OFW

In the blazing heat
 of a Middle eastern sun
 he toils for hours
 away from his family -
 young daughters and wife
 loved from a distance.

Birthdays came and birthdays went
 ten years had gone by
 hugs and kisses were given
 through their Facebook posts
 accompanied by pictures
 with happy faces
 concealing their longing hearts.

Each bear the sadness
 for dreams of a better life -
 good education
 for the girls, now young women
 little luxuries
 providing simple pleasures
 and good memories
 as he can give from afar.

He waits and he works
 his hopes in the desert sands
 to be home at last
 assuaging homesickness
 with virtual presence
 each moment it's possible
 'til no screen is between them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thanks to Gayle’s Dverse prompt – The Choka – I am glad to finally break a blogless spell.  Lack of time (to think, writer, and visit blogs) and inspiration kept me away for weeks.  I do not know how often I can post with school resuming and a needy baby  starting to walk, but I hope to keep this page and friendships alive somehow.  Ah, my belated wishes for a happy and wonderful new year to all of you.

The inspiration for this piece is a cousin who now works in Israel and has not visited his family for a long time.  The title, OFW, means Overseas Filipino Worker which the Philippines, due to her economic situation, has plenty of.

 

Meanwhile, the Choka, according to Gayle, is a Japanese form poetry that tells a story.  It has an indefinite number of lines but the lines alternate between 5 and 7 syllables.  The poem ends with an extra seven syllable line.  For more of Choka, please visit the link above.

 

LATE NOVEMBER (WPC: It’s Not This Time of Year Without)

apples-and-snow

The sun retires at 4 o’clock in this part of the world up north
The branches, shorn of leaves, sport some snow for a new winter coat
Forgotten apples, still crisp, shiver in the November sky
And those who neither reap nor sow can feast just like you and I.

At six o’clock it still dim, oh! how the sun takes its time to rise
Well, who will want to play out in the yard that’s slowly turning to ice?
Except perhaps for those chipmunks foraging the woods for some nuts
And, chittering, store them away in some hole in the tree trunk.

WPC

THE LAST LEAF (A Quadrille)

I’m the last leaf in the tree
why was I chosen to be alone
where’s the joy
in mornings getting colder and darker
or in robin’s songs
getting fainter and fainter
That I’m a survivor
means nothing
when each breath
only delays the inevitable

last-leaf
You may call me weird but when I read about survivalists, I often ask “In the event of apocalypse, what’s the point of surviving? There is beauty in going with the majority of humanity. It’s a little selfish, but the latter spares one the pain of losing everybody and dealing with a world that is markedly different from the one that was destroyed.”

DVerse Poets’ Quadrille #21 – Breath

THE AGE OF WONDERS (WPC: Magic)

jonjur
That moment
when I caught him
watching leaves
falling from the trees
and reaching out
with his little arms

That moment
when I saw him
snapping a hawkweed flow’r
from its stem
and staring at it
laying on his hand
for however long

that moment
when he looks at me
his lips parting
into a tentative smile
his eyes bright
with questions
he cannot ask

is magic
pure and sweet
that bring wonders
to a jaded heart.
Is there anything greater
than watching the world unfold
through the eyes of innocence?

WPC: magic

A MOMENT WITH SILENCE

bench
I want to hear Silence
winding its way in the crowd
picking up the noise 
and zipping them  in his bag.

I would like to hear him sing
in the treetops and on the ground
accompanied only by birds
carrying their rhythm 
to the clouds.

I would love Silence
to sit with  me on the bench
tell me stories I'll never hear 
while the children screamed
and the world bickered.

It's a lovely day when Silence visits 
and wraps me in his embrace
that bathes me in tranquil currents
quickening my heartbeat
to the softness of a flower's breath
or the glorious voice of God
indwelling in my soul.


DVERSE's POETS PUB Open Link Night 

LITTLE RED CABOOSE (WPC: Tiny)

little-red-caboose
This little red caboose is part of my oldest son’s collection of trains. He used to love trains but now that he is in his tweens, he does not play with them anymore. I was aiming for the look that I see in those fabulous photos using miniature cars and such. There is so much to learn but I had fun trying. 🙂
Toys sit in the bins in disarray, moldy and sad
the hands that caressed them are never around
the mind that send them to wondrous tours
no longer turned  nor propelled  their gears
The tracks have been broken
there are no more tickets to neverland
Toys and child have reached that most dreaded time - 
the autumn of childhood has arrived
adventures that only imagination unlocked
have now been  banished to the clouds
with a child-man's sneer and some derision
Oh how quickly the little boy has grown
but while he forgets his little boy dreams
they will ever be kept by the toys in the bin.


WPC:  Tiny