It sounds like truth. Perhaps I’ll find
Wonders on the way?
Dreaming leaves the world behind.
Truths come home to stay.
When I wake into the light
What seemed like darkness may
Sort through the shadows, cool the night,
Clear for endless day.
Liked to dVerse Quadrille hosted by Victoria C. Slotto with prompt word “sound”.
Photo: “Looking at a tree through its shadow” by the author
At first you sense a peaceful, cooler green
Than jealousy can fake within its eyes,
And then a calmer red with no disguise
That anger has to wear when it is seen.
When blue becomes delightful, sparkling bright,
Beyond what reason’s ramblings can achieve,
Then violet turns away from time and leaves
You knowing there’s no need to fear the night.
Linked to dVerse Poetics hosted by Michelle (Mish) with prompt: “Write a poem about something abstract using one or more senses”.
Photo: “Colorful” by the author. The photo was taken at the Chicago Botanic Garden.
I wonder what it feels like to pop like a kernel of corn? No matter how many times I pour a bit of olive oil into the popper, turn on the heat, drop in a third cup of kernels stirring about three minutes until the sound dies, dump the now fluffy kernels into a bowl and bless them with sea salt–no matter how many times I run this experiment, no matter how accurately I measure, I have no clue what those kernels felt. Some don’t mind leaving mysteries veiled. Some impatiently assert those mysteries don’t exist, but even they can’t escape the mystery of eat, eat, eat and then pop some more.
MOMENTS POP AWAY
WARMER DAYS MARK WINTER DONE
TIME FOR ONE MORE WALK
Linked to dVerse Haibun Monday hosted by Björn Rudberg with the prompt “consider cooking in your haibun and give us a recipe in your prose”. I have included my secret recipe for making popcorn.
Photo: “Popcorn Steps” by the author. Collage created using Google Photos.
Before the music finds a way to end
I hope these faithless fears would take a break;
I hope I’d choose to give more than I take
I hope to trust the present as a friend.
Before I tell a dream it’s time to rise
I hope its vision binds me in some way;
I hope to nourish it throughout the day
Until I find its truth in someone’s eyes.
Before my rhythmic breathing has to slow
I want to say I tried each given task;
I want to feel I hid behind no mask
Preventing any miracle to show;
And if my bucket’s empty when I’m done
I hope you won’t reject an emptied one.
Linked to dVerse Meeting the Bar hosted by Victoria C. Slotto with prompt to write a list poem.
Photo: “Yellow, White, Red and Green” by the author. Flowers on display at the Chicago Botanic Garden.
Good roots avoid the sunbeams.
They much prefer the dark
Away from light and sources bright.
They love the mysteries of night.
That’s where they leave their mark.
But leaves prefer the sunlight.
That’s where they dream to toil
And offer all until the Fall
To help their Whole stand true and tall
Then rest on peaceful soil.
“The roots are also incredibly light-sensitive; but in contrast to the leaves, they don’t like light at all.” Stefano Mancuso and Alessandra Viola, Brilliant Green: The Surprising History and Science of Plant Intelligence, Island Press, translated by Joan Benham, 2015, page 50. If you think plants are vegetables, this book is worth reading.
Linked to dVerse Poetics hosted by Björn Rudberg with “soil” as the prompt.
Linked to Imaginary Garden with Real Toads for their Tuesday Platform imagined by Marian.
Photo: “The Details of Blooming” by the author. The scene is from the Chicago Botanic Garden.
Thoughts will echo, bounce and shout
Like whispers haunt a cave,
Like cryptic nonsense thrown about.
I caught some I might save.
If thoughts would knock and say they’re true,
I’d welcome them today,
But does it matter what I do?
They’ve entered anyway.
Linked to dVerse Quadrille Monday hosted by De Jackson, aka WhimsyGizmo, with prompt word, “echo”.
Photo: “Open Door” by the author. The scene is a garden gate at the Chicago Botanic Garden.
In my mountainous castle well hidden away
There’s my beast getting restless for lightness of day
And the blood that I seek must be innocent, sweet,
So delight feeds the brain and my rapture’s complete.
How I long that the travelers wandering by
Are so pure that they capture my sensitive eye.
How I long that they tarry so I’ll taste a bite
Of the glory of goodness lost deep in the night.
Ah, look! There’s a traveler coming toward me
To my mountainous castle all lost by the sea,
To the doom that awaits him whose way seems so sure
With a heart pumping love and excessively pure.
He is knocking! Let’s open the door to his death.
He is breathing but soon he will not take a breath
And then at the table aged wine I will drink
And the meat, raw and bloody, may finally stink.
But wait! My hand moves but it can’t free the door.
The traveler turns. He won’t knock anymore!
Have I grown out so ghostly my body has gone?
Have I nothing but fantasies I can put on?
Linked to dVerse Poetics hosted by Kim with the prompt “to write a modern dramatic monologue about a plot to do away with someone (or something)”.
Photo: “Fantasy Forest” by the author. The scene is part of a bonsai forest at the Chicago Botanic Garden.