provision of comfort

profuse blooms of purple mum
colorful confetti of fallen leaves

frisky hop of harvesting squirrel
quick flash of tattletale blue jay

graceful swish of favorite skirt
soft whiteness of furry cardigan

moist texture of rhubarb cake
full cup of chai almond milk tea

delightful giggles of grandchild
sweet smile of namesake baby

real conversation of true friend
warm touch of faithful partner

prayer bond of blood brothers
joyful worship of Jesus people

photo by lynn


faith knows

Tonight, full Hunter moon stays hidden by clouds but the moon is still round.

lost (a found poem)

in forest,
a dark twig
lifted its whisper

my lips,
voice crying
cracked, torn

something
secret hidden by
muffled, moist leaves

waken from
dreaming, drifting
fragrance of conscious

mind roots
i left behind, lost,
wounded by wandering

********


“Found”poem taken from Pablo Neruda’s “Lost in the Forest”:

Lost in the forest, I broke off a dark twig
and lifted its whisper to my thirsty lips:
maybe it was the voice of the rain crying,
a cracked bell, or a torn heart.

Something from far off it seemed
deep and secret to me, hidden by the earth,
a shout muffled by huge autumns,
by the moist half-open darkness of the leaves.

Wakening from the dreaming forest there, the hazel-sprig
sang under my tongue, its drifting fragrance
climbed up through my conscious mind

as if suddenly the roots I had left behind
cried out to me, the land I had lost with my childhood–
and I stopped, wounded by the wandering scent.

 


Check out dVerse Poets Pub for more “Lost & Found” poetry 🙂

incendiary language

angry
fire
burns
from
careless
spark of
offense
which
touches off
flammable
pride’s fuel
and
emotionally
charred
words are
stirred
until
warmest
relationship
is reduced
to ashes

why
not
hold
love’s
only
extinguisher
(forgiveness
under
pressure)
and douse
arson’s
conflagration
before
it’s
too
late?


Sarah’s chosen theme for quadrille Monday at dVerse Poets is “ashes to ashes”… check out the link!

future (un) limited

i.

raindrops slip off sumac’s leaves
symmetrical and dyed blood red;
drip on faded pink blooms lying in
soggy clumps on mossy ground.

ii.

torchlight flickers off fortress wall
horse hooves clop on cobblestone;
chain mail and long swords rattle
as crusaders’ templar flag unfurls.

iii.

grandmother repeats phrase
“There’s a bear in the road!”
strong premonition of danger,
growly excuse to stay in room.

iv.

furious thrashing near surface
orcas attack great white shark;
merciless predators prowl sea
dolphin cousins dress for dinner

v.

things are not always as they
may appear, mysteries abound
i want to appreciate wild beauty
here; to live boldly before i die.

 

 


Bjorn Rudberg at dVerse poets’ pub invites us to write a cadralor form poem of 5 unrelated imagist stanzas (of equal lines) with 5th stanza pulling a thread to tie them all together.

D-dagger twists

don’t ask, someone will tell of

wilted flower beauty of beast(ly)

hot day when railroad cowboy

wedded pretty (n)ice princess.

over a score of years/careers

more absence = less fondness

angry words derail love ‘n trust

cold hearts solidify, un-meltable.

interference called on (that) boy

(friend?) in basement bedroom.

mental (illness) manipulation

disables relationship while 3

children suffer collateral pain.

home quakes on (no) fault line;

at long last, shiny (90-day ltd)

sheriff arrives to serve papers

and awful deed is “so-o done”.

hey, haibun

When poetry contest looms, or e-zine deadline approaches, or writers’ website posts a prompt, do you experience brain freeze without benefit of ice cream? Do you hear Lucy yell, “You blockhead, Charlie Brown!” and you realize YOU are wearing a yellow shirt with brown zigzag across it?

I want to write slam poetry…loud, disgusted rants but the internet is already full of angry people raving. I want to write sexy… passionate married love but it’s a private affair not for public sharing. I want to write worship… to the glory of God but it may come off trite or offensive. I want to write verses happy… but dislike words that drip sappy.

So I say, “Hey, haibun, what do you want to be: a metaphor of a secret door? a nature travelogue? a sticky-sweet pastry? You’ll have to say something because I’m fresh out of ideas!”

writer without words

knows world needs more poetry

rake fallen dry leaves


Frank J. Tassone hosts Monday haibun at dVerse poets on topic of writer’s block…


big bird…live!

gray heron sighting

long-legs lifted on wide wings

grand daughters breathless

after ride through field near creek

where daddy combines soybeans

2+gray+heron+-+bundala

image from cannundrums blogspot

fruitful living

an apple tree
offered branch for me
a horse, a hide-out,
a place to spy
what neighbors
were doing in
yards nearby

an apple tree
held sweet memory
a visit by grandma
and grandpa to us;
we peeled and we
canned with more
smiles than fuss

an apple tree
is a treasury
even the apples
that fall, my grands
pick up to throw
to the cows, more
than enough for all

an apple tree
grows with family
to plant and prune,
climb and nurture;
to make plans for
sauce and pie
in the future

 

 

 


Thanks to Mish for serving up a “fruity” prompt at dVerse Poets pub this week…

disturbing appetite

palely colored

bulbous abdomenIMG_1337

of barn arachnid

curls like gray sack

drawstrung by eight

delicately jointed

and banded legs

poised on sticky orb

of doorway deathtrap;

four legs hold fly still

for fangs to clamp

down as spider

lingers long over

breakfast of blood


I dislike spiders but my muse lingers on arachnid theme so here’s another one for dVerse poets’ Monday quadrille (44 words) with Linda Lee Lyberg.

prayer for now & later

Lord,

may i grow older (in your) grace-fully

grant that i may, like this summer squash vine,

though fading fast, still bear beautiful golden fruit

prodigious…perhaps involuntary… bright flowers

sprout even as spiky vine and dry leaves wither… yet

share your gifts of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness,

goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control

(some fruit may not fully mature but may i die trying)

Amen

a little respect?

“creepy crawly” they say
i’ll have my dignity and day
as a real mover on eight legs.

“itsy bitsy” they sing
i won’t flaunt a pretty wing
and don’t dare patronize me.

“brown recluse” they assume
when i run from big bad broom;
look-alike to my poisonous cousin.

“step on it” they cry
would you decide when i die?
let me hide in cozy funnel home.

 


Sarah at dVerse prompts us to focus on the insect/arachnid world and try to see life from their perspective…

Previous Older Entries