Posted in Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, poetry

Here I Find My Peace

Peace is every Step
We’re looking for some peace in the Garden


Here I Find My Peace

 

My peace is not found in the dark
Watching the constellations
Or bathing in the gentle glow
Of the moon
My peace is not found
In the solitude of a bench
Beside a lake or in the warmth
Of the sand or the rush of the waves
At the edge of the sea
It is not lingering in the song
Of birds of the scent of flowers
I keep my peace tucked safely
In the folds of my heart where
I feel its calming smoothness
Like a piece of fine satin
Against my cheek
Here I find my peace – within myself

 

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Posted in Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, PAD

A Teabag Kind of Day

Thirty poems in April: a final in verbs
We are verbing around in the Graden  for the last day of April

—-

A Tea-bag Kind of Day

I have been tea-bagged
Dunked in and out of hot water
Then left to steep too long –
Had every ounce of goodness
Squeezed out of me
And now you wonder why
I am just a bit bitter
If you were more observant you
Could have read the warning in the
Dregs I left behind

 

 

Posted in Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, PAD

A Force of Nature

The poetry Form required is The Fold

SO

Your challenge today toads, is to Let your words FOLD INTO POEMS ABOUT DESTRUCTIVE WEAPONS.

 

Constraints! The Fold [guidelines]
1. 11 lines
2. The end phrase of Line 1 repeats at Lines 5 and 11
3. The rhyme of line 1 continues through in every other line
4. There MUST be a reference to nature and how it affect you the poet

—-

A Force of Nature

we donned our shoes, our coats, our hats
so she could go on a scavenger hunt
i made a list of natural things in our habitat
“make the list long and try to trick me” – her words to me
the wind was blowing, our noses running, glad we had our hats
the list took her back and forth – up and down – a little hurricane
she searched for lion’s teeth and a big old shrub with cats
i hoped she would soon tire of this chilly game of ours
and we could go inside again – maybe even sit and chat
but she is six and doesn’t tire or mind the cold – I wish we’d
put on gloves and heavy jackets but at least we wore our hats

Not sure if I hit the theme but a six-year old can destroy your heart.

Posted in Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, PAD, Poetic Asides

The Lion’s Tooth

 

The Lion’s Tooth

Fierce and brave you
Prowl through my yard
Your yellow mane a happy
Harbinger of Spring
Your young toothed leaves harvested
By the old folks next door
And cooked for lunch
A peasant meal now embraced
By health enthusiasts
Have you, dear dandelion,
Long reviled by men
Pushing lawn mowers,
Become the new Kale
Showing up at Farmer’s Markets
And grocery stores?

 

 

 

Posted in Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, PAD, Poems of Garden Gnomes

On This Rainy Day

On This Rainy Day – a Pantoum (I think)

just one color on this rainy day
the sky a rooftop of smokey slate
my bed is where I wish to stay
forget appointments or show up late

the sky a rooftop of smokey slate
trees and bushes a shade of gray
forget appointments, show up late
read a book, brew some Earl Grey

trees and bushes a shade of gray
chocolate cake upon a plate
read a book, brew some Earl Grey
a lazy day to appreciate

chocolate cake upon a plate
my bed is where I wish to stay
a lazy day to appreciate
just one color on this rainy day

 

Posted in Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, poetry

Dear Art Instructor

Dear” Poems – Imaginary Garden with Real Toads

~~

Dear Art Instructor,

I don’t have a clue
Can you tell
I smudge and smudge
The squiggles of charcoal
I’ve drawn
Until, on my paper, is just
An amorphous blob of gray
Not a flower
And you smile, erase
Sketch and suddenly
My smudge becomes
A lovely blossom
Can you tell
I don’t have a clue

Posted in d'Verse Poets Pub, Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, quadrille

Still Life

d’Verse Poets Pub – Quadrille #52 Let’s Fire it Up
~

Still Life

 

she wipes the smudges from her hand
stares at the gray shapes on her canvas
birds, flowers, trees, seem to magically
spring from the vine charcoal she
holds between her fingers
maybe the magic was in the fire, burning
life into dry willow branches

—-

I’ve been taking some art classes recently – vine charcoal is made by burning grape vines or willow branches to a specific hardness.

Also posting on Tuesday Platform over at Imaginary Garden with Real Toads