A place for poems and pics
Slow Time
It is the slow time
The time between day
and night
The time when only cardinals
are searching for seeds
under the feeder
The time when even the trees seem
to settle and the breeze softens
The time when faint rosy smears
left by the sun remain in the sky
It is the slow time
when two hearts turn away from
the busy world
to find each other
Meet the bar with Chant poetry
Posted by Björn Rudberg (brudberg) in 10 year celebration, FormForAll, Meeting the Bar: Critique and Craft
–
Mending Threads
A mending thread runs from my heart to reach
A mending thread dangling from yours
A mending thread to run from us across the street
A mending thread that will stretch from person to person
A mending thread of love and peace encircling the world
A mending thread to bind our wounds and heal our aching souls
A mending thread we can weave into a giant dream catcher
A mending thread that will hold our gravest nightmares
A mending thread to save me from the loneliness of missing you
Meet the bar with Chant poetry
d’Verse Poets Pub – Poetics: Garden(ing)
https://dversepoets.com/2021/07/13/poetics-gardening/
Of Peace and Drama
she takes her camera to the bit of land that
she works
looking for bees and butterflies hoping
to find
a Monarch flitting among the milkweed she has planted
a place
where they can lay their eggs, where caterpillars munch the leaves
where peace
is sometimes an illusion, as insects and birds play out the drama of who
exists
–
Waltmarie Poetic Form-
10 line poem, any subject, even numbered lines are 2 syllables and form their own poem when read separately. Odd lines are longer with no specific syllable count.
d’Verse Poets Pub – Quadrille 131 – with Brian Miller
the word today is “Juke”
Time Traveler
she has her own Jukebox
an antique with colorful neon lights
she has filled with her favorite 45s
oldies that take her back to dances in the gym
and a boy with slicked back hair
she pushes B5 and dances alone
with her memories
Quadrille 131 – with Brian Miller
d’Verse Poets Pub – MTB: To turn again, about turn again.
https://dversepoets.com/2021/06/03/mtb-to-turn-again-about-turn-again/
–
Beggars Without Bowls
I offer seeds and nuts to the beggars
and they come, big and small, begging,
without bowls, for alms, for scraps that beg
not to be wasted. And I, like those beggars,
hope for a quick reward, a glimpse, for begging
them with seeds and nuts to appear – those feathered beggars
scavenging for leftovers beneath the feeder, beggars
without bowls in bird-like disguise
d’Verse Poets Pub – Poetics: How to Cut a Pomegranate
Poetics: How to Cut a Pomegranate
—-
Secret Star
The ancient apple tree freely gives up its fruit
The universe held safely within the core of its being
Covered tightly in a smooth red skin protecting the wisdom
Of the ages, the stories of past lives, tales of feast and famine
My knife pierces that skin and sweet juices trickle over my fingers
A baptism of holy sweetness, a promise of things to come
And there, in the center where new life is held, I see the secret star
A Curious Deception
It’s curious how the moon glides calmly
through the night sky, serenely shining down
on peace and wars alike, when all the while
it is tugging and pulling at this planet earth
silently directing time and tides and
migrating birds and you and me
d’Verse Poets Pub – Quadrille #126 – Come “bother” up a poem
Why Bother
This poem didn’t bother to get
dressed – just stayed in its pjs all day
not bothered by the flapping
of its slippers or the flopping of its
hair-do, hoping no one will bother it
until it doesn’t have to bother
masking its feelings
Quadrille #126 – Come “bother” up a poem
d’Verse Poets Pub – Quadrille: swift
Little Birds
The naturalists call them Swifts –
because they are
And the blue jays are blue
Black capped chickadees wear
close fitting black caps
Little birds with names to help
us recognize them
What shall I call the lonely bird
That perches in my heart?
d’Verse Poets Pub – Poetics: Beyond Meaning or The Resolution of Opposites
haiku
within its branches
the ancient gnarled apple tree
harbors fresh new life
–
from Paul Dunbar’s The Paradox: I am the bud and the blossom, I am the late-falling leaf
rhymeswithbug 