A place for poems and pics
“Roots” by Frida Kahlo
I was alone
abandoned
rejected
My world was
cracked
barren
I cried salty tears
of despair
praying for
absolution
redemption
And they watered
the hope which
was buried
almost dead
Slowly tendrils
of mercy
embraced me
and love returned
—
Poetic Asides PAD Day 6 – Ekphrastic
one
cat’s delightful
two are company
but I have three
anarchy
—–
PAD Day3 at Poetic Asides
Night one –
So noble of me
giving up a soft mattress
to sleep on the couch
It’s only three nights
I can sleep anywhere
Night two –
I hope they appreciate
those comfortable beds
there is a bar poking my
back – maybe I should
sleep sideways –
nope
Night three –
So stupid of me
giving up a real mattress
my back aches before
I even lie down
what was I thinking
being noble is for the young
—-
PAD Day 3 at Poetic Asides – take the words Three (blank) and make them the title of your poem.
they say the moon is just some rock
a collection of debris leftover
from a gigantic space collision
an orbiting satellite on a fixed rotation
but my moon is soft and gentle
a glowing nightlight
a midnight friend who
sings love songs to my muse
—–
Poetic Asides PAD Day 2 – he said/she said
you call me foolish
a little uncoolish
my head’s in the clouds
ignoring the crowds
my toes are a tapping
my own beat I’m clapping
I speak with a pen
don’t seek false amen
don’t need your instruction
in this little production
I’m calling my life
~~~~
just foolin’ around with poetry for
Poetics Asides April PAD and with other toads in the garden at Real Toads
In spite of your exalted status
with special pillows and
window seat you are not invited
to sit at the dinner table
We will not save you a chair
or set a place for you and
you will not be considered
a centerpiece
I wonder
if the moon dreads the sun rise
when the party’s over and
the stars take off their
dancing shoes
moonbeams pack up
their instruments until
the next gig
the silky black curtain
is lifted and
daytime sun gives a
solo performance
there is no room for a
leftover moon
I used to think luxury
was long bubble baths
with candles and music
but after children I know
that luxury is a two hour
nap time
I used to think luxury
was champagne and caviar
but after children I know
that luxury is no spilled milk
at dinner
I used to think luxury
was an elegant silk suit
but after children I know
that luxury is khaki pants
without stains
I used to think luxury
was a stroll in the moonlight
but after children I know
that luxury is shoes without mud
after a walk
I used to think luxury
was the peacefulness of silence
but after children I know
that luxury is the joyfulness of
children giggling
does the rose feel regret
that its perfume is so sweet
is the thorn remorseful
over its sting
will the rooster hang its head
in shame for waking you
can a weed excuse itself
for invading your garden
does the deer hide,
shamefaced, after eating your tomatoes
is a caterpillar contrite
for nibbling the cabbage leaves
nature does not apologize
for its wonder
and are you not, as you are
sweet, twisted, noisy, quiet
part of that wonder
with no apology autumn frost
settles on the last petunia
struggling to survive
rhymeswithbug 