A place for poems and pics
autumn winds blow
bare tree branches tremble
winter birds remain
autumn winds blow
brown leaves scatter across grass
swirling away
bare tree branches tremble
flock of doves gather
at sunset
winter birds remain
searching for leftover seeds
among spent flowers
your words smelled like roses but
they left a taste of vinegar in my mouth
truth does not come easily to you
your words looked soft and fluffy but
i felt pricks on my skin from the thorns
compassion does not come easily to you
you colored your words with peaceful
green but underneath was the red of rage
love does not come easily to you
my words stretched out to cover you
in a quilt of tender blue so you
would feel the color of peace
—
the prompt today over at the pub is “synesthesia”
Thanks to Victoria Soto for this one
Ancient hope delivered
on the wings of a dove
Witnessed from the
deck of a wooden boat
Forgotten in the tramp
of boots in battle through
mud and snow – past
bodies of comrades
Snagged on long strips
of barbed wire that
imprisioned millions
Hidden in long tunnels
under wet green jungles
where teens fought teens
Lost among the clouds
behind the whine of engines
flying with heavy payloads
Ancient hope in the sky
ignored by humankind
© Candace Kubinec
This poem was posted on Artists4Peace today
In spite of your exalted status
with special pillows and
window seat you are not invited
to sit at the dinner table
We will not save you a chair
or set a place for you and
you will not be considered
a centerpiece
it was a dark and gloomy night
a night that didn’t feel quite right
the moon was snoring, still in bed
with cloudy blankets o’re his head
the stars were nowhere to be found
no giggling, no fooling ’round
i couldn’t sleep it was so black
i crept downstairs to find a snack
the cat was curled up on my chair
i took my plate back up the stairs
climbed into bed with pen and pad
to chronicle the night i’d had
my mind went blank no single word
flowed from my pen, this was absurd
it seems my muse had left my side
to snuggle with the moon, outside
i was the only one awake
with pen and pad, and tea and cake
it was a dark and gloomy night
a night i couldn’t even write
I wonder
if the moon dreads the sun rise
when the party’s over and
the stars take off their
dancing shoes
moonbeams pack up
their instruments until
the next gig
the silky black curtain
is lifted and
daytime sun gives a
solo performance
there is no room for a
leftover moon
I used to think luxury
was long bubble baths
with candles and music
but after children I know
that luxury is a two hour
nap time
I used to think luxury
was champagne and caviar
but after children I know
that luxury is no spilled milk
at dinner
I used to think luxury
was an elegant silk suit
but after children I know
that luxury is khaki pants
without stains
I used to think luxury
was a stroll in the moonlight
but after children I know
that luxury is shoes without mud
after a walk
I used to think luxury
was the peacefulness of silence
but after children I know
that luxury is the joyfulness of
children giggling
chickadee and sparrow
sent out the invitations
to owl and hawk and nuthatch
the perfect combination
blue jay was included too
she’s really quite precocious
magpie was excluded since
his manners are atrocious
the mourning moon
reminds me to let go
to start anew
pack up the useless
have a garage sale
maybe someone else
can take my irrational
fear of failure and fold
it into origami cranes
——
Tonight there is a full moon, the last full moon before the winter solstice.It is sometimes called the Mourning Moon- a reminder to let go of unnecessary possessions, emotions, attachments
——-
alone beneath the moon’s glow
stars like dust motes in the sky
the only sounds, cricket’s chirp,
croak of frogs so deep, so low
—–
Paloma introduced a form called The Twenty-Eight at B&Ps Shadorma & Beyond
Four lines of seven syllables each with lines one and four rhyming created by J Lapis
rhymeswithbug 