A flower of the midnight garden,
I am cocooned in dreams and lullabies.
My petals are words opening to the moon
(aching to be born) –
The solitude of night is home,
The silence is sweetness welling
anointing me with its perfume.
Here I am, a thought, a bud
waiting to be
beneath the vast expanse of galaxies.
I am mist that rises
when daybreak comes.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Ah, it’s been a while.
A party of blue jays flew over my head
into the forest, going home for the night
I chase happiness flying with fresh wings
and dream of it well into the night
I ran here and there until the lights went out
Sitting by my window, I stared down the night
Stars glistened, the half moon smiled
night birds sang, what a peaceful night
quiet descended upon my spirit
I floated in the solitude of night
I only now see you in my dreams
The past comes back in the dark of night
That I could hold your hand again
My hand slipped into the emptiness of night
Moments by and by pass into oblivion
Light dawning breaks the hold of night
__________________________________
The first three couplets of this piece were written in the summer of 2019 after I surprised a band of blue jays in the yard. It was a happy moment and the inspiration for the title “Happiness”. I did not know how to proceed so I abandoned these lines until today. Perhaps, I needed things to happen in my life to find the next lines. I don’t think they fit with the original title though, but I can’t think of another one that is more suitable. So, Happiness it is.
Linking with DVERSE Poets’ Pubs’ Open Link Night.
I speak of wealth –
of golden hearts and golden time
Wherever I am is grandeur –
golden sunrise, golden grains
goldenrods, golden shrines
I am the magic of August nights
when fireflies flit about
In the gloom of winter nights
I bring hope twinkling from the heights
Truly, I am beauty
and treasure much desired
a desire that need be reined
as old King Midas
painfully learned
____________
Written in response to Mish’s DVERSE Poetics Prompt: True Colors
The counters are still empty
The cold floor is still clean
The sky is still grey –
The furnace wakes
sputtering and clanging as steam builds up.
I set the coffee to percolate
flour the counter
for the brioche dough prepared last night
to be kneaded and braided
and tucked in the pans
for one final rise.
Light spreads on the horizon
The children stir in their beds;
I take my first sip of coffee
savoring the last bits of silence –
The day begins.
__________
I wrote this for Grace’s Meeting the Bar prompt – Setting for DVerse Poets. I am not sure this meets the bar, but I am certainly glad that I got to write somehow (one way or the other) and to participate in the prompts again. I am also fairly certain of the joy of learning how to make bread after giving up on it decades ago because I could not proof yeast. Learning somehow set me free as now, I can make my favorite breads. The one above is brioche which take hours and hours to make.
This morning, yesterday’s snow glistened
under the rising sun, and autumn
berries bowed beneath their icy crown.
A cardinal from the treetop sang
filled with color the bare winterscape
my spirit danced to the glorious sound
From tree to tree, little sparrows chirped
the consecration of this new day;
Their carefree joy let no one usurp.
No amethyst skies may come my way
yet miracles are in the commonplace –
“May I have the heart to see them?” I pray.
The dips and arcs of a bumblebee’s flight
The curve of a blade of grass laden with dewdrops
The twirl of tendrils adorning pea and watermelon vines
My pen traces
Its gel ink glides
Smoothly tracing the lines and curls
Now a flower
Or a butterfly
Morphing into words
Building a poem
Until the once empty pages
Come alive with images
Ever a poor facsimile
Of the beauty that inspired them.
This piece was inspired by DVerse’s Meeting the Bar prompt – stream of consciousness writing. Below is the original of the piece in my own version of chicken scratches.
My little sailboat flounders
In a sea of whispers
Has it forgotten its course
Amidst so many voices
Saying go north, or south, or east, or west?
My little sailboat spins
In the currents.
Is there hope for my sailboat
Ensorcelled as it is
By sweet-voiced sirens
Harboring evil schemes?
Alas! Not the pull of the moon
Nor the push of the winds
Could set my sailboat free.
But, if it could be still
And remember
The cause for its voyage
May she cut its way through the chaos
And find its moorings at last.
—————————
Written for DVerse’s Come Sail prompthttps://dversepoets.com/2020/08/11/come-sail/ and Instagram’s @fallspoetry
#augustfalls20 sea of whispers, pull of the moon.
The dark clouds did not bring the rain
They teased, only to drift away.
Thirsty flowers were left wanting
to quench their thirst on that humid day.
The grasshoppers went on playing
The dark clouds did not bring the rain
But the ants kept on working
building up their pile of summer grain.
Why would a caterpillar care?
It slept soundly in its cocoon.
The dark clouds did not bring the rain,
My heart needed consolation
For the promise that was not kept.
That my eyes see the silver lining –
Perhaps, it is all for the best
The dark clouds did not bring the rain.
Linking with DVerse Poets’ Pub’s Open Link Night.
A caterpillar in its cocoon, so are we in our bodies biding the moment to be a butterfly, free among the flowers silent majesty tender voice of high summer flying into fall an empty cocoon you flew like a butterfly never to return
Written for DVERSE POETS’ PUB’s Meeting the Bar: Haiku Sequence Prompt
Especially remembering my father who passed on earlier in the summer.
Summers are made of these - butterflies frolicking in the sun zucchini growing on the ground barefoot children playing in the yard swooping on brambles like hungry birds grabbing berries with eager hands popsicles dripping on sweaty chin children dancing under the summer rain
Written for DVERSE POETS’ Quadrille prompt: Bramble
Hello Friends, I hope all of you are ok. I am still here even if suffering from lack of creative inspiration. 🙂 
My treasures are a visual prayer my eyes delight to see: a garden full of flowers a pocketful of butterflies, flying free; broken seashells smelling of the shore flowered teapots from days of yore cards and notes bearing good wishes faded photos of familiar faces Then, there’s the warmth of sunshine and the freshness of falling rain God’s promise in a rainbow and laughter’s sweet refrain My soul exalts when remembering these common miracles, to say the least. Of gratitude my prayers sing its cadence clearing through the mist.
Linking with DVERSE POETS’ PUB’s Open Link Night
The above poem was inspired by Instagram’s #julyfalls20 prompts: broken seashells and pocketful of butterflies
