mishunderstood

I never was a high heel girl
preferred my feet closer
to the ground
in comfy three-stripe sneakers
I grew up building forts
in grassy meadows, wild bull rushes
riding trails on my Honda 70
dirt-splattered, sun-battered
we chopped off old jeans
for shorts in the summer
not the bell-bottoms
with Canadian flag inserts
those were too cool to cut

I remember crocheted ponchos
corduroy was king, everything
from jumpers, skirts and overalls
a peasant dress to a prom
so wrong?!
earth shoes to leather clogs
red-laced hiking boots, mine were blue
slouchy ankle boots with
navy pin-striped painter pants
purple bows in pig-tailed hair
pixie cuts and flipped out flair
to an over-bleached “Sun-In”
Rosanna Dana special
a pixie somewhere in between

I mean, I did don a dress or two
but I never was a high heel girl

For Merril’s Poetics at dVerse Poets Pub. “Simply write a poem using fashion as your theme or take inspiration from one of the poems or images above.” (included in her prompt). I stumbled back in time for this one.

Now is the season of feuille morte
In a dark corner I sit amongst dying yarrow
The bruises to my psyche sear and scourge
And when the embers fade to dust
Conflicting thoughts smoulder still
Inside I hide those unpretentious dreams
Only to pop them one by one

Perhaps now we can turn to love
A persistent glint on the horizon
Take me in your arms, I am yours
When pain bandages my mouth dumb
Gift me beauty of words
Set in free verse

We stare into darkness for light we have lost
But what I feel is that
My light springs from yours, as sun illumines moon

For dVerse Poets Pub. Melissa is our host and has given us 2 options to approach Poetics today. One is to write a “cento” taking lines from a selection of dVersian poetry from the month of April. Note: “A cento is a poem formed from lines of poems written by other poets. Latin for ‘patchwork,’ the cento is composed like a collage or quilt, and honors others’ poems while presenting a unique work.” (www.poetryfoundation.org). I mistakenly ventured off the selected prompt list but all are from April.

In order, here are the lines I borrowed to create my cento.

1. Acting My Age In Autumn- Laura Bloomsbury
2. Lonely (a quadrille) – Punam
3. Her Page – Melissa Lemay
4. Hot as Blazes – Judy Dykstra Brown
5. Composure for, : Folly in Innocence – David Bogomolny
6. My Box – Colleen Cheesebro
7. A Poem and it’s Palenode- Lillian
8. Perhaps Now – Paul Vincent Cann
9. Mareel – Kim M. Russell
10. Pantoum of the Tango– Helen
11. Poetry is a Thousand Psalms, Not One – Dorahak
12. Prayer to the Muse – Michelle Beauchamp (me)
13. The Unboxing – Jane Swanson
14. Finding our way back – Bjorn Rudberg
15. How beauty is perceived- Sanaa Rizvi
16. Your Faithful Hound – Li/Lisa

Image by Mystic Art Design from Pixabay

gift me beauty of words
rose-petal soft
keen-edged as thorns
rivers of phrases, flowing
to reservoirs of indigo
give me some, scented
like Monday morning
dew-drops and daisy-fresh
others, shameless, saucy
stiff drink on a Friday
I’ll place a few between
to hold space

For De’s Quadrille prompt at dVerse Poets Pub. We are writing 44 word poems including the word “place”.

Image by ThankYouFantasyPictures from Pixabay

I fell in love with silence
under the hush of snowfall
and you
under the blaze of desert skies
traded green for earth-tones
turquoise lakes for turquoise stones
we’ve sailed in waters, unruffled
and tumbled in the dust bowl
still
you are my oasis

For the Quadrille prompt at dVerse Poets Pub, I have chosen the word “blaze” to warm up your 44 word poems. Doors open at 3 p.m. EST and the prompt is open all week. You are welcome to join in!

what a dramatic conclusion
winter bursting into tears
like some last minute production
bewildered red-bellied woodpecker
ponders your intention
I ponder your intention
shamelessly rubbing shoulders
with spring
your cocky grin
sharpened at one corner
I don’t trust you
always been a flakey one

For De’s quadrille prompt. The given word is “sharp” or a form of the word.

dversepoets

finally, you have arrived
broken, depleted, defeated
one by one you have come
full circle, enlightened

first, run your fingers
over these blood-stained walls
faded only by the sun

understand that
cemented tears will not run
beyond this gate of wisdom
for this place
you enter wide-eyed
with only a child’s heart
this space
is where love begins

Dora is our host at dVerse Poets Pub for Poetics this week.

This poem is inspired by her prompt titled “It’s Written in Stone”

Image: pixabay.com

this dance we do
between time and space
not an orderly cosmos
rhythm – one, two….lost!
I’m tapping on stars
as you tango to Mars
I extend towards Luna
you reach for Soleil
I align, but you sway
I’m popping, you’re locking
rarely in sync
I glide, you dart
but somehow
each time
you waltz your way
back into my heart

For Poetics today, we are playing with the topic of dance.

You are welcome to join in. It’s a pleasure to be your host.

dVerse Poets Pub

Image credit: unsplash.com

We set out for the drive to my hometown. I place my purse on the floor and sigh. We are always a bit stressed to arrive on time. Just over an hour away, my mother of eighty five years waits at the other end.

Her small dining table will be set for us, perhaps the night before, complete with seasonal napkins. There will be a lasagna or chicken casserole in the oven, a fresh salad and bread from the bakery. There will be homemade dessert like fresh carrot cake or iced brownies. On an end table, a thoughtful plate will offer a little snack first such as cheese, crackers and grapes. The apartment will be clean and organized, despite her fatigue and arthritic pain.

I take a sudden, deep inhale as I contemplate endings. The scenery blurs by in familiar fashion but I notice recent rainfall and snowmelt have flooded some farmers’ fields. Trees still stand stoic as water rises around their roots. In the corner of my eye, a hawk catches the updraft to glide over the highway. I exhale slowly.

winter breathes, steady
spring is always a given
but we hold our breath

A haibun for Frank’s Haibun Monday prompt over at dVerse Poets Pub.

Image: pixabay.com

these darker days
I lay my thoughts
where tree shadows sprawl
boldly across the snow
they rest in the glisten
while I listen to my heart
beating to the rhythm of
the red bird’s wings
I take flight, unfettered
from the pinch of winter

A quadrille for dVerse Poets Pub. De has given us the word “pinch” to include in our 44 word poems. Doors open at 3 p.m.

were you tired of the space between?
one hand over the other
clinging tight to a rope of final reflections
white knuckled, daring yourself to let go
begging yourself to hang on?

it was only a sliver of time
the size of a pinhole
to us
“I’m ok”    .     Gone
but to you it must have felt like eternity
thoughts drawn and suspended, mid air
pain pooling, slowly rising in silence
gradually crashing, battering
until the break wall burst

sometimes I see you in desert sunsets
over sleepy canyons, under eagle wings
in restful lake ripples, and in my dreams
whenever clouds whisper your name
I listen

Sharing this for dVerse Poets Pub in response to Merril’s Poetics: August Transitions, which I’m sorry I needed to steal for a title. A therapeutic write as today marks three years from the day we lost my stepson, Brian. If I could share one thing that could possibly help others who have a loved one showing any signs of suicidal thoughts, it would be this – Don’t think it will never happen. The space between can be a blink.

National Suicide Prevention Helpline (Canada) – 1-888-456-4566 or SMS 45645

Suicide & Crisis Lifeline – Text 988 (U.S.)

Suicide & Crisis Lifeline – Text 988 (Canada – beginning Nov. 2023)

shift a little, my darling
find another angle, alien to you
you have painted me in colours
that only you can see
flat, fixed, formulated
fabricated pieces
so meticulously defined
by your jaded brush

look again, my darling
unveil my violet heart
shade me in ebony, if you must
and I trust that you must, though
I am not afraid of the darkness
moon flowers bloom in the gloom
why deny yourself sweet shadows?
they come from the light

Written for Poetics at dVerse Poets Pub. Lillian is our lovely host, sharing with us the story of Thorvald Hellesen (1888-1937) and the art of Cubism. We are choosing a painting for poetic inspiration.

Through my oversized front window I wager the weather to be warm. Again I am wrong. The sun is tricky these days, undecided on sending us to the beach or simply spotlighting the neon yellow of finches on my feeders. Crocuses attempt to poke through decayed leaves but the chill has kept them from blooming. A blue jay bounces below the century old maple searching for fallen seeds. He seems overdressed for Spring but then again, he has no choice.

I take in a few moments of stillness, waiting for nature’s next performance. Pine needles on the scotch pine muster up a little jiggle as the slightest breeze blows between them. The blue jay boldly returns with a sudden landing on the top of the feeder. His squawking is far from musical as he contemplates another dramatic manouever. He misses the tray, sending sunflower chips to the doves below. The show has only begun.

early spring still sings
fading slowly in birdsong
summer’s rehearsal

A late response to Linda’s “Late Spring” haibun prompt.

dVerse Poets Pub

are you a gift?      
my little chickadee
wings, pillow soft
flit-flutter beating
be-stilling my heart

touch down
with a pin-prick patter
tiny claws tickle my palm
your feather belly begs
for a gentle stroke

all dressed for dinner
black-capped, black bib
fancy little fellow
you stare at me in wonder
between pecks and nibbles

I stare at you in awe
blessed by your presence
lost in your charm
you are a gift
my little chickadee

For today’s Poetics, Ingrid has shared poems of gratitude and asked us to “write a poem about a special gift you have received at some time in your life.” Feel free to join in with us over at dVerse Poets Pub. Last year on my birthday, I asked my son to take me to a provincial park, to a special spot where visitors can feed the chickadees. For me, it was a most memorable gift of nature.

Today the sun takes our winter weary souls for a drive along the river. The scenery alternates between an eclectic array of waterfront homes and narrow sections where the water laps at the edges of the road. Just before the gravel dock, around the familiar curve, there is a small parking lot. Tall, naked trees stand stoic against the shoreline, their lanky limbs reaching over the banks. Despite the sun-sparkle of rippling waves, the surface of the river is still mosaic. Jagged ice islands gently sway, randomly tapping each other. A few ducks paddle bravely between them. It is January, again.

Then we see him. Like royalty and in true raptor form, he pumps his wings with slow, powerful beats. Gnarly talons cast ominous shadows below. His pure white head appears angelic but his deadly hooked beak says otherwise. Tiny birds scatter. We watch him scope the ice, laser focused. Patient. Swooping across the river without a passport from one country to another.

mallard ducks under

scavenger knows no boundaries

cross-border trade

A haibun for Open Link Night at dVerse Poets Pub. Grace is our host. Join us!

https://dversepoets.com/

Today the sky is blah-grey. The epic storm that delayed our Christmas will be easily forgotten. There is a cold front lingering but I am numb to the nip of winter.

We pack away large boxes of decorations and carry the balsam fir tree to the curb. It is still green, still thriving through it all. I pluck the uneaten gumdrops from the candy tree I playfully put together a few days earlier. They feel heavier now, like my heart.

This new year slips in without recognition. Time has barely shuffled past the twenty-seventh. We rearrange the furniture back to its original setting….before Christmas, before the storm. I collect the holiday cards displayed on the window sill, leaving only one, signed with love from my mother-in-law. It will sit here for awhile.

no calendar for death

december takes another breath

angel finds her wings

A haibun for dVerse Poets Pub in response to Kim’s prompt, ‘Fireworks and a Dripping Tap”.

where are you, my winter?

with your warrior winds

whipping on waves

candy coated tree limbs

I remember rosy red cheeks

against bleached white hills

magic carpets spinning sideways

sopping mittens, caked in snow

silence of snowflakes on tongues

screams of glee, toes numb

It’s Quadrille time over at dVerse Poets Pub. Write a poem of any style, exactly 44 words, not including the title. It must contain the word “candy” or a derivative of the word. It ‘s my pleasure to be your host today.

paint me a hazy shade of winter

colour me in winter things

I’ve heard your sunshine

smooth like legato but

more like cold weather blues

heart-bass beating with

tinkling of frozen tears

a muffled melody

trapped under ice

gift me withered roses from snow

tie them up in ribbons of your grief

for me to unravel, like a winter’s tale

I see your pain

waiting

on the other side of sunsets

heavy footprints in the snow

oh honey

…… let it go

Lillian is hosting Poetics at dVerse Poets Pub where we are blending some wintry music titles into our muse. She has given us many to choose from. I chose the following…

A Hazy Shade of Winter (Simon and Garfunkel)
A Winter’s Tale (Queen — and also The Moody Blues)”
Cold Weather Blues (Muddy Waters)
Footprints in the Snow (Bill Monroe)
Let It Go (Idina Menzel)
Roses from Snow (Emmylou Harris)
Trapped Under Ice (Metallica)
Winter Things (Ariana Grande)

He put his coffee down, gazed into her hazel eyes and asked again, “Am I a part of your heart?

“She looked down at her undisturbed croissant, pulling a few flakes from its edges. Without looking up, she said,

“I can’t breathe.”

He reached over the tattered diner table and placed his weathered hands around hers. They felt like silk. As always. He ran his fingers over the promise ring. The sun managed to dazzle the small diamonds through the streaky restaurant window.

“I don’t understand”, he whispered.

She slowly pulled her hands from his. One tear escaped, rolling over freckles to her plate.

“I feel confined between rigid walls of commitment. I don’t live in the black and white, but here… “

She paused, stared emptily at her ring, then into the pain of his eyes.

“Here, in the tender grey, I swim undisturbed.”

Prosery for dVerse Poets Pub.

Lisa has gifted us the line “Here in the tender grey, I swim undisturbed” taken from the poem “In Sullivan County” by Celia Dropkin. “Prosery” consists of prose, no longer than 144 words and must include a given line from a poem. Feel free to join in.

blossoming against the blue

of broody skies

truth will always rise

to find you

so……simply…… b-r-e-a-t-h-e

into sea salt dreams

change is brewing

stranded on the last slice of sea ice

these are the things they don’t tell us

you too will find your way

the sun will rise again

and I will be your trellis

dVerse Poets Pub

Laura has asked us to create a poem using end lines of previous written poems.

Image: pixabay.com

October sits between dying days of summer and winter’s icy breath. The maple tree in the front yard was busy last night, carpeting the lawn in retro shades of green, gold, orange and red. It reminds me of my childhood home in the 70’s where life was good. I walk across the leaves to hear the crunch and fill the bird feeder. The sun slips between tree shadows, dazzling where it can. I scan the herb garden for soup ingredients. The painted rock still sits a few feet away. “Every Child Matters”. I think about the “mush” that was served in residential schools and rationed rotten vegetables passed off as meals. I pick the last of my basil.

On the stove, scents of rosemary, thyme and oregano mingle and begin to fill the kitchen. I add the basil, give it a stir, poking gently at fresh carrots, zucchini and roma tomatoes. Contemplating whimsical additions, I open the fridge to find wilting spinach. It will do.

stolen in September

hearts descend in shades of dreams

truth will always rise

It’s Haibun Monday at dVerse Poets Pub.

The theme is soup and I am your host.

How is one September different from the others?   Rebellious red maple leaves glow between the green….as usual for these early days of fall. A familiar sky hovers in cornflower blue. A monarch flitter- flutters over black eyed suzies, gathering nectar for the epic flight. I take in his beauty but he is no stranger. As rehearsed, the potted purple petunias, bow gracefully out of summer. Like every year, I pinch off shriveled blooms as if there is hope for more. Three sisters soup simmers in the crock pot once again. The sun still flaunts like June.

But on this day, the fifteenth day of September, a handsome young man with eyes like mine, takes a beautiful young woman, places his hands in hers and says, “I do”. I think the birds sang a little sweeter. Perhaps the breeze was scented in sweet alyssum, tousling her golden curls. I am certain a slivered piece of moon peeked from light years away.

september elopes

from autumn algorithms

love, keeper of seeds

It’s Haibun Monday at dVerse Poets Pub. We have a guest host, Xenia Tran and she has asked us to “create a haibun about September and a special moment you experienced during this month or are looking forward to.”

it was all vanilla
no Tuscan sunsets oozing
over edges of Krakow nights or
glimmers of ginger and lemongrass

she prayed to garam masala gods
begging for murals of flavors
to touch her tongue
to touch her heart

days gnawed at her so gently
she let them feast
as she slumbered deep
into sea salt dreams

For Poetics: Spicing it Up.

Merril is our host and has given us some spicy words to play with!

My playground was a nearby field – dirt trails, apple orchards, small hills, tall grasses. Caterpillars, beetles, grasshoppers and ladybugs were my playmates. I’d catch them, cup them gently between my hands, observe every detail before releasing them. I remember monarchs, the sun catching their wings, landing unpredictably on plumes of blinding yellow goldenrod. I remember warmth of summer on my arms, my fair skin turning blissful brown and counting freckles on my nose. Most of all, I remember the milkweed. I was fascinated with plucking one, peeling open the neon green pod to feel the silk of seeds. Beyond fascination….perhaps an obsession.

I want to plant milkweed and memories into protective soils, bring back the monarchs, save them from their demise. I’d like, too, to plant the sweet alyssum that smells like honey and peace. I want to feed the butterflies and my soul.

Prosery for Sanaa’s prompt at dVerse Poets Pub. Write a piece of flash fiction or other prose up to or exactly 144 words. It must include the given line from a selected poem. Sanaa has chosen the line “I’d like, too, to plant the sweet alyssum that smells like honey and peace” from “What I would like to grow in my Garden” by Katherine Reigel.

Photo taken yesterday on a walk through a local conservation area.

you are wind-driven
all trumped-up
on erroneous energies
captured only to collide

truth stands still as rock
no need to move or prove

I watch the white caps
curl, gaining strength and
wonder when your fallacies
will shatter like the waves

Sarah is hosting Poetics:

The four elements

dVerse Poets Pub

Photo: yesterday evening at the beach

grief screams, then hides, in hearts it creeps
we wait for silent buds to speak
secrets that should never be
lay deep beneath canopies
angel blossoms restless, stir
think of you the way you were
grief screams, then hides in hearts it creeps
we wait for silent buds to speak

Grace is hosting MTB at dVerse Poets Pub, bringing us the “Octelle”, created by Emily Romano.

squandered moments of July
slip subito through my fingers,
time personifies, gets hungry
and I am its prey
its always been this way

blight has taken the tomatoes
again, spring dreams deadened
and withering herbs will get
more than their wish
tonight, torrential style

“dark and foreboding”, he says
as he gambles on grilling
under gun metal skies
and here I lie, glaring at August
daring me into the fall

should I be moved by hues of gold
embrace the turn of nature’s path?
I resist, holding fast, for
Autumn’s shifty ways have
pulled me off the edge of summer

It’s Open Link Night at dVerse Poets Pub (3 p.m. EST)

Join us to learn more about the Lunar Codex.….and link up a poem!

This one was inspired by Tuesday’s Poetics with Sanaa Rizvi.