A place for poems and pics
I am Air
I breath it in
and speak it out
in puffs of thoughts
formed into words
I breath it in
and shout it out
in curses of anger and despair
I breath it in
and sigh it out
in fervent whispers of hope
I am air
and breath
and life
https://dversepoets.com/2025/02/25/tuesday-poetics-the-four-elements-2/
The Art of Spring
She sat at her easel, like an old dutch Master,
trying to capture the essence of a bouquet of daffodils,
bathed in the morning light shining softly through her kitchen window.
Her paints were carefully mixed by hand to create shades of
yellow – golden dawn, golden echo, and lemon beauty. She sketched
their ruffled petals, so like lacey lingerie, and wished she could paint
the scent of them – a love call to bees.
Poetics: Daffy for Daffodils, Sprung in Spring
To Whoooom it May Concern
I see you move silently through the trees
never touching branches or getting tangled
In swaying vines, as I move silently through
dark rooms never stepping on the bits and
pieces of a family’s life once strewn across
the floor. You are probably hunting – for a meal
or some furry morsel in the open fields,
to satisfy your hunger
I am also hunting – standing in front of
the open fridge, looking for some leftover
or piece of pie that will assuage my sadness.
I hear your call and another answers, so
I know you are not alone in the darkness,
and when I call softly there is no reply –
for now, my nest is empty.
With love from a fellow night owl
Poetics:For the love of letters
Canned Memories
The days have grown shorter and
there is a chill hovering around the
last of the Maple leaves, as they dangle
listlessly from the branches that nourished them
Thoughts turn to all things warm – sweaters and
blankets and soup. My freezer is stocked with
containers of tomato soup made from the
fruit of our garden. Ripened by the sun, picked
and peeled, chopped and simmered with garlic and
basil and onion – ready to warm the body when
Winter makes itself at home, here.
But the soup that warms my soul with memories
is the kind that came in a red and white can, the one
made famous by Andy Warhol. The soup my mother
served for lunch with small round crackers and a
cup of hot chocolate.
Poetics: Time for Soup!
Travelers
I watch them, young people with
their backpacks and trendy clothes,
their cool hairstyles and uncomfortable shoes.
They walk through the airport with a
confidence bestowed on them by
nature. Secure in their ability to navigate
the maze of shops and signage and crowds.
I can not help wandering how they will
weather the storms that living brings or
if they too will someday join the shuffling
mass of elderly travelers, confused and hesitant.
August Again
It’s hot and you are grumpy.
All the tomatoes are ripening at once,
the cucumbers are wilting, and the
neighbor’s orange cat is using the flower
bed for a litter box.
The garden looks tired, worn out, as if
it just doesn’t care any more.
The Sun is an unrelenting ball of heat.
The night air carries no coolness.
I sit by the open kitchen window wondering
if this month has any redeeming qualities
when in a corner of the yard I see the large
white blossoms of the moonflower vine. This
glow of promise amid the darkness reminds me
that each season holds a beauty of its very own.
I shall make it my mission to search for it.
–
d’Verse Poets Pub – Poetics – Dungeons and Derivatives
Quite a challenge today! Choose a line from one of Sanaa’a poems and write your own poem using derivatives of its words.
Here is my attempt using the following line:
5 “The rustling of leaves; I have stood many a time at the doorway of dreaming.” – Buck Moon ~ Part two: Seeing things.
The Coming Change
Flower petals hang limp and faded
their leaves spotted with disease
The sun’s warmth is abandoning us –
tilting away to warm the faces of others
leaving no heat to see us through the night
Even the geese mock us, honking as
they fly across the sky in formation
Gentle breezes have turned a cold shoulder and
Rusted leaves stand in the doorway of my dreams
—
Poetics – Dungeons and Derivatives
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 – 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
d’Verse Poets Pub – Poetics: travels in the wild
Haiku
(about a squirrel hunting in the mountains)
–
peaks covered in Oaks
squirrel hunting in the mountains
has found Nirvana
rhymeswithbug 