Sending Love
She blows kisses to a fluffy cloud
Hoping the wind will blow it
Straight to you, then squeeze it
Out to express every drop
Of love it holds upon your life
Tag: love
Tell Me
Tell Me
Don’t tell me about your new car
with its fancy dashboard and back up camera.
Don’t tell me about your latest trip to
some foreign country with beaches and sunshine.
Don’t tell me how long you waited in the drive-thru
line for your morning latte.
Tell me instead about birdsong in the morning,
the male goldfinches singing their hearts
out, dressed in their brightest yellow feathers.
Tell me about the row of orange and pink
Zinnias, planted especially for bees and butterflies.
Tell me how much you care about this old planet
with all its light and darkness, its joys and sorrows.
Tell me the stories of its creation and the hope for its future.
Tell me love stories about you and me.
—
Day 22 of Poem a Day at Writer’s Digest
Heart Signals
Heart Signals
I watched the fireflies flashing
Flashing secret signals of hope
Hope that somewhere in the darkness
Darkness that hides the cares of the day
Day that slowly fades into night
Night will hold the answer to its signals
Signals from one heart to another
Another night for lovers like you and I
(I fudged a little with the grammar )
A Reply From Narcissus in the Laundromat
A Reply From Narcissus in the Laundromat
When I stumbled into the laundromat I saw
you fluffing and folding and was instantly smitten.
People think I’m vain, egotistical even, but
every time I looked in a mirror or caught my reflection
in a window I was looking for you. I was daring to hope
that someone like you might be following me. Suddenly,
there you were, so I went from machine to machine trying
to glimpse your face because I was afraid to look into your eyes
in case there was no love reflected back.
* from Day 5 at NaPoWriMo
An Everyday Kind of Love
An Everyday Kind of Love
Love is nothing like the movies –
sometimes
it looks like laundry and dirty dishes.
Real love
happens in the school drop- off line and
hides in
the bleachers of soccer matches and band festivals,
simple
ordinary times when a parent’s love fills all the empty
places.
waltmarie poetic form
Spider’s Web
Spider’s Web
I leave the abandoned spider’s web,
empty and lifeless, in the corner of the back porch
an offering for the goldfinches and humming birds, which
they will use as the glue that holds their small nests together,
a shield against wind and rain when eggs hatch – protection
from harm until the hatchlings fledge
instead, I sit in a pool of morning sun and ponder love,
the spider’s web that holds a family together – safe and secure
Waiting for Love
Waiting for Love
I long to see the moon again
hidden
Behind a cloud laden night sky
unseen
I wait by an open window with
my heart
Willing the cloud to roll away to watch as it
unfolds
Freeing the moonbeams to kiss my face
slowly
—-
“This week, a Poetic Asides member shared a poetic form she created. While I don’t usually share nonce forms, I’ve tried this one myself, and I think it’s a lot of fun. So without further ado, I’m introducing Candace Kubinec’s form, the Waltmarie (which is itself a nod to PA members and Poetic Bloomings hosts, Marie Elena Good and Walter J. Wojtanik).” From Poetic Asides 2/12/21
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.
Skipping Pebble
d’Verse Poetics: Water, Water Everywhere
–
Skipping Pebble
If I could be a pebble
I would skip myself across a
glassy lake – creating ripples
that grow larger, spread
farther until
they wash my love onto
the shore of your heart
Early Bird & Me
Day 9 of Poetic Asides PAD – write a love or anti-love poem (or both)
–
Early Bird & Me – a Villanelle
He loves to rise before the sun
While moon and stars are still at play
My night of dreaming not yet done
He, wide awake, his day begun
My eyes are closed – please go away
He loves to rise before the sun
He thinks that I am not much fun
Because in bed I tend to stay
While moon and stars are still at play
He doesn’t know, I sometimes run
Through starlight, under moonbeams lay
He loves to rise before the sun
When moon is tired, stars twinkling done
My moon’s a shining yellow drum
He loves to rise before the sun
Before birdsong is even sung
And I dream on in my own way
He loves to rise before the sun
While moon and stars are still at play
7 or maybe 3
Day 8 of Poetic Asides PAD – write a lucky number poem
–
7 or maybe 3
I always thought my lucky
Number should be 7
It is, after all, the date of
My birth – what could be luckier
But I have begun to reconsider 7
All straight lines with an elbow
That pokes out rather rudely
I feel drawn to 3 – softly curved
With numerical love handles
Its name a whisper that reminds
Me of ‘thee’, and I begin to count
The ways
rhymeswithbug 