without solid reason to
keep track of time
I burn my days over
hot coals of contrition
watching the embers
die like dreams
it seems…..
we are sempiternity
always in the making
or taking
are we ever done?
is it enough to
simply breathe?
For Quadrille Monday over at dVerse Poets Pub. Merril is our host and she has offered us the word “track” to include in our 44 word poems.
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.
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.
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
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
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.
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”.
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.
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
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.
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?
“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”.
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.
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”.
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.
undeniable
my body immersed in
energy unrecognizable
filling chasms of my soul
tides of tears to remind me
that I am here
did I miss the journey?
I am overcome
Written for dVerse Poetics. Amaya Engleking is our host and she has asked us to consider various questions about holy places. In Sedona, Arizona, I entered this well-visited Catholic chapel built on a mesa. I am not Catholic. I am not overly religious or convinced of spiritual vortexes, but what I experienced there was very spiritual….to me.
Egg me on
Come on
Tap me twice and
I’ll break for you
Find the faults that you’ve
Held me to
Watch the way that
I spill for you
Poke my yolk
Make me run
Scramble my thoughts
It’s still
All over your face
A quadrille is 44 words, excluding the title. This week you must include the word “egg”.
Kim is our host. It’s all happening over at dVerse Poets Pub!
Image credit: pixabay.com
I’ve dabbled in darkness
the match, centimeters
from singeing
my fingers, my soul
A symphony of sirens
felt like a lullaby
why?
you’d have to look deeper
I’d have to share more
than embers greyed, tired
I’d have to breathe life
into the fire
Written for d’verse Poets Pub. De is our host for this week’s Quadrille prompt. A quadrille is a poem of exactly 44 words, not including the title. De has chosen the word ” fire” which must be incorporated into the poem.
Image credit: pixabay.com
It’s hard to write as
I crawl between your fingers wagging
Aging my way to judgement day
Repentance reeking of self righteousness
Heavy scents of sincerity
You keep sending me notes and epiphanies
Squeezing through doors already sealed
Making your points ethereal
My nemesis, always the witty one
Wagering with my very soul
You are dust, still stirring
From my careless catastrophes
I do confess, I need you less
But please….stay close enough
To haunt me gently
Written for dVerse – “Meeting the Bar with a Letter”. Bjorn is our host.
I embrace the grey. Where pavement glistens in the rain. Where clouds paint every inch of sky in shades of loneliness. I am touched by the greys of nature, stones peppered in hues of silver, the undersides of lifeless leaves, glistening beach sand and broken twigs. My eyes wander off clear cut paths to spot the fluff of squirrels’ tails or the fringe of a bird’s feather now fallen. An ancient tree speaks to me in somber tones, begging to share his story. Does he remember the forest floors of ancient times? Or is it all a foggy blur? I caress the rough, dappled bark of a walnut tree. It’s ok. I’d love you anyway. Grey takes me to a place where black and white, wrong and right can mix and mingle into maybes.
dull sky, sparrow spies
the grizzle drizzle of grey
open wings take flight
It’s Haibun Monday, open all week at dVerse Poets Pub. Bjorn has asked us to consider grey as a subject for our haibun, ” to bring grey into a personal (non-fictional) piece of prose. Add to that a haiku (with season and nature)”. Feel free to join in with us.
the murmur of an ice cold heart
beats to the rhythm of decay
dehydrated dreams die
withered in February’s wind
tears will never nourish
For Frank Hubeny’s “Meeting the Bar” prompt. The theme is brevity, specifically to write a poem with no more than 5 lines. There’s still time to join in over at dVerse Poets Pub.
Image credit: pixabay.com
We grew up here. The soft breezes of summer carry me from our white brick house to this place of solitude. My feet greet the weathered path, making the hollow, tapping sound I so remember. Again I wonder how this hard packed earth can feel like clouds under my feet….but it does. I love the tickle of tall grasses against my bare legs and how the skies match my eyes today. I still marvel at the delicate design of Queen Anne’s Lace as it stands stoic beside red clover. A grasshopper leaps ahead of me, dodging my every step. He has nothing to fear but I cannot resist the urge to pull apart a milkweed. The same silky threads still comfort me. I roll them between my palms and set them free. They dazzle like white satin in sunlight before the greenery embraces them.
My journey curves around a cluster of wild bergamot. I pause to inhale the scent of sweet citrus. Just ahead to the left of the trail I see the large crevice or “crater” as we called it. A place to pretend, when we used to do that. Golden rod bouquets border the path in brilliant yellow. I run my fingers along them as I pass. They seem to be early. Finally I reach the neighbour’s orchard where I once believed swiping a few apples was a major crime. “Run!!”, I remember saying to my brother. He just laughed at me….the way he always did.
nurtured by nature
summer silenced by the fall
some seeds will die young
Written for Haibun Monday
~ dVerse Poets Pub ~
The theme is “Hometown” and I am your host.
Doors open at 3 p.m. EST. Hope to see you there!
Oh Luna, you light monger
Peddling your parables
Poeming me pretty words
Hobnobbing with the clouds
As I am left sleepless
Tossed and tangled
Between lucid thoughts
And muddled dreams
You’re so astronomical
But I find you comical
Spinning your tales in the stars
It’s time to Q44 at dVerse Poets Pub. Victoria is our lovely host. Join us with your own quadrille, a poem with exactly 44 words, not including the title. It must include the given word or a form of it and this week the word is “poem”.
An Italian leather notebook sits empty at my bedside. A gift from a dear friend with an encouraging, handwritten message. The sun sneaks through wooden blinds just enough to illuminate dust particles dancing over it. I run my fingers across the engraved designs on the cover that seem to speak of great things to come. I look inside, as if expecting to find something that wasn’t there before. Between each fine line there is silence, words yet to be unraveled in garlands and strokes unique to me. A lovely pen waits for the warmth of my hands, but has lost all hope.
I type to the rhythm of my random thoughts wondering why this has become my only mode of composition. Somehow I have forgotten the crossing of t’s and dotting of i’s. I have left behind the curves and arches, loops and flairs. I have left behind a piece of myself.
frozen river breaks
mallard writes in cursive form
freed by early thaw
Written for Kim’s Haibun Monday. The theme of the prose is “communication through pen or pencil and paper, followed by a traditional Haiku that includes reference to a season.” You can join in too at dVerse Poets Pub. The prompt opens at 3 p.m. EST and is open all week.
we toil in toxic soil
planting intentions,
nurturing our contemplated
marinated seedlings of hope
and it feels righteous
downright righteous
is this not the path to peace?
when hope dies in the eyes of
the oppressed and forgotten
how many prayers are enough
for the darkness to fade,
for light to be cascaded
over hate so barbaric?
oh but we sing and we say
we are the world
We are compassionate
you…and me
aren’t we?
we must step off of our
overturned garden crates
weed out our own fears
and act
Amaya Cranston Engleking has joined our team over at dVerse. Her poetic prompt for us today is to “write an epigraph poem (not an official form) in which a quote about global peace, social justice, or human rights is embedded”. I chose the following quote…..
It is not enough to be compassionate – you must act.”- His Holiness The Dalai Lama
Image credit: pixabay.com
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.
Happy New Year! I am so excited to announce the publication of
Chiaroscuro
Darkness and Light
Voices from poets – dVerse Anthology
Thanks to the dedicated leaders of our virtual poetry site, Bjorn Rudberg & Mary Grace Guevara and all the poets from around the world who contributed, this book is now complete and available on Amazon.
You can find it here.
Congrats to all and best wishes for 2018!
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.
I feel you tugging on the mask
Your grip equals my resistance
To concealing my existence
Don’t listen to my eyes
They lie
I feel you dredging up the past
Sifting fallacies from honesty
My blunders are your pleasure
Troubles I do treasure
Don’t look into my soul
It’s old
I feel your tiny shovel words
Digging deeply and discreetly
I see your mask is custom fit
Perhaps you truly will outwit
Take it off, go ahead
You go first
Come join us for Poetics at dVerse Poets Pub 3 p.m. EST.
We are exploring the idea of masks, psychological or metaphorical.
Image credit: pixabay.com
Giggling green spring
Breathing bubble-bliss balloons
Grinning, shimmering, mmmmelt…..ing
Cue music!
Pepper-spiced clouds dance
Freely twisting, curling
Leaves flicker, fears drizzle
Lulling dawn
Hope-filled jars spill open
Sparking rosebud dreams
Journey’s scars echo in ghosts
Creaking shadows skip
To storm’s song
Whispering bliss
Stilled
A quadrille for dVerse. Grace is hosting and she has given us the word, “creak” to play with. This is week 43 for the Quadrille prompt. I challenged myself to use ALL the words.
We bobble like iron bubbles
Anchored to docks of despair
Waving flags, still bragging
About love of country
Humble hearts whisper
In feathers, doves
But hope does not float
Intentions are stuck in
Stagnant sea scum
Blood flows and God knows
We are tired
Written for this week’s Quadrille prompt over at dVerse Poets Pub
Image credit: pixabay.com
Strangest day it was
The past peepin’ roun’ corners
Portals open saysme
Or not… maybe
Do I ever close ’em
Let shadows lurketh
And biggest bizarrest day
Past peepin’roun corners
I n’me up
Making my head messin’
Me guessin’ whatsup
Somethin just not right
Wait! Lemme ‘splain it. It’s the most terriblest, worstest grammar ever!
That is the idea over at dVerse Poets Pub for this week’s Poetics.
Image credit: pixabay.com
I follow you
Flashlight in hand
Still dimmer than our hearts
Lake of infinity
Lapping to the rhythm of
Silence
Sandy-toed, sips of merlot
You whisper of satellites
Geosynchronous orbits
And how much you love me
Spicing my world
Peppering my skies
With stars
Join us as I host one of our favourite prompts, the Quadrille at dVerse Poets Pub. 44 words including the word “spice” or any form of it. Doors open at 3 p.m. EST. C’mon….get a little spicy!
Image credit: pixabay.com
I find my religion
in song and stars
not far from the dazzle
of dew drops at dawn
in chiseled red rock
set aglow by the sun
in the voice of the trees
that silence me
strokes of pastel
over indigo skies
moonlight shadows
that dance in my eyes
the strength of the spider web
in gale’s great force
and of course
it all feels magical
Paul is tending bar at dVerse Poets Pub today and he has us brewing up a little magic into our poems.
Want to read some enchanting poetry? Feel free to join in. Just wave your magic wand over this:
When nightfall finds you
Breathless under muted moon
Your shattered heart fumbling
Tumbling faster than your thoughts
May you count stars instead of tears
Echo the moments, over years
Summon one precious particle
Of light within your soul
Carry on, my friend
Carry on
This life is not over
Written for dVerse as Paul brings us a beautiful prompt for Poetics, called
I walk tight ropes
Intricately sewn of my own doubts
Back and forth I tiptoe
From sky blue clarity
To the rarity of
Predictions come true
And here I pause
One foot fixed and ready to
Fly across the flames
The other sifting pebbles
Of doubt between my toes
I wave to hazy horizons
That already know
My destiny
Today I am hosting at dVerse Poets Pub where we are using signs as a visual prompt. Let them speak to you metaphorically or as an allegory, take you to a deeper place or even a comical place. Your sign does not need to have words, as symbols have stories and voices too.
Claustrophobia
a jet black bubble
titanium choke hold
last taste of insanity
Peace
auras of eucalyptus
good deeds dangle from the stars
waiting on supernova
Fake
pearly white snake
words whispering agenda
bouncing off the wise
Micromanaged
preyed, poked and pried
shadowed under King Kong thumb
random rays of light
It’s time for Poetics at dVerse. Today I am hosting and the topic is “Sensory Play”. Choose something abstract such as a colour, emotion, idea, concept, a quality, trait or situation…and bring it to life using one or more senses. You could also choose something more concrete, as long as you are using senses that are not normally associated with it. For example, describing the sound of “moonlight”. Hope you can join us!
Nothing more
Man in the moon malarkey
Stirring my drizzle of doubt
With a spoon
Logic, integrity lost
On some cat with a fiddle
Spewing his spittle of words
That I have heard before
Is there more?
I think I might have a cow
Join us at dVerse today for the fan favourite of 44 words and what we love to call the “quadrille”. As your host, I am asking you to include the word drizzle or derivative of. I have no idea what came over me to write this…except too many years of singing preschool rhymes.
Image credit: William Wallace Denslow, Wikipedia
I am your Spring
Spindly, unspoken
Mending your dreams
Faded and broken
Sweet woodland grasses
Kissed by the sun
Nurture my soul
Teach me to run
Delve in my eyes
Of nature’s unknown
I hold your heart
I am your home
We are writing “From Nature’s Point of View”.
at dVerse Poets Pub.
3 p.m. EST.
From your lips
Word balloons drift
A speech bubble blitz
Of braggadocio
Oh Pinocchio
Clouds do not part
For your presence
You are marshmallowed
Hollowed
A fairy tale twaddle
Floating on folly
And horse feathers
Oh Romeo
Thy swelled head
Will soften your landing
For De’s quadrille prompt over at dVerse.
Write a 44 word poem including the word “balloon”.
Image credit: pixabay.com
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.
Build me a home
With pieces of me
Open heart plan
Tulips and trees
Walls of words spoken
Timeless and treasured
Cloud me a ceiling
Cottoned and feathered
Blueprint my passions
Shutter my fears
Sprinkle my garden
With laughter and tears
Montage my memories
In order, not fancy
Stardust my floors
Let me be dancy
For dVerse Poetics where our guest host, Sara McNulty has asked us “to imagine that you have been given free rein to design any type of building you wish”.
Image credit: pixabay.com
You didn’t know
That on riverbanks I sat
Sinking in words unspoken
As waves sparkled and spat
Saying more than you could
And I ever would
I back-stroked in sea storms
Dreamed of days blue
While you fought the ebb tides
And this little memento
Means more than an ocean
To me
I am hosting Poetics at dVerse Poets Pub today. Today I am asking you to write a poem about one memento. You may use a souvenir from your travels, a photo, a keepsake from a special moment or event, perhaps a small token that is dear to your heart.
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!
She liked her eggs sunny side up
Runny……
… running away
Like she always did
She poked the yolks
Releasing them, releasing her
From destinies and obligations
Yellow trickles of madness
Ooooozing……
Soaking grainy plateaus on her plate
Mesas she never climbed
The people left behind
Standing there
Like the salt and pepper shakers
Stoically staring her down
This.. a mere snippet of it all
Life served on a platter
Exchanged for prices
And slices of her heart
She toyed with the lettuce
Lifting it, loathing it
A worthless embellishment
Wilting…
Dying in front of her
Like all the rest
For Open Link Night at dVerse. Grace is our host!
Originally written for a poetic prompt in 2015 where we were challenged by Claudia Schoenfeld to write layered poetry.
If you are new to dVerse, OLN is an opportunity to share one poem with other poets in a welcoming, non-judgemental environment. We would love to have you join us. Doors open at 3 p.m. EST.
She honeyed her way
Through like the drizzle
On a warm sopapilla
Dimple-cheeked a path
Of pink, made them think
She was true-blue
But she didn’t “you”
She spewed
Of what they thought she was
And what she wasn’t
It’s Lillian’s turn at Poetics! She has provided much fun and creativity with “verbification”, changing nouns, adjectives or other words into verbs. Can you verbify? There is still time to join in!
Image credit: pixabay.com
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
Dig deep
You may have to sift through
The negative ions
Particles of the unpropitious
Become stirred
Let …yourself… rise
You deserve the outcome
Knead I say more?
Today I am your host at dVerse Poets Pub .I am asking you to create your own “recipe poem”, but not of the culinary kind. Instead, write about something more abstract such as “a recipe for love”. You may want to include the language of a cookbook, but that is up to you. Join us! Doors open at 3 p.m EST.
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!
He tells me he’s going to Thailand. Alone. For six weeks. Six weeks and six days. He is taking a backpack. I think he is joking but then…there’s the grin, that familiar smirk n’ dimple disposition that says he is not. I smile, wide-eyed while panic pokes at every ounce of my maternal self. “What?” “Why?” “When?” The fact that he will miss Christmas becomes trivial, getting lost in swirls of anxiety. I look in his eyes for answers to questions I haven’t thought of yet. He speaks of hostels in Bangkok and a train to Chiang Mai where you can ride an elephant. My heart races like a tuk-tuk but I remain focused on him, his dreams, his ambitions, his life. This is his life.
sea eagle sets sail
as easterly winds beckon
avoiding monsoons
Toni (kazensukura) leads our Haibun Monday at dVerse this week. The topic is your choice. Just remember to follow the etiquette of the form. “(1) The haibun must be non-fiction (2) The occurance must have actually happened to you (3) You are to write one to two tight paragraphs and (4) End it with a season based haiku.”
Image: pixabay.com
My little maple
Of glistening gold
Flaunting, fluttering as
Sol sister laughs
She knows wind is only
Teasing, breezing by for
One last kiss of autumn
The final dance before
The chill and I will
Cherish your leaves
As fall still breathes
Through winter
It’s Quadrille time again and we’d love for you to join us over at dVerse Poets Pub. As your host, I am asking you to write a poem of 44 words (not including the title) and your quadrille must contain the word…
b…r…e…a…t…h…e
or breath, breathtaking, breathable…any variation of the word
Doors open at 3 p.m. EST
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 this with dVerse ~ Open Link Night
Image credit: pixabay.com
I held you up
I let you paint me
In the latest trends
Layer upon layer
Of boredom and
Mid-life madness
I hated periwinkle by the way
Then you had the gall
To nail me!
Fancy little treasures
All in a row…oh
I sheltered you
From the storms but
You just made your own
Then what do ya’ know?
You… kicked…me!
I didn’t like that
But I think it hurt you more
At dVerse Poets Pub we are giving walls a voice.
You can join in too!
Image credit: pixabay.com
Pins patter across the floor
To the beat of stifled hearts
The scrape of metal on plates
Over a pea soup haze
Of perishing pipe dreams
Plates are full
Starving souls grumble
As sun stretches in vain
To reach darkened table
Four sets of blue eyes
Pale and gazing elsewhere
Wandering minds waiting
For something
Anything
To speak
These walls know
The pain of silence
We have all heard the phrase, “If these walls could talk”. Today, I would like you to do just that by giving walls a voice through your poetry. Join in with us over at dVerse where I will be your host for today’s Poetics. Doors open at 3 p.m. EST.
Image credit: pixabay.com
Oh my little sea anemone
I didn’t know your name
Or if your game included me
My intrusion, your confusion
My bucket list of fickleness
But somehow I knew
I knew you would reach for me
The first time I touched you
Sea anemone, Laguna Beach
Written for Poetics: “first things first”. Kelly has returned for a visit and has asked us to write a poem about a first. This brief interaction was most likely a first for both of us.
Stop jarring your journeys
Spill them
Leave them dancing
Bubble them in the breeze
Spark your grin
Rose petal your way
To the clouds
With a skip and a twist
Recycle the shimmer
Of open green trails
Memories are melting shadows
Let them lull
Another one for De’s Q44 prompt at dVerse.
My first attempt at using ALL the Quadrille words (19).
From the abyss, I will emerge
Stand before myself, drained and hallow
Stare at the surface, rippled and shallow
I have been here before
Facing shadows
Gasping for air
As the sun dances on waves
I have been here before
In temped waters, soft and salty
Floating on falacies
And misunderstandings
Bidding farewell
Lost meanings travel the tide
Currents are destined to ride
With freighters and greater things
But I will meet with the ocean floor
Where life begins again
One breath, arms weightless
I will become one with life’s blood
Until my hands find the rocks
And my heart finds the courage
To rise up again
I am hosting Open Link Night at dVerse Poets Pub. No prompt required although you may want to use one you’ve missed to spark your muse. We are a friendly bunch. Drop in, share your work and engage with other poets! Doors open at 3 p.m. EST.
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”
Shadows are born
From breath of light
Betwixt the twigs
They play and meddle
Draping black veils
Over earth’s stage
This is where
Leaves spot dance
One last time
My heart dips
And sways
Between sweet
Sounds of sunbeams
And the monotones
Of solitude
Today at dVerse, De is our host serving up some quadrilles or Q44’s as we like to call them. She has chosen the word “shadow” that must be included within the poem. Join the fun!
mishunderstood 