dVerse Poetics: Rain rein reign

Today Lillian is hosting Poetics at dVerse Poets Pub. She is asking that we rain on, rein in, reign over…just don’t rain on her parade! No doom and gloom, no politics, no naysayers – sounds like a plan to me! The Pub opens at 3:00 pm EST. Bring your best umbrella, your best scepter, your best horse!

Lovely Day
I remember when I was a little girl –
but then I’ve always been little –
Dancing on our front porch while
the rain came down.
Isn’t it a lovely day….
Spring rain happy,
summer rain quick,
autumn rain melancholy,
winter rain snowy…
I was by turns Fred Astaire
and then I was Ginger Rogers.
Dancing on the walkway in front of the house,
Dancing on the walkway around the house,
Dancing dancing dancing.
I remember taking you out into the rain
and dancing –
You threw back your head and laughed.
You had never danced in the rain before.
Like a summer rain you came and went.

I still dance in the rain.
I wear Wellies now –
Hello Kitty!

public domain photo

dVerse Poetics: Border

This is posted for today’s Poetics at dVerse for Grace’s prompt – Border.  I am also posting for the Tuesday Platform at Real Toads.  The links to these pages are:  http://dversepoets.com/2017/08/22/poetics-border/  and  http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2017/08/the-tuesday-platform_22.html

our small country community consists
of nine houses along the road ending in
a cul-de-sac.
the yards are all separated with thick tall
boxwood hedges –
each of the hedges has a small slip through
in case a neighbor wants to borrow a cup of sugar
or to take a neighbor some peaches
or for kids to go through playing hide and seek.
dogs and cats wander at will in the community
shimmying through the hedges
always going home for lunch and dinner and sleep.
snakes, birds, rabbits, deer, frogs, turtles, raccoons –
they all work their way through the tangled branches
or use the greenery for nesting.
So the hedges do nothing except define property
and back here in our small country community,
That doesn’t really matter.

d’verse Poetics: MTB: Bob Dylan

Today, Bjorn is celebrating the winner of the Nobel Prize for Literature:  Bob Dylan.  It seems the folks at the academy got over their tightassery and actually chose somebody that almost everyone knows and isn’t some obscure foreigner – an American Bard.  Congrats to Bob Dylan! http://dversepoets.com/2016/10/13/meeting-the-bar-bob-dylan/

Bob Dylan: Poet
I met him several times years ago.
He was fuzzy haired and serious
and pretentious.
But the man can write.
I’ll give him that.
So like a rolling stone
and the Byrds’ favorite Tamborine Man,
He does write songs and lyrics that stays with one.
How long?
The answer my friend,
is blowing in the wind.

***lines in italics are direct quotes from various poems and titles of Bob Dylan’s songs.


dVerse Poetics – The Spouses

Kim is our guest prompter today at dVerse Poetics (kim@writinginnorfolk.com).  This is her first time hosting for us!  She is asking us to write about, being, the spouse of someone famous, hopefully, someone dead so no libel.  I am taking it one step further by writing as the spouse of Dorian Gray, my eternally beautiful and bored, favorite character of Oscar Wilde.  Come visit us today and get to know Kim and the rest of the gang – however we show up! http://dversepoets.com/2016/08/23/poetical-spouses/

Mrs. Dorian Gray
“I care for who you are, not for what you wear.”  Dorian Gray, Penny Dreadful

I sit here, old and wrinkled.
I have often wondered at you –
Eternally young and beautiful…and bored –
although you kindly say I never bore you
and you still touch me as you did when I/we were young
and that in your eyes, I am still the young bride
you brought home these sixty years gone.
The men and women come and go,
yet somehow, I still remain.
I wondered why, two decades ago –
Why you were still young and beautiful…and bored –
Until I found the portrait.
Until I found the portrait secreted away
in a basement room, hidden behind locks.
You were distracted one day and left your keys
on the bedside table.
And so
I took them and went to the room.
I must confess,
My heart almost stopped in my chest
At terror of the beast in the life-sized portrait.
And how as I watched, it changed
And became even more bestial and deformed.
I never told you I knew your secret but…
I think you guessed.
I love you,
Heart of my heart and soul of my soul.
I’ll love you until I die
Which God grant, will be soon.

Reeve Carney as Dorian Gray - public domain photo

Reeve Carney as Dorian Gray – public domain photo

dVerse Poetics: Blue

De is our pubtender today over at dVerse.  She is prompting us to write about blue, the blues, sad blue, happy blue, blue jeans, blue bayou, blue plate special, the hues of blue…blue! Come join us and read about blue.  The Pub opens at 3:00 EST.   Poetics: Breathing in Blue


tomb detail - eye of Horus

tomb detail – eye of Horus

Falling Through Blue
Falling through blue –
Through the layers of cerulean, azure
Dappled with lapis
And tingled with turquoise –
Falling into blue
Emerging wet and sparkling
With scales and flashing fins.
Breathing in the blue skies
And breathing out the blue moon.
Falling through blue –
Falling falling
And landing on a huge pile of powder blue stars
Bright against deepest midnight blue
Falling through blue into the
unearthly beauty of morning glory blue lake.
Drowning in blue
Resurrecting into sky blue
Eternal as Egyptian blue –
first color of creation –
sky and sea.
Tattooed with wode
painted in tombs
blessed by the gods
Written through the ages.
water lilies – blue on blue on blue.
The sky of blue bewitches
and your eyes capture me in their blueness…
every day.



kuroi akumu: black nightmare

Today Claudia, one of the founding members of the dVerse community, is prompting us to write about our emotions, about how we feel – not the feelings of the world, other people – but how we feel and to avoid using generalities. Metaphors might also be used. Come visit us at d’Verse Poetics. I have a feeling you may be amazed.  Linked to:  http://dversepoets.com/2015/11/24/poetry-as-a-vehicle-to-transport-emotions/

kuroi akumu
I move through the days like our local
weather report. Sunny and cold
and on the inside a storm is raging
threatening to obliterate me and
like many of those storms in dreams it
cannot be escaped – it rears on the horizon and
then it is there on top of you sucking the breath
from your lungs.

A restaurant.
They specialize in rare natural foods.
A friend and I go – we have been friends
since 1975 –
in the middle of the room dividing the eating areas
a huge fish tank with
fish like flashing jewels.
and then,
and then…
there are creatures in the water
like hairless black cats or small dogs
being held in the water with wires
as they shake and jerk
trying to escape and
waiters stand on ladders and with long tongs
extract long sprouts growing from seeds
embedded in their flesh – and the animals are
almost but not quite dead because they continue
to jerk and jerk and jerk and the water
slops over the side of the tank
wetting the tiled floor with water
stained with black and red.
In horror I scream why is this?
Why doesn’t someone care?
Why doesn’t someone stop this?
How can we eat this food pulled from
the flesh of dead and dying animals?
I turn to my friend – an animal rights activist
and I grab her and scream into her face
and she says but it is delicacy here.
And I stand and scream and no one cares
and the animals on their wires jerk and jerk
like tortured puppets and no.one.cares.

My husband awakens me and holds me but
still I shudder – no.one.cares.

Midnight Moon

Tuesday is the Poetics section for d’Verse Poets Pub. I am the pubtender for that day. I am requesting that people write poems about Halloween. It can be a retelling of a local ghost story, something fun about trick or treating, kids, candy, decorations. I chose to go a little dark on this one. This will be linked Tuesday to d’Verse when the post goes “live” or….undead…mmwwwwaaaaaaaaa!    http://dversepoets.com/2015/10/20/10958/

free public domain image

free public domain image

Midnight Moon
and there, beneath the silent moon
leaves rustle under the feet
of silent folk who rise from the earth –
drifts of fog and smoke
blown hither and yon
by an errant breeze.
They pass around us
and through us and we feel the chill
and taste the tears of sorrows
still alive.
Will midnight never come?
Will the moon never hide behind the clouds
casting into deeper darkness
the hearts of those who will not sleep?
I wait…
and still
I wait.
Midnight comes slowly…
Will midnight never come?

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