Quietly awaiting word
Of what I need to do.
I hope I’ll figure out it when
Some whisper does come through.
I hope that something does come through
So I won’t feel alone
But even if some nothing comes,
This silence I’ll still own.
Written for dVerse Quadrille #24 with prompt “whisper” hosted by De Jackson (WhimsyGizmo).
Humor feeds those parts of man
That hope sweet dreams come true
And woman feels she finally can
Do what she wants to do.
Anyone is happy when
Laughter lightens air.
Giggles entertain us then
And we no longer care.
This poem is a simple one.
It rhymes and sounds like verse.
I hope that now you know it’s done
It don’t make matters worse.
Posted for dVerse OpenLinkNight #187.
The pattern curled as it grew
Much like a fractal form.
We suffered and with joy came through
Sunshine or a storm
In every wave we rode upon,
We chose. We gave and took.
The pattern curled us along
And sometimes we could look.
Written for dVerse Quadrille #23.
Photo: “Tree” by the author
Metaphors state what is there:
Wild beauty or a scar.
We may only get to know
What we think we are.
You’ll hide behind a metaphor.
I’ll tease you as we race.
We hide. We seek. Let’s finally find
Some answer we can face.
Written for dVerse Quadrille #22: “scar”.
Photo: “Bright Red” by the author
When markets go up some may say,
“They’ll go up!” feeling proud of the way
They’ve predicted the past
Though the past doesn’t last
And what’s last may not last through the day.
Written for the Limerick Challenge Week 49: Satire.
Photo: “Wiggly Trees and Mellow Lake” by the author
I am only inclined to tell this story, before I can no longer speak, because no one I have been rash enough to tell it to so far believes it. Right now, I’ll restrict myself to what is believable and that is simply that a puppy followed my neighbor pushing his way up the long path through the wild grass and tall red osiers that were not beaten down by my narrow, daily footsteps. He looked like a friendly dog although I cannot remember why I agreed to take him in.
His name was Fred. I let him sleep inside my cabin containing a hand pump for water, kerosene lamps for light and a wood stove on the edge of central Maine’s vast forest lands. On his first day Fred tore open the sealed food bag and stuffed himself with dog food until his stomach bloated. When he saw me refill his bowl he knew this was home. Eventually, Fred would earn the title of “bad dog”. I forgave him. I hope he forgave me. However, that gets into the unbelievable part that I’ve promised myself I must tell, but which I cannot tell, just yet, because I am trying to make it clear how cute he looked walking innocently through that tall grass.
WATER FLOWS DOWNHILL
FILLING STREAMS FROM MAPLE GROVES
AUTUMN LOSES WARMTH
Written for dVerse Haibun Monday. Photo: "Orderly Entanglement" by the author. Hear the author read this haibun on SoundCloud.
On his quest for the truth he went far.
Back at home beauty’s wounds formed a scar.
There his enemies wait
His return, but he’s late,
Or he’s dead, misled by some dark star.
Written for the Limerick Challenge Week 47: Tell Me A Story!
Wow, that’s a depressing limerick. But it is only one chapter. The thing about chapters is if there is one chapter, there’s another, and the thing about heroes is just when you think they have been beaten, they come back.
Photo: “Maple” by Frank Hubeny
I’ve breathed enough to know I’m here.
I wonder why that’s so?
There is no need I might concede.
Contentedly I go.
I wonder why we stir at all
And build entangled dreams
Inhaling air refreshed with care.
Light thrills us as it beams.
Written for dVerse Quadrille # 21 “Take a Breath”.
It’s wetter than I want to be
And so I choose the land.
My weighty friend, great gravity,
Prefers that I should stand.
A boat is an alternative,
But some do sink out there.
Why leave the land and try to live
And float in some nowhere?
There are those creatures in that deep
Who wishy-washy roam.
I’ll count on waves of dreamy sheep.
I’d rather sleep at home.
Photo by the author Hear the author read this poem on SoundCloud.
Poetry, Short Prose and Walking 