Category: Poetry

Cave


When the guide turned out the light
The darkness drove away the space.
Without the stars to show the night
Reality crashed in my face.
Kentucky vanished, out of sight.
This cave below became no place.

Linked to dVerse Poetics where Anmol is hosting with the theme of geography. This poem tries to show what can happen to the sense of geography when the lights go out.

Nasty Troll

 
No one knows why my troll’s bad.
I think because he’s rarely glad
When someone wandering passes by.
I cross his bridge and yell out, “Hi!”

He blames me then for being there - 
“Being noisy everywhere!”
He’s justified to shout at me,
Reverberating mystery.

Linked to dVerse Quadrille. I am hosting with the word “troll”. Come join us with a 44-word poem using the word “troll” in some form in the poem.

Tossed to Shore

It Is Well With My Soul

Frank Hubeny's avatarPrairie Writers Guild - NW Indiana

Every Sunday we see them
walking down the aisle
bent and hobbled.
An elderly man leads
a wizened old woman.
“Here I am, Lord, if you need me,”

Tottering along behind,
the gray-haired son, head down,
slouched, uneven gait, slightly rumpled.
“It is well with my soul.”

They enter the pew, bow their heads in prayer.
The son rocks to-and-fro in a steady rhythm
throughout Mass.
“As the Father has loved me so I have loved you.”

Mass over, the family files out of the pew,
out of church, silent, they speak to no one
as the choir sings,
“’I love you, you are Mine’, says the Lord.”

Poetry above by Pat Kopanda, photography below by Frank Hubeny.

Linked to dVerse Open Link Night.

Cornfield During Winter Cornfield During Winter

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Between Identities

 
I

Sitting, singing on the street,
Voice turned-off from drugs,
His fingers playing on and on.
They still recall an ancient song
That brought him love and hugs.


II

She pours her years into the child
Who digs soft, shallow sand.
He takes those years and buries them
To seed their future land.


III

The trolley takes me round and round
For free. I listen to the sound
Of Spanish first, some English, too.
The Sun knows what it has to do.
The sky will keep the water blue.
I board and leave the ground.

Linked to dVerse Poetics where Gina is hosting with the theme of balancing identities with poetic hum. I hope between those three identities there rises a poetic hum.

Sort of Round and Sort of Not

Spike

 
I practice breathing given air.
It doesn’t matter that I like
To spike what’s real with worries where
What’s unreal gets the loudest mike.
Sometimes practicing goes slow
Wondering if I’ll ever know
How to breathe. I’d rather not.
Mindlessly I breathe a lot.

Linked to dVerse Quadrille where De Jackson is hosting with theme work “spike”.

pines
pines

A time to weep; a time to laugh

When our cat died, we wept. We looked at each other differently, with more patience and not taking the other for granted, for about a week feeling her presence in her absence.

Eventually laughter returned. Whatever we learned, and will have to learn again with the next dying we face, laughter was no disrespect for her passing. The return of laughter was her gift of gratitude to us.

Linked to dVerse Poetics where Lillian is hosting. I look at this as a prose poem or aphorism.

Many Birds

Hints of Spring

When I can’t get off my butt, there’s nothing like a kick to do the trick.

I’m beginning to value pain. To reinforce that value I think of it as the whispering of angels calling me to pay attention. Of course, I could just as well think of it as a kick in the butt, but this is supposed to be a poem, and there is more to reality than meets the eye.

This is also supposed to be about spring, but all I hear about is winter. So. More snow? Or is it time for winter to get off its butt and go?

PAST WINTRY PAIN
COMES SPRING-BOLD RAIN
 WE START AGAIN

Linked to K’lee and Dale’s Cosmic Photo Challenge and to dVerse Haibun Monday.  Merril is hosting with the theme of March Madness.

Snowy Somewhere
Not Winter
Not Winter, More Like May