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d’Verse Poets Pub – Poetics: March Wind Ekphrastic
I used the painting by John Sloan, Sun and Wind on the Roof
Tethered
I wish for wings to take me
sailing over these rooftops
Wings that flap like the shirts and
sheets on this line, struggling for release
into an unknown world
Yet, like the sheets, I am tethered to
this place – not with ropes and pegs,
but with invisible threads that
bind my heart to yours
A Salty Tear
Like a clown, this poem paints
on a happy face and goes serenely
about its day cooking, cleaning, caring.
All the while there is a small salty
tear waiting at the corner of its eye –
waiting to be released when
no one can see.
Dancing in the Dark
My friend, the moon, is hanging about
In the dark waiting for me to come outside
and dance with him. The wind is whistling a
waltz, so I kick off my shoes gliding across the
grass, as dew drops nibble kisses on my toes.
My Life as a Word Junkie
I search them out, put them
on lists, hoard them for myself
I secret them away on scraps of
paper and keep them in rows in
the depths of old journals.
I snatch them from the pages
of books and catch them as they
tumble from the mouths of friends
and strangers. I hum them to myself
even when there is no music. I seek
their meanings in a tattered dictionary
and find their relatives between the covers
of a thesaurus. They comfort me
in the middle of the night and sooth
me during storms. Each one is unique,
perfect as it is, and sometimes I string
them together into poems.
The Howling Moon
Clear winter night, no clouds,
perfect for watching the full moon rise.
It’s called the Wolf Moon.
I can see my breath, suspended in air, and
wonder about that name. Do you think
this cold winter moon howls for the many
who shiver tonight?
—
Happy New Year !
A Brighter Day
Same Carols, same twinkling lights
Same Santa ringing a bell
Year by year the people notice
less and less, taking it for granted
Until a small girl in a red hat
walked down the city street. When
she smiled, she tinseled the whole day
We Come Once More
We come, once more, to this
thankful
season. A time of introspection for
poets
whose cups spill over with syllables of love,
with souls
filled to the brim with joy and sadness, and hearts
that beat
out the rhythm of life and death
with truth.
The Squirrel Forest
She laughs at the squirrel running
back and forth across her yard
frantically burying acorns in random
places. Will it ever remember
each spot so it can return in barren
winter to dig up that morsel?
She knows that in the spring
she will be pulling saplings from
her flower beds, left overs from
some hidden bounty. As she watches,
she wanders if it might have been squirrels
that planted the forest at the edge of her yard.
Changing Wind
The wind came blowing through
the trees today, making the leaves
shiver in fear. It was a changed wind,
colder, more sinister. The clouds were
rudely pushed aside by this bully wind and
I heard it whisper through my window,
“Ready or not, here I come.”
rhymeswithbug 