Travelers

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

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.

 

The Coming Change

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

https://dversepoets.com/2021/09/07/poetics-dungeons-and-derivatives/

Of Peace and Drama

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#poeticforms

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.

Secret Star

d’Verse Poets Pub – Poetics: How to Cut a Pomegranate

https://dversepoets.com/2021/06/01/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

Haiku

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

Seeking Merope

d’Verse Poets Pub – Poetics: Stars that count

Seeking Merope

Somewhere hidden in darkness
she waits for her chance to glow.
Seductive and pulsing her
shine is covered with dusty
silken robes of jealousy.
Sisters who fear her brightness
secret her away in shame.

haiku

d’Verse Poets Pub – Poetics: Look into my Eyes

haiku

wisdom unspoken
golden eyes that know my heart
the soul of a cat

Soul of a Cat by Candace Kubinec

Poor November

d’Verse Poets Pub -Poetics – Stoddard, Longfellow and Bryant say hello! (What does November mean to you?)


Poor November

Oh, poor November, ugly duckling
of the Autumn season.
Trees stripped bare of vibrant
orange and yellow by a cold, cruel wind.
Left to idly sit, waiting, between celebrations,
with nothing to do but ponder
the condition of the human race.

The Old Cat

d’Verse Poets Pub – Poetics: Make some room
http://dversepoets.com

The Old Cat

The old cat has no room he calls his own,
he claims a spot til it’s no longer new.
He wanders round this space seeking a throne,

a sunny nook to warm his weary bones –
a padded window seat will surely do
The old cat has no room he calls his own.

Somedays a mournful yeowl he does intone,
when favorite blankets have been left askew.
He wanders round this space seeking a throne,

preferring quietness, to be alone
to ponder catching flies and mice and shrews.
The old cat has no room he calls his own –

he owns it all, each board and stepping stone.
His humble servants also know it’s true.
He wanders round this space seeking a throne,

a cardboard box that he can get into
and fall asleep, curled up and unbeknown.
The old cat has no room he calls his own,
he wanders round the space seeking a throne.