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| Floating Seaweed by Fay Collins at Fay Collins Art |
All the thoughts of blue
Dance in the light of the waves
Sapphires rolling and splashing
Into periwinkles and blueberries
Bursting open with ocean sprays
Of alabaster foam
And falling into aquamarine pools
Rising and falling with the tide
Stretching out azure fingers
To catch the cornflower dripping sky
Written for dVerse.
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| Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash |
Snow queen sits upon her throne
Holding winter in her hands
Dreaming of frost and hailstones
She pours diamonds on the land
Seeds of crystal fluttering down
Like regal swan feathers
Adorning the earth in a wedding gown
She smiles at such fair weather
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| Photo by Ruben Ortega on Unsplash |
The holiest of all holidays is this:
When the dawn of the Resurrection starts,
And the lost ones return to our hearts
When the full river of feeling is bliss
Happy day! To greet my babe with a kiss;
Exquisite joy that never will depart!
Finally, your smiles, your giggles impart
A remedy; and secret grief dismiss.
White as the gleam of an advancing sail,
White as the cloud above the rafter,
White as the whitest lily on a stream,
This forthcoming memory will hail,
The beginning of happily ever after
Lovely and real, no longer a dream.
A reply to Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's "Holidays"
The holiest of all holidays are those
Kept by ourselves in silence and apart;
The secret anniversaries of the heart,
When the full river of feeling overflows;—
The happy days unclouded to their close;
The sudden joys that out of darkness start
As flames from ashes; swift desires that dart
Like swallows singing down each wind that blows!
White as the gleam of a receding sail,
White as a cloud that floats and fades in air,
White as the whitest lily on a stream,
These tender memories are;— a Fairy Tale
Of some enchanted land we know not where,
But lovely as a landscape in a dream.
Written for dVerse.
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| Photo by McGill Library on Unsplash |
1.
Cold hearth
Filled with soot
And tears
2.
Sisters in velvet upstairs
Stepsister below
In ashes and despair
3.
Orchestral violins
Send forth dreams
Drifting over embers
4.
In the flames
Glowing fairy glass
Melts into slippers
5.
Princess at the ball
In scintillating silk
Becomes a fairytale
Written for dVerse.
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| Photo by Hossein Farahani on Unsplash |
1.
Smooth eggs in the nest
Shiver and chip and flake
Over the flightless chick
Passing its first test
2.
Salt crested waves slide
Disturbing tiny grains
Rearranging patterns in the sand
Washing them away with the tide
3.
Granules of yeast lift
As the loaf bathes in heat
Transcending flour and water
Into a heavenly gift
4.
Crumbs of frozen lace
Drift down from bloated clouds
Shrouding the dying fields
With an icy embrace
5.
So the world spins
Day swims down to night
The waxing moon appears
And the next phase begins
A Cadralor written for dVerse.
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| Photo by Alfonso Castro on Unsplash |
Glissading serpents slide
Over still stones saturated
In sunlight settling in circles
With glistening scales
And spilling sideways in scads
of smooth scaly noodles
Slinking and slithering this way
And that, swirling through a mass
Of hisses and rustles like silken
Laces of snakes
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| Photo by Fiona Murray on Unsplash |
Standing on a ribbon of time
Looking towards an uncharted climb
Winding through curious climes
Perhaps without reason or rhyme
Meandering over trails of grime
Or grassy plains in their prime
Go onward then, do not stand still
For the discovery’s a marvelous thrill
Written for dVerse
Photo by Garreth Paul on Unsplash
Sep. 22, P. comes home ~ be ready
She says she’s never seen the fall
since she entered my noble hall
and became my wondrous queen.
Leaves for her are always green
they do not yellow, nor blaze in red,
so I’ll bring autumn to her instead.
I’ll robe the halls in amber wheat
spread the harvest beneath her feet;
we’ll dance across the ballroom floor
to harvest songs from days of yore.
And from among the deathly shades
I’ll recruit those with edible trades.
Cooks and chefs will prepare a feast,
with a thousand dishes at least!
Warming soups, fragrant tarts, gleaming pears,
roast turkey, and venison to spare,
that pumpkin spice these mortals crave
in endless pies and cakes and bread. She’ll surely rave!
(No pomegranates, she hates the sight,
and won’t take a single bite.)
***
Written for dVerse, where the prompt is to be inspired by the Persephone and Hades myth.
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| Photo by diego caro on Unsplash |
Curiosity killed the inquisitive cat
As it nosed around for facts
Seeking for what it lacked
Padding after secrets and rats
Alas, our most anxious cat perished
So they brought out the sheriff
Who considered all the merits
Joining the clues in marriage
And when all the why’s were established
The story was brushed and polished
The case was widely published
Until the matter was public knowledge
Fate then took a curious track
Although the impertinent cat had passed
Once there were no more questions to be asked
Satisfaction brought it back
Written for dVerse.
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| Photo by Michael C on Unsplash |
Snowmelt pours downward,
gurgling and babbling against
still standing rocks worn
smooth. Sending sprays of
river droplets streaming through
the air; across the banks,
pooling and swirling, frigid
with the memory of ice,
chilling tentative ankles.
While around them, trees
unfold with green mist.
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| Photo by Erda Estremera on Unsplash |
Mary, Mary quite contrary,
How does your garden grow?
With silver bells and cockle shells,
And pretty maids all in a row.
Ella, Ella, writing your novella,
How does your garden grow?
With iron ink and extreme hijinks,
And stale cliches all in a row.
Lily, Lily, very silly,
How does your garden grow?
With big red noses and squirting roses,
And grinning clowns all in a row
Violet, Violet, what a pilot,
How does your garden grow?
With parachutes and long commutes,
And golden wings all in a row.
Written for dVerse's 10 Year Anniversary!
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| Photo by Penguinuhh on Unsplash |
Begin all the way at the end
with the reaping of wheat,
in the amber field by the river’s bend.
The stalks cut down arrive at death,
for the harvest is here,
when sheaves take their last breath,
gathering in each bountiful ear.
And should some stray kernels escape,
drifting down from the breeze
across the soft earth they drape.
Then at last it’s finally these
that bring us to the start,
to the seed that runs rife
with creation at it’s heart,
the commencement of life.
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| Photo by Glenn A. Buttkus at South Sound Minimalist Photos |
luscious verdant green
shyly waits
for a sun-kissed blush
Written for dVerse.
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| Photo by Nick Fewings on Unsplash |
To the future, small feet
walk, from Here and Now
squinting towards a view incomplete
what will it endow?
Over the horizon, a smudge
might be an architect
perhaps a magician, or judge
all have a different affect.
But for now,
onward they plow.
Written for dVerse.
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| Photo by Anton Maksimov juvnsky on Unsplash |
Under caliginous twilight,
where stars bestow no light
nor friendly voices sound,
the wretched road wound
through twisted trees
with fitful breeze
and fearful shivers,
over treacherous rivers
to the dragon’s abode.
There the knight rode;
she wounded the dread brute,
liberating the route.
Written for dVerse.
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| Photo by Pacto Visual on Unsplash |
Cat
noun
1 a: carnivorous mammals that never were timorous;
oppressing the unfortunate mice (birds, snakes, etc.) they find;
but not picky - carefully packed cans are just as nice.
b: companions, oh surely;
yet just as often aloof and surly.
2 a: a family, Felidae, wild and free;
from the lynx and the sphinx
to the lion and the little ones
that lie on my knee;
cousins that purr while on other horizons,
mighty roars ring out over the miles.
3 a: perfection.
Shared with dVerse.
I like writing poems in the form of dictionary entries. This one isn't my best, but it still amuses me.
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| Photo by Josipa Juras on Unsplash |
Within the castle’s rough hewn towers,
we fled to escape the ogre’s glower,
raising the drawbridge against its power;
yet it stands there ready to devour.
So through the murky twilight we scour
the lanes and hills and fields of flowers.
Growing more fearful by the hour,
searching for one who will not cower.
But who can rescue us from this bower?
Just when things are most dark and dour,
bright hope suddenly upon us showers.
In the distance, on a horse white like flour,
riding tantivy, the knight is racing to empower;
to free us; to make the night sweet, instead of sour.
The ogre bellows, but the knight allows her
blade to fall upon the loathsome prowler
and thus she swiftly overpowers
the fiend and we are free! And now her
deeds are widely known throughout our
castle’s rough hewn towers.
Written for dVerse.
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| Photo by Camille Brodard on Unsplash |
How doth the enormous grizzly bear
Improve his shining claws,
And files them smartly with great care
To pamper those mighty paws!
How cheerfully he seems to grin,
While he neatly combs his fur,
And welcomes the hairdresser in,
Along with the masseur.
How relaxing is the grizzly’s spa!
Where he maintains his intimidating style
While the hairdresser shrinks in awe
And the masseur quivers all the while.
This is a parody of Lewis Carroll's The Crocodile, which is a parody of Isaac Watts' How Doth the Little Busy Bee.
Shared with dVerse Open Link Night #291.
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| Photo by Marina Shatskih on Unsplash |
Something ephemeral bides
long by the baby’s side
for today he’s small,
tomorrow, grown so tall
and still in each look and mien
he’s all the sizes in-between.
Today rings with babbling coos
tomorrow, with words of every hue
and in the echo of each dulcet sound
baby giggles still abound.
Today he holds my finger
tomorrow, he will not linger.
While for now I am his world,
tomorrow, with sails unfurled,
he’ll chase dreams across the sky.
While I watch with wondering sigh;
see the man inside the growing child,
and in the man, all his yesteryears compiled.
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| Photo by Johannes Plenio on Unsplash |
On the other side of me and now
verdant pastures sweep up to the sky
greener than the new spring boughs.
I count each grass blade with a sigh,
for the hills over yonder I am sure,
are lusher than these I sojourn by;
and they gleam emerald with allure.
If I had choice, to them I’d swiftly fly!
And yet something whispers, Stay
the grasses there have much to belie
and the meadows near are not so gray.
And when I cast my eyes about I see
green aplenty on all sides of me.
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| Photo by Gaelle Marcel on Unsplash |
Here in my nook
me, myself, and I
and the glorious book.
For the next golden while
let me say goodbye
to the laundry pile
dinner pans and dishes
without anyone asking why.
These are my only wishes,
so go away; don’t bother me.
Written for dVerse.
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| Photo by Tim Mossholder on Unsplash |
This just in from tomorrow
where the future is arriving
is it full of joy or sorrow?
if you want to know more
then here’s the scoop
tomorrow sets sail from the shore
that you’ve heard is called today
so make the story unfold
with each step and sway
live to make them matter
the menial moments unsung
or those of clamor and clatter
for every current event
heralds the coming dawn
ready for whatever is sent.
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| Photo by Vita Marija Murenaite on Unsplash |
rushing summer
bubbles, laughs, and splashes
blue blessings
Happy International Haiku Day!
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| Photo by Bastien Jaillot on Unsplash |
Do not go gentle into that good nap,
Babies should burn and rave at onset of sleep;
Rage, rage against the swaddled wrap
Though wise parents know the cradle trap,
Like a conspiracy leads to slumber deep,
Babies still do not go gentle into that good nap.
For when sleepy eyes close, a cry: Recap!
Their frail frames squall and flail and leap.
Raging, raging against the swaddled wrap.
Wild babies caught in soporific blanket scraps,
Learn too soon to wail and weep;
They do not go gentle into that good nap.
Drowsy babes, near sleep, still court mishap
With groans, laments, and fretful peeps,
Rage, rage against the swaddled wrap.
And you, my babe, upon my lap,
An impassioned, wakeful heap.
You do not go gentle into that good nap.
Raging, raging against the swaddled wrap.
Shared with dVerse.
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| Photo by SilverGardenia |
Dogwoods are some of my favorite flowers! The Legend of the Dogwood says that the dogwood was the tree used to make the cross that Christ was crucified on and that afterwards, Christ gave it flowers that resembled the cross, the crown of thorns, and the marks in his hands and feet. Dogwoods are native to the Eastern United States and don't grow in the Holy Land, so it's very easy to disprove this legend. But the symbolism is still beautiful.
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| Photo by Alfred Schrock on Unsplash |
Spider silk and milkweed fluff -
Is twice as much of me enough,
to weave a fairy gown?
Next I’ll need an acorn cap,
a bit of grass to make a strap;
won’t it be a handsome hat?
Around my neck some lilac blooms
rich with sweet ethereal perfume.
Are there grander gems than these?
Then when all my shopping’s done
I’ll dance beneath the morning sun
The finest fairy you ever saw!
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| Photo by Ibrahim Boran on Unsplash |
A is for Asymptomatic
If you don’t know you have it, it’s quite problematic.
B is for Banana Bread
Everyone’s baking it, they said.
C is for Contact-tracing
Hold tight, we’re going virus chasing.
D is for Doctors Save Lives
It could be your husbands or your wives.
E is for Emergency
Treat it with urgency.
F is for Facemask
Keep it on, that’s your task.
G is for Grocery Delivery
A necessity; not a frippery.
H is for Home
Stay put, don’t go roam.
I is for Isolation
When you’re sick, hello frustration.
J is for Johnson & Johnson
A one-dose option.
K is for Keep Sanitizing
Stop the virus from arising.
L is for Loss of Taste and Smell
Is it tasty or stinky? You can’t tell.
M is for Moderna
Number two in the fight against corona.
N is for Nose Swab
Yes it hurts, but it does its job.
O is for Online Learning
But, in-person classes are the yearning.
P is for Pfizer
Take it and be a little wiser.
Q is for Quarantine
The post-travel two-week routine.
R is for Restaurants Closed
Stay away so you don’t get exposed.
S is for Social Distancing
Six feet apart and please don’t sing.
T is for Toilet Paper Rush
Make sure you’re all stocked up and don’t forget to flush.
U is for Unemployment
A dreadful disappointment.
V is for Virus Variants
Villainous and nefarious.
W is for Wuhan
Where the virus dawned.
X is for X Out Travel
And watch our lives unravel.
Y is for Year Long Disaster
When the virus was our master.
Z is for Zoom
The universal electronic room.
Shared with dVerse.
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| Photo by Nick Page on Unsplash |
It’s really such a chore.
First: Put on your shoes.
No wait, back up and choose
socks thick and woolly
or cotton thin. Choose fully
aware that at the end is the door.
So perhaps your long fuzzy socks,
or those colored like phlox,
or socks with bold polka-dots?
Carefully arrange your thoughts
ere your feet hit the floor.
Second: Examine the shoes,
for again you must choose,
before you can grasp the handle.
Glass slippers or boots or sandals,
it all depends on what you intend
to find on the other side of the door.
Sitting in the oven are the hot cross buns
Where the heat is rising and it’s hotter than the sun
Watch them blacken, watch the growing smoke
Alas, the fire alarm is blaring and it’s no joke
Call your daughters and your sons
Come and weep for the hot cross buns
After such a tragedy, what can you do?
Start all over, make another batch or two.
Sadly, this poem is based on a true story. And if you're looking at the picture thinking, "Those don't look too bad," those are the hot cross buns that survived. Pictures weren't taken until after the charred ones had been donated to the trash can. Luckily, the redemption batch was perfect.
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| Woman using a swift. Photo by Les Triconautes on Unsplash |
Before the magic of hooks and needles
dance through stretched out string
forming curving pathways,
there’s the whir and work and magic of the swift.
Whisking thread from hank to ball
thus molding the universe
and preparing for triumph
long before the work begins.
A swift is used to hold a hank of yarn while it's being wound into a ball.
