tUScany

beyond the 10-hour-glass-front
(knotty-legged in this familiarly backstabbing seat)
an ocean of rye, harboring
this groggy wooden chair, tilting drunkenly;
young poppy blossom on tiptoe, reaching
to lend a delicate hand to the Seasoned ~
the bus crescendoed, sputtering,
and your eyes grew distant.

“I never liked olives,” you said that evening,
and flicked the black through liquid gold, bumping
into its younger brother,
like marbles on chipped china.
wild capers scrambled through
the cracks of shattered amphorae, nested
in a jungle of vines ~ you took
a sip of ruby red & I
saw the aaaaah in your eyes, lips sealed in a secretive smile ~

in a matter of minutes, we found ourselves
deeply rooted
in the Garden of Eden.

_________________________________________________________________
Written for Karin Gustafson’s prompt over at dVerse. Today, we’re doing Poetics Italian Style. So good to be back… grab a pen and join us at the bar!

Reflection/Dear Self

Dear Self,

last night your tiny voice
played catch with moonbeams,
and in an instant of clarity,
your words rang true.

for too long i have buried you
under the stench of make-believe,
and waxen smiles, painted lipstick-red,
fastened lies to the surface.

it was the mirror of the moon
that thrust this bladed truth through prison’s flesh,
and feeble, makeshift lies flaked off my callused mind
to leave me bare & bathed in light.

i am sorry i failed you
for so long.
it is time for change.

M.

__________________________________________________________________
Mary over at dVerse invites us to write an ‘epistolary poem’ for Poetics today – I wrote a letter-poem to myself. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect, thank you, Mary.
As I am going through some major changes in my life, I do not know how often I will be able to write over the next couple of weeks – time will tell. It will be quite a journey on my end, so bear with me…
I would like to say thank you to my wonderful readers and fellow poets… you never cease to amaze me.
See you soon!

Out Of The Blue

there is a dream, woven
into the pillars of Atlantis;
seaweed whispers, tangled
in flowing mermaid’s hair
& I
become liquid myth,
mingling; drinking
c(h)orals of (the) Deep Blue (Sea) ~

i take a vow of secrecy
through salt-crusted lips,
close my eyes
& dream
Atlantis
among the waves.


________________________________________________________________
Written for Karin Gustafson’s wonderful Prompt about “bodies of water” for dVerse’s Poetics. Grab your poem and join us at the bar!

The End Of Days

417px-Odin_and_Fenris
– Odin and Fenrir

wide lick the waves at seasons’ wailing end
worlds squirm & wither beneath a weakening moon
sulfurous teeth singe stars & feeble grass
the days grow dark, doomed; wolfish grins.

Fenrir feasts, a fiery dusk
he tears and tastes the tales of Gods;
a brother once bound, now bounds free
rivers roam, Ragnarök has come.

__________________________________________________________________
Tony Maude over at dVerse invites us to use Accentual Alliteration for today’s Form for All. This is my attempt or rather, draft – I have no idea if I did it right… so hard (even harder at 4am), but such fun! 😀 Of course I had to tackle Norse Mythology… may the Gods forgive my feeble attempt. 😉
photo credits: en.wikipedia.org

Fragments

ftoospets mlet in pddules
and i lsoe tcrak
for the hnudretdh tmie
tihs day;
i straed too hrad
at dmears lnog psat.

yuor gsohted slmie
is my rdidle,
yuor joureny
my pzzule,
and i am sitll
the one lfet bnihed
atfer all teshe yraes;
not kwnonig wrehe to setp.

__________________________________________________________________
Brian over at dVerse invites us to write a poem about puzzles for Poetics today. I assure you, this poem’s not written in a foreign tongue. Heh. 😉 Grab a pen and join us at the bar!

The Day Cruella De Vil Barked Up The Wrong Tree

ku-xlarge

Cruella once told me to embrace my demon-stuffed destiny. She stirred puppy stew, elegantly, while forcing me to sew a black & white quilt. It turned out gray – I cheated – and she buried her daggered fingertips in my cerebral cortex. I broke my favorite cup of heartache (and her nose) as a parting gift, and left the door ajar. Cerberus would surely want to deal with her howls, would surely want to even the scales.
That day, I watched him paint the walls red.

________________________________________________________________
Mary Kling over at dVerse Poets Pub invites us to dive into Disney’s world for Poetics today. I went for prosy, quirky, and a little dark… just a little. Heh.
Come join us at the bar!

Meagre Offerings

it has always been your trait
to keep me in the dark;
to feed me bone marrow and splintered tears
ground to powdered memories;
sometimes spiced with a pinch of blue –
for your amusement.

i would have preferred
to swallow the bitter pill –
but you reserved the whole batch
for yourself.
“I never wanted you to see,” you said,
and slipped me another dose
of powdered past,
sneering.

i ignored your offering
and left you
behind.

__________________________________________________________________
Kelvin over at dVerse invites us to write a poem using idioms for Poetics. Grab your poem and join the fun!

The Traveler

bits of glass, tinctured red ~
deformed metal scree(EEEE)ches
as roaring teeth attack; frantically

again

again

burnt rubber stench & muffled shouts
“stay with me,” he says, breathless ~
Red Agony
is all you see
before the lights dim.

beep

beep

beep

is the music of the Lost;
her hand in yours on sterile white ~
she mumbles
about clipping your nails,
absent-mindedly rearranges
hearty smiles in picture frames,
while her hollow eyes SCREAM at me,
reflecting monitor-Green
& she jokes
about the weather;
rain pounding against windows

Always
her
hand
in
yours…
and moments turn to hours.

the sky weeps for days ~
one morning,
i see my deepest sigh
in her unbound, joyful tears and
those ocean eyes of yours

“welcome back,” i say, smiling ~
and You
illuminate the room.

__________________________________________________________________
I used to work in an ICU as a physical therapist for a couple of years. A place of such sadness and turmoil – yet, it is also where you witness great Beauty.
Written for Fred Rutherford’s wonderful prompt about Beauty – in all its facets – over at dVerse. Grab your poem and join the fun!

Dark|Light

erase the moon
shed darkness ‘pon this rotting flesh
erase the moon
send vulture’s wings; take leave — ’cause soon
this famished soul will turn to ash
and still this heart – too bold, too rash
erase the moon

embrace the moon
shed light upon this sullen soul
embrace the moon
come, listen to her silver tune
to cleanse this heart of dust and coal —
your wounded spirit shall be whole
embrace the moon

__________________________________________________________________
… two Rondelets – written for dVerse’s ‘Form for All‘-Prompt… thank you so much for the introduction, Tony… this was a real brain teaser – such fun!

I Better Not Sing It…

words
flutter in my head,
like silk ribbons on a breeze ~
and the child in me
smiles — squints;
while the big hand sneaks up on 12

3…

2…

1…

& the doors swing open.

i pop
a peanut into my mouth,
wink
at the bartender and
quickly unwrap
today’s
utterly gracious
gift.

time to fiddle
with my new toy ~ i
solve a puzzle, take
the Etch A Sketch or
challenge my mind
at Scrabble

(… maybe lose
the one or other hair
in the process)

& then
kick back at the bar ~
to dive
into words
that sing to me…
from far, far away.

___________________________________________________________________
… A bit silly, maybe ~ but oh, well… like you never feel silly singing ‘Happy Birthday’ at the top of your lungs. Heh.

Happy 100th, dVerse Poets Pub… I couldn’t be more grateful to be part of this amazing group.

Lunchtime (Gollum vs. Sting)

we
played tag
(yes, we like to play!)
in fields of gold

& i lost my mind
(up up up the stairs…)
to you

you
had my heart for lunch
(is it juicy? is it scrumptious?)
peppered,
with a pinch of lemon;
licked the plate clean &
left me to do the dishes

so i wallowed
in soap water tears
(not fair! not fair!)
for a while

come dusk,
you can tell the sun
in (t)his jealous sky
(leave now… and never come BACK!)
to kiss my ass.

__________________________________________________________________
… a somewhat strange creation – Sting(no, not the sword – the other Sting)’s tune (that I couldn’t shake today) meets my favorite Lord of the Rings character for lunch. Written for Karin Gustafson’s prompt about twins/opposites/divided selves over at dVerse.
Grab your poem and join the fun!

Beyond The Moon

from the corner of his eye
he reads
the wind in her hair;
intoxicating, scented braille

he whispers fireflies;
fragments of his soul,
to descend
on her eyelashes
(feathery soft),
and tip-toe to the moon;
where his gaze tastes hers,
delicately,
in white & faintest blue.

_________________________________________________________
Written for Victoria C. Slotto’s prompt about Synesthesia (confused sensations) over at dVerse – come join us at the bar!

This Town

“It will be long ere the marshes resume,
I will be long ere the earliest bird:
So close the windows and not hear the wind,
But see all wind-stirred.”
— Robert Frost, Now Close The Windows

This town, a ghost
Haunting; absent shadows
They lie, uncovered
And weigh heavy on
Catatonia;
Mankind’s woven tomb
Absent soil or mourners,
Absent loving words;
No flowers left to bloom ~
It will be long ere the marshes resume

This town, an echo
Driven into stone
By callused hearts,
As if it were flesh;
And mortar tears
Veil the cries of the Unheard,
Now frozen,
Bury words in darkest night;
Brand dreams of summer days absurd ~
I will be long ere the earliest bird

This town, a song
Of long forgotten days;
Of courage, worn away
By rain’s steady trick (trick?) trick-le;
Dancers’ feet now heavy, weighed with years of mud,
Ancient tunes, hollow; stripped and skinned,
Taunt drowning minds
With adjunct notes,
Leave consciousness thinned ~
So close the windows and not hear the wind

This town, a paradigm;
Indifference taped to every door,
Nailed to every soul that roams the streets.
The crosses we bear
Tower high above our heads,
Leave meaning absent word;
So we squint;
Cover eyes with shades of mirth,
Hold on to fraying dreams, now blurred ~
But (at day’s end) see all wind-stirred.

__________________________________________________________________
Samuel Peralta over at dVerse has us experimenting with the Glosa, a form of poetry of the late 14th century. It starts out with the Cabeza, four lines I borrowed from the marvellous Robert Frost, which provide the ending lines for the following four stanzas.  This is my contribution to Samuel’s great challenge.
Grab a drink and join us at the bar!

Seasons’ Song

shall we not flourish in the springtime rains?
where liquid crystal moistens earthen tongue,
and green conceals the last of winter’s stains.

will we go far from where our bodies sprung?
past rolling hills beneath a blazing sun,
to vales of summer; youthful songs unsung.

when autumn reigns, will we then come undone?
give up our leaves to mighty gusts of wind,
and slow this walk, that’s only just begun.

have we surrendered; have our roots been skinned?
the joy of life, mere echo in our veins,
and winter’s breath leaves hollowed mind chagrined.

shall we be bound by bitter winter’s chains?
shall we not flourish in the springtime rains?

tree_of_4


__________________________________________________________________
Tony Maude over at dVerse Poets Pub invites us to to try the Terza Rima at “Form For All” today. This is my contribution – a Terza Rima Sonnet. Come on over, fiddle with the form and join us at the bar!

photo credits: josephinewall.co.uk

Dead End

crude fingertips taunt
milky glass
rim’s angry squeals ring

vicious crescendo
lovers’ lane
broken; end credits

lies set the table
one last stare
no words left to give

___________________________________________________________________
… written for dVerse’s Poetry Prompt, 5-3-5 syllabic Kelly Lune (the American Haiku).
Come join us at the bar!