passion’s romantic love turns cold
marriage vows end in divorce
friendships sometimes betrayed
how good is your word?
gossip gives slight exaggeration
everyone tells little white lies
who can be trusted?
God’s promises have always
proven faithful and true.
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What a blessing to hear my grand daughter, Anna, spontaneously sing the classic hymn, “Standing on the Promises” while playing at my house…of course, I joined in!
Linked to dVerse poets’ quadrilles prompt hosted by Lillian.
Can’t account for the unusual format…thanks to WordPress 🙂
Every fall, our family visits Oak Grove, a nearby park on the Sioux River. It covers five hundred plus acres of combined state and county conservation land with hiking trails, picnic areas, cabins and campsites. We park on top of the ridge and find a trail through the scrub oak trees to slowly make our way down to the river bottom.
The river flooded this past summer, changing the landscape. Sand and debris washed into the woodland, excavator tracks show where dirt has been redistributed and re-leveled. Ancient outcroppings of rose-tinted Sioux quartzite remain solidly undisturbed along the upper trail.
Reaching up, young cottonwoods glow golden in late afternoon. Scarlet sumac stunningly line the prairie grassland. The predominant oaks simply turn brown and drop large lobed leaves on the trail below their gnarly trunks. A few spruce and juniper stand green and ever verdant.
We retired from full-time farming two years ago. My days are a bit slower now but my husband has been equally as busy as before with home remodel and landscaping. I help him as needed, babysit grandchildren when asked, and volunteer…finding a balance of work and leisure time.
The fall equinox in our hemisphere means equal hours of day and night. We enjoy equal parts cold and heat as sun shines brightly during the day but not as strongly. On my walk, I notice the prairie seems equally dead and alive…some plants bloom wildly in a last hurrah and others have dried brown, boasting seeds.
We reap what we sow and sow what we reap. The past holds seed for a future harvest. Darkness and light, cold and heat, planting and harvest, rest and work, life and death all have their seasons. The clock ticks, the calendar page turns, and another equinox passes.
A Villonnet is a hybrid of the Villanelle and the Sonnet. It has the Iambic Pentameter of both, but holds the four-stanza/line structure of the sonnet, while utilizing the two-line rhyme nature of the villanelle. The final stanza replaces the sonnet couplet with a typical villanelle tercet. Linking this villonnet to Grace’s prompt at dVerse Poets pub. I was NOT going to write about fall, but here it is…
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i sit on deck to soak in warm sunshine this end of summer’s glow suits my skin fine fat cats watch scene from shade and lounge around piped wind chimes’ gentle song is only sound
forgotten apple falls from top of tree while butterflies migrate, bees cap honey red leaves whirl past as if in joyful dance a celebration of autumn’s last chance
ripe orange pumpkins lie hidden in field as drying crops will soon their harvest yield pheasants and deer will feast upon the corn bred cows will glean before blizzards are born
today, september stays my favorite month until the wind turns cold out of the north then i will dream with birds of drifting south
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NOTE: Line 1 is to be repeated as lines 8 and 13, and line 4 is repeated as lines 12 and 15. I neglected to repeat any lines, not a true villonnet…may have to rework sometime!
consider fathers and sons, some have history of hurt: angry words, intimidation insecurities, manipulation of different personalities and modes of operation which seem “wrong” but simply manifest divergent yet not so simple after all hurts can build thick wall will bricks be broken down? relationship survive rubble?
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Linking to dVerse poetics hosted by Kim with theme of “endings”. I chose to end my poem with questions because there’s uncertainty how relationship troubles might end…if they do.
glass butter churn its paddles soar grandkids test antique taste history
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An elfjie is a little elven poem of 11 words in 5 lines; theme today is “soar”. See guidelines for form here. Thanks to David for hosting and Sarah Whiley for posting an interesting W3 prompt!
morning of 9-11-2001…where were you when unimaginable tragedy struck?
at home with children husband says, “turn on news” watch furtively shield little eyes (they saw enough to fear airplanes) terrorists fly fueled deathtraps to fiery destruction & chaos hell’s heat & smoke people panic, jump screams & sirens first responders are brave to rescue the injured & bleeding buildings collapse leveled to street low cloud billows of dust & debris onlookers run as victims lie buried below steel cross
the following summer, in month of June when my father called to tell me mom had died, (she was our second wife & mother we grieve) he commented, “our twin towers have fallen.”
a poem in my pocket 
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