Namrah, Figment of Childhood

Oh why have you deserted me these nights,
your golden wings and glistening silver beak?
We soared through star lit skies to mystic sites
my Namrah, childhood friend, to me unique.

Adulthood now, so taxed by tasks each day
the years have sped, imagination dulled.
My dreams are doors no more, no passage way,
no you. But stress instead, and nightmares mulled.

Oh why have you deserted me these years?
Is there another child who claimed your dreams
whilst I, within the dark, doth shed my tears
for youthful innocence and moonbeam gleams.

As wrinkles steep and footsteps slow my gait,
I see the light in death’s dawn – tis there you wait.

bird_of_paradise_kagaya

Written for dVerse MTB where Bjorn hosts and asks us to write a sonnet. Sonnets can take a number of forms. I’ve chosen a Shakespearean Sonnet: 14 lines with the following rhyme scheme in iambic pentameter: ABAB, CDCD, EFEF, GG.  I find this form extremely difficult and find myself counting out syllables etc on my fingers. So this is my go at it. A Shakespeare I’m not! PS:  Over the years I’ve written a number of poems about Namrah. Many folks have childhood imaginary friends. I did not – but I’ve created Namrah in a number of poems, speaking in the first person, as if this beautiful mythcal bird is just that. 

Raise a Glass . . .

Drawn to a metaphoric life-style
she sparkled and effervesced
through a bubblicious youth,
toast of the town.
Aged now,
she sits beside her Christmas tree,
mulls over memories.
Clutches sachets of anisee seed,
crushed cinammon sticks,
ground cloves and citrus peel.
Low heat radiates
as embers die nearby.

 

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Amaya hosts Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. She asks us to think about secret ingredients…be they in a recipe or a poem. “Think subtle but noticeable.”

Raise a Glass talks about life in metaphors….from the champagne-like effervescence of youth; to the earthy sweetness of old life, like a mulled wine, commonly known in Scandinavia as GLØGG and in Germany as GLUHWEIN/glow wine.

Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Come join us!

Window on Her World

Inside, she looks out.
Seasons change
confined within her pane.

Stripped by cruel winds,
branches clatter
nodes exposed.

Charles River, ribbon slight,
below low slung sky,
scene through barren trees.

Relieved, she slowly smiles,
espies her Charles again.
Silent vow worms her mind.

Before spring reblooms in pane
I shall join you, sweet Charles,
an afterworld away.

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Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets, on Open Link Night. 
Photo from Pixabay.com

 

Lone Leaf

There is a beauty in the withering . . .
as if through sheer will power
life endures in fragility.

Color long faded
veins protruding
curling inward . . .

Death shall not win
until snow blankets the earth
to comfort its fall.

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Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets, where today Mish is hosting and asks us to write a poem in which we find beauty in the ugly. Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Come join us!

Once a Tapper . . .

Package somewhat frayed
wrapping creased, well worn,
shelf-life unknown.
Sensibility
seems supercilious.

Color me fuchsia, chartreuse
and buttercup yellow bright.
Spot light my abilities
and watch me, join me.
Tap dance into footlights.

Ignore splayed feet,
creped skin.
Laugh yesterdays past.
Smile me todays
and watch me grin.

Video from April – a tap dancing lesson with my granddaughter!

Fashion Forward

Hats . . .
so many in a lifetime
exchanged with curves in road.
Strapped on through squalls,
gently worn on balmy days
stored on shelf when out of style.

Mother-hat,
adjustable as needed
blessed to wear.
Daugher-sister hats
occasions departed,
retired too soon.

Yourlove-hat
once perky, so with-the-times
never veiled.
Labelled vintage now
slightly creased with age,
worn with gentle smile.

Yourlove always,
shining in my mirror.

 

After Many Anniversaries

I have no need for mirrors
or overly affective words.
Aging is reality.
I need not be reminded
of it stealing time
elasticity and
dew-fresh skin.

But you, my love,
wrap me as if in gold,
caress my heart.
You hold my hand
and walk with me,
as if we are young love
now as then.

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Wrapping up our dVerse 7th anniversary week, Frank asks us to write a septet. It can be a single 7-line stanza or a poem with two or more 7-line stanzas. Image is one of my favorite Gustav Klimt works, The Kiss (from Wikipedia Commons). 

Keep Yer Elegy!

Quit yer bitchin’
and scratch where yer itchin’.
However-many years you’ve got,
light more damn candles
and quit yer complainin’.

Quit yer terminable thinkin’
‘bout pushin’ up daisies.
You best be lookin’
to pick ‘em instead.
Water ‘em good and
scratch where yer itchin’.

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Happy 7th year anniversary dVerse! Back from our summer respite, Grace hosts Quadrille Monday, asking us to include the word “itch” or a form of the word in our exactly 44 word poem, sans title. dVerse, the virtual pub for poets, opens at 3 PM Boston time. Come join our anniversary celebration by posting your own quadrille, or just reading the creativity of others. Photo from pixabay.com