Posted in d'Verse Poets Pub, Poetic Bloomings, poetry

Only a Dream

d’Verse Poets Pub -MTB: endings / beginnings

Only a Dream

She dreamed of leading a big marching band,
With a shiny baton twirling in her small hands
She didn’t want drums or a horn she could toot,
instead she asked Santa for majorette boots

The white leather ones with bright tassels of red.
They’re the pair she envisioned at night, in her bed.
So she went to bed early, this good little girl,
Pulled her blanket way up so it covered her curls.

She kept her eyes closed when wind started to blow,
the rooftops and bushes soon were covered with snow.
The best winter night for dear Santa to bring
the boots that she wanted more than anything

But her letter to Santa must have lacked clear instruction.
The boots under the tree were a felt reproduction.

Posted in d'Verse Poets Pub, poetry, quadrille

Waiting for Santa

d’Verse Poets Pub – Quadrille #118: In the Inglenook

Waiting for Santa

She fell asleep beside the slowly dying embers
and dreamt of warmer climes, sunny skies.
She only meant to rest a while, hidden in the shadow
of the inglenook, until the clocked chimed midnight
when Santa would return home to grant her Christmas wish.

Posted in d'Verse Poets Pub, Poetic Bloomings, poetry

Timeless Shockwaves

Timeless Shockwaves – a Tri-Fall

two black holes collided
combining
into one, sending waves
that have not subsided
aligning
energy to each other gave

and seven billion years
across space
the hum of this union is real
ripples like souvenirs
a slight trace
to touch this world, wonders reveal

just like black holes our hearts
converging
together become a single beat
not one, but counterparts
emerging
humming with synergy and heat

(I read a news article about two black holes that merged over seven billion years ago. The shockwaves just reached Earth last year. I was determined to use these black holes in a poem.)

Posted in d'Verse Poets Pub, poetry, quadrille

Bummer

Quadrille #110: Shall we bum around a bit?

Bummer

This poem is feeling rather bummed out.
Tired of just bumming around, all alone,
unable to even bum a ride with a friend
It’s turning into some kind of fashion bum,
In gummy waist pants and baggy shirts,
sitting around on its round bum.

Posted in d'Verse Poets Pub, poetry, quadrille

The Golden Hour

d’Verse Poets Pub – Quadrille #105: Cry Havoc and Let ‘SLIP’ the Dogs of War
http://dversepoets.com

The Golden Hour

It happens just before the sun slips
out of sight, behind the pine covered
hills. Those few moments when the
whole of my world is painted gold,
as if King Midas touched his finger
to the trees and houses
and they shimmer in delight.

Posted in d'Verse Poets Pub, poetry

The Old Cat

d’Verse Poets Pub – Poetics: Make some room
http://dversepoets.com

The Old Cat

The old cat has no room he calls his own,
he claims a spot til it’s no longer new.
He wanders round this space seeking a throne,

a sunny nook to warm his weary bones –
a padded window seat will surely do
The old cat has no room he calls his own.

Somedays a mournful yeowl he does intone,
when favorite blankets have been left askew.
He wanders round this space seeking a throne,

preferring quietness, to be alone
to ponder catching flies and mice and shrews.
The old cat has no room he calls his own –

he owns it all, each board and stepping stone.
His humble servants also know it’s true.
He wanders round this space seeking a throne,

a cardboard box that he can get into
and fall asleep, curled up and unbeknown.
The old cat has no room he calls his own,
he wanders round the space seeking a throne.

Posted in d'Verse Poets Pub, haibun, haiku, poetry

The Reality of Gardens

d’Verse Poets Pub – Haibun Monday: Meet Piet
http://dversepoets.com

The Reality of Gardens

On winter days I spend a great deal of time thinking about my flower beds. Outside the wind is blowing wisps of snow around the corner of the house and only the hardiest birds come to the feeders. I stay hunkered down with my dreams and schemes and plans for next summers perfect garden.

When spring sashays her way across the yard I’m faced with more weeds than buds. So begins the relentless battle with ground ivy and winter cress, which have been patiently waiting for those first warm rays of sunshine. My ideal garden vanishes in a puff of reality and I am happy to scatter some seeds in the empty patches of dirt. I’m pretty sure the bees and butterflies don’t visit for the aesthetics.

Outdoor gallery
Blooms of multi-colored zinnias
Abstract garden art