Gentle breeze flutters voile curtains
as wizened arms embrace tenderly.
Daytime slips into night
as apricot sun colors fading sky.
Sharing at dVerse today — Grace is hosting Open Link Night.
Come on over and see what others are sharing!
Relationships
Let Go, My Love
Talk to me not of death and fear
as time stands by and waits for me.
For I must leave you now my dear
these last few steps for me alone.
So as I lie with sleep so near,
harken my dear and you shall hear
celestial song and angels’ wings,
their comfort meant for you they sing.
Let go your hand, let go your tears
and tell me please that I may pass.
Take comfort in our childrens’ care
our love lives on, embodied there.
Written for dVerse, Victoria minding the bar, asking us to write in meter, creating a particular mood. Very new to me — meter = stressed syllables. Trying to achieve meter without sacrificing the sense and flow of the words. I’ll be honest. I find this very taxing and difficult. But — I’m happy with how this turned out, and I think it’s in trochaic tetrameter: 4 stressed syllables in an 8 syllable line. Always learning with dVerse!
Cruelty
you loved me
as I was you said
then dismembered me
your hands, your will
debased my sense of self
erased my core
left me sightless
looking for me
Hosting dVerse for Tuesday Poetics — a virtual pub for those who enjoy working with words and creating poetry. Today, I’m asking folks to find a sculpture that inspires them — and then to write in the voice of that sculpture — become either the artist who created the piece, or the subject of the sculpture. Don’t tell us about the sculpture, rather take on its voice. Come on over and see what others do — or how about joining us and lending your voice too?
Night
Tis the waking in the dark. Hand to chest feels ribcage move. Head cocked, hears slight puff from lips. Tis a daily night time wakening. Assured, rest returns.
nature electrifies the sky
streaks of night light reassure
her creatures rest calmly in the rain
A haibun written as a Quotidian. Toni is tending bar at dVerse Poet’s Pub and defines Quotidian as an ordinary happening. Of course, the ordinary happenstance differs from person to person — so drop on by dVerse and read the various takes on this prompt! Or join in, and write one yourself.
Outcast
she stood, vulnerable, waiting
waves of jeers cast upon her
cold stares
her life as the different
hands on hips, defiantly exposed
cold
aasplashes
aaaaaof so-called humanity
hardballs hurled in hatred
ignorance deflected
she dared to say
quietly, firmly,
i am
me
Photo Credit: video displayed at Boston’s Museum of Fine Arts; Monomorphic, 2013 by Nick Night and Geoffrey Lillemon.
Missing You
Off kilter days,
two steps behind.
Hazy, out of synch,
since you left my side.
Photo Credit: Johanna Jlungblom
Dreaming
Pillow me.
Blows softened
angry words muffled.
Plump me up
feather light with down,
cushion my dreams of you.
Wed to What?
They lived a merry-go-round life
senses dulled by blurred vision
maniacal calliope music
mired in manufactured grooves.
She rode the blue horse
its mane gilded in gold
hands cold on metal pole
forever spinning forward.
He rode two steeds behind
eyes wild with lust
chasing her round and round
never gaining ground.
Desperately out of synch
his up to her down
so close, but always out of reach.
Gold ring dangling in neon lights
they rode on and on and on.
Bench in Spring
Sit and be still with me.
This quiet bench beside daffodils
ruffle-edged tulips and hyacinth.
Savor sun as do these flowers of spring.
Memories seared in my mind.
Sharing dreams of spring
‘neath comforter of down,
lifted up by love to sound of song.
Seasons’ promise from death to life,
blooms of rebirth near my feet.
I cry out loud so silently,
my questions float upon the breeze.
Why can’t my love return to me?
Your body too deep to feel this sun,
craves warmth from mine, a simple plea,
to sit and be, still with me.
Photo taken this morning. Spring abounds in the beautiful grounds around our condo building in the city. Written for Open Link Night at the dVerse Poets’ Pub. If you’ve not come for a visit, drop on by and meet some of these amazing writers – or post a poem of your own. The more the merrier at a virtual pub!
Ferlinghetti 21.25
Casting her eyes to heaven
she meandered through what was.
If only
she’d sensed his other half,
those gentle hands fisted as
love pummeled, possessed too far.
She lie now, crumpled to the floor, that
human mass he abandoned in the night.
Sometimes poetry can be written to call attention to an endemic problem. This is dedicated to all those who face domestic abuse. Written for dVerse in a unique format that takes one or two lines from another poem and uses these words, in order, as the end words of the new poem. Photo credit: Linda Lucerne
Ferlinghetti’s poem titled 21 is from the 60th Anniversary Edition, City Lights Pocket Poets Anthology, edited by Lawrence Ferlinghetti:
Heaven
was only half as far that night
at the poetry recital
listening to the burnt phrases
when I heard the poet have
a rhyming erection
then look away with a
lost look
‘Every animal’ he said at last
‘After intercourse is sad’
But the back-row lovers
looked oblivious
and glad
lillian the home poet 