dVerse Poets: Water

Today at dVerse Poets Pub, Bjorn is prompting for Haibun Monday. He is asking that we write about water – rain, snow, frost, sleet, ocean, spring, bath water – any water that is from a true experience from our past. Come visit us at:http://dversepoets.com/2017/10/16/16428/

Sea Glass
The colors of the ocean that washes up on the North Carolina coast is all the colors of sea glass on any given day, or month, or time of the year or even, the time of day. The colors shift like an ever revolving kaleidoscope – blue then green, grey, dark green, light turquoise, and white. Some days the wind will whip up little wavelets of white on the water.

But tonight the ocean is black. The wind smells of salt with sweet undertones. Lights from the pier and the full golden moon dapple the ocean. It is 2 a.m. on New Year’s Eve. I’m standing on the balcony at the hotel, my husband’s Christmas present to me this year was this trip, by myself, to the ocean in winter. I breathe in the air deeply. A bit of wet touches my cheek. I look up -the first flakes of snow for the year has begun – first snow! New Year’s eve! Oh the magic of the ocean at night!

black winter ocean
sleeps silently as snow falls –
first of the new year

sea glass, public domain image

http://dversepoets.com/2017/10/16/16428/

Real Toads: Shadorma

Today the prompt is a simple poetic form called the Shadorma. And while the syllables may be set for each line, the shadorma is not a glorified or extended haiku as there seems to be no rules for it – any subject as long as the syllable count is 3-5-3-3-7-5, making a sestet. A haiku must contain a kigo and a kireji otherwise, it is not a haiku. Haiku are ancient, Japanese, and also not titled nor is there any punctuation except for the short dash to show a slight aspiration when reading. http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2017/10/fussy-little-forms-shadorma.html And I still haven’t figured out why Someone is so frightened of haiku. Perhaps because there are so many bad examples of them on the internet.

Leaves
autumn rain
strips the leaves from trees
lying on
the ground – they
stick to each other and to
my neighbor’s black cat

my husband
tracks them in on the
bottom of
his wet shoes.
He ruefully smiles and sweeps
them back out of doors

Real Toads – That Was Close!

This is for Real Toads. Margaret gave us a prompt from a song – Cruel. This is about going bad, getting good again, going back, and growing up. I hope this comes close.  http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/ This is also for Poets United Poetry Pantry http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/

Close but no Cigar
He was right where I had left him 15 years earlier –
lying on a folding lounge chair in the back
of his beat up Chevy.
This lounger was red and yellow.
The previous one was blue and white.
There was a hole in sole of his beat up cowboy boots –
his broken in cowboy hat was pulled down over his eyes –
as I got closer, I could see his jeans and shirt were clean,
but patched and faded.
For 40 he still looked slim and trim and buff.
I wondered how his face had changed.
I walked up slowly and quietly crunching gravel under my boots.
I pulled myself up on the truck bed and he moved.
His hat shifted back and his eyes opened wide and surprised.
“Shit.” He said. “Never thought I’d see you again.”
He spoke in that soft Oklahoma twang he’d kept
after all these years.
I smiled ruefully. “He left”.
“So, that cat left you and now you feel like you
gave him the best years of your life? Hmmmmn.”
I could see lines around his yes and mouth.
He stood up and pulled me up to him
and kissed me, like he used to.
His mouth tasted of bourbon and pot.
“You know, leaving me was the smartest thing you ever did.
Say goodbye again. I’m still no good for you.
You’ll chew your leg off like a wolf in a trap.”
I shrugged.
“We’ve know each other a lotta years,
since high school.” I spoke.
He touched my face with his hand.
“Go away. Now. While you can.”
I just had to see him again,
To prove myself wrong.
They say all good things must end.
We were so good we never stood a chance.
so I went back to his apartment with him.
And then left after we made love.
Damn, I barely missed that bullet.

dVerse Poets Pub: Quadrille – Hope

De is our pubtender today at dVerse. She is giving us the word “hope” to use in our quadrilles. What is a quadrille? It is a poem of exactly 44 words, excluding the title. A prompted word is to be used in the poem. Any derivative of the word hope is accepted. I have included one of my favorite songs from the now defunct program, Enterprise: Strenght of the Heart. I hope you all will listen.  This song has gotten me through some hard times.  I hope it will bring hope to your heart.  It keeps me from negativity!

Hope

As long as there are stars in the night sky
As long as trees endure,
As long as children sing and play,
As long as people share goodness with each other,
As long as we have love in our hearts
I will have hope.

Real Toads: Strange Fish

This is for Real Toads weekend challenge – a photo by Hedgewitch which she asks us to write to. I am also posting for Poets United Poetry Pantry. Toads:  http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2017/10/camera-flash.htmlp Poets United link: http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/2017/10/poetry-pantry-374.html

Strange Fish
He jumped from the Putney bridge in the winter of 1890.
He drowned. Within a few days his body filled with gas
And rose to the top of the water,
Bumping and bobbing its way along,
caught in the current of the Thames.
It went through the city
past pastures, villages –
After a few days it was finally spotted
by a small child who ran to her mum.
Her mum ran to the local bailiff
Who in turn called out the able bodied men
who formed a line on the shore of the river
and dragged him ashore.
Not a pretty picture by this time.
They shook their heads over the
poor young lad come to no good
and wondered if he was pushed,
If he was drunk and fell in,
oa if it was suicide.
They decided on the lesser of the causes
And buried him an unknown drunk in the church yard.
If it had been suicide, he would not have been
buried in the church yard.
As a murder victim he would have to be investigated
by somebody or other.
They put a small stone on his grave
and the date they pulled him from the river.
The local stonemason carved
“The Lord giveth and taketh away”
In his pockets was a washed away picture,
a few shillings and pennies
and a sodden handkerchief
with the initials TLB embroidered upon it.

Real Toads and dVerse Poets Pub OLN

Today Shay is prompting over at Real Toads. She asks us to write of spells, gypsy curses, dopplegangers, the like. She also requests “no haiku because they give me the shakes”. Perhaps like me she has seen too too many bad fauxku on the ‘net lately: to many dead lifeless zombie-ku, too many sweet pink precious-ku, to many emotion crazed maniac-ku, too too many abbreviated fake jazzy-ku. I know, they frighten me too. To paraphrase Haley Joel Osment in The Sixth Sense: I see bad haiku. Real Toad’s link: Fireblossom Friday : I Put A Spell On You.  I am also posting this on dVerse Poets Pub Open Link night. Open Link Night # 205   PS I have finished this poem with a senryu – what most people call “haiku”….but it aint!

Don’t Fear The Reaper
I was timid and short –
You were ruthless and gentle and brave.
I gazed into your almond shaped brown eyes –
And I became trapped –
A skeletal butterfly encased in amber.
But on the wings of your words
I flew. I soared. I became fierce.
I often look back at that young woman
And then I look in the mirror of the woman
I am today.
The curse of your love still hovers over me.
The blood I drew from you that day
we drew swords against each other
still stains my hands with red.
You were surprised as was I.
I look up at the full harvest moon
And I howl.
I count the stars as I hold my head back
And I howl.
I fling the curse to the sky –
To be taken by the wind.
I don’t know if it will ever take.
The curse of your love still hovers over me.

harvest moon listens – dogs
shuffle in the underbrush –
curses abound

 

public domain image

Poets United: Midweek Motif

I have been out of the poetry rounds for several weeks due to problems with my eyes.  The MD has cleared me and I am back on the circuits again.  This is about a stray tuxedo tom who I began feeding a couple of autumns ago.  I didn’t want to love him, I just wanted to feed him.  But I fell in love of course.  I called him Nobody’s Cat.  I am posting this for Poets United Mid-week Motif on animals.  http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/2017/10/poets-united-midweek-motif-animals.html

The Potting Shed

The old potting shed is slowly returning to the earth
settling down on its crumbling stone foundations,
roof slates cracked or missing,
paint fading and flaking.
The fact remains that underneath
Nobody’s Cat burrowed in during the last snow
And died.
Daffodils’ green spears are thick and lush
around the perimeter of the old building.
the flowers stand like mourners
around a grave
as the sun slowly sets
in an explosion of
saffron ginger turmeric curry –
spiced winter day
ends in a flurry of last
waves of goodbye

 

 

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