Migration Story

Migration Story

They fly in a V formation, a skein
of Canada Geese, honking
joyfully as they arrive back at the
lakes and ponds where they were born.
Landing on the water, as if on water skis,
they trundle together onto land making
soft sounds in a language of their own.
They make me think of a superfluity of nuns
in their black wimples, reciting prayers
of gratitude for a safe migration.

Amid Chaos

PAD 14 – from where I’m sitting

Amid Chaos

The morning sun slants through the kitchen window where
I sit,
surrounded by the lacey pattern the shadows make on the the wall.
Amid
the calmness of morning bird calls, Bach, and tea there is
chaos
at the bird feeder. Finches and sparrows battling for position, not
waiting
their turn – for theirs is a battle of survival not a negotiation
for peace.

waltmarie poetic form

https://www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/2021-april-pad-challenge-day-14

A Night for Lost Souls

A Night for Lost Souls

It was a clear winter night with
spotty stars covering the sky and
just a sliver of white moon showing

It was a cold winter night with
Only the arms of my quilted jacket
wrapped around me for warmth

It was a lonely winter night with
no one to listen to the wishes I
made to the stars high above

It was the kind of night that I
thought I might lose my soul
until I heard the owl call my name


I used the line, “I heard the owl call my name” from the book of the same title by Margaret Craven

Day Six

Gossip

Gossip

I hear them in the tall pine trees
large crows that look like splats of
black ink on the branches,
gossiping loudly among themselves
There is no need for them to whisper, theirs is a language
I will never understand
I wonder if they speak of murder

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

A Teabag Kind of Day

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

 

 

Breaking Up

MTB — Variations on the Rubaiyat – Frank is tending bar at the Pub today

 


Breaking Up

The moment that you touch my lips
I feel more inches on my hips
More pounds the scale will indicate
If I but make one little slip

I’ve licked you from my fingertips
And savored you as warming sips
I’m sorry darling chocolate
I’m leaving you for crisp kale chips

Just kidding! 🤗  I would never break up with chocolate.