Tag: Poetry

Morning

Like a cat I kiss around your face.
Sleeping, you want only to sleep more.
Shifting me, my feet land on the floor.

In your mind my kisses scratched some place,
Broke your dream so you can now forget.
Wake. Remember? We’ve already met.

Merging wakened hearts with threads of grace,
Forming through the years our two as one.
Routine wonder: this day has begun.

Linked to Poetry Challenge 2017 #7 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.

Aiming for that Rainbow

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.

Young Night

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.

Suburban

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.

Ego Brain Heart Self

The brain feels crueler than the beating heart.
The gut is grosser resting further down.
Not being robots we are not that smart.
Our hearts don’t understand an AI frown.

The brain helps us when there’s a need to cope,
Anticipate how we should make some move.
Our hearts beat on beyond with rhythmic hope
Way past the need to optimize or prove.

The Moon and Mars are places we have sent
These little brains to tell us what they find.
The heart goes where no robot ever went.
We’re wise to kept our precious hearts behind.

Although we’d lose a game of chess to it,
We’ve sheltered hearts with love because of it.

Linked to dVerse Have a Heart! hosted by Lillian.
Linked to imaginary garden with real toads The Tuesday Platform.
Photo: “Heart Green Shelter” by the author.
My interest in the heart and brain connection comes from reading Rollin McCraty’s articles on the science of the heart.

Sunrise

I don’t know why I wait for the Sun. It rises anyway and never says a word.

There must be something wrong with this. Why hope the morning’s newness breaks so I can know what’s really true? Why hope this beauty sets once it has finally risen?

 

WAVES DISTURB THE BEACH
SEAGULLS WATCH THE MORNING WAVES
LOOK! WE’RE DOING THIS

Written for dVerse Haibun Monday Ekphrasis and Haiga hosted by Björn Rudberg.  Photo: “Birds and Sunrise” by the author.

Comforting My Discomforted Heart

Chaotic disenchanting hearts are casting storms on me.
Their spells tease lightning through my mind, still I won’t understand.
I’m drenched throughout with righteousness, but anger rains in vain.
I breathe, sit tall then wait, project to help this weather change.

Written for dVerse Meeting the Bar using a form of common meter called a “fourteener”. It has fourteen syllables in each line with seven of them accented. This example does not have end-rhyme although the last two lines ending in “rain” and “change” almost rhyme.

The Tree Planter on the Georgia Crew

He swings. The hoedad opens up the ground.
He sets the seedling, steps, and moves around.

For every bend a nickel he will earn.
He counts by thousands and without concern.

His caffeinated soda’s cheap and sweet
With peanut butter sandwiches to eat.

At night he camps with others like him who
Will spend four months together on this crew.

He works alone but some come there with spouses
While others waste their time and break up houses.

He’d not expect to find some girl who’d stay
And some feel life’s less lonely lived that way.

Written for dVerse Tuesday Poetics: Artisan hosted by Kim featuring poems by Seamus Heaney.