All Humans Are We

I was born to die
pushed out into life
as were you,
screaming curdling wails.

Each night we bid goodbye
slipping off to sleep.
Each day we greet anew,
seek love amidst our trails.

I simply want to clarify,
all one species are we.
Pray tell and think it through.
Reject bigotry, all else that ails.

Hatred twists judgement awry.
Respect provides a healthier view.


Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Bjorn is hosting and introduces us to a new form, the Bref Double. It consists of three quatrains (stanzas of 4 lines) and an ending couplet. The rhyme scheme is axbc, axbc, axbc, ab BUT the second lines in each of the quatrains do not have any rhyme, hence the x designation. Image from Pixabay.com

The Queen’s Tears

Of course she shed tears
after 70 + years
shared with her one true love.
Since we first saw her Grace
the world is a far different place.
Her long life a gift from above.

I fancied the Royals forever it seems,
listened to their wedding, dreamed my dreams.
In 1947, I was only 9 but in love.
A handsome prince, Philip, stole my heart
but Elizabeth was his mate, never to part.
Little girls like me dreamed of that kind of love.

Mother and I watched Elizabeth’s coronation.
in the middle of the night I was filled with elation.
Crowns, royal robes, jewels reigned from above.
Philip stood tall as she became queen.
Such pomp and circumstance I never had seen.
He looked at her with such love.

Over the years I have admired the queen
wearing colorful outfits, blue, pink or green
matched head to toe, hat, coat, and glove.
Children and grandchildren blessed her life.
We saw very little of her role as wife
until Philip died. Queen’s tears shed for love.

Written by Lindsey Ein and read aloud at our OLN LIVE! So happy to have Lindsey participate and to share her poem with all of you here.

With Folded Hands

Faith came much easier when I was young.
I believed in Purgatory.
That half-way house you might need
before your final reward.
I’d say three Hail Marys for the one lucky soul
who needed exactly that many words
to move out and ascend to heaven.
My lips moved silently,
hands folded, head bowed, like I learned
in Immaculate Conception Grade School.
Then I’d say a very loud Amen and grin.
Good deed done for the day!
These days, as a septuagenarian,
I realize that for some people
hell is right here on earth.
Hail Marys don’t seem to cut it
when a Black man gets shot in the back
while innocently jogging down a street.
I don’t grin anymore
at the end of my prayers.

Shared with dVerse today, the virtual pub for poets around the globe.

Today is OLN LIVE from 3 to 4 PM and OLN. I’m hosting today….so hope to see many folks there. Photo is my hands this morning.

Thundering Voices

A woman’s intrinsic abilities
far surpass chauvinist suppositions.

Our daughters understand. Empowerment
means control. Bodily autonomy.

Your assault, revoking Roe-versus-Wade,
wakes anger. Volatile independence.

Rain, lightning, thunderbolts, precipitate
storms. Crashing. Disturbing complacency.

Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Laura asks us to consider couples, writing a poem in couplets. She presents a number of forms that are based in couplets including the Rhopalic Couplet. First used by Homer in the Illiad, the Rhopalic Couplet contains two lines. In both lines, each word progresses adding 1 more syllable than the preceding word in the line. The lines need not be rhymed. So for example
x xx xxx xxxx
x xx xxx xxxx

I found this quite tricky to do! Another poetic sudoku for me. Image from Pixabay.com

Call Me Tempestas

She was a pluviophile,
born in the monsoon times.
Overcome by strikhedonia
she fled her village,
sought solace in the woods.

A sturmfrei soul was she,
content to burrow away
on bright clear days.
Her cottage well hidden
from prying eyes.

She lived for the darkest of storms.
Aroused by lightning strikes,
thunder her love-struck mate.
They danced together in downpours,
her hair drenched, clothes clinging.

Townspeople burbled about her,
bumfuzzled by her ways.
Over time she became the Other.
Easier to will her out of existence,
they stayed inside during heavy rains.

Mish is hosting Poetics today at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. She asks us to consider memes in a unique way, providing us with a number of unusual words and their definitions. She asks us to use at least three of them within our poem. I’ve chosen the following from her list:
pluviophile (noun): a lover of rain
strikhedonia (noun): the joy of being able to say the hell with it
sturmfrei (adjective): the freedom of being alone; the ability to do what you want
burble (verb):  to speak in an excited manner
bumfuzzle (verb): to confuse or fluster


*In ancient Roman religion, Tempestas is a goddess of storms or sudden weather.
Image from Pixabay.com

Revenge

She falters, steps lightly,
lightly asserting herself again.
Again he beats her, denies her being.
Being a brute, how can she win?

How did this happen,
happen to her, create such fear?
Fear is the impetus she finally needs.
Needs to act quickly, her path is clear.

Miles away she laughs aloud,
a loud guffaw that signals she’s free.
Free of his violence, while he lies dead,
dead by her deed near the old oak tree.

Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Grace asks us to consider Loop Poetry, a form created by Hellon. There are no restrictions on the number of stanzas nor on the syllable count for each line. However, in each stanza, the last word of the line 1 becomes the first word of line 2. The last word of line 2 becomes the first word of line 3. The last word of line 3 becomes the first word of line 4. This is followed for each stanza (4 line stanzas). The rhyme scheme is abcb. Tricky. Took me a while to get in the rhythm of it and for some reason, this poem from the dark side was the result.

Moving Day

Chipmunk cheeks, chubby knees
toddler toddles unsteadily.
Plops down on diaper padded bum
eyes surprised at sudden landing.
Spies round unknown object
in midst of packing boxes.
Left-over, missed by movers,
his to explore and claim.
Metal globe on brass colored axis,
somewhat dented
but sporting what looks to him
like gaily colored splotches.
Blues and reds and blacks
and yellows and greens
and shapes that fascinate.
Pudgy fingers reach out,
touch cool round surface
and tentatively push . . .
then more . . .and more and
ooooh spinning colors.
Faster, faster, faster,
round and round and round.
Squeals of delight
draw me to the door.
I see this happy child,
the world, a spinning top for him.
Unaware of famine, wars, discord,
and oh so intricately drawn borders.
Imagine whirled peace
with colors spun into one.
Boundaries blurred and gone
and laughter the only sound.
Or just as suddenly,
what could be.
A world in shock,
tipped off its axis
and the only sound,
disappointed screams.

Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today I’m hosting Tuesday Poetics.

For the prompt, I’ve provided a list of sixteen Ben and Jerry’s ice cream flavors, many of which have been retired. Writers must include the name of at least one flavor from the list of sixteen in the body of their poem – and the poem cannot be about ice cream! I’ve used the flavor Imagine Whirled Peace. It was a Ben and Jerry’s ice cream flavor from 2007 to 2013.

Writers cannot change the order of the words in the flavor, or the tense of the words. They cannnot change the words of the flavor into plurals or possessives. They cannot add words between the words in the name of the flavor. Of course, folks are free to use more than one flavor from the list. After all, who doesn’t like a double-dipper or triple-dipper ice cream cone????

Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Come join us – it should be fun!

Backwards . . .

it must be a dream . . .
or time-machine . . .
or machinations of an addled brain.

Used to be a woman’s road
to pregnancy and through pregnancy
was determined by men.
Their genitalia and their laws.
Used to be coat hangers
bloodied in cavities,
did more than hang up coats.

It’s not a dream . . .
or time machine . . .
or my septuagenarian brain.
Once again, a woman’s body
her insides, her uterus
are ruled by men.
Their genitalia and their laws.

Ding Dong the Witch is Dead . . .

I’m melting, melting. Ohhhhh, what a world, what a world, destroy my beautiful wickedness.” Wicked Witch in the Wizard of Oz

I planned it. Me and Rudy.
It was all fixed.
The machines, the ballots.
All a disaster.

Millions believed me.
They didn’t drink bleach
but they believed I won
because I said so.

This commission.
These videos. These emails.
My people spilling it all.
Gutless.

This witch hunt . . .
closing in . . .
my battery is low
and it’s getting dark.

Laura provides a unique prompt for today’s Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. She provides seven quotations of famous departing words. We must choose one and include it in a “deathbed poem of our imagination.”

The line provided by Laura: “My battery is low and it’s getting dark.” Mars rover ‘Opportunity’

The prompt got me thinking about Donald Trump and the January 6 Commission. May the vast amount of evidence presented be the demise of the Big Lie and expose the danger Donald Trump presents to democracy and the well-being of this country. May his power and cult-like status among otherwise sane people melt away, similar to what happened to the Wicked Witch in the Wizard of Oz.

Hushhhhh . . .

. . . shadow me to sleep.
Hush headlines, past regrets,
and lists of tasks undone.
Toss full moon behind gathering clouds.
Snuff stars until dust drips silently
crusting my eyes.
Sink me into primordial seas,
ombréd in shades of grey
that I might rest in peace.

Written for Quadrille Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Sarah asks us to include the word “sleep” in our poem of exactly 44 words, sans title.

Photos taken last night from our deck here in Provincetown, as the moon was rising. That’s my husband’s hand. Unfortunately, it did indeed totally cloud over and we never saw the eclipse or infamous blood moon….but this was an amazing sight as well.