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 d'Verse Poets Pub

The Wisdom of a Cat

d’Verse Poets Pub – Poetics – Solitude
http://deversepoets.com

The Wisdom of a Cat

We can learn much from a cat –
how to gracefully spend a day
without the company of others,
how to calmly avoid the chaos
of our surroundings by finding
a sunny spot, a comfortable
place to watch the cardinals and
blue jays, and goldfinches at the
feeders and the chubby squirrel
that scampers through the grass.
Then, when you get too warm, you
find a little snack, curl up
on your favorite chair, and
purr in contentment.

Posted in d'Verse Poets Pub, quadrille

Silly Wherefore Art Thou

d’Veres Poets Pub Quadrille Monday – Lighten up a bit!
Lillian has us looking at the ‘silly’ side of things.
http://dverespoets.com

Silly Wherefore Art Thou

What has happened to silly,
that willy-nilly, slightly
frilly state of giggling quite
shrilly until you very nearly
lose your breath?
When words like piccalilli
or vanilli leave us
in a dilly due
to really, really
watery eyes. Oh, how
we need some silly.

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.

Posted in d'Verse Poets Pub, poetry, triolet

Hush

d’Verse Poets Pub – Almost a Triolet

Frank has us flexing our poetic muscles by writing a Triolet

Join the fun at the Pub
http://dversepoets.com


I like the hush of twilight
When even birds are still
exiled is sun’s gypsy light
I like the hush of twilight
When day becomes contrite
And moon’s glow overspills
I like the hush of twilight
When even birds are still

Posted in d'Verse Poets Pub, poetry

Upon Her Return

d’Verse Poets Pub -MTB: The Death Sentence
Here’s the challenge –
one sentence, improvised, end of civilization as we know it

give it a try over at http://dversepoets.com

It had been only three weeks since she kissed
Him goodbye, escaping the gloomy skies
Of home for a dose of sunshine, (something
She craved in the middle of winter even though
He did not), but something had gone awry while
She soaked up those healing rays and he sulked
Under the gray clouds because as soon as she
Stepped into the house, before she could even kick
Off her shoes, he slumped off to take a nap, signaling
The end of the world as she knew it