-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
Join us in a collaboration of art and poetry!
Doors open at 3 p.m. EST.
Image: Etsy.com “Dandelion” by Beverly Dyer
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
Join us for Open Link Night at dVerse Poets Pub! I am your host.
“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”.
Where did your light come from?
Did you ever moon gaze under muted skies?
Did nature stir your soul?
I picked a flower for you today and wondered
Watching white floaties sailing into
Dandelion dreams and it seems
We never touched on this
For Open Link Night. Grace is our host. It is a pleasure to welcome Sarah Connor to the dVerse team. She was our lovely host for this week’s Poetics , introducing us to the artwork of Fay Collins for inspiration.
Image credit: Fay Collins
In response to The Daily Post Weekly Photo Challenge: Tour Guide
Welcome to a small town in southwestern Ontario, Canada. These are only two of our distinct and unique seasons.
Strong winds + bitter temperatures + river = masterpiece.
Sunset over lake + para-sail + sense of adventure = summer solitude.
Illuminate me
Chloro- fill my veins
Colour me in carotene
Kisses and sugar sap
Decorate my heart
With strands of starlight
Let me sail
Over moonlight memories
Pinstripe my path
In strokes of midnight
Before I surrender to the fall
Sun-shine my soul
Today I am hosting Poetics for dVerse Poets Pub and I am excited to share the photography of Sharon Knight at sunearthsky.com for our poetic muse! You are welcome to join in at 3 p.m EST.
I’ve found a new canvass
To draw on… and from
Sharing journeys
From bo(u)lder times
To monotonous erosion
To sun-kissed, self-loving
Soul-saving bliss
Rocking my freedom
Of direction
Perfection still wavering
Between the lines
And my mind
Colours conjoined
Words coined
Tedious, serious joy
painted rocks – Michelle Beauchamp
We are rocking the quadrille over at dVerse Poets Pub! I am your host and I hope you can join us. Write a poem of exactly 44 words including the word “rock”. The prompt begins today at 3 p.m. EST and is open all week.
Rainbowed, razzle dazzled
Poised upon lavender skies
Steady handed horizon
Sea swirls capped in stark white
Murmurs of mustard froth
Blends of blue
Southwestern hues
Neon dreams adrift
Image credit: pixabay.com
Written for Meeting the Bar. Bjorn is our host and he has asked us to take a closer look at impressionism to incorporate it into our poetry. We are painting with words. You can too.
It’s a short drive to the park. Winter has made a whimsical return as if to poke fun at Spring. Snow powdered trees appear to float in rainwater lagoons. I throw my daydreams into placid pools and wish for sunlight. In the foreground, flakes fall melting instantly on a glass stage. In the distance, they unite to soften the woods with a whitewash. This portrait is life, mirrored and stilled by the indecisiveness of Mother Nature. I join in reflections of branches blurred and blended, losing myself in the scene.
Seasonal squabble
Geese ponder their homeward flight
Nature simply paints
Björn leads our Haibun Monday this week. He explains two techniques, “ekphrasis” and “haiga” as we combine art and poetry.
It is a privilege
To be part of this village
Paving the pathways
Breaking the patterns
Sowing the seeds
Eye contact, warmth of heart
Neurons ready for take off
Strange how for some
It takes science to prove
That love builds brains
Today for Poetics at dVerse Poets Pub, 3 p.m EST
We take a closer look at Ally Saunders, an artist from British Columbia, Canada. Through an interview, Ally shared with me more about herself and her life as an artist. She has kindly allowed us to use her work to stir our muse!
Join us!
I searched empty canyons
Pilfered through frozen hearts
Filtered facts from the cinders
Reflected from afar
I waited on ocean currents
Zephyrs for perfect sailing
All the while failing
To see my own stars
I am happy to be hosting our first Poetics for 2017 at our virtual pub,
The New Year has a way of restoring our hopes and aspirations, nudging us to set new goals, follow new dreams and create “new beginnings”. With this in mind, I decided to visually inspire you with the help of 8 wonderful artists. Although the titles of their work may be very similar, each piece is an example of their very unique styles. The fun begins at 3 p.m. EST. Hope you can join in!
Image credit: “New Beginning” by Lynn and Jim Lemyre.
You can find more of their work at lemyreart.com
All the world’s a page
And all the men and women merely poets
They have their exits and their entrances,
And in time they write of every stage of this life
The penning of seven ages. At first, the infant,
Rapping and clapping in mother’s arms
Then the whining schoolboy, with his backpack
And mourning face, snailing his way
To school. And then the lover,
Sighing between couplets, with a woeful ballad
Music to his mistress’ ear. Then a soldier,
Fighting life’s battles on paper and screens
Jealous in honor, spoken word slamming
Seeking the published prize
At the risk of denial. And then the justice,
Fattened and fueled with philosophy,
With eyes widened by profound thoughts
Full of wisdom of past and present
And so he coins his phrase. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and withered wordsmith,
With spectacles on nose and irony alongside;
His youthful imagery, well saved, a world too wide
For his shortened verse, and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish times, whines
And whistles of his own elegy. Last stanza of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Blank verse, refrain and mere oblivion,
Sans rhythm, sans rhyme, sans breath, sans everything.
ALL THE WORLD’S A STAGE
(from As You Like It, spoken by Jacques)
All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms.
Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress’ eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon’s mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
Photo taken in Stratford, Ontario, home of the Stratford Festival and Shakespearean plays.
A wonderful challenge by Bryan Ens for dVerse Poetics, where he asked us to “cover” a poem by a poet whom you admire. I missed the prompt so I’m linking this up to “Open Link Night”.
Feel free to join in with one poem of your choice!
Used with Permission: Emily Blincoe
You
cannot fix me.
My voids are custom
made, specially designed
for comfort. Don’t arrange my
faults like feathers in a row,
plucked and sucked dry so
you can take credit
for my flight.
It isn’t
r
i
g
h
t
.
Written for dVerse – “Poetics: Arrangements by Emily Blincoe”
One of my favourite blogs is artpresciption.com by Beverly Dyer, an artist who works with acrylic, watercolour and mixed media. She is also a Certified Botanical Illustrator. I am always intrigued by her unique style. Beverly was so kind to offer her lovely work to me for some poetic inspiration.
Awake I am rooted
Tethered, duty bound
Muffled by the fog
In dreams I drift
Turquoise, featherweight
Mellowed by earth’s song
The wind took my words
To cradle, now churning
Twisting and turning
Filtered the facts
Flicked lies at my back
S t r e t c h e d and sizeable
Unrecognizable
The wind took my words
If I could take the blue of you
And blend it with the mauve of me
I think that somehow we would be
A garden made in heaven
Images © beverly dyer
Poems by Mish
Image credit: clipartpanda.com
A writer, cartoonist from Massachusetts
He wrote about cats and red fish, blue fish
His Pop had dreams of him being a doctor
But he dreamed of “loraxes”, giggles and laughter
He had bunches of hunches, he thought and he thunk
Ate green eggs for breakfast and some other junk
The “sneetches” of Google, Wikipedia.org
Say his goal was to make literacy never a bore!
Gayle has introduced us to a “clerihew” which uses couplets and humour to present a biographical topic. She explains it much better than I can, so head on over to dVerse. I may have broken a rule by not mentioning the late Theodore Seuss Geisel or as we fondly know him, Dr. Seuss.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dr._Seuss
I was painted pain purple
By words grayed and grimed
But I found my own still life
Speckled in sunbeam yellow
Waterfall tears tinting my
Rainbow soul
I am nature’s canvass
Wide eyed and waiting
Saturated in earth’s tones
Ivy swirls on jagged stone
We are painting our own portraits with words this week over at dVerse .
A wonderful prompt by Lillian. Hope you can join in too!
Artist: Claudia Schoenfeld , Used with Permission
I once made love to these keys
Caressing each one, stretching
For octaves beyond my reach
My heart beating in staccato
As you spoke to me in theory
Allegro, crescendo, larghetto
Marble bust of Beethoven glared
And I cared…not
An attempt at a sevenling for the 2nd day of celebration at dVerse Poets Pub. Victoria has interviewed one of our co-founders, Claudia Schoenfeld who has lent us some of her fabulous artwork for inspiration. You can find more of her art and poetry at painterindahouse and Jaywalkingthemoon.
Nature’s details dance
To the music of the wind
Fancy fields of gold
~
Check out all the details for this week’s photo challenge at The Daily Post.
“Oh how meticulous you were
As you loved and molded me
I will assume you loved me
For who would bestow
Upon me the honour
Of such poise and grace
If they did not once taste
The salt on my lips?
Would thou grant me
This queenly perch
Where waterways meet
To extend and greet
Only to leave me
Before the ebb tide?
Or dost thou love me?”
~
Written for Lillian’s prompt for Poetics, “Chisel me a conversation”.
We are giving sculptures a voice. Join us at dVerse Poets Pub.
After a brief visit, we leave my hometown perched upon a hill, frozen in time. I try to chip away at memories of popsicle stained tongues, sun burnt shoulders, band aids and bare feet tickled by the greenest of grass. Life was a picnic. A party for so many different occasions. Flowers were power, carefully doodled on duo tangs and notepads during lengthy telephone calls.
It is quiet now, the screech of laughter muffled by blankets of time and loss. In my garden, I watch familiar spring breezes tousle the snow white petals of my daffodils. They stand stoically among furled fall leaves left to mulch. Content with the silence, I rake carefully around my forget me nots. An old flower pot slowly crumbles as if trying to blend in with earth’s decay. I run my hands through it.
Memories dormant
Trusting in perennials
Narcissus nostalgia
Written for dVerse ~Haibun Monday: Beauty in Decay
Bjorn has inspired us with the photography of Susan Judd.
What do you get when The Daily Post gives you a fabulous theme for the Weekly Photo Challenge and then you stumble upon a friend’s photos of jellyfish?
Nature’s masterpieces!
All photos by: Lisa Oleniuk
White pickets pose
Tapered in alternate angles
Once stately, now weathered
Rain soaked
Naturally white washed
Time and sun chip away
Leaving peelable flakes
For someone’s obsession
Or therapy
A precarious division
Unstable, still standing
Warped, still grounded
Surrounded by the green
Of unruly blades, wind-bent
Identical meadow grasses
On either side
Today at dVerse Poets Pub, Victoria has asked us to write a poem using imagism. This highly descriptive style originated in the early 1900’s and focuses intensely on a single image. Metaphors are usually not included although an underlying meaning may be interpreted.
It’s Sunday which means another Collaboration for Peace! Candy and I are happy to share our creations and hope that they can inspire you in some small way.
This week’s challenge brought me back to memories of Vegas and a show called “Recycled Percussion”. Four talented musicians take junk rock to the next level.
Audience participation
Boundless energy
Clever and creative
The ABC’s of good entertainment.
Candy and I have been working on a project that we would like to call “Collaboration for Peace”. Here is our second creation, combining my photos with her haiku. We hope to spread peace and hope throughout this community of poets. Who is Candy? You can find her at rhymeswithbug.com We are both members of Artists4Peace.
I find green in the smallest of places. It is not the mountain covered in triangular repetition of perfect pine that makes my heart flutter. It is not the river, churned and murky or hills that roll in shades of emerald and jade. It is the single blade of grass between my thumbs, tickling my lips as I blow gently through cupped hands. My eyes wander to the delicate veins of magnolia leaves as tiny aphids make their delicate climb. I reach to touch the green of neon moss blankets warming tree limbs, fallen and forgotten. I follow green in the iridescent glow of dragonfly wings dancing over the shallows. I cherish the green of tiny strawberries weaving on trellises, patiently waiting to ripen. As cerulean skies and yellow meadows magically merge in van Gogh’s “View of the Church of Saint-Paul-de-Mausole, I will still find green in the smallest of places.
Lost in fields of green
Four leaf clover at our feet
Gently we must walk
webs in morning mist
the elegance of nature
dressing up for dawn
~
https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_photo_challenge/intricate/
Driving east from our hometown
I remember a sunset
Blazing behind me
Reds I’d never known
Tangerines twisted
In tones of blue silk
Ivory smiles, infectious
Masquerading as cirrus clouds
I think it was you, my brother
I think it was you
~
Miles were meaningless
Moments embedded in golden hues
Purple streams extended
Like arms that had my back
I never lost sight of your afterglow
Love as large as the sun
Fades not in distance
Or in hearts
I think it was you, my brother
I think it was you
Grace encouraged us to write about brothers/brotherhood for dVerse poetics. I lost my only brother suddenly when he was 36. This was written as I recalled the most amazing sunset, traveling home one day from the small town I grew up in. It just happened to be his birthday.
Dreamy day for ducks
Beauty of clouds repeated
Webbed foot masterpiece
~
~
Corran Ruins-McNeills Mansion is located outside of Wiarton, Ontario in Spirit Rock Conservation Area.
The walls of the mansion remain stoic in the sunlight despite obvious destruction.
Multicoloured brick is like artwork chiseled by the wind.
Nature is framed by open windows.
Time has blessed this place.
~
This gallery contains 12 photos.
This colour is full of energy. Whether it’s all jazzed up in neon or painted in healing hues across the sky, orange is the new happy. https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_photo_challenge/orange/
Image credit: Danny Gregory, Flickr
Pink, so stereotypical
Redundantly feminine
Behind rosy lips
Lies the real venom
Like peonies placed
Gently on worn tables
Dripping on doilies
Twisting on fables
Out of the doghouse
With petals of penitence
Tied in a bow
With ribbons of arrogance
He didn’t mean it
This bouquet will speak
Softly in fuchsia
An offering to the weak
~
Today at dVerse, Gabriella introduced us to Danny Gregory, who kindly allowed us to use his artwork as a prompt for poetry.
Let me swim again
In pools of innocence
I will not surface for air
Until it is safe and pure
I will not speak with forked tongue
But sing only sweetly of stars
And cars and the buzzing of bees
Let me lay down again
In fields of pink moss
Where seeds of treason and trickery
Are not sown
I will feel joy
As eagles, not egos
Soar overhead
Let me be young again
Eyes wide with wonder
Waiting for the next miracle to unfold
I will not know of lies
No alibi, candy coated
Only love given graciously
Untainted and true
At dVerse, Mary introduced us to a talented photographer and poet named Totomai Martinez. Among thousands of amazing photos, this one spoke to me immediately.
Image credit: Yoshi by Totomai Martinez
River frozen in pieces
Sun painting on snow canvass
As we justify winter
~
https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_photo_challenge/shadowed/
Image: Stardust – Nick Gentry
Time had more space
When one measly megabyte
Was enough
For the techno trivial pursuit
We still had dreams
Sketched in graphite
We searched without engines
For insects and answers
In hideaway places
And sparkly eyed faces
Photos pinned to the corkboard
Notes passed in the schoolyard
And in retrospect
I would not delete a thing
Starting off the New Year at dVerse, Grace shared with us the unique artwork of Nick Gentry as a poetic prompt.
Here are a few photos in response to last week’s photo challenge at The Daily Post.
Click to enlarge.
I had to respond again to the Weekly Photo Challenge!
These photos have been waiting for the perfect opportunity to present themselves.
Introducing…some odd, some quirky, some downright smirky…SIGNS!!
Looking up at the “Eiffel Tower”, Paris Las Vegas Hotel
~
You can see more nighttime photography at
Image: Brooke Shaden “waiting to fly”
It is the longing
That shortens our days
Taking trips around the world
In paper planes
Diving perilously over
Our own dark skies
Only to come back empty
Pilot aborted, hope distorted
Deserted dreams repeated
Making over dramatic
Emergency landings
Before take off
~
For dVerse poetics, Grace introduced us to the most amazing, artistic photographer, Brooke Shaden. Her work is truly inspirational as a writing prompt.
Image credit: “Breaking Away” by Joel Robison
There is little to lose
Rising above the rain
Stepping over asylums
You built for yourself
Come on up
Strange how it happens
You muster up a strong front
Setting you asail
Over cimmerian shades
To worlds unclouded
Places you know
Inside and out
But have never been
Again I am inspired by the amazing photography of Joel Robison
http://joelrobison.com/index.php/category/blog/
For dVerse
The magic of purple
Blending the blues
With the red
Brilliantly dressed
To bedazzle
Strategically placed
In a gallery of green
A royal display
Of nature’s fine art
My grandmother is an artist.
Over the years, her oil paintings have adorned many walls. They were beautiful landscapes of colour and detail, shadows of mountains, life flowing in streams, and love delicately expressed onto canvass. I remember the smell of the paint, the blended hues she experimented with on her palette, her unfinished piece draped in cloth as it waited for more magic from her hands.
Ten years ago, at the age of 86, she painted what she thought was her last painting. Her eye sight was failing fast. Four years later, 90 years old and almost legally blind, she picked up the paint brush once more attempting a few final creations, including these two paintings for me and my husband. She said she was not sure if she could paint again, but she hoped that we liked them. What they may lack in her usual detail, they make up in visualization, strength and determination.
There are no words to explain how much they mean to me, so I won’t even try.
My grandmother is an artist.
She was also a dedicated wife to a Lutheran minister, devoted to her church and helping others, a most creative and resourceful person, and wonderful cook.
Today she is still a loving mother, grandmother and great grandmother. She lies quietly in a nursing home, unable to see or walk, and barely able to hear. In her mind, I believe she is still painting…memories of bright faces in the sunshine, places of long ago and visions of the light that waits patiently for her. I believe that someday she will paint with the angels.
My grandmother is an artist.
http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_photo_challenge/work-of-art/
painting by Sunita Khedekar
~
Beyond the realism
Far beneath the grey matter
Colours wait patiently
To be splashed and swept
Across blank canvasses
Saffron skies ready to burst
Amid forests of periwinkle
Rainbows and reveries
Lie tangled and trapped
Between soul and everything else
Kindled by a sapphire sun
We pick up the brush
Dripping with lucid dreams
And we paint
A poetic prompt from dVerse~Poet’s Pub, inspired by the beautiful artwork of Sunita Khedekar
I cannot sit here
Chained to my ideas
Of where the words go
How the lines should flow
But I do it
I take my manifesto
And blend it into pesto
Stomp on the rules
Like grapes in the vat
Pour the wine
And that is that
Rhyming schemes
Become my scams
Hazing and glazing me
Like a …
Hah! I won’t fall for it
Not this time
Fiddling with phonetics
To get it right
When right is wrong
And black is white
I won’t sit here
Shackled by decree
With no intent to follow
Sometimes as you’re strolling through the blogosphere, you stumble upon a treasure. That’s what happened to me when I came across a blogger named Melinda at http://dirtgazing.wordpress.com/
Her unique blog features photos from guest bloggers, all with one view in common…..LOOKING DOWN.
From dirt, cement, unusual objects to water, sand and anything else you can walk on, it’s creative and fun! Melinda kindly accepted some photos I sent her. It is wonderful to collaborate with others. So take a little walk on over to Dirtgazing and see the world from above the camera.
Meet “Anne”, a sculpture by Leo Mol.
We met her on a visit to Sculpture Park in Windsor, Ontario near the Ambassador Bridge to Detroit.
I don’t think she was expecting this fellow to use her head as a look out.
~
Related Articles
http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/11/22/photo-challenge-unexpected/
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Windsor_Sculpture_Park
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Leo_Mol
mishunderstood 