A place for poems and pics
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
——-
memories fall from her
family tree scattered
by a cruel wind
she tries to catch them
with outstretched
arms, to rake them into
a pile so she can jump in
to scoop them into a basket
and save them to fertilize
her failing brain
they tease her, swirling
around like smoke then
flying away beyond her grasp
she picks up the ones that
fall at her feet but they are
dry and crumbly dissolving
into dust in her frail fingers
feeling jam(b)- led
in my jam –
mies waiting for
the sun to rise
& shine on (harvest
moon)
hum(ming) tunies in
my bed(head) till the tick-
tock sings a-
long song and my toot-
toot, tootsies hit the floor
——
ok, for some reason I felt compelled to try another enjambment
i’ll try a little em-
jam(b)-ment with my toast
and tea(se)
may-
be (my)honey stir-
red cuppa to start
my morning rit(u)al-
ways make me
s m i l e
——
Whew! De Jackson challenged us to try emjam(b)min’ with her over at the Pub. I was de-termined to give it a try
I sit at the edge of this field in the shadow of a church steeple. The voices of the faithful flow from open windows and I can imagine each head bowed in humble supplication. Their knees bent adoringly as dim candle light flickers from brass sconces.
I raise my face to the sun and with a choir of sparrows worship in the light of creation.
under the bright sun
all of creation sings praise
voices joined in glee
———
Today is Haibun Monday over at dVerse Poets Pub
there is no end to this blank road
no rest-stopping on the map
it’s a trap
slows me down, find a noun
to fill up the gap
sing, jog, dance, prance, love in ink
push words to the brink
——
Today at d’Verse Poets Pub we’re listening to some cool jazz.
Thanks to Bjorn for this Open Link Night
I decided to try another Melancholia
There once was a gal who felt beamish
Not prudish or timid or squeamish
She was feeing frabjous
As she strapped on her shoes
And went wading to catch rainbow fish
—–
Victoria, over at the d’Verse pub is asking for some humor (What is sillier than a limerick!?)
She challenged us to use some fun new words.
I didn’t mean to eat
the whole bag – just
one bar, well maybe
just another
They were intended
for witches and pirates
and ghosts who roamed
the dark streets
And now I hear them
stomping up the front
porch steps, giggling
And shushing each
other – too late to turn
off the lights and pretend
I’m not home
My doorbell chimes as
if it is at Westminster
There is no escape and
I smile guiltily as I deposit
boxes of raisins into
outstretched bags and
pumpkins
“It’s better for them” I
mutter to myself
tell me about the quiet people
the good deeds gone unnoticed
I’m drowning in political hubris
smothered in bloodshed
tell me about the do-gooders
the selfless, help me shed
this perpetual bombardment
of negativity and hate
jealousy and rage
tell me about kindness
about gentle spirits
help me dig out from under
this pile of sensationalism
so I can see that beauty survives
tell me about the workers,
creators, inventors
I’m torn down by destruction
worn down by erosion
show me the sun and moon
the stars twinkling hope
whisper to me of love
Sometimes when I’m all alone
When light has surrendered
Darkness blurs the lines
Then fantasy rules the night
When light has surrendered
I quickly take to my bed
Pull the covers over my head
Darkness blurs the lines
Right and wrong are blended
Into imaginary possibilities
Then fantasy rules the night
I peek from my hiding place
Watching as dreams perform
——
At dVerse Poets Pub we are challenged to use the Trimeric form
rhymeswithbug 