Saturday 31 August 2013

The master chef

he fancied me
like a red plum
cream souffle 

pouring hot milk
& vanilla into my yolk
he stirred me  
rapidly on bowl

to sugary drumbeats, 
i parted my lips into
a believer, sieving  
edges until my skin 
melted butter & salt  

i rose 
warm golden,
to soft peaks,
dusted icing ready 
for the precipice,
soulful bite  

but all I heard 
were crickets
drowning the moon's song,  
as his palette knife   
climbed my neck 
framed in velvet ribbon   

Posted for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Inspired by William Carlos Williams work
and Get Listed - Of Catnips and moons

Picture credit:  here

Thursday 22 August 2013

color of last night's moon

she is 
of  his face drawn 
silver and shadow, turning 
towards  her  by  the window-
at last,  the mystery will be  revealed
holding  her breath,  she imagines a
cold mask of death, when at last 
the  moon's  gaze  is complete    
she is awed by his soulful 
eyes, color of sadness 
equal to her

Picture credit:   Elena Kalis

Tuesday 20 August 2013

Of delicate aches

tangled in dry leaves
we reach for our words: rain
soft, moon painted night
of thousands origami
cranes, falling as stars: wholly

these delicate aches-  
we cradle them as the sky  
ignites a fireball
as summer days wane, melts red   
rose petals like snow: pearled black

Poetry form: (Japanese)   Tanka (5-7-5-7-7)
Posted for D'verse Poets Pub:   OpenLinkNight - Thanks for the visit ~

Saturday 17 August 2013

my letter to the sun

Dear Sun,

What must I do to
burn myself everyday ?

Not palest flicker 
Nor fluttering grasping glow 

But the deep flare,
spiralling fire like tentacles 

rooting from every cell
waking up each molecular grain

That deep hunger
That straddles the everyday

Free of regrets & shame
Without shape & numbers       

Do I take this pale skin and color it 
golden wheat, bursting of bird seeds   

Do I curl my feet into a giant snowball
& hurl myself over the edge of a mountain

Do I leave my lover to
feel the deep ache & hollow of love

Must I lie alone in my bed
to pine for passion, knotted wild & fierce

Must I live in the desert
to treasure my footprints, both steady & faint       

Must I cut my tongue, walk with a limp 
& become blind, to savor each dewdrop

Each bloom, each burning kiss 
a blue sky, a thunderstorm, a moon swell

What must I do to
burn myself everyday  ?


Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - We are writing letter-style poem or epistle ~   Hosted by Mary

Happy weekend ~

Picture credit:

Saturday 10 August 2013

Loving a cowboy

The morning cracks crisp 
indigo & lavender dawn by fire stove

Across the barn, I hear your crooning  
to horses & rustling of hay stacks 

Soon, there is rhythmic beat of hooves,
jiggling of spurs & slapping of saddle leathers-

I always thought of cowboys 
as smooth & handsome as the movies - 

But your hands are rough dirty
With wrestling & roping the cattle 

You don't swagger with your hat 
as you limp slightly on the left foot    

But you tell me I will always see
sunrise & sunset over the prairie with you 

Hear the meadowlarks sing
from the sagebrush & smell the earth

Fresh as summer rain
Soft as wild berries, fragrant as red plums 

You make me laugh, deep 
belly laughter, sounds of home 

wafting down my cowboy heart-  


Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Cowboy Poetry

Inspiration from:   Loving a Cowboy

Saturday 3 August 2013

The summer forecast

The rain came, not as soft feathers 
   but hard glass, shattering silver stones 

Against the window pane, rattling noises
   echoing the sudden shift of wind & sky   

I peer at thick curtain of water
   wishing my hands to part & braid    

fibrous & willful knots into a carpet of grass,  
  docile as dandelions waving away their fluffy veils - 

The forecast is a heated discussion:
  where to find & what colors of umbrellas to use, 

how far to drive away from city's thrumming,
  how deep to venture into the forest's bellybutton-

We become volatile as the weather, forget-
  ful of recipes (lemons have dried in silver bowl) -

The trees are brimming with our words:
  today is soft as milk, tomorrow is tart as green apples  

The days bend to whims of the clouds
  And heeds not the gravity & chances of graphs, we   

Make one - swimming with the sun today:
  bare skin, orange wet & drizzled with sands -

Posted for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Sunday's Challenge:  Sara Teasdale

Shared with Poetry Pantry ~

Have a lovely weekend ~

picture credit:  here