A place for poems and pics
haiku
red tail hawk circles
searching the backyard feeder
unlucky sparrow
–
red tail hawk circles
lucky chipmunk stays hidden
blue jay calls warning
Day 13 prompt for PAD at https://www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/2021-april-pad-challenge-day-13 is lucky/unlucky
A Night for Lost Souls
It was a clear winter night with
spotty stars covering the sky and
just a sliver of white moon showing
It was a cold winter night with
Only the arms of my quilted jacket
wrapped around me for warmth
It was a lonely winter night with
no one to listen to the wishes I
made to the stars high above
It was the kind of night that I
thought I might lose my soul
until I heard the owl call my name
—
I used the line, “I heard the owl call my name” from the book of the same title by Margaret Craven
Day Six
When the Circus Came
The backyard was still and quiet
No sign of bird or beast, until
she ventured out to fill the feeders
Then, as if by magic, flying,
chirping, scurrying from seed to tree –
acrobats in fur and feather,
a circus outside my window
Gossip
I hear them in the tall pine trees
large crows that look like splats of
black ink on the branches,
gossiping loudly among themselves
There is no need for them to whisper, theirs is a language
I will never understand
I wonder if they speak of murder
Day 9 of Poetic Asides PAD – write a love or anti-love poem (or both)
–
Early Bird & Me – a Villanelle
He loves to rise before the sun
While moon and stars are still at play
My night of dreaming not yet done
He, wide awake, his day begun
My eyes are closed – please go away
He loves to rise before the sun
He thinks that I am not much fun
Because in bed I tend to stay
While moon and stars are still at play
He doesn’t know, I sometimes run
Through starlight, under moonbeams lay
He loves to rise before the sun
When moon is tired, stars twinkling done
My moon’s a shining yellow drum
He loves to rise before the sun
Before birdsong is even sung
And I dream on in my own way
He loves to rise before the sun
While moon and stars are still at play
Day 8 of Poetic Asides PAD – write a lucky number poem
–
7 or maybe 3
I always thought my lucky
Number should be 7
It is, after all, the date of
My birth – what could be luckier
But I have begun to reconsider 7
All straight lines with an elbow
That pokes out rather rudely
I feel drawn to 3 – softly curved
With numerical love handles
Its name a whisper that reminds
Me of ‘thee’, and I begin to count
The ways
It All Depends on Moody Clouds
The heavy, gray blanket of clouds
Has set the mood for today
A day for curling up under a hand-made
Afghan – hands cupped around a hot
Mug of tea, a purring cat on my lap
A day for thinking and dreaming – a quiet day
A slow kind of day with no grand expectations
A day when ink can glide across paper
With no destination in mind
A day to soak up the peace while it lasts
Later today – or even tomorrow
the clouds may decide to change the mood
d-Verse Poets Quadrille – Spoiler Alert!
Lillian wants us to ‘spoil’ a perfectly good Quadrille
–
Protest Interrupted
I wanted to protest against the
Clouds threatening to spoil this
Sunny day – paint homemade signs
march in circles on the beach
I looked up – saw pinks
And yellows painted across the blue
Sky and I knew the sun was in love
–
Poetic Asides Nov PAD – Day 21 – write a protest poem
Poetic Asides PAD – Day 16 – brave
–
The Bravery of Clouds
I wish I could be brave
Like the clouds – unafraid
Of change, of seeking new
Horizons – willing
To show their true colors
To share their bad moods,
Their joy, their tears without
Remorse and then move on
Day 5 – a ‘private’ poem
–
Cloud Storage
Some, although not I, tap
Their hopes and dreams, and yes,
Their most private thoughts,
Upon a screen, then with a
Click send it all into the unknown
To be forever stored in the Cloud
Some, although not I, commit
Their inner most longings, even
Confidential introspection to
Lines upon a page, in great clouds of ink
Then stash it beneath a mattress
Away from curious scallawags
Instead, I gather my secrets, bundle
Them up and whisper them into
The sky where a passing cloud
Collects them, stores them in a pocket,
Keeps them, forever safe
rhymeswithbug 