A Poem Without a Pocket
This poem has no pockets
Nowhere to put the bits and bobs
it’s collected
Nowhere to stuff the laughs or hide
the tears. Nowhere to put the
pieces of joy to savor later.
This poem has no choice but to
give them all away.
Category: d’Verse Poets Pub
A Just Right Day
A Just Right Day
It was a humble kind of day –
not too shiny, not too dark.
The kind of day you want to bumble around in pajamas,
or sit on the garden bench watching bees
jumbled together on the Zinnias.
It was a Goldilocks kind of day.
Finding a Community
Finding a Community
She thought she was the only one. Who else cries when
they look up at the night sky? Who else lies on the ground in wonder?
She tried to write poems about the stars, to capture them on film, to scribble them
on a canvas. Friends oooed and awwed. She knew her attempts were feeble imitations.
She drove to a State Park, known for its darkness, its lack of ambient
light, to see the glow, the glimmer, the magic of a sky filled with stars,
connect with the universe.
And there they were, a field of people, staring silently upward, crying.
They had their notebooks, and cameras, and sketchbooks but they knew
they would never capture the soul of the moment. She had finally found
her place in the world with people who understood. That’s when she knew,
the Starpainters are taking over now.
Changing Seasons
Changing Seasons
The geese don’t protest the summer’s end, complain about the
flight ahead. They trust the seasons .
Yet we decry each age and stage of our lives, wishing to be other
than ourselves. And in our protestation, our lamentations,
miss the loveliness of now
Quadrille #354: I Protest
Blue Sky Quilt
Blue Sky Quilt
The sky was an unrelenting blue
quilt this morning.
It wouldn’t tolerate any clouds
cluttering up the atmosphere,
or wrinkling its glossy finish.
And then one small puff appeared.
A little smudge of batting poking through
a small hole worn in the edge, along the horizon.
Slowly, more slivers of white came floating along and the harsh blue sky became softer,
worn to a more comfortable shade by time, and sun, and weather.
dVerse Poetics — Have You Ever Seen the Rain?
Catching a Poem
Catching a Poem
Spin around three times
Close your eyes and make a wish
Jump as high as you can
Let a moonbeam land on your hand
Put it in a jar
Sing it a gentle lullaby
Listen carefully – it
will whisper a poem to you
Some Mondays
Some Mondays
Monday tries to sneak up on you
tip-toes in, hopes you won’t notice.
It hears the moans and groans of a Sunday night,
the almost mythological dread of what might be waiting
when it shows up. Monday tries to be inconspicuous,
and, maybe welcomed.
growing pains
growing pains
this poem is boney meter and stanza –
gangly, dangly lines and phrases.
it stumbles over its own feet,
has no rhyme or rhythm. it dreams
of becoming a sonnet, even an ode.
and when its feeling optimistic, it can
Imaging itself a villanelle.
Pondering Things at 2A.M.
Pondering Things at 2 A.M.
There is something magical
about the contrast of black and white.
Something silent that makes you “feel”
rather than “see”.
Light and shadow.
Contrast and highlights.
Like in photography,
piano keys,
snow on bare tree limbs,
stars in a night sky,
…. and Oreos
Shhhhhhh…….Quiet, Please!
Let’s Stay Home
Let’s skip the trip,
stay near to all that’s dear –
brew tea and
bake a chocolate cake.
Let’s write a poem and read the book
that we’ve been waiting for.
Let’s let the candle burn until we hear
finches sing of Springs return
Quadrille #240: Fill, Zip, Trip
