Silence

Man and Woman in Cafe - Picasso - 1907

Silence

His silence is an unsavory banquet,
bitter at best, lethal at worst
a sword that soundlessly pierces
wields irreparable damage
a habitual ritual, a daily routine
an ominous scream without words.

His silence is repetitive
a still day, sun shining brightly
overshadowed by thunderheads
a blueprint only she can read
a barricade with no door
a dragon spews invisible fire.

His silence is who can hold out longest,
a stony glare fixed on a dead red rose
a clenched fist concealed by a glove
who can interpret the disguise
who can live with a normalcy
as tasteless as a bouquet of disdain.

His silence, her insurmountable wall.

This is written with dVerse Open Link and also shared with Poets United Poetry Pantry.

The Ballerina

Edward Degas:  The Dance Lesson - 1879

The Ballerina


She built her dreams upon desire to dance
with ballerina heart she took the chance
to find her place and hone her pirouette
she hoped to find at least a friendly glance

But as she practiced hard day after day
her dreams of dance eroded slowly away
her shoes began to tightly pinch her toes
and dreams commenced to fade from bright to gray

With ballerina heart she took the chance
her thoughts so full of hope and blithe romance
but when her spirit was slowly worn away
she rued the day she ever yearned to dance.

This is written for Bjorn's MTB at dVerse.  He prompted us to write a ruba’i or rubáyát.  He also gave three conditions.  I think I fulfilled the first two in each stanza; but I think I only fulfilled the third condition in the second and third stanza.

Ladies' Night Out

Library of Congress - Public Domain - 1919

Ladies' Night Out

After swimming the ladies went out on the town
despite the sad fact each forgot evening gown
they had driven dad's car, had traveled so far
thus they thought they could deal with a frown.

A tongue-in-cheek poem for Poets United Midweek Motif, where the prompt is 'An Evening Out.'

Beginnings

Beginnings

My grandchildren anticipate the beginning of school
excited about their new teachers as they hope
that best friends will be in their classes.

There is something exciting about beginnings
new school supplies and pairs of shiny shoes
a fresh start with clean slate and everything new.

All cannot help but be affected by school beginning
children and parents and grandparents alike
there is excitement in the air on September first.

School years mark the passing of time for me
one year passes and another so quickly behind
everything changes as fast as grandchildren grow.

This is written for Gabriella's prompt at Poetry Jam.
The photo was taken five years ago when my grandson
entered kindergarten. How quickly time passes.

Journey

Journey

Each day he sought to find his journey's end
the place he'd feel at peace in heart and soul
to reach the hand a friend would there extend
a goal he dared to dream but had not penned
he searched the map while trying to pretend
that all his life was under his control
each day he sought to find his journey's end
the place he'd feel at peace in heart and soul.


This triolet is the third poem I have written using Joel Robison's photograpy.  I am sharing it with Poets United Poetry Pantry.

Pattern

Pattern

I may not see the pattern of my life
but I recognize the pattern of others
I see what he always does
I hear what she always says
I know he is always early       or late
know the patterns repeat and repeat and repeat.

I may not recognize the patterns in my own poetry
but I recognize the patterns of others
I see what he so often  writes about
I see the style she always uses
I see the way she always arranges words on the page
know the patterns repeat and repeat and repeat.

I may not know the patterns of the universe
but I know that patterns exist
there is the pattern of natural selection
there is the pattern of declension of Latin nouns
there is the pattern of square of a binomial
know the patterns repeat and repeat and repeat.

This is written for dVerse MTB, where Victoria has us writing about "patterns."

The Path

Where the Magic Goes
Joel Robison Photography

The Path

I walk along the dimly lighted trail
and need a lantern to discern the path
am not deterred by either rain nor hail
I walk along the dimly lighted trail
I search for my own personal holy grail
in the downpour's gentle aftermath
I walk along the dimly lighted trail
and need a lantern to discern the path.

The path is lit by many an evening star
that dart and dance about me as I walk
and as I search for words of au revoir
I feel His presence guide me from afar
He shows me the direction I should walk
the path is lit by many an evening star
that dart and dance about me as I walk.

This is written for Sumana's prompt "path" at Poetry Jam.
Also contributed to dVerse Poetics, where Grace is featuring
the photographs of Joel Robison and having us write to them..

To Leap

Joel Robison Photography

To Leap

When you become afraid to leap
you no more wish to reach the sky
your dreams beneath a rock you sweep
when you become afraid to leap
they only surface when you sleep
and you awake with tear in eye
when you become afraid to leap
you no more wish to reach the sky.

This triolet is written for Grace's dVerse Poetics prompt.  We are writing to one of Joel Robison's photos.  

There is a Poem

There is a Poem

There is a poem at the end of the world
it is by an unpublished poet
it is not a war poem or a political poem
it is not obscure and not divisive
it is a poem of the heart not the hand.

it is the poem many have tried to write
but only a lone poet has achieved
it is the poem that gives universal hope
but does not drip with maple syrup
it is the poem I wish I had written.

This is for Poets United Poetry Pantry.

(I am finding that my "poetic well" is dry right now. Sigh.
Inspiration does not come easily.)

Rhythm of Life

Rhythm of Life

I find rhythm in the flow of the day
the river pursues its own progression
it follows the drumbeat of my heart
life moves at its predetermined pace

There is a regular beat to life
ebb and flow that carries one on
we have no choice but to paddle
to avoid the rocks along the way

One beat always follows another
each step forward then one more
I find rhythm in the flow of the day
the river pursues its own progression.

This was written for Gay's prompt over at dVerse.  We had to emphasis the beats.

Consider the Almond

Consider the Almond

"But what is happiness except the simple harmony between a man and the life he leads?"

 Albert Camus


So where can a person find happiness?
asked the student of the sage
he found on the forest path.

I will first tell you where it is not
it is not to be found in what you acquire
it is not to be found in where you go.

And the student said then where?

The sage answered
look within your heart
for there is a seed
not larger than an almond
which will grow in knowledge and love
and help you become the person
you were meant to be
and enjoy the journey along the way.

and the student said tell me more
and the sage said that is all you need
as he disappeared between the trees.

This is written for PoetryJam where the prompt is "almonds" and Poets United where the prompt is "happiness."

Logic Isn't Always

Logic Isn't Always

Evening's dinner remains on the table
sticky with spilled food from a week ago

clothes to be washed strewn in a pile
completed laundry unfolded in baskets on the floor

jeans and shirts dry on the backs of broken chairs
unmatched shoes line the hall to the door

winter jacket draped on the stairway
hasn't changed position in three months

closet door continually open because
something stuck prevents its close

refrigerator crammed with leftovers
yesterday's ratatouille and last week's stew

forgotten celery leaks from its plastic wrap
garbage bag overflows with trash

.....as the television blares and all eyes are glued
to whatever evening's reality show is playing

she updates her status on Facebook so world will know
she really needs a husband so that someone can

clean up the dishes after she prepares a meal
which would make all the difference in the world.

Written for Poets United Poetry Pantry

Evening Walk

Evening Walk

Fireflies are beacons
as we walk dogs
under moonlit sky

chorus of crickets
chirps its mournful tune
reminds us that though

a blanket of silence
surrounds us
we are not alone.

This is written for dVerse MTB where Brian's prompt is:
write with 40 words or less.   (My poem has 31.)

Homegrown

Homegrown

Homegrown tomatoes

flavor cannot be surpassed

red juicy and so sweet.

Homegrown basil

for salads and vegetables

tingles the tongue.

Homegrown rhubarb

ready to be picked

pie on today's menu.

No time like summer

freshest of foods

we celebrate each day.

This poem is written for Poetry Jam, where the prompt is Home Grown, Home Baked, Home Spun, Home Brewed, Home Cooked.

A Super Tale

A Super Tale

Once upon a time Superman, tired of being super,

was lonely; so he decided to adopt a black cat

and a dog with yellow teeth to keep him company

rather than resort to an old liquor bottle.

He found them at the local humane society

and since he did not have a way to carry them

he asked a bluesman playing a saxophone

if he could borrow his wheelbarrow for a time.

And as he walked the street with his wheelbarrow

he passed a man who couldn't stop clapping

drinking tea from a cup with orange flowers

sitting beside his pet dragon on the curb.

And the man said to him, Super Sir, would you

by chance have room in your wheel barrow

for my chicken and black swan who do not

get along very well with my dragon?

Superman agreed to take them, so he wheeled

off to his fancy blue car which transformed

to a spaceship, blasted off toward Neptune

which was like finding a galactic needle in the haystack.

And you may wonder if Superman returned again

and I will leave that to the reader to decide

I like to think of him as a black swan dancing

to the music of the bluesman with the sax.

This poem is written for Claudia's prompt over at dVerse, where we had to write a story poem using some of a collection of words she provided.  Ha, this was more fun than I at first thought it would be.

"Obelix, a dragon, a crocodile, an old tractor, a bat, a spaceship, Neptune, Superman, a greek god or godess, a chicken, a black swan, a nutcracker, a man who can't stop clapping, a cup with orange flowers painted on it, a black cat, a dog with yellow teeth, a bluesman playing the saxophone, a violinist, Hänsel&Gretel, the Icequeen, an old liquor bottle, a wheelbarrow, a needle in a haystack, a raven, a blue car, a metronome..."

My Nemesis

My Nemesis

I have decided my GPS app is evil;
it speaks with the voice of authority,
but its directions lead me nowhere
except to the point of frustration.

And when I dare to deviate
from its syrupy authoritarian voice,
it shames me as it 'recalculates'
then sends me further off track.

It is persistent, will not be silenced;
I think of it as the devil, deceitful
and tricky, trying to win me over.
Putty in its hands, I follow its commands.

Without my GPS I am lost,
with it I'm slowly driven insane
turn by turn by turn by turn.
GPS, where would I be without you?

This is written for Poets United Poetry Pantry!