Tag Archives: DVerse

Ode to my Bicycle

28 Jan

Your two wheels
and metal frame
have penetrated my brain
my two feet no longer
can catch up
to racing thoughts
that swoop on
spinning faster
rounding corners
jumping curbs
coasting
coasting
coasting
down the slightest slopes
you make me fly
with rubber wings
pushing me harder
pumping muscles
steely minded
wind whistling
past me around me
dodging raindrops
and ever increasing
my peripheral vision
pumping euphoria
through my veins
while I dance
on your two wheels.

Look Ma, no hands!

Look Ma, no hands!

Posted for Open Link Night at www.Dversepoets.com. Come join us and share your poem!

I have a love affair with my bicycle. These days it is my main mode of transportation for errands and such, which is great, because I love getting out of the house and being outdoors. When I hop on my bike I always end up feeling exhilarated afterwards. Thankfully, everything I need is within a 6 mile radius of my home. I have often quoted the line from the movie Singles, where the cyclist from Expect the Best says, “I just like the way the world looks from a bike.” Me too! I used to think that it was only on sunny, blue sky days, but it’s wintertime now, and I have found that I like riding my bike even on cold days.

I have been reading a lot of Pablo Neruda’s poems lately, and this poem was inspired by his odes to common things.

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Epiphany

23 Jan

It took about three times
before the pattern was clear:
walk with me
stop talking
no I don’t want water
no don’t touch me
and that’s when my husband realized
that it would be best to just
sit and shut up, rub my back
hold my hand, walk with me,
obey my commands
it is not in my nature
to be that way, but
my mind was on other things
rocking back and forth
moving to a deep rhythm, within
while everything without was a distraction
because when that time comes
there’s no turning back
nothing will stop it,
and my brain starts focusing on
just one thing:
get this baby out!

My fifth time through
while I was two months shy
of the waters breaking,
my mind could still focus on
the things around me
which was a good thing
because my father was dying
and none of us knew it
because just as when that water breaks
it came suddenly, and
there was no turning back
for three weeks, he tried his best
to engage in our conversations
and humor our loving intentions
but his mind was on something deeper, within
I struggled to stay positive, to hold his hand
rub his back, tried to offer him some water
but it wasn’t until 58 days after
he said goodbye
when my baby came
one freezing morning in November
that it dawned on me, a true epiphany
all those 21 days in August and September
my father was in labor
which takes being mentally focused
without distractions
until the birthing is done.

The first day in the hospital.

The first day in the hospital.

Brian at Dverse is asking us to tell him a story today. There’s not much of a plot to this one, but it’s a story I have been wanting to put into words for a while, and this prompt gave me the encouragement to give it a shot. I seem to write often about my Dad, and I think that it is because we had a beautiful father-daughter relationship; we were very close. This poem is mostly about the process I went through trying to understand how hard it must have been for my dad to make the decision to go into hospice one week after his diagnosis of stage-4 esophageal cancer.

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One Last Thing

10 Dec

Please, let me kiss you
before the summer bids us adieu
while its glow still warms through your eyes,
while your mouth yet beguiles me with smiles,
and our youthful hearts still beat true.

Let all that has been done, undo
and let nothing witness it but the skies,
as we give in to the sweetest surprise
if you please, let me kiss you

like we fear no pain anew
with nothing to lose, we’ll gently construe
from lips to lips, with words implied
honey sweetness, on a rising tide,
imparting volumes with our sighs, how to
please, let me kiss you.

And with one
electric shock,
as the dawn
dissipates the dark,
I promise
I will do naught,
but kiss you.

altantic_beach_morning_flower

Since Tony Maude over at Dverse Poets Pub introduced the rondeau I have been working on this poem. My biggest challenge was the rhyme structure, which for this rondeau is a 15-line poem with rentrement (aabba–aabR–aabbaR). I call mine a rondeau+ because the last stanza is not really rondeau form, more like a parenthesis or an afterthought, in a Cummings kind of way. I welcome your comments on how it turned out!

 

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10 am, Thurs Nov 14 2013 – American Sentences

14 Nov

A distant sun gives me the cold shoulder: Indian Summer’s over.

I sit, trying to collect thoughts, while little fists pound the bedroom door.

3 loads of laundry, but the washing machine won’t stop leaking water.

On my desk, incessant telephone haranguing keeps me on my toes.

Is it too late to run home, slide into base, where I can be called safe?

Never mind that look in my eye, I really am listening to you.

Ahhhhh ... Freak Out!

Ahhhhh … Freak Out!

More challenges, this time in the form of American Sentences, which is a form of haiku created by Allen Ginsburg. This is a new form to me, where each sentence has 17 syllables like a haiku. You can really write about anything, not just nature. I found some interesting websites about American Sentences, most notably this one by Paul Nelson which really inspired my to do this more often. This is my very first attempt, and it wasn’t easy, but I am realizing that I like challenging myself with form. According to Nelson, “I find it an amazing way to sharpen my perception and learn how to eliminate unnecessary syllables. It aids in a sort of pre-editing that supports my spontaneous writing practice.” That intrigues me a lot, so I will probably try to do this a little more often, since I can use a lot of pre-editing and elimination of unnecessary words in my writing.

This is posted  in connection with a prompt by Gay over at DversePoetsPub, in which we use American Sentences to describe a scene happening now.  SO, welcome to my world today!

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Beware the Poets

12 Nov

Beware the poets
they put all of their loves,
encapsulated in words,
in pithy boxes,
enshrined.
Little wolf-spiders
in sheeps’ clothing,
they hang out in corners,
unassuming spectators,
ready to trap you
in a moment
tangled, spun
into their invisible web.

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Kind of dashing the image of the romantic poet here, and poking a bit of fun at myself. I do feel a little guilty sometimes, because all is fair in poetry and writing. Found this ickily beautiful banana spider hanging on its web above a street parking pay station at Spanish River Beach in Boca Raton, FL.

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Moi- a list

7 Nov

Lupe
aka Lupita
Lupi
Lulu
Lups
Maggilu
and Lu

But never, ever, Guadalupe.

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The Lovers

7 Oct

beautiful boy
I know just what you mean
There is no me without you
Hungry ghosts
Joined at the heart
The elephant in the room
Song of the tides
The hidden messages in water
I thought it was just me
(but it isn’t)

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Inspired by Sorted Books Poetry in Book Titles by Samuel Peralta on Dverse

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