darkness and light

 

 

Written for dVerse Poets Pub.

Bjorn has asked us to dust off some books to create some “spine poetry”.

 

Burgeon

 

I am a seed

without a season

buried deep

in the cold compost

of my dreams

flood thirsty, time flushed

endless roots reaching

for the reason I rise

but I will not wilt

in recycled soils

I am hidden

only to surprise

the sun

 

 

It’s Quadrille time at dVerse. Pen us a poem of 44 words including the word “flush” or a derivative. I am your host. Doors open at 3 p.m. The prompt is open all week.

 

 

 

Image credit: pixabay.com

 

Life Takes Off His Mask

 

and my normalcy stands naked

against alien stars

and virgin skies

earth speaks of simpler things

in archaic tongues as

cinders of the commonplace

lie blatantly at my feet

She offers me seeds I don’t remember

I plant them in empty gardens

unbeaten paths

timeless, rich soils, untouched

by my aching body, my weary mind

I kick the ashes

desperate to stir the life I knew

but ashes fade fast

into the light

 

 

 

Written for Poetics at dVerse Poets Pub in response to a quote by Mizuta Masahide

“Barn’s burnt down, now I can see the moon”

In these unfamiliar times, as pieces of our regular life break away, what do you see?

Share your own personal epiphanies in a poem. Doors open at 3 p.m. I am pleased to be your host.

 

 

 

 

Picacho Peak

 

after the climb

I rest

inhaling indigo

of cloudless skies

exhaling all but my soul

the sun is an ocean

wrapping me lukewarm

politely peeling the pieces

fears flaking

sorrows shedding

I lay them out

stone cold on the mesa

to wilt and wither

 

 

 

A “quadrille” consists of 44 words, not including the title. It is a favourite form over at dVerse Poets Pub. This week we are including the word “peel”. I am pleased to be your host. Feel free to join in. Doors open at 3 p.m.

And Now

 

 

when I hear thunder

I remember the end

of what we knew, the day that

polished pearl of a moon told us ALL

there is to understand while

every tree spoke at once and

there you were trying to silence them

with your arms flailing like a madman

thinking the earth spoke your

language as clouds rolled in laughter

because we all (should) know that

universal truth cannot be heard with

deaf ears and so many

tongues a twisted, so then

we sifted through the ruins

of you and me

searching for truths

that had buried themselves alive

but I’ve never once forgotten

that day or the decay

and the way it ended

and

started again

and ended

 

For Amaya’s prompt, “MTB: The Death Sentence” over at dVerse Poets Pub.

A very unique and challenging prompt.

Oh

 

wednesday

you are the lump in my throat

my week-ness

nestling so comfortably

glowing, gloating

famed but feckless

fiddling between my thens and nows

cutting my life into uneven sections

of reveries and regrets

oh wednesday,

who gave you the honour?

 

 

 

In response to Sarah’s Poetics, “What Day is it Anyways?”

 dVerse Poets Pub

 

 

 

 

Let Me Burst Your Bubble

 

 

 

what you don’t know

will hurt you anyways

because truth

is the only reality

the liar knows the truth

therefore the truth exists

it is never hidden

you carry on without knowing

but you are living within a lie

and that is pain….un-felt

a secret is a perspective

it’s an illusion, my friend

 

 

 

Merril is hosting Poetics this week and she has asked us to write about secrets.

dVerse Poets Pub

 

 

She Wondered

 

“Lastly, she pictured to herself how this same little sister of hers would, in the after-time, be herself a grown woman; and how she would keep, through all her riper years, the simple and loving heart of her childhood: and how she would gather about her other little children, and make their eyes bright and eager with many a strange tale, perhaps even with the dream of Wonderland of long ago: and how she would feel with all their simple sorrows, and find a pleasure in all their simple joys, remembering her own child-life, and the happy summer days.”

Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, Lewis Carol

 

 

 

and to wonder is everything

like water to the earth

nourishing you, levitating you

beyond what “is”

high above cinders of the past

into worlds where stars pop

as you poke at the sky

clouds sashay in colours you’ve

never seen but somehow

you know well

spirit animals appear

swirling, embracing

speaking your truth

joy is the flight path

of dandelion fuzz

the gleam of dragonfly wings

sorrows, unknown

slip deep into sunsets

dawn becomes another gift

another day to wonder

 

 

So happy to be hosting this week’s Poetics at dVerse Poets Pub, where we are using the “last lines” of books to spark our poetic muse. You are welcome to join us at 3 p.m. EST.

Image credit: pixabay.com

This World

This world is a heart
fed from the nuzzle of a mother’s breast.
Its murmur is a father’s gentle song,
one whose arms reach out before a fallen
tear can bury itself in the sand.

Its arteries are our highways, as
opaque as they are to the earth beneath,
without them, are we not pigeons without wings,
moths without a moon?

The blood is love. But blood isn’t love.
No, if we take in one as our own,
it does the same. The world took us in
so long ago.

 

Join us at dVerse Poets Pub as we imagine our own world.

The sky’s the limit..or is it? It’s my pleasure to be hosting this week’s Poetics.

Doors open at 3 p.m.

Image: pixabay.com

Euphony

 

the world is in our hands

is it not a gift?

a blank sheet

to compose symphonies

of grace,

one cosmic chorus

born of our own untainted hearts?

let us not be mute

but join in songs of light

when evil seeps

through cracks

 

 

A quadrille for dVerse Poets Pub.

De has given us the word “crack” to incorporate into our 44 word poems. Join us!

Image credit: pixabay.com

 

 

Southwest

 

you are my green chile

kokopelli dream

soft sound of hiking boots

tapping on sandstone

my sun, uninterrupted

blessing mesas

the aqua blue of desert skies

set against canyons calling

in sacred language of silence

scents of cedar, earth and peace

you reset me

 

 

 

44 words is a quadrille, our original poetry form at

dVerse Poet’s Pub.

Merril is our host and the given word is “set”. Feel free to join in.

Microgravity

-Dandelion – Beverly Dyer

 

time slips deep

into season’s end

autumn spins tales to me

       you

spin tales to me

we are seeds

catapulting

through the cosmos

at the speed of lies

majestically reckless

spinning further and further

from the light

      spinning further and further

from the truth

         spinning further

     and further….

 

 

For “Poetics” at dVerse Poets Pub, I am pleased to present the work of

Beverly Dyer

Join us in a collaboration of art and poetry!

Doors open at 3 p.m. EST.

Image: Etsy.com “Dandelion” by Beverly Dyer

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Hush

 

 

It’s the space between steps

hollow of waves curling

gleam of seagull’s wings

 

  the slow

       tranquil

            ex

             hale

                  slipping off lips

 

as clouds collage in peach

and magenta

 

It’s the wander

without map or path

where trees speak in tongues

of nature lover’s dreams

 

 

A Quadrille for

dVerse Poet’s Pub

 Lillian has offered us “tranquility”

to include in our 44 word poems.

You can join in too!

 

Water Play

 

waves are winking, teasing

making my heart sing silly

each one feeding the void

I am soaked, featherweight

vulnerable, alive

this infinite lake

will swallow you whole

if you let it

I let it nibble

 

 

 

 

 

A pier in Lake Michigan. Key word “in” as the Great Lakes hit record high water levels. 

Join us for Open Link Night over at dVerse Poets Pub.I am your host. Doors open at 3 p.m. EST.

 

Maybe It Is

 

My heart-voice lays low

Silent, frozen to the wall

Your actions, so perennial

Chatter again with my head-voice

A royal tête-à-tête over tea

I take mine black…and white

“You’re so vain”

Plays in the background

I bet you think this poem

Is about you

 

 

 

A quadrille for dVerse Poets Pub.

De gave us a “voice”, the word to include in our 44 word poems.

Image credit: pixabay.com

 

 

 

Earthgaze

 

merely freckles we are

from the moon’s point of view

with a one-eyed squint

her telescope drawn

pondering our purpose

 where we went wrong

does she feel the love drift

from the earth to the sky

resisting the hatred

does it make her cry?

 

 

A quadrille poem of 44 words, including the word “freckle”.

Join in the fun at dVerse Poets Pub where I am pleased to be your host.

Doors open at 3 p.m. EST.

 

 

 

Ecocide

 

 

“I am doing this because you adults are shitting on my future.”

“I don’t want you to be hopeful. I want you to panic. I want you to feel the fear I feel every day. And then I want you to act.”

– Greta Thunberg –

( Youth Climate Activist)

 

 

Does it take a child to save the world?

Or do we just wait for the big miracle

While earth stands stoic

In a silent sob of glacier tears?

Oceans choke on the overflow

Poli-puppeticians choke on their lies

We could die!

Yet we leave the mission to our young

While we sip the last grape

Feel sorry for the last polar bear

Stranded on the last slice of sea ice

 

 

In response to Anmol’s very thoughtful poetic prompt, “On Climate Crisis”.

You may be interested in more information about

  Greta Thunberg.  

Join us at

dVerse Poets Pub.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Midsummer

 

 

I remember swaying to the cricket beat

As midnight moon spilled her light

Grass-tickled, pickled with dreams

Free falling into the raven-black night

 

Dreams fizzle and fade like stone-grey tides

I am still star-stunned, staring at the skies

And as I embrace this velvety void

My heart will still dance with the fireflies

 

 

“Darkness came, full of moths and beetles. I was oppressed by the velvety emptiness of the word and swathes of soft grass. Then the fumes of the night put me to sleep”

– As I walked out one Midsummer morning –

Laurie Lee

 

A late response to Laura Bloomsbury’s Poetic prompt,

” Literary Alchemy with Laurie Lee”.

I am pleased to be your host for Open Link Night at dVerse Poets Pub.

Share one poem and indulge in the wonderful work of other poets.

 

 

 

Terra Firma

 

From the Depths of Earth – Nancy Smith Fine Art

 

I have peddled my pain

to the wind

sifted and sorted my sins

burrowed down deep while

the storm passed

 

I am earth-toned and wild

nature’s own child

sun-smitten

star-bright and steadfast

 

made of blessings and blunders

I refuse to go under

this life was born of my rubble

I am not trouble

 

I am evergreen whispers

dewdrops at dawn

weaves of ivy out of control

sassy saplings, trees of old

I am whole

 

Originally written for “Women Speak”, a project by Nancy Smith.  I was inspired by her beautiful painting, “From the Depths of Earth”. To see more of her work, visit 

nancysmithfineart.com

Join us for Open Link Night at dVerse Poets Pub! I am your host.  

 

 

Return

 

 

Follow me, child

Phoneless and free

Where earth sings

Songs of your roots

Ancient and pure

Pluck stars from indigo skies

Put them back into your eyes

Decorate your pale skin

In leaf shadows and sunlight

Relish in the riches

And blessings of nature

 

 

 

It’s Quadrille Monday and Kim is our host. She has offered us the word “rich” to incorporate into a 44 word poem, not including the title. Join in the fun!

dVerse Poets Pub

As Stars Go Dim

 

Hope eludes her. Night embraces her. Like an old friend, it takes her by the hand to search for the light. Illusive. Dawn becomes the deadline for this decision, the last one she will make.

 

ink-shadows seduce

the sun rises unnoticed

over faded flower

 

 

 

A quadrille haibun for dVerse Poets Pub

image credit: pixabay.com

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline 1-800-273-8255

 

Wings of Whim

 

 

Crow flies, dark-voweled tongue

Heaven-circling for day’s prey

I lay here miffed and muffle-toed

At the caw of the wild

His bell-voice, nothing left to imagine

But another scythe-eyed squawk

 

I’d rather be lark-high in the maples

Moon-blown and star-struck

Slightly enlightened

By the ogle of the owl-light

 

 

 

For Open Link Night hosted by Frank and a late response to Poetics: love the words by Laura Bloomsbury. She asked us to use at least four of Dylan Thomas’s hyphenated compound words and any amount of his other literary techniques. Image credit: pixabay.com

 

 

Before

 

Before you die

sit here, snug in my eyes

where love circles you

endless and time-capsuled.

Paint me pictures of you

in shades of words

I have never heard.. before.

Write me letters in the wind

when all I hear is the storm,

leave your kisses in the clouds

to fall like feathers with the rain

Please don’t ask me to explain

Before you die

sit here, snug in my eyes

 

 

For Open Link Night at dVerse Poets Pub.

Come join us! Doors open at 3 p.m. EST.

 

 

 

 

 

Strings Attached

 

I look at a Facebook photo of a baby sleeping on the indentation of a guitar as his young father strums it quietly. I remember playing the guitar against my protruding belly when I was pregnant for each of my sons. More than sound, this was a bonding between two worlds, still unknown to each other. Love flowed through layers of skin and muscle with every note, every lyric carefully crafted from the wonder, anticipation and unity. This was and is my poetic hum.  I ponder the picture again, slightly worried about this tiny bundle nestled rather precariously in the crook of a wooden instrument. Could she slip off? Possibly…but only into loving arms.

 

love moves beyond walls

love is a constant murmur

love never silent

 

Written for Poetics ~ your poetic hum,

a thoughtful prompt by Gina at dVerse Poets Pub.

Join us!

 

Image credit: pixabay.com

https://www.faithpot.com/guitar-baby-naptime/

 

Captured

 

And now she waits on corners, sold

Purity pilfered and pried apart

Silenced by the sting of biting cold

Slapping hands and tainted hearts

 

Purity pilfered and pried apart

Stone clouds creep over indigo skies

Slapping hands and tainted hearts

Repeat – she thinks she’d rather die

 

Stone clouds creep over indigo skies

Bentley slows, and window rolls

Repeat – she thinks she’d rather die

Desperate dreams of an undercover mole

 

Bentley slows, tinted window rolls

Hollow eyes attached to scum

Desperate dreams of an undercover mole

To save her soul, to take her home

 

 

Written for Poetry Forms at dVerse. This is an imperfect pantoum, which has the following pattern of repeated lines….ABCD, BEDF, EGFH, GIHJ.

The statistics for human trafficking are astounding…an issue not limited to particular countries or to females. It breaks my heart that humanity still struggles to evolve.

https://humantraffickinghotline.org/

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Timeless

 

I remember your tightwad grin

words sparingly spewed

because you knew…

what?

always something more than I

sly, slithery somethings

hiding in the corner of your lips

now I sip on the memories

of a girl, rootless, wavering

waiting desperately

for her father’s approval

 

 

 

I am hosting the Quadrille prompt this week over at dVerse Poets Pub. Doors open at 3 p.m. E.S.T. You can join in too with your 44 word poem, including the word “sip”.

 

 

The Freeze

 

In winter’s doom, the rain awaits

For torchlight moon, to rise, elate

A myst of diamond pellets prance

Begins in waves, accumulates

 

In dreams of green and blossom blast

Awakened by the snow of last

We shiver, quake in arctic breath

And slip and slide to portals past

 

 

In response to “Poetics: Games Night” where Sarah has asked us “to choose 3 names from the list of computer game names below, and somehow or other wrangle them into a poem.”  I have incorporated five of them into this Rubaiyat, which I will also link to our most recent challenge in Poetry Forms.

 

Notes: The rhyme scheme is AABA. I did not choose to use the unrhymed B line sound from the first quatrain as the main rhyming sound in the next quatrain, therefore it is not interlinking. This is an option for the form.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reflections of Mary – A Sonnet

 

This wild and precious life, you spent lonely

Foraging mushrooms, blackberries…and words

Still you have me pondering not only

On the calm of nature and nature stirred

But on the very essence of each breath

As trees speak my truth in leafy tongues, slurred

The sun meets my skin with every step

And the blue rain beats with my heart, broken

I’ve treasured your thoughts about life and death

Listened to canyons speak the unspoken

I have studied art on the earth’s floor

Weightless as the willows, with mind open

One with the animal spirits, I soar

Your words waxing with the moon evermore

 

 

(For Open Link Night and a late response to Jilly’s Enjambment in Sonnets, part of the Poetry Form challenge at dverse Poets Pub.)

Notes: I chose the Terza Rima form for this piece, consisting of a ABA BCB CDC DED EE rhyme scheme, adding a splash of enjambment. Since the thoughts of each tercet often flow into the next, I decided on leaving no line breaks between them. However, it could be edited into defined tercets, ending with the couplet to present it in traditional terza rima form. I would have to admit that the volta is not emphasized. I simply wanted to pay tribute to the late Mary Oliver, her love and insight of nature and how it has resonated with my own perspectives of life.

 

 

Ruba’i

 

 

Morning breaks my slumber in splatters of freezing rain

Delicate coatings of glass mimic my window pane

If only the world would pause, feel this moment contained

But our thoughts run wild like the tainted river unchained

 

 

For Poetry Forms at dVerse, featuring The Rubaiyet. Fellow pubtender, Frank Hubeny brings us the history and characteristics of the form.

Notes: My first dabbling into this particular form so I’ve begun with one quatrain, known as a “ruba’i . I chose the option of the AAAA rhyme scheme and the original meter of 13 syllables per line. The pattern of accented syllables varies between lines.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Shallows

 

I gather dreams here

where withered leaves lay steepless

seesawing on the surface

of the pond

blue heron freezes for the hunt

I watch his stilt legs bend slightly

swift snap, a sun-blessed breakfast

fish wriggles before the great swallow

my dreams are cast

 

 

It’s Quadrille time at dVerse Poets Pub. I am pleased to be your host as we “steep” 44 words into a poem. Join us at 3 p.m. EST

 

Dear Luna

 

 

Into the night I wait for muse of moon

The stars arrange a symphony of silence

I tinker, tally words and thoughts but soon

Dear Luna slips between the haze, defiant

 

From hinterland the owl bestows a hoot

That echoes in the forests of my mind

I wait for inspiration to take root

As Luna slumbers deep beneath the skies

 

When midnight mocks the cursor on my page

I revel in the balladry unborn

Though constellations, cryptic they may fade

‘Tis hope that lights the way of the forlorn

 

Dear Luna stirs behind her quilt of clouds

She scatters dreams for me to read aloud

 

 

Written for “Poetry Forms”, a dVerse Poets Pub project.

This is my offering of a sonnet in Shakespearean style. The rhyme scheme is ABAB CDCD EFEF GG.  The structure consists of 3 quatrains, followed by one couplet. The “volta” occurs in the 12th line . I focused on the iambic pentameter and rhyme. Quite the challenge. You can learn more about this form as Bjorn describes in further detail here.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

De Novo

 

The view is woodsy from my favourite part of the couch. Streetlights are still on as dawn sheepishly reveals itself outside my window. I resent January with it’s epic entrance, bursting with expectations. It falls short in the shadow of Christmas and I see only grey. The dulling pavement of my street is a reflection of the skies above. Neutral and speechless. Blank and waiting. One grey squirrel clambers up and down the giant maple. I tap on the window. He looks at me curiously, then continues on his quest for hidden peanuts. Someone has been feeding him. I admire his fluffy tail and his simple life. My solitude is broken by that car with the noisy muffler and I wonder why Santa or someone similar did not replace it. I take another sip of tea, breathing in the new year.

 

sun in cloud coma

ashen earth begs for first snow

squirrel pays no mind

Human Equation ~ A Sonnet

 

 

 

 

“Where there is righteousness in the heart, there is beauty in the character. When there is beauty in the character, there is harmony in the home. When there is harmony in the home, there is order in the nation. When there is order in the nation, there is peace in the world.”  ~A. P. J. Abdul Kalam ~

 

 

Has God given up on us? Does he weep?

I listen for him in the moon shadows

Dew droplets at dawn, in earth’s gentle sleep

 

Where is the light we were born to embrace?

I sift through the compost of dreams rotted

In darkest alleys, I search for His face

 

Why do we build our own prisons of fear?

Humanity’s keys we hold in our hands

Intentions perish with the silt of tears

 

Do we have the right to ignore our own hearts?

Were they not the gifts of the righteous souls?

Far be it for us to tear them apart

 

Stir gently the pot of evolution

Ignite the flame of a resolution

 

 

Written for a special Poetry Form prompt at dVerse. Bjorn starts us off with some helpful information on sonnets and some exciting news! Doors open at 3 p.m.EST.

  I decided to use the structure of a Terza Rima with 4 tercets and a couplet , but I wandered from the rhyme scheme. Mine is  ABA CDC EFE GHG II.  Oh my, perhaps I shall stick to free verse?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Under the Same Moon

 

I stand starstruck

Inhaling the unknown

Surrendering all that is logical

To Luna’s light

You pinpoint planets

That I’ll never know

That I’ll never remember

And never want to

Beyond the Fog

“Like Air, I Rise” – Nancy Smith

She was tied and tethered to the words at her back
Like daggers, chiseling holes into her heart
One foot forward
The other melded in familiar ground
She settled for the grey of days passed
Pining for the glorious “at last” that never came
Time capsuled, she waited for someone,
Some thing to brush off the dirt of yesteryears

Jaded
She faded
Into the darkness of candles never burned
Under the bellies of stones never turned
She lost her light
She lost her fight

Rise up, beckoned her soul
Rise up
This day as new as dawn’s embrace
Unleash the anchor that you have built
Link by link….. before
you
sink

With strength, with courage, with grace
She faced the fear that bound her fate
In one moment chosen to change
Throwing her briny tears to the rain
She stood poised and prepared
With feathered weight and opened arms
One leap
Into the unknown

Image credit:  nancysmithfineart.com

It’s Open Link Night over at dVerse Poets Pub! 

Post one poem of your choice. I am your host. Hope you can join us.

It was an honour to participate in “Women Speak”, a unique project by Nancy Smith. This was a poem that I submitted in response to her gorgeous piece, “Like Air, I Rise”.

The Petrichor

 

 

Turquoise skies blend into ebony

Over mesa horizons

Clouds give a glorious wink

Before caressing canyons

Raindrops tease in random spurts

Glossing earth’s parched lips

Dust rises in protest

Then succumbs to the deluge

Dampening desert dreams

I inhale the petrichor

And the moment

 

Its Quadrille time! Write a poem of 44 words, excluding the title. De is our host and her chosen word to include is “wink”. Join in the fun at dVerse Poets Pub.

Image credit: pixabay.com

Autumn Hush

 

It was an early phone call for a Saturday. My brother’s caller ID but not his voice. My mother forced words she could not yet comprehend herself. He was gone. I asked where he went.

 

moonbeams radiate

October sky remembers

flicker of fallen star

 

 

For Quadrille Monday at dVerse. Kim has offered us the word “early” for our 44 word poems. This prompt is open all week.

Butt wait…

 

Seduce me

In salt and pepper slag

Lipsticked and kissed

You are my swag

So sleek in cylinder fashion

Each one of you

My moment of passion

Ending just before

Your tones of terra cotta

 

Filter me

Just ever so slightly as I

In…..hale……slow…….ly

Incandescent in fire engine red

Kindled by each blazing breath

     Awwww

Silver flakes fall like snow

And I know

I loved you

Once

 

As a former smoker, I cannot tolerate the sight or smell of cigarettes.

Can you find beauty in the ugliness?

That is our challenge today at dVerse. You are welcome to join in at 3 p.m. EST

Image credit: pixabay.com

 

 

 

Apparently

 

I am a gift

Of celestial descent

Partially unwrapped

Fearful of the flicker fading

Yet terrified of the light

How does one shine in the shadows

Cast of their own caliginous heart?

 

I am a question

Echoing in canyons barren

Bold and ambiguous

With no right to ask

Shall I wipe pure my thoughts

Bevel my edges

Sound the trumpet

At heaven’s gate

Or simply whisper in wonder

“Who is like God?”

 

 

We are writing poems inspired by the origin of our names. Amaya Engleking is our host! Doors open at 3 p.m. at dVerse Poets Pub.

My name is Michelle. I have incorporated two sources : the French meaning, “Gift from God” and the Hebrew origin meaning “Who is Like God?”


Image credit: pixabay.com

Flippant in Fall

 

In the heart of autumn

I watch the thunderheads

Shading skies in charcoal

As retro rain of spring

Spits in rebellious spurts

Does it hurt to be compliant

And follow season’s rule-book?

Or is Mother Nature bored

Tired of the yuck of it all

 

 

For De’s Quadrille prompt over at dVerse Poets Pub. You can “Q” it too!

Just write a poem of 44 words, sans title, including the word “yuck”.

Image credit: pixabay.com

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

One Photo

 

 

One photo

Frantically collected

From the poised and piled

As tornado warnings proceed

The sirens repeat

 

One photo

Treasured among smiles, scattered

Corners curled and tattered

Taken before digital days

This face, irreplaceable

 

One photo

Made of thirty six Christmases

And one million memories

Warmed in the palm of my hand

Rain quickens, pelting against windows

 

One photo

Could easily take flight tonight

Trailing the tempest

Clutching you closer to my heart

Stay with me in this storm

My brother

 

 

Written for Sarah’s Poetic prompt, “Mindfulness and Poetry” where she has asked us to choose a small object that could fit in the palm of our hand. Explore it, write freely about it and form a poem. In light of recent devastation northeast of here, we were under serious tornado warnings in my area tonight. I scrambled to choose “what is important” and take it to the basement. Easier said than done. Thankfully, what could have been, never was. We are all safe and sound.

 

 

Not Until Nightfall

 

 

Daydreams are only murmurs

Moments wasted

Wishes tossed and scattered

Do they ever really matter?

 

In the gloaming, my thoughts echo

Meticulous musing

Repetitive rants

This, my evening dance

 

Nightfall stars my skies in words

I pluck them one by one, as they become

My constellations, revelations

These are my epiphanies

 

 

 

For Open Link Night at dVerse .

You are welcome to link up one poem of your choice.

OLN opens at 3 p.m. EST.

I am you host!

 

 

Image credit: pixabay.com

 

Only Promises

 

 

Sunflower stuns in season’s end

Transparent as secrets of summer

Undeniable beauty bows to earth

Vowing warily to return again

Woodpecker chuckles between mouthfuls

Xiphoid petals wilt and wonder

 

 

Lillian is hosting “Meeting the Bar” at dVerse.

She has asked us to write an “alphabet sestet” using a six letter sequence.

Feel free to join in!

 

Maritime

 

 

In awe I stand

Feet steadied upon

Emerald cliffs

Inhaling breath of sky

Heart-quickened, earth-smitten

Tickle of sea mist on my tongue

I surrender thoughts to the waves

Trundle with ocean’s tide

Erasing all but this moment

Time still…. (passes)

Each second a blessing

 

 

Written for De’s Quadrille prompt , “Quick! Write Something!”   

dVerse Poets Pub

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Southport

It is our first morning in Newfoundland. We settled in late, the night before to an eclectic vacation rental in the small community of Southport. Population 40. We want to experience the true local life of the most eastern province of Canada. I open the door to see our surroundings in daylight, barely breathing the salty air on the bay, when I hear the sound of a four wheeler, kicking up gravel in it’s path. A middle-aged man stops in front our door. “Hello! How are you doing? Staying at Peggy and Viv’s are ya?” He shares stories of the land, the people and the fishing industry. He says he will never leave “the rock”, this magnificent island we’ve come to explore. He’s ventured out to bigger dreams and cities, but this is home. It’s different here. He’s already convinced me it’s better here. He offers a word of advice to us. “Don’t worry about crossing boundaries or walking across the neighbour’s properties. The worst thing that can happen is they’ll invite you in for tea.”

My eyes wander a bit to take in my surroundings. Colourful little buildings called “stages”. Rocky shorelines and fog in the distance. He tells us of a 90 year old woman visiting the area. She asked him to take her out on the ocean to see the sights and he willingly obliged. Then his voice becomes shaky with emotion. “She said to me, ‘Now I have seen heaven.'” He puts his hand on his heart. “I will never forget her face and those words”, he says. I get the same lump in my throat, feeling the sincerity in his eyes. The conversation brings me back to a place of genuine simplicity. This is why I am here.

 

fresh breeze of August

eagle basks in morning sun

feathers set aglow

 

 

 

 

It’s Haibun Monday, everyone! The theme is “morning”. Hope you can join us at dVerse Poets Pub. 

I am your host and the prompt is open all week.

 

Cannikin

 

Come closer

Lay your head on my chest

Hear the echo of my phantom heart?

Stone-cold and crumbling

Like the rust of my skin

Don’t come in

 

Come closer

Will you taste my hollowed kiss?

This abyss is my gift…to you

Love letters unwritten

Roses ripe of tarnished tin

Don’t come in

 

 

For Poetics at dVerse, we are writing from the perspective of three characters from The Wizard of Oz. Follow the yellow brick road with us!

Doors open at 3 p.m. EST.

 

 

 

Claustrophobic

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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”.

Chimera

 

 

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

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)

 

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.