a poem in my pocket

Try paint chip poetry with Linda Kruschke!

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i’ll no longer think the

grass is always greener

as my life will be verdant

under cumulonimbus skies

after watering the zinnias,

i will take a drive to the

local spice market to taste

a wild huckleberry sorbet

later, i‘ll read and write by

candlelight before retiring

to antique brass bed and

sleep late, when i am old

were you?

you both WERE in love…then

made vows before (witless) witnesses to

foot washing with ice water (frozen heart…hidden feat)

no one spoke against your onion

(later revealing layers of stink)

i was happy for you, me, all of us as our family grew by one – won!

first daughter-in-love, my friend;  later by three (really grand) babies

but marriage (on a lease)

miscarries

i can’t make sense of… how? why? mutually exclusive/abusive truth?

untreated mental illness maybe, but who of us isn’t crazy?

too much loose talk creates looney ‘toons (LIVE!)

money-hungry maven (& lawyers) leave husband homeless

he’d rather be trucking anyway

any day divorce. will. be.

final.

broken homes – bleeding hearts = shared misery

we all fail each other excruciatingly (like torn parachutes)

relationships nullified or replaced

you rejected him…

and me.

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Linking to dVerse where Bjorn challenges us to meet the bar with dissonance…i get the theme if not the form.

weave a daisy chain

no matter how petals fall

i know He loves me

“Many stories which are not on paper are written in the bodies and minds of women.“ – Amrita Pritam

in our weakness we find strength

to be a woman is to weep
love hurts because our hearts love deep
and for love’s sake, women lose sleep

to love and nurture is part of our nature

monthly cycle of cramps and blood
hormonal emotions of changing mood
endometriosis, cervical or breast cancer too

even childbearing brings tears of joy and grief

belly stretch marks, skin tags and bags
age and gravity means beauty sags
hot flash sweats feel like dishrag

have women not bourn and mourned enough?

must we also suffer the shame of porn,
abuse, rape, abortion, sexual scorn,
abandoned by lovers in the morn?

godly women clothe themselves in dignity and honor

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Linking to dVerse Poets where Punam introduces us to poetry of Amrita Pritam.

“I am my beloved’s and he is mine…he browses among the lilies.” – Song of Songs

like graceful gazelle, newlywed
lover grazes among the lilies that
bloom from his beloved’s garden:
raven hair, sun-ripened skin, full lips;
he browses the delicacies of twinned
breasts, curving hips, generous thighs;
she sighs…as her lover’s tender touch
grows evermore insistent and intense…

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A quadrille of 44 words on theme of “browse” at dVerse Poets

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