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A POEM

wINTER mOON

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.

For DVERSE POETS’ PUB’s Open Link Night.

DOODLES

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.

SAILBOAT

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

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.

BUTTERFLY


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.

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

TREASURES


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

WILDFLOWER

Not the queenly rose that rules a garden
not the pristine lily that adorns saintly hands
not the cheerful sunflower, nor fragrant jasmine
but a wildflower, unheralded, unseen, I am.

Obscurity is the meadow where I grow
The wealth of the earth is my bed
I dream beneath the stars’ watchful glow
and wake to the birds’ serenade.

He who planted me crowns me with dew
and sends butterflies to kiss my cheeks.
What more could a flower ask?
Serenity is my lot. I have more than enough.

~~~~~~

I am trying to overcome a blogging/writing block.  Hopefully, I can be more active with blogging during the summer when school is out.

For DVERSE’s Meeting the Bar – I am, The First Person Narrative prompt.

 

ISOLATION

Days fold into each other –
amorphous monotony beats within walls.
I am the hands of a tuneless clock
constantly moving in circles.

The outside world is as far as an arm
stretched out of the window,
so within reach, so out of reach
isolation crescendoes –

the skies are overcast and grey
spring flowers are blooming unseen
mallards and geese frolic in the pond
oblivious to corona’s ill wind.

fear-laden prayers rise to Heaven –
when will we be free and terror contained?
The smell of baking bread wafts in the kitchen;
the Angelus bells toll their benediction.

How are you all?  I hope that you are all well and healthy.  To those who are sick, I pray for your quick recovery.  Take care all of you.  We live in crazy times.  Hang in there.  This too shall pass.

 

Let nothing disturb you,
Let nothing frighten you,
All things pass away:
God never changes.
Patience obtains all things.
He who has God
Finds he lacks nothing;
God alone suffices.

~ St. Teresa of Avila

BENEATH THE MOONLIGHT

mOONLIGHT

BENEATH THE MOONLIGHT

Walk with me beneath the moonlight –
We’ll enjoy some moments on our own
while the children’s dreams are taking flight –
Walk with me beneath the moonlight.
We’ll remember when we were alone
dreaming of love. In the dark of night
walk with me. Beneath the moonlight,
we’ll enjoy some moments on our own.

 

_____

For DVERSE’s Meeting the Bar:  Almost a Triolet

DUST

Monument

The dust that settles
on the ground is the dust
that marks my forehead,
the dust that will be deep
beneath some graven mark.

From dust, we are
formed, to dust, we are
restored. Who will remember
what was there once
when everything that is
in the end, is what was?

Who will find the future
when the present is lost
to time? Eternity awaits
him who leaves his dust behind.

~~~~~~

For DVERSE;s Poetics Prompt:  Impermanence

Dust, because Ash Wednesday