This desert road feels lonely.
No cars are going through.
Although the storm has passed us by,
Dark clouds still dominate the sky.
I’ll have to check with you.
The land is bare about us.
Our wasteland’s freshly wet,
But there’s that rainbow still in reach.
New seedlings take a risk and teach
That we’re not over yet.
Linked to Saturday’s Image Write #4 hosted by Bekkie Sanchez.
Image by Gene Blevins of Reuters from an article by Phil Blicker.
Light can come from anywhere.
The Sun won’t interfere
Though earlier it owned the sky.
The Moon is full. The buildings rise.
The snow-like stars and star-like snow
Reminds one of the cold.
There is a bridge from here to there
And back again from there to here
Off-center and below
That maps attempt to document.
Is there a narrative in this?
Has someone sent a secret kiss
That sets in motion someone bold?
Is there somewhere some consciousness
That daydreams as the night grows old?
This night’s still young too wise to care.
It’s cloud-hazed, bright and anywhere.
Linked to dVerse OLN hosted by Grace.
Photography: “Red, White and Dark” by the author.
This was a field not long ago.
Patterned houses face a street
With quarter-acre lawns or so
And landscaped trees make it complete.
The mailman stops at every home.
You’ll need a car to get somewhere.
Like stars out there we shine alone
In tiny castles all our own
But love will find friends waiting there.
Linked to dVerse Poetics – suburb poetry hosted by Oloriel.
From the distance of a lifetime, a spiral describes it better, but the smaller ones seem circular to me like when walking from one side of the room to the other, turning around and then walking back. Or, walking to the library, standing tall with shoulders back so the air can more easily enter my lungs and my eyes can look right at it, trying to realize, even when I can’t, that everywhere I am still able to go and everything greeting me on the way from sidewalks and apartments to trees and clouds are a gift from or a hint of heaven.
I think in circles as I walk in them. Sometimes I pop those thoughts and sometimes I enjoy them again and again like that ancient story of a man and his dog that keeps coming to mind. Perhaps they died much like my ex-brother-in-law who was found burnt in an apartment fire. His dog stayed with him on his lap. It is them I see walk to the gates of heaven and find that sign, “No Dogs Allowed”. The gatekeeper confirms that there is no problem with him going in, in spite of everything, but not his dog. Since heaven wouldn’t be heaven if one were alone, I see him turn around. He takes his dog and they walk toward a scenic, spiraling path that appears before them and everywhere they go is heaven.
GEESE AND DUCKS RETURN
PEOPLE WALK THE PARK IN TWOS
FLOWERS COMING SOON
Linked with dVerse Pub Haibun Monday hosted by Toni Spencer with the theme “the best things in life are free”.
There’s a rose in her hand that I see.
Skeptically she is offering me
All those thorns with no chance to be free.
All those thorns heartlessly tear my mind.
Then I fail. I’m aware I’m unkind
When I find she has left me behind.
She returns with a bright, yellow rose.
The enchantress’ enchantment now flows
On us both as we dance to our close.
Linked to Poetry Challenge 2017 #6 Ninefold Style. Ninefolddragon invented the form in 2016. It has three stanzas each containing three lines with nine syllables per line. The three stanzas should relate to body, mind and spirit in that order. It should evoke emotion or be about the supernatural realm. See the link for more detail.
The Sun descends and so do I
Dive toward dark waters deep.
It seems I only need to try
Once more before I sleep.
Otherwise I won’t want rest
To mark this day as done.
I want to claim I passed that test
No matter what I’ve won.
Linked to Saturday’s Image Write #3.
I’ll cartoon all the things we do.
I’ll place me by your side.
I’ll make some funny jokes for you.
Together we will hide
Until you ride away from me
And freedom says we’re through.
Though speckled green with jealousy
My happy skies stay blue.
Linked to dVerse Meet the Bar with Expressionism hosted by Björn Rudberg.
The “I” in the poem is fictional. However, I kind of like to think this is how I would behave.