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

Posted in poetry

Searching for Comfort in Times of Change

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In times of change – when normal
isn’t – our souls reach out for the
kind of comfort bright and shiny
new can’t provide. We reach for the
familiar feelings we found in an
old book, where they all lived
happily ever after, or the music
from the days of our youth, when
we were invincible. Milk and
chocolate chip cookies, a bowl
of homemade soup, jelly bread
and tea find their way onto our plates,
replacing the salads and trendy
recipes with hard-to-find ingredients.
Sometimes we need the memories
only a childhood friend can share.
We seek the familiar in the things around
us, family photos, a vase that belonged
to a grandmother, a favorite mug
bought on a special vacation.
And sometimes that familiar thing
is a gray and white wolf puppet
with well-worn fur and lumpy stuffing
who will guard you through the night.