the last night

upon purple sea    
       silver moon slowly rises,  
bathing the lovers 
       entwined in rapture kiss, white  
oblivious to eyes:
       owl, frog, sea turtles, raccoon, 
last night under cherry tree 




she folds white letter
origami boat sailing
      towards eastern shores, 


kneeling in silent prayer
as arrow wings rip blue sky  

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub:   FormForAll:   On Free Verse :   To disguise the structured poem so it looks like a free verse form.   I have written Japanese poetry forms - choka /tanka.  I feel a bit rusty with these forms but its a good exercise after a long day at work ~    

picture credit:  here

Be still

be still 
let the moment stains your hand
as crushed grapes slowly sip the oak barrel
spring's first blush, soft and tender


on my cheeks,  as I reach for you
listen to the breathing of white carnations
and cries of red breasted robins by window,
falter the wind, tarry the leaves  


be still 
before my pen dips into the inkwell 
smearing the pages with ruby lines, 
a baton raised, before the orchestra


plunges into the roaring sea,
headlong into eye of black storm,
each wave and thrust, unrepeated, a moment 
be still 




Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight - every Tuesday starting at 3 pm.
It's crazy day at work, so I will be visiting you guys later ~ Thanks for your visit ~

Post picture inspiration:   here

A Memorial Day

red poppy

pinned black on lapel,

mother's pride 

~0~0

silent guns

on field of poppies, 

son's salute 

~0~0

    

bronze coffin

flag wrapped by father,

cloudy sky    

~0~0

field of white crosses, 

red poppies grow row by row,

she sings bravely, free

~0~0

red poppy,
  soft on widow's lips,      

beating heart

    Posted for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads:   OpenLinkNight

And D'verse Poets Pub:   Memorial Day

Picture credit:   here

At the fair

it was the thrills and screams 
that lured her to join the fair grounds
of high wire acts, defying gravity    


the applause thundering after hushed breaths,
swinging the line with nerves of steel   
was her opium rush, filled with crushed ice    


but today, her chest is a desert  
moat of sand clings to trembling fingers
from nearly squishing the squirrel that unexpectedly ran 
towards her car on the road for a massage appointment  


she almost got a whiplash and saw firecrackers lighting up 
the summer sky,  falling from the balance beam spitting 
grey from all the stress, but she remembered to  


keep head back, arms loose, belt tight, as the wheel
unexpectedly plummetted to ground in lightning flash


the image of blind boy, playing the violin, thoughts visible as 
sun gazing so intensely, passes through her like an electric shock,        


the plastic car seats rock and spin in dizzy bumpy ride,  
numbed cold, she tries to stand upright again,   


her lover left last night,  
stealing all love poems she labored, 
her father's heart is feebly weak, 
from eating all the smoked pork ribs


but she slaps on the clown's paint, flashes a smile
the show is starting, the paying crowd is clapping  


you don't need a fortune teller
to tell you that time is a river,


and 
life is not (a) fair. 


Posted for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads:  Snap Baby 
and D'verse Poets Pub:  Poetics:   Fun fair 


picture credit:   here

Summer flight

I leap straight into your arms
without looking down
as if I knew you would catch me:
caterpillar hands, dragonfly wings


I gaze at your lips as if I have kissed
them a thousand times in my head, slowly
my fingers travel to your waist and hips,
as if I knew them intimately, smoothly


the seas I have crossed are red
coral reefs still cling to my russet face 
I even smelled death on an old man's tears
and green is my favorite color      

my wings bring me here today 
I don't pretend to understand you wholly 
except that your words storm the shores of me, 
sailing my white tidy boats to voyages unknown  


hold my face cresting on your chest, 
it's warm as the summer grapes 


   
A poetic response to :   Your hands by Pablo Neruda 
"When your hands leap
towards mine, love,
what do they bring me in flight?"


For the D'verse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight - every Tuesday at 3pm EST

Thanks for the visit and smiles ~   Happy summer day ~


Picture credit:  here

Last dance

the 

summer 

sizzled to your 

orgasmic singing

love to love you baby

got us all blushing and excited 

who could forget those disco nights, 

hot stuff was a rash, untempered seduction 

it was your throaty, lusty vocals that got us

thinking we want to be bad bad girls

stepping out for some mindless fun   
dimming all the throbbing lights    

swaying hips to pulsing beat

shaking inhibitions away   

hold me closer

let's dance 

tonight

Posted for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads:  OpenLinkNight:  I am not a Gemini, but rather a Taurus  :-)   

Farewell to the Disco Queen:   Donna Summer:   RIP (1948 - 2012);   (I am also sad that Robin Gibbs died.)    Here is one of her famous piece, Last Dance.   

An interesting article I read about her:  Queen of the Disco by Mirth and Motivation  
picture credit:   here

Searching for you

veil  
covers 
face, empty
of verses, words
my fingers search their angles, edges, curves


black kohl eyes close, imagining your touch
unsieved grape juice,
swirling wine
heady
drop 


lips    
passion 
burst of spring
flowering   red   
torching pen, I listen to your breathing    

Posted for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads 

Poetry form:  Tetractys, a poetic form invented by Ray Stebbing, consists of at least 5 lines of 1, 2, 3, 4, 10 syllables (total of 20). Tetractys can be written with more than one verse, but must follow suit with an inverted syllable count.   For Triple Tetractys: the pattern is:  1, 2, 3, 4, 10, 10, 4, 3, 2, 1, 1, 2, 3, 4, 10.   

It's a long weekend here in Canada.   Thanks for your visits and smiles.

Seeds

Here in the farm house, they lie  

ashen cold, dreaming of cherry trees

and plum fruits in summer fest, sweet sap

to rapture the bees and bloom almond trees

Here in the seed shop, they curl 

in their shells for the turn of tide

or the break of dawn, withered dry, 

scentless, dandelions dust in the field 

Here in my hands, they drink the rain
deeply inhaling the river bed, dappled sun     
until their eyes open, a sleeping forest 

no more, gifting me a thousand words 

Post and Inspiration:    The Seed Shop by Muriel Stuart

Posted for:   OpenLinkNight of Imaginary Garden with Real Toads
and D'verse Poets Pub, every Tuesday

We are having a bright spring day, and all the shops here are selling flowers and seeds.  
Thanks for the visits and smiles ~

Where the wild things are

As I grow older,

I want to be    

The forest tree

With yellow vines 

Reaching not for the sky

But for the humid soil

Where mushroom feet  

And moss carpet covers

Secret trails and broken twigs

I want to shake leaves

Not only during autumn  

But when I want to dance with

The wild things hanging on branches,

Stripped of pelt,

Smelling of rain sap,

I breathe their sounds, raw   

As their long whiskers, dark as the sun


Turning me into a white wolf

Growling into my lover’s ears  
Like thunder on a stormy night
A beast with a coarse tongue     

Hungry for open fields, 
Thirsty for ripening moon,  
Native drums ripping pages

Into the night,  
I run 

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub:   Poetics :   Maurice Sendaks and Wild Things 
 “Inside all of us is HOPE. 
Inside all of us is FEAR. 
Inside all of us is ADVENTURE. 
Inside all of us is A WILD THING.” ~Maurice Sendak  

The moon

i draw my words
in your arms each night
sometimes the verse knots  

silver    strands  in  your  hair
sometimes the  phrases disappear
under  the  grooves  of  your cheeks
sometimes the  lines fold under the back
 of your knees or the arch of your foot
oftentimes  the   letters freely  fall
black  sea  pearls  on  your   hands


raw,     unpolished,     unmetered


your fingers touch coarse  edges 
inhaling red sea  and  oak forest 

  moon comes alive on your skin   


i write again
  

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub:   Open Link Night

Doors open every Tuesday starting at 3pm EST.   Thanks for the visits and smiles.     

picture credit: here 

Everybody knows

everybody knows you love her

hand raised to be highest bidder

of her mercury affections, 

pinned above your right shoulder,
                                                  on the blue dipper     

everybody knows you love her

twisting your tongue to a babbler 

forgetting everyone but words

dripping from her ink, wounded sword, 
                                                            i disappear    

everybody knows you love her

every curve and line, her whispers

cutting insides like acid rock

wrapping your bruised heart in beanstalks,

                                                              all knew, but her     

  

Poetry form:   Florette
Rhyme scheme: a, a, b, a 
Meter (syllable count): 8, 8, 8, 12 
Fourth line requirement of internal (b) rhyme scheme, on syllable 8.
The completed poem should consist of two or more stanzas. 


Posted for Imaginary Garden and Poetry Jam:   Theme on Everybody Knows by Canadian singer, Leonard Cohen:    I wrote this in the context of admiring an artist but if you have other thoughts, please let me know.   Thanks for the visit.   



Picture credit:   here

His music

icy wind blows
urban noise, termed as pop music,
from the car radio into the grey freeway
when
out of nowhere
his voice,    
husky pelt from lost valleys, 
croons 
slicing cement pavements into
pools of rain and deep ravines
i fall, into his arms, 
sucking   
slice of lime, salt and tequila 
my belly caving as his words hit the 
gravel peaks of love and tragedy,
my thigh pivoting to his beat, 
i exhale slowly 
the car, greased with his music,
races through the streets   




Posted for:   D'verse Poets Pub:   Our music 
picture credit:   here

Though he is already dead, Elvis Presley is the first male artist I became very familiar with, through my mother who played all of his songs after his death.   Thanks to old movie clips and links, I remember him as a young and soulful crooner.                

The road

why is it sometimes we don't see the road

paved with bad intentions, empty of nodes

  we stumble like drunk bitches in white heels

eager to  show off  how  fast  we can  steal

why is  it  sometimes we  lose our course

even with a map, we seek mad discourse

taunting the sky and  burning  our bridges, 

until we see death's eyes through the ridges

why is it  we  need to  leave and  go  far

to know  who we are,  so far from a star 

falling to depths, like used cigarette stick  

we robbed ourselves, hollowed soul, so tragic

to seek again the road we thought so small  

  but  holds  our peace,  we find, it  was all     

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub:    FormForAll:   Clarian Sonnets:   composed of seven sequentially rhymed couplets – aa bb cc dd ee ff gg – in pentameter, or ten syllables per line.

and Imaginary Garden with Real Toads:    Challenge on the Roads 


Picture credit:   here