Tag Archives: DVerse

Epilogue

28 Jul

Truly, this: My thoughts
of you won’t leave the worn paths
carved within my heart

Our eyes, our mouths, locked
invisible caresses
skin to skin, linger

I meant everything
my silent lips have said
and more. Yes, there is more.

 

Bar Harbor, Maine

Bar Harbor, Maine

Sometimes there is no clear path. There are many things I want to express, but at the same time I have to question myself: to what end?

Mincing words almost always leads me to haiku. This is a series of three haikus. Together they are but a scratch along the surface of everything I keep inside.

The last haiku is 5-7-5, but for aesthetic purposes I dropped the 7th syllable of the second line down to the last line. So, instead of a haiku, its a my-ku 😉

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Sevenling: Dances with words

10 Apr

I love the way you rub
parts of words together, the friction
of a tango, a waltz, a samba

It’s not so much
about the vowels, or the consonants,
but the implications in between

You spin me right round, baby, right round.

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A Sevenling poem for Dverse. Just something new.

 

Illusion

16 Mar

Thoughts of you are
warm sun rays through
wintry windows

I touch the glass
and my fingers flinch
at the cold pane.

When

9 Jan

When the moon glows full
and the stars speak to you with
infinite sweetness

when you find a green
rolling field, inviting you
to lay upon it

when a lofty view
tugs at that space within you
that never stays full

think of me, perhaps
feel me close, remember my
joy in knowing you.

In the curve of the arch.

Glowing Arch, Washington Square Park, October 2015.

This started out as haikus composed in my head while I tried to sleep. Although I did follow the traditional 5-7-5 pattern, and there is nature involved, the verses are more like American Sentences (17 syllables), and together form the complete poem.

When emotions run deep, poetry helps me distill the essence of what I want to take away from an experience. Sometimes, it takes a few times to distill it all. I am finding more and more, that fewer words are often best.

Fly By Day

9 Sep

My flight departs when I put my left foot on the pedal and coast, down the driveway, onto the street, swinging my right leg over the saddle. If I had wings to beat, they would be my two feet, pedaling down the asphalt runway. This is my morning flyby. My feet push hard against the pedals: pushing away worries, pushing back years, pushing against thoughts of you which I can’t ever seem to escape from. I keep pushing until my thighs protest, my chest heaves. Lightheaded and flushed I soar through the streets of my neighborhood. I admit, I do spread my arms like an eagle, because it feels good; this is the closest I come to actual flight. I pump my legs and ascend higher and farther, as if this is all I have. This time, cutting through space, where I run to you and away from you at the same time.

The retired men, putzing around their yards in my neighborhood know me. They line the streets and cheer as I speed past, just a blur. As they watch me go by, I recognize the look in their eyes, it makes me want to keep going and never stop.

Hot drops of rain fall
on my helmet, I welcome
them, and feel alive.

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I wrote this, my first haibun, for Dverse Poets Pub’s first Haibun Monday. Having never explored this form of poetry before, I am not sure that I totally nailed the form, but I enjoyed writing it. As I was on my bicycle this morning, these were my actual thoughts. Thoughts which were followed by a sense of dread that I would not be able to work my ideas into a coherent poem. Then I got home, hopped on the computer, saw the Dverse post and boom! Haibun!

Oh Say, Can You See?

26 Aug

I can see you
13 rivers red blood brothers
13 pillars victorious mothers

blue promises in the night sky
your stars shining as they guide

give me liberty, give me life
bless the fruit of our strife

o majesty, wave your banner over us
bless our battles in the dust

your colors dipped in God we trust
I can see you, I will be you
wave, wave, wave

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A Cup of Time

8 Apr

Time is my treasure
served up as
a steaming cup of tea
our friendship brews.
It goes down smooth
the bitter leaves
balanced with honey
kind, comforting
warm, and true.

I savor our cup
of time together
and cradle
in my loving fingers
the delicate porcelain
of our friendship
hoping, with each sip
it will last forever.

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Konigl pr. Tettau Bavarian antique bone china tea set from the 1940’s.

Today at Dverse Poetics, Mary challenges us to choose a treasured object and write a poem that tells a story about it. I chose one of my antique china tea sets. It is from the 1940’s, and very special to me, because it symbolizes quality time spent drinking tea with my daughters, family, special guests, and friends. Although it is old and delicate, I like to use it as often as I can. It is one of those things that I felt I needed in order to make this house a home, and wherever I go from here it will come with me and do the same.

Silk, Cashmere, Linen

15 Mar

These are my seasons:

Silk
slippery and smooth
it does not stick
no matter how hot,
silent caress on my skin,
weightless, as if I were naked.
Silk is a surprise kiss,
goosebumps along my neck,
dinners and slow dances.

Cashmere
the soft, warm hug
I can wrap myself with
and daydream in
when you are not with me.
Cashmere is leaning back
against your chest,
feeling your heart beat,
fast then slow.

Linen
crisp, fresh breeze
my hair pulled up
off my neck
your hands circling
my hips like a busy bee.
Linen is lemonade,
swinging on a front porch,
our legs intertwined.

Interesting prompt by Brian over a Dverse Poets Pub on Thursday. In his post, Meeting the Bar: The Blind Poet, he encouraged us to write a poem using all of our senses except sight. This is what I came up with.

Invictus

8 Mar

A confidence was betrayed
My innermost thoughts were mocked
So I shut up what was left
and the song inside me was lost.

Today, it is over.
I can forgive, I will forget.
And now’s the time
to put things right
my sword is a pen
my enemy, regret.

I have decided that
it’s time to set the captive free,
because far too many years
my beating heart was stifled,
locked up with a rusty key.
With its new found liberty
it marches forward boldly,
across the hills, to the shores
in search of poetry,
and with its renewed beat
this emancipated heart
declares its rebellious creed:

I will harbor fugitive thoughts
and nurture them
until they are ready
to slip into society
and gather comrades
to join in the resistance
against the mundane
and prosaic.

I will hold high the torch
passed down to me
by Viking minstrels,
Irish horse thieves,
and Spanish windmill warriors,
and keep it burning for all
that stumble down this path behind me,
though it may only illuminate
just barely ahead of my feet.

And always,
I will bring passion
to the table, home-brewed
in a glass salt shaker,
and sprinkle it liberally
on everything I feast upon,
and never be afraid
of the long-term effects
it might have on my heart.

Because I am not a gambler,
and I am generally risk-averse,
but when it comes
to matters of the heart-
I have set the captive free
and the risk is worth the purse.

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This is my poetic manifesto, in response to Gay’s prompt over at Dverse Meet the Bar: Movements and Manifestos. I highly recommend this exercise, because it is very inspiring and enriching. It’s funny, because I have been thinking about this topic for a while: the whys and wherefores of writing poetry, and the experiences and people that have become my muses over time. Just so happened that Anthony and Gay both consecutively took different angles on this topic. My manifesto isn’t bound to inspire any poetic movements, BUT for me it’s about letting my heart speak again, because a long time ago something happened that made me give up on writing.

Away with Words

4 Mar

the words came over the mountains
as we rumbled around blind curves
on the dirt roads of the Andes
heart lodged high in my throat
trying to read a book, needing some air
because it all took my breath away

the words came over the mountains
the ones I could not capture
with the short lens of my Pentax
the sparkle and hues of the valleys
majestic yet humble pastoral scenes
punctuated by colorful forms with bent backs

the words came over the mountains
honking their horns before hairpin curves
casting a golden light on the clouds at my feet
nestling in the furrows of the patchwork hills
clinging to rocks like lichens above the treeline
catching my eye with your smile from the backseat

I was unaware, but those words became everything
everything I wanted to capture
everything that touched my soul
everything that made me yearn
everything that made my heart sing
everything I wanted to share
everything that brought me to my knees
everything about you
inspiring everything that was me
and wanting, wanting
to somehow give it back
wanting to whisper it in your ear
but never knowing how

Today, Anthony Desmond over at Dverse challenged us to write a poem  that is influenced by certain times in your life that made you the poet you are today. I can trace poem-writing to when I was 8 years old, but the desire and need to write poetry sprang up somewhere in my mid-teens. I can remember distinctly wanting to express things in a way that I had not figured out yet. So, this poem is about that time in my life, specifically about a trip through the Andes, or rather several trips that my mind has put all together into one.

“The secret of it all, is to write in the gush, the throb, the flood, of the moment… by writing at the instant the very heartbeat of life is caught.” – Walt Whitman

*Note about the photos: I originally posted a pic of my brother and I at Ingapirca because I thought that all of my other photos of the Andes were all gone. Well, the very next day after I posted this poem, while I was going through stuff, preparing to move, I found this set of photos that are all from that very trip that my poem is about! Serendipity 🙂

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