A place for poems and pics
A Daily Challenge
How did I become trash-challenged?
My kitchen garbage can questions me
every time I open its lid.
I can hear it whisper, “Is that recyclable?”
I search the packaging of pasta, and spinach,
and eggs for the magic numbered triangle,
because I no longer have the ability to
determine what to throw in the garbage
and what to recycle.
How did I become trash-challenged?
Peace is every Step
We’re looking for some peace in the Garden
—
Here I Find My Peace
My peace is not found in the dark
Watching the constellations
Or bathing in the gentle glow
Of the moon
My peace is not found
In the solitude of a bench
Beside a lake or in the warmth
Of the sand or the rush of the waves
At the edge of the sea
It is not lingering in the song
Of birds of the scent of flowers
I keep my peace tucked safely
In the folds of my heart where
I feel its calming smoothness
Like a piece of fine satin
Against my cheek
Here I find my peace – within myself
Thirty poems in April: a final in verbs
We are verbing around in the Graden for the last day of April
—-
A Tea-bag Kind of Day
I have been tea-bagged
Dunked in and out of hot water
Then left to steep too long –
Had every ounce of goodness
Squeezed out of me
And now you wonder why
I am just a bit bitter
If you were more observant you
Could have read the warning in the
Dregs I left behind
Dear” Poems – Imaginary Garden with Real Toads
~~
Dear Art Instructor,
I don’t have a clue
Can you tell
I smudge and smudge
The squiggles of charcoal
I’ve drawn
Until, on my paper, is just
An amorphous blob of gray
Not a flower
And you smile, erase
Sketch and suddenly
My smudge becomes
A lovely blossom
Can you tell
I don’t have a clue
We’re exploring the dark side of love over in the Garden
Dark Side
No creamy smoothness swirling
Nothing sweet and sickening
Nothing gooey
Finger liking
Tongue tickling
No, this is a day for darkness
And bitterness
Straight from the jungle
Decadence
No less than 85%
Roasted, husked, and ground
Cacao
Weekend Mini-Challenge: Art with Me
We’re writing about words in the Garden this weekend
~
Power of Words
These words can be super heroes
Throwing you a lifeline
When you are drowning
Talking you down off that ledge
Picking you up when you’re
Too tired to go on –
Or maybe villains
Laughing at your sorrow
Tripping you in the dark
Stalking you when you try to run
They can be a warm companion on a cold day
Curled up beside you
Snuggled under an afghan
Sharing a cup of tea –
Or maybe your worst nightmare
Chasing you through your dreams
Until you scream out loud
These words can bring healing
Like a hug from a friend or
A day in the sunshine
These words have powers
Handle with care
Fussy Little Forms: Chained Rhyme
We’re linking some rhymes in the Garden
—
Sunday Football Fans
Ardent fan with painted face
Trace of human coloring gone
Drawn instead in greens and blues
Hues unnatural and strange
Exchange taunts with those who cheer
Sincere(ly) for the other team
Scream as if his life will end
Offend some other sitting near
Atmosphere becomes more tense
Defense makes a crucial play
They forget the slight and hug
Chug a celebration beer
Spear the air with upraised hands
Stand together shout and sing
Cling to hopes of victory
Creature Comforts
We’re getting comfy and settling in with Real Toads
—
A Warm Up Tricube
when I’m cold
deep inside
shivering
to the bone
just one thing
will warm me
mug full of
chocolate
hot and sweet
Fussy Little Forms: Rondelet
Happy Weekend, Toads! Today I offer to you the very definition of a Fussy Little Form, the RONDELET. The rondelet is a short French poetry form featuring a strict rhyme and meter pattern plus a lovely repeated refrain. It looks like this:
Line 1 :: A—four syllables
Line 2 :: b—eight syllables
Line 3 :: A—repeat of line one
Line 4 :: a—eight syllables
Line 5 :: b—eight syllables
Line 6 :: b—eight syllables
Line 7 :: A—repeat of line one
Garden Toads are playing with poetic forms today
—
Moonlight Rondelet
in the moonlight
the blazing sun no longer queen
in the moonlight
magic appears, reason takes flight
and you and I stuck in between
can hear the spirits wail and keen
in the moonlight
Artistic Interpretations with Margaret
Margaret has shared some art exhibited at the NC County Fair in Asheville for our inspiration in the Garden
Waiting
I wait
for the footfall
that doesnt come
the gentle touch
that used to
calm my fears
I wait for the soft
tones of a voice filled
with love that is
now lost
I wait
alone
and yet
I hope
so I’ll wait on
rhymeswithbug 