Farmers' Markets

Farmers' Markets

It is the season of apples
the ones with crunch
the sweet ones, the tart,
the yellow, the red,
tasty treat any time of day.

It is the season of pumpkins
pie with whipped cream
soup hot and steamy
baked pumpkin seeds
and scary jack-o-lanterns.

It is the season of squash
butternut and acorn
spaghetti and delicata
buttercup and sweet dumpling
baked, buttered, and salted.

It is the season to remember
tomatoes, zucchini, beets,
eggplant, peppers, and leeks
but to welcome winter when
fresh means fresh from Mexico.

For Poets United Poetry Pantry.  We are coming to an end of our Farmers' Markets here.  I am in mourning.  Today was the last one for the season.This saddens me greatly.  So much of what we eat over the winter has to be trucked in.  Mexico, California, Florida, Guatemala.  We can buy fresh apples for a while yet at the orchards.  I will so miss the eggplant.....  What will you miss most as we transition seasons? Share that in your comments, if you wish.   If you are in the Southern Hemisphere, what do you look forward to?

Only a Shadow

Only a Shadow

All those moments shared
insignificant now
past has no future
memories fade

insignificant now
sometimes they haunt me
as you drift further away

past has no future
connections severed though
I still know where you are

memories fade
until now you are but a shadow of
all those moments shared.


A trimeric written for dVerse Open Link.
I have begun to think in trimerics, I think!

Animation

Van Gogh:  Trees in the Garden of the Hospital St. Paul

Animation

I walk toward you
you turn your back

I give support
you attack

I embrace
you thwack

I do high five
you do thumbs down

I sit
you stand ground

I smile
you frown

I say Van Gogh
you say Monet

I say basketball
you say croquet

I look you in the eye
your eyes look away

I go
you stay.

Monet:  Camille Monet and a Child in the Artist's Garden in Argentuell

This is written for Poets United Midweek Motif.  The theme is "Animation."

Now That She's Gone

Now That She's Gone

I thought I had all the time in the world.  I didn't want to think about all she did for me. I wanted to remember how I made it on my own.  I told her once I didn't care what happened to her, wouldn't care if she died.  I made my own path.   Left home.  Married.  Had children. One time I told her I was sorry for how I had acted when I was a teenager, that I had regrets, that my childhood memories with her were my best memories of all.  It is true  I modeled a lot on what she taught me.  Family should always eat together.  Prayers before bedtime.  There was a time then when we talked about everything, a time we were very close.  I think we both treasured those times, not knowing they were a bubble that would pop.  One day she flew several hundred miles to visit me, and she irritated me so very much. She didn't act as I wished her to.  She failed badly. She was again the person I could not stand.  I thought she didn't pay as much attention to my children as she should have.  I didn't listen when she tried to tell me she did. I didn't want to discuss. Subject closed. Forever.

Butterflies live short

but their beauty is profound

the few months they survive.

I wanted her out of my house...gone, just gone.  I put her and her suitcase on the porch, called a taxi, three days early. I didn't care how she got home.  She said someday I'd regret.  She said it was my loss.   I forbade the children to talk to her, sent them to their room.  I remember she wanted to explain to them.  I told her she would never see them again.  And she didn't.  And I didn't.  And they didn't.  And now she is gone, and I don't know how I feel.  I still blame her.  She didn't say what I thought she should say.  She failed me.  I punished her.  She deserved that. She didn't try to get in touch after that.  Nor did I.  But I still remember there were good times, but I still know it was she who was wrong. And now she's gone, really gone........

Butterflies fly past

they see all but never speak

and they shed no tears.

This haibun was written for Kelly's prompt for dVerse Poetics:  Write a poem to someone you love, telling them how much you love them, or how much they mean to you, or things you want them to know before it is too late.  In this case, I am writing a poem from the perspective of someone else (the I is NOT me); and it IS too late.

Finding Future

Finding Future

One finds the best path
if one follows the signs
where dreams are fulfilled
just around the bend

if one follows the signs
the path is clearly marked
leads straight forward

where dreams are fulfilled
through ambition and perseverance
as one continues to strive

just around the bend
one finds the best path
where the future awaits!

This trimeric is written for Poets United Poetry Pantry.

Pizza

Pizza

I think that I shall never see
a pizza that does not agree with me

a pizza thick or a pizza thin
its spicy sauce drips down my chin

a pizza with veggies or pepperoni
an Italian pizza by Giovannoni

a Neapolitan or a Chicago style
both will elicit a wide-eyed smile

even a frozen pizza will do
as long as there's tasty dough to chew

I could eat pizza every single day
if I cared not what the scale would say.


With apologies to Joyce Kilmer - who wrote the poem "Trees," which was my inspiration.
This is shared with dVerse Meeting the Bar, where Victoria prompted us to write a humorous poem.

Gravity Depravity

Gravity Depravity

Imagine life without gravity
levity

such a phenomenal rarity
refreshingly

feet forever off the ground
unbound

phenomenon that can astound
confound

enjoy a journey in hot air balloon
swoon

float close to the harvest moon
croon

troubles serenely drift away
at bay

what fun it is to play
this way

because there is no gravity
hypothetically

enjoy a life of levity
destiny.

This 'echo poem' (without using the word 'echo' this time) was written
for Susan's prompt 'gravity' at Poets United Midweek Motif.
Sometimes a poet just has to have fun!

Halloween Opulence

Halloween Opulence

To become someone we are not
we mask our faces
knocking on neighborhood doors
saying 'trick or treat.'

We mask our faces
hiding who we are inside
why the need for a disguise?

Knocking on neighborhood doors
we continue a tradition
but why do we crave candy?

Saying 'trick or treat'
we solicit bountiful treats
to feed our obesity and opulence.

This trimeric was written for Kanzensakura's prompt
for dVerse Poetics:  Halloween

Autumn Day

Autumn Day

Autumn day

and I contemplate

how much time

I have yet

to enjoy resplendent scenes

of early morning.

Sky meets lake

creation reflects

sun dances

lake glitters

perhaps this is heaven's gate

to eternity.

Nature's  peace

Autumnal  reflection

waves ripple

and I yearn

to learn so much more

before the sun sets.

I took this photo yesterday morning.  Each stanza of this poem is a shadorma.

I wrote it for Poets United Poetry Pantry.

Waning Fires

Waning Fires

Now Autumn's fire burns 

slowly along the woods 

and day by day the dead 

leaves fall and melt.

slowly along the woods

the promenade is transformed

almost imperceptibly green to red

and day by day the dead

continues to overtake until

the world drowns in brown 

leaves fall and melt

colors wane and fade

fire of autumn now gone.

This Trimeric is written for Sumana's prompt for Poets United Midweek Motif:  Fire.

The italicized first stanza is a quote by William Allingham, which

I wrote in poetry form just because I thought it worked! 
I am also submitting this to dVerse Open Link Night!

Under Evening Sky

Bronze Age Stone Carving Photographed by Bjorn Rudberg in Sweden
with Permission

Under Evening Sky

I am so small walking on the beach
at night under the widening sky
The wet sand quickens beneath my feet
and the waves thunder against the shore

at night under the widening sky
I scan the seacoast for fish
my spear is my constant companion

The wet sand quickens beneath my feet
and curls between my toes
my search for food will not be deterred

and the waves thunder against the shore
my catch has been ample
as plentiful as my dreams.


I have written a Trimeric for Bjorn's prompt at dVerse Poetics.
The italicized four-line stanza is the first stanza of the
poem "The Widening Sky" by Edward Hirsch.  I launched
my Trimeric from that because I thought the stanza worked well 
with thebronze age photo, in which I see a fisherman & a spear.

Renewal

Renewal

Every morning
the world
is created.
Under the orange

the world
has another chance
each time a day

is created:
a new beginning
for each of us.

Under the orange
we have one more chance
to get it right.

For Poets United Poetry Pantry.  The first four italicized lines are the first four lines of Mary Oliver's "Morning Poem" which can be found here.  They are not MY lines.  My poem went in a different direction than hers did.  I used the Trimeric form, as you can see.  If you are not familiar with the Trimeric form,  read the post I made Thursday for my prompt over at dVerse!   The Trimeric form, I think, is my favorite poetry form.  I hope some of the rest of you will give it a try.

With Deep Regret

Photo by MSF

With Deep Regret

The Department of Defense deeply regrets....
twelve MSF staff and fourteen patients killed
the hospital was mistakenly struck by US forces
sometimes an apology is not enough

twelve MSF staff and fourteen patients killed
among the worst and most visible cases
of civilian deaths caused by US strikes

the hospital was mistakenly struck by US forces
bombed for over an hour, intensive care unit in flames,
six patients were seen burning to death in their beds

sometimes an apology is not enough
hospital destroyed but the neighborhood unharmed
only advanced medical facility in Kunduz now closed.

If you are unfamiliar with the incident above or interested in 
reading more, here are two sources of information:
Reference #1, Reference #2, Reference #3.

MSF = Médecins Sans Frontières, the French name for Doctors Without Borders.

This poem is written for dVerse Meeting the Bar...where I am prompting Thursday to write in Trimeric form.

Future is Always Tentative

Henri Matisse

Future is Always Tentative

She got up early, made coffee, decided which cereal would eat for breakfast, then sat in her recliner in front of the television until it was time to decide what she would put in the microwave for lunch.  It wasn't always this way.  Her house had been vibrant with life. Her husband a prominent physician, many weekends were spent entertaining.  Oh, how she had loved to cook, and she never served the same thing twice at dinner parties.  She smiled when she looked back, remembered those happy busy days. She remembered when her children were young, their softball games, their piano recitals, the prayers and hugs before they slept.  She remembered when the children grew into adulthood and moved away. She remembered when he said it was over. She remembered the past but had no dreams for tomorrow.  She thought of her next meal.


Time drifts with the wind
past can only be relived
life at a standstill.

This haibun was written for Haibun Monday 2 over at dVerse.  We had to use one of two quotes by Kahlil Gibran.  The one I chose was "Yesterday is but today's memory, and tomorrow is today's dream."  The prompt is up all week.   Please join us.

Understanding the Void

Public Domain

Understanding the Void

I will never understand
the void
     of feeling

          the lack of light
          in your soul

       the gray of words
       hardness of heart

you twist, turn
       manipulate,
   claim god as yours

speak for him
      damn others to hell
      you who judge

with righteousness
         you pharisee who stands
    on the street corner
         braying like a donkey

          you pray loudly with
    your throng (and yes
           they gather with you)

      your moment in the sun
      will be dust
             soon
      yet not soon enough.

This is written for Poets United Poetry Pantry!
The title was inspired by the title of X's poem.
The subject matter was inspired by the news.

The Emperor Mingles

The Emperor Mingles

The emperor greets his subjects in the marketplace

shakes hands and kisses women on their cheeks

speaks softly with broad smile on his face

asks about families, inquires about health,

listens to stories with rapt attention and grace

and then goes home, washes his hands, wipes his face

to get the stink off before his banquet is served.

This is written for dVerse Open Link.  It is another in my series of "Emperor" poems.