Subliminal or?

Man, woman
he, she.
Human humanity
their, heir
inhumanity.
Manual workmen
and man hours.
Policeman, fireman
chairman too.
Language affects action.
Live,
love,
be.

Written for Tuesday’s Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Anmol hosts and asks us to write a poem about “pride, gender, fluidity, sexuality, protest . . .” Image from Pixabay.com

Acrostic for the Times

Believe in
Love.
Actually begin to
Comprehend,
Knowingly.
Live today
Inquiring, searching.
View
Equality as
Something
Meant for, but not given to
All.
Take time
To
Explore white privilege as
Reality. And understand,

ACROSTIC: poem in which the first letter of each line, when read from top to bottom, has meaning.  Sharing with OLN at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets.

TO READ THIS POEM:
1. Read as you would a normal poem, noting the last line ends with a comma,
2. so continue reading by going to the first letter of each line (bolded) and puting these letters together, you have the actual ending of the poem.

Tectonic Shift

Voices gain volume
numbers explode,
paradigm shift dawns.

Breeze gathers force
waters churn,
tsunami rolls in.

Murder abhorrent
eclipses pandemic,
births needed polemic.

Privilege unmasked
blinders torn asunder,
we will change.

Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Today Frank asks us to write a 3 line poem….or a poem with 3-line stanzas. Photo from Pixabay.com

In these times . . .

dark clouds gather,
humidity thickens.
Thunder mumbles, then roars
lightning rips through skies.

Slip inside for thine own relief
breathe in thine own security.
Or gather outside ‘neath city lights
take hands in solidarity.

Pray together for soothing rains
to ease this land’s parched soul.
Then work together that all may live
without the threat of storms.

Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets, combining yesterday’s prompt word “slip” and today’s prompt to write a poem that related to rain.

Loner Interrupted

He fancied himself a loner.
Enjoyed solitude.
Cabin deep in woods.
Gardener. Hunter.
Private well and still too.
Voracious reader, simple cook.
No need for wife.
Too troublesome,
would probably snore too.
Social distancing?
Should be a snap,
except for that damned guy.
Stood in his way or followed behind
whenever the sun warmed up the day.

IMG_0236

Written fordVerse, the virtual pub for poets where on Tuesday, Bjorn asked us to write a poem that somehow relates to solitude, and Thursday Frank asks us to write a 14 line poem.

Sarcophagus . . . how has it come to this?

PROMPT FROM TOADS FOR April 30: The final day of National Poetry Month 2020
“A few minutes from now, you will lose all means of communication with humanity.  You will not die, but will no longer be able to interact with the world. Whats the last thing you say?”

Entombed in silence,
solitudinously cocooned
in diaphanous gauze,
but nothing to see.
Nor can I hear.
Senses extraneous
when it is only me.
No exit,
only an aperture to my mind.
And so I choose to hum
not aloud, but in my mind.
Hesitantly, quietly,
internally.
Until my head is screaming
screaming that song.
What the world needs now
is love, sweet love.

But alas.
It is too late.

And shared with dVerse, the virtual put for poets, where it’s OLN Thursday.

Take a moment – the newcaster is on for just a moment…then comes the video at about 26 or 28 seconds in…..it is incredibly uplifting!  I PROMISE you will love it! A wonderful piece to listen to as we end NAPOWRIMO 2020!

…and who are we, if not similar to

. . . those hands, those fingers, that face.
Those eyes,
seeing me as I see you.

Genetic relatives
mountain gorillas in Rwanda, Uganda
lowland gorillas in western Africa

and me. Visiting you.
Those hands, those fingers, that face.
We are so alike. Akin.

And in this new Corona world
I feel more akin,
stumbling in my own shrinking habitat.

Have we plundered too far?
Been too sure of our advanced selves?
Has our arrogance been revealed

by a novel virus
that recognizes humans
only as we truly are?

Too smug beings
who caged others
and now it’s payback time.

Photos taken in Washington DC, May 2019: my husband’s hands (in black and white); and the hands and face of a gorilla at the National Zoo.

Poem written for day 24 in National Poetry Writing Month. Toads  asks us to write about “nature’s wonders . . . how everything is connected.” 

Lest someone be offended by this post, please know I do not take this virus lightly. It is a horrific disease that is affecting so many people globally. My heart goes out to all those affected, including those who work so others might live a daily life. Stay safe everyone. I pray daily for a vaccine that this scourge may never happen again.

From the Bard’s Words

He grew up a laughing stock
across from the river Avon,
son of a poor tailor.

Clothes make the man.
His father coined the phrase
but shared it not with his son.

The lad had but scraps of cloth
ne’er enough for a pound of flesh,
certainly lacking as he grew.

His mother’s eldest child
cold comfort she gave him,
too busy suckling the youngest ones.

His job, to tend the fire
through cold of winter’s nights,
not easy at that bleak stone hearth.

Stolen bits and scraps of wool
cradled beneath his head at night,
such stuff as dreams are made on.

And each night she came to him
he with heart upon his sleeve,
she in garments weaved of gold.

Her plea to him, always the same.
Steal your father’s coins.
Come what may and flee with me.

Weakened by his love for her,
coins in hand, he fled to nearby woods
expecting to meet beneath the stars.

But all that glitters is not gold
and caught was he within her snare
as she revealed her true self. Devil incarnate.

She took his coins and claimed his soul.
Then, after one kiss upon his anxious lips,
struck him dead.

As good luck would have it,
his body never discovered
decayed within the region’s soil.

And thus it is each spring
he lives again within the greening,
all along the Avon’s shores.

william-shakespeare-62936_1920Day 23 in National Poetry Writing month and the anniversary of William Shakespeare’s death.

At Toads today, we are asked to write a poem inspired by the Bard. All of the bold words/phrases in this post, were first coined by Shakespeare and are now in common use. And of course, Stratford-upon-Avon is the town where Shakespeare was born and buried.