Shuffle me the possibilities,
a wild card
a kaleidoscope shard.
Shuffle me the possibilities,
history for a better view.
photo in public domain
Slipping Away
I was a flower
dew drop petals waving to the sun.
I was tall. Hopscotched on chalk
balanced one foot, then two.
I am brittle sans bloom.
Seed scattered.
Roots slowly rot,
losing ground to this horrible disease.
My Choice
Crimson me
solitary vibrant leaf
bright among the detritus of fall
Crimson me
rising sun ‘neath lone streak of cloud
splashing daylight into roiling ocean’s blue
Crimson me
hand-tied twisted rambling tail
flying high with diamond kite in sky
Crimson me
red rose beribboned bright
silent love song from stoic gone rogue
Palette of smudged pastels and oils
color me in life’s brightest hue
more than a blush, a sheen
I choose patina
to shine, to soar, to sing
I choose to live in love
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Victoria is tending bar today and reminds us how important the role of repetition is in our lives. As it can be in poetry. So today we write using repetition – a phrase, a line; a sound or a syllable within a line or stanza.
Photos are from Bermuda and Cape Cod, except for the rose which is in public domain. B
The Awakening
Tis a holiday morning
to stir, to awaken,
to rise from the chrysalis anew.
Twiglet Prompt #7: “holiday morning.” A twiglet is a short phrase. Or a word. Maybe two. Its aim is to “prompt” a flow. A thought. The idea is to create a poem or piece of prose using the twiglet as the jumping off point – the shorter the better! New twiglet prompts from Misky appear each Tuesday — join the fun! Photo from our recent trip: at the Australian National Butterfly Garden in the village of Karuna outside Cairns.
Defarge She is Not
She be a knitter and weaver of love,
needles held surely in confident hands.
Magical work with rainbows of color
wee dresses, wool caps, and warmest afghans.
Strands of affection twist patterns supreme,
yarn disappearing at quickening pace.
Fingers so agile, loop thread over thread
artist sans easel, her lap as her base.
She smiles at her world and when she does err
pauses, examines and looks to assess.
What has been done? Rewind. Amend. Restart.
Good pattern for all, for life of success.
Late for dVerse Tuesday’s Poetics. Kim asks us to write a poem about an artisan, using the form/style of the famous Irish poet, Seamus Heaney. I chose to emulate Heaney’s poem Follower: written in stanzas of 4 lines, each 10 syllables in length. Also, two of the lines in each stanza rhyme — most often ABCB. This was a real challenge for me. Which is why I’m posting on Wednesday for Tuesday’s Poetics! I do enjoy a challenge…and always learn when I’m dealing with rhyme which I find the most difficult aspect of poetry. You’ve probably noticed that I mainly write in free verse. The title refers to Madame Defarge, the villainous woman in Tale of Two Cities who sits and knits, seemingly innocuously. In reality, she is knitting into the garment, the names of those to be executed.
. . . and their spirits shall descend
like tears gathered in veiled mist.
No loud incendiary words
nor rattling of chains.
Whisper soft,
they cling to mountains
obscure city views,
tall buildings topless
windows moist with deeds past.
They await a new awakening
renewed warmth of will,
a dawn of hope.
Quadrille (44 words) written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Today’s word is “whisper.” Photos: left, taken on our trip to Alaska; right by Jesse Miksic.
May the spirit and hope of Martin Luther King, Bobby Kennedy, Barrack Obama, and John Lewis infuse our land.
Feels like
wave after wave,
battered vulnerable shore.
Split assunder
droplets splayed like angry spittle,
fury unleashed.
Photos taken in Bermuda.
Wish
Fantasy me.
Pull the moon within my reach
sprinkle stars in my palms
open my eyes to untold mysteries.
Let me journey through life
unabashed and brave.
OLN at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Come join us and share your words or imbibe the thoughts of others. Bar opens at 3 PM Boston time. Photo is in public domain.
Hoyle Be Damned
This ain’t kitchen bridge.
An arrangement of tricks,
points scored below the line.
Kibitzers watch dumbfounded.
Self-sufficient suit
forced into dummy hand.
Duffer without finesse,
unbalanced distribution
trumps again and again
to win
the grand slam.
A second poem for Dverse, Tuesday Poetics…using the word “bridge.” Apologies to Hoyle’s rules for bridge…..and yes — metaphor applies. For those of you unfamiliar with the card game of bridge: kitchen bridge is a social game with little emphasis on skill; all of the following are terms used in bridge and may be found in the Hoyle’s book of bridge terminology/rules: tricks, points scored below the line, kibitzers (nonplaying onlookers), self-sufficient suit, dummy hand, duffer (bridge player of inferior ability), unbalanced distribution (has to do with the cards in your hand), trump, and grand slam.
Alone
Stripped naked of hope
she sat hugging knees to chest
sole embrace,
soul distraught,
done with dreams.
Photo in public domain. Misky’s Tuesday Twiglet prompt #6 : “done with dreams.” A twiglet is a short phrase. Or a word. Maybe two. Its aim is to “prompt” a flow. A thought.
lillian the home poet