A place for poems and pics
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
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
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
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 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 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
Anatomy Lesson
Who knew a beating heart
could make such a rumpus –
that flowing blood could
create swishing
noises as it moves
from one chamber to another,
gently closing the flap behind it.
I listen, waiting to hear
hope, love, joy, echoing
back to me.
Altered Heart
It’s time to take my heart off my sleeve –
unpin the rough edges,
smooth it out, look for tears.
It’s time to mend some holes and,
after a few alterations, gently stitch it
back where it belongs for the
whole world to see.
I Remember
I remember the hoot of an owl
coming from the ancient woods
on a clear winter night, the crackle
of dry leaves as some small creature sought
refuge, and the moon, shining like a spotlight,
on two lost souls who had found each other.
Quadrille #219 – A Poetic Hootenanny
I’ve Got the Indigo Blues
Not the ordinary blues of
a rainy day or a cancelled adventure
Not the melancholy blues of
a romance that failed
Not even the deep-as-the-ocean blues of
missing someone special
I’ve got the indigo blues of
squashed hope and torched joy-
Just for now
It’s Quadrille Monday!
rhymeswithbug 