If I should forget

Turn me towards the sea
Where nacre of morning is pure ivory

Kiss me with your liquid tongue,
with your words, a whirlwind's blue fire

I trace the gull's ancient flight
nadir to where you are, map of thousand islands,

sweet bread of corn, a journey's home
All the trees will be fragrant with dark honey of spring

And I would fly straight
to your arms, dripping with naked flowers from sea

Photography by Brooke Shaden

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight - Hosted by Gayle ~

A Sonnetina Due, a poem in 10 lines, with 5 couplets, no meter.

Thanks for the visit ~

On autumn's last day

I.    For Flash Fiction Friday 

You smell of sea tide this morning,
Rough, unpinned edges, eager to soar away
Stretching wings in grey-blue sky, hearing only heartbeats from warmer shores

But I am unlike those geese migrating southward 
Season after season, roots dig deeper, leaves huddle closer 
For the last time,  I taste the plump pomegranate seeds you offer me    


II.   For D'verse Poetics

I will wait here by river's edge -
Wrapped in heated blanket of us
Sunlight flickers low in white mist
Maple trees still, breathless statues

As winter drapes like bridal veil 
I will wait here by river's edge -
Writing poems and letters to you
As you sail, wingspan gliding wide  

The days and nights collide like dream -
Icy crystals drops, snow castles -   
As I wait here by river's edge
Writing songs, words flowing like wine 

Ferments the anticipation
My hands weave our pictures and words
Into the emerald-spring frame -- 
Here, I will wait by river's edge


Posted for:   Flash Fiction Friday - Tell a story in 55 words - For the G-man.
And for D'verse Poets Pub - FormforAll - Quarterns - Written in 4 quatrains.

I was driving the 10 lane freeway yesterday and saw a flock of geese flying southward.  Winter, though light, is upon us in the city.   Thanks for the visit.

picture credit:   here

Preparing to fall

fear trickles
slow descent 

of black and red 
dewdrops, pale sheen

reflects diminishing energy    
under duvet of gathering night 

rusting slowly, i recall 
fleeting moments like taste

of curry powder in choco-
late mousse, arching

of limbs in deep pleasure,
sated lips under the sweet rain-

waiting is short -   
before i could soak earthly flavors -  

the first frost falls,  
its white and delicate hands heavy on my throat -    

no mental preparation is adequate
for the sharp cut of separation, raw-stained  

pain stinging eyes, water rising 
and flooding the fragile chest --  

bare of seeds and thirsty blooms,
now crumbling faster than sands-- 

it was never a question of 
if and when, but how

in grieving and accepting,  
i fall with a graceful sweep--


Posted for:   D'verse Poets Pub - Poetics:  Preparation is the key ~ Thanks for the visit ~ Sorry if I am slow in going around but I can't seem to see the D'verse Mr Linky :-(  

picture credit:  here

The fire within

i wake up to pitter patter of rain
and bare sight of you --
bereft of leaves,
dark limbs jutting in the sky window

how quickly cold dawn has sapped
green and fresh colors --
i see spidery lines,
delicate russet edges,   

small scar on my left knee, 
one-inch stitch on left breast,
frail back, slight bump on forehead -
all reminders not to jump on impulse
and throw caution recklessly -  

in time
i have become 
more of a tree
than a carefree spring cloud-  

slightly drooping 
eyebrows, tiny freckles under eyes,
bearing fruits and laughter lines,
with small mole on right cheek,
which still keeps growing -

i wear them all - 
120 pounds,  long wavy hair -
in graceful acceptance of season's passage 

but not forgetting 
to rise    
every morning (specially work days) 
and run
after the fire dream --
  
your feverish breath on my face --- 

 

“As if you were on fire from within. The moon lives in the lining of your skin.” by Pablo Neruda
Posted for:   D'verse Poets Pub - Poetics: Self Portrait - Thanks for the visit -
Shared with Poets United~

picture credit:  here

Dreaming of pumpkins

I.  Late Spring

On  the  warm  soft  soil

I lay, pale pumpkin seed 

By garden’s edge – I bloom

Orange cheeks, bee stung lips    

II.  Mid-Summer

I thirst for rain  and  sun   

To drench dry olive skin

Bend me over several times   

Growing round and long vines

III. Early Autumn

Fragrant, ripe - you pluck me

Peeling layers to taste cream

With sweetness of golden pears-

You come like swooning leaf

Iv.  Winter night

Hold  the  core  of  me

Dry and cold, sealed envelope  

Amidst  white landscape, I sleep  

Dreaming of spring    --  and you 

Posted for:  D'verse Poets Pub - Its About Time - I made pumpkin soup with Bosc pears - heavenly ~ and Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Sunday's Challenge - Chinese poetry form is Jue-ju 

Line length: 5 words per line
Lines per stanza: 4
Theme: Often suggestive of erotic love
Rhyme scheme: couplets or unrhymed

Picture credit:   here

Not quite autumn

i will pretend to be like autumn
falling gently to ground, but you know this:
unshaded, wild chrystanthemums
bloom in our arms like

a reluctant leaf clinging to bough,
sticky guava jam on crusty bread,
sweet as rice cakes, steamed in banana leaves

i will pretend to be like autumn
pink-eyed in the pumpkin patch, trying hard
not to remember the love notes

your scribbled on my neck and
back in slow circles, dripping ink,
carving memories of heated afternoons

i will pretend to be like autumn
ripe apple cider, plump as blackberries
until my journal is full of leaves, drenched in the rain,    

remembering your eyes
blazing like summer sun,
your skin, tangy as sliced yellow-green mangoes

i will pretend to be like autumn
mellowed orange, nibbling the edge of us slowly,
but always a foot wedged on closing door  

we're not finished, not yet

Posted for:   D'verse Poets Pub:   Autumn chill is in the air - Thanks for the prompt Mary ~








Photo credit:  Photo by Oleg Kosirev

this autumn day

autumn leaves are still curled
in breasts of maple trees, 
dewy wet from yesterday’s downpour

black crows circle outside patio, 
eyes on wayward crumbs from grill, 
hovering our conversation:     
accident, coma   

we sit like windmills, unmoving,  
as the sun bristles our skin, 
fragile glass on    

crumpled napkins, 
we swallow down our throats: 
mother's fears   


picture credit:   Posted for D'verse Poets Pub:   Symbolism

and Flash Fiction Friday - Tell a story in 55 words - For the G-man.

We received the sad news this morning that our colleague's daughter died after being in coma due to a car accident.  She was a young woman,full of promise.  How fragile life is ~   

Wishing you happy day and blessed weekend.    

November days

the 11th hour is near

silver cloudy sky, bare forlorn trees 

fallen topaz leaves on auburn ground 

she lingers 

haunted by memories draping her white wrap  

unaccepting of winter's breath on horizon 

she listens

music strains of spring's dances 

violin strings plucking her autumn's soul

still, she hopes 

clutching painting of chrysanthemums,   

basket of wine and bread, eternal love, he said

the whistling train is calling 

almost the end of long journey, near the last pages 

riveted to pulsing words, capturing imagination

he pauses.... beguiled by her serene smile,  
an unturned page, November days framed,  


forget her, he could not      

Posted for The Gooseberry Garden:   Poetry Picnic - November, change, winter, hope.   
For this prompt, I have used symbols and meaning for the month of November.
Though cooler now, we are experiencing a relatively "warm" November.   No sign of snow yet.  
Shared with Imaginary Garden with Real Toads:   OpenLinkNight


picture credit:   http://cristania.tumblr.com/post/12245366056
Source:   http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/November

Clinging to you

kiss me anew, here

before the last maple leaf

falls, and first snowflake

wets my pale lips, stilling time 

twisted in salty drenched arms 

hurl me anew, here

before the last rose petal

dips, and first winter 

drop caresses my bare hips

unfolding, clinging to you  

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Form for All - Man’yoshu Poetry – Hosted today by Jane Kohut-Bartels (Lady Nyo). The challenge is to write the Somon category of  Man’yoshu Japanese Poetry. In this category, the tanka style poems refer to love and longing. 
and Poetry United: Thursday Think Tank - Waning days of Fall


picture credit:  http://littlepawz.tumblr.com/