Category: Poetry

Words

 
Words would try to touch the heart of it.
They vaguely churn weak hopes that that will do.
Doing so is but a part of it.

Experts draw and make a chart of it,
Push away what clearly won’t go through.
Words would try to touch the heart of it.

The sound of words, a pleasing start of it,
May tease with pleasure seeking what is true.
Doing so is but a part of it.

Fancy words entail what's smart in it
And fool us with a wave of wisdom, too.
Words would try to touch the heart of it.

Guilt appears like broken art in it,
Displays a glimpse of past for us to rue.
Doing so is but a part of it.

So, come, forgiveness, fill your cart with it.
Keep the future open to what’s new.
Words would try to touch the heart of it,
But love protects the deepest part of it.

A villanelle linked to Sarah’s Forms for All and dVerse Meeting the Bar where Grace is hosting with the theme of rhyme and slant rhyme.

Also linked to Debbie Roth’s Forgiving Fridays.

Sunrise Observation

State of the Art

 
As long as it’s impossible
 I’ll try it if you ask.
Guide my hands and calm my mind
 And carry out the task.

Linked to K’lee and Dale’s Cosmic Photo Challenge with the theme “state of the art”. I offer photos of what might be considered, perhaps not by the lizards, as state of the art lizard living quarters.

State of the Art Lizard Living Quarters

Cascade

 
My mind begins the cascade’s fall
To water somewhere down below
When I say “Yes” before the “Why?”

I’ve only pieces of it all
Though more I have no need to know.
My mind begins the cascade’s fall.

I wonder where these journeys go
And what do birds see when they fly?
There’s water somewhere down below.

Beneath that water-wonder I
Might understand the cascade’s call
When I said “Yes” before the “Why?”

Linked to dVerse Poetics where Amaya is hosting with the theme of “cascade” and a poetic form called “cascade”.

Incline at Manitou Spings. What looks like the top is just the beginning or so it seems when you get there.

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