if i were a lily, i would wait all day

Photo: V. Slotto

Photo: V. Slotto

if i were a lily, i would wait all day

for the gentle nudge of a summer breeze
bending me to its will

for the luminous glimpse of a ruby throat
sated by my nectar

for the heady scent of a neighboring rose
gracing me with her presence

for the taste of rain that falls at last
to soften thirsting earth

for the setting sun that signals the end
of my brief but beautiful life

i would fall to earth, become one with her
surrender, await the unknown

The title is taken from Mary Oliver, Published in A Thousand Mornings: Poems

Linked to dVerse Open Link Night

Widow–dVerse Poetics

Photo: imgkid.com

Photo: imgkid.com

The chill in the room seeps into her bones,
while sweet-pungent scent of chamomile and honey
offers little comfort.
In the corner, a thrift-store lamps sits on an antique table,
its warm low light flickers like a candle flame.
The old woman rocks back and forth,
creaking on the hardwood floor.
She fingers the fringe of her gray afghan,
untangles skeins of troubled thoughts,
sips 2 AM loneliness.

The tea-cup, empty now, bids her back to bed
where she dreads the sagging mattress on the other side
that still holds his scent.

Written and linked to dVerse Poetics where the prompt is to write a poem using 2 AM.

perfection isn’t

Photo: arievendervelden.com

Photo: arievendervelden.com

perfection isn’t

raucous stellar jay punctuates the silence

sets ablaze the dead maple with electric blue.


i miss the lauds of mockingbird

humbly clothed in gray and white.

Photo: Wikipedia

Photo: Wikipedia

Linked to dVerse MTB where we are playing with contrasts.

just enough rain to muddy my recently washed car


Photo: movingtowardfreedom.com

Photo: movingtowardfreedom.com

just enough rain to muddy my recently washed car
an american sentence

surprise desert shower, momentary hope,
lasting but five minutes

An American Sentence posted by Lynn at A Poem in My Pocket inspired me to turn to this form to overcome my creative drought.


Photo: Victoria Slotto

Photo: Victoria Slotto

Pregnant clouds
poise on the mountain tops,
wait for nature’s push—
but for now they hover.

Our desert valley thirsts,

Do you know spirit-drought?
Those long, dry days
of waiting for bad news?
Of watching a loved one’s
slow demise—death by the inch?
Of staring at a blank page,
waiting for a shower of words?

Our spirits thirst,

Tonight our world
lies awake, listens
for rain.

For the past few days we’ve watched rain clouds that just can seem to make it over the mountains. Drastic measures are being implemented in face of the drought. California has initiated a state-wide mandate to reduce water consumption by 25% or more. 

I hoped to have this up in time for Open Link Night but missed it by just minutes…actually seconds. But here it is, anyway.

Listen to Drought Who Comes to Teach


Photo: morethanasundayfaith.com

Photo: morethanasundayfaith.com

Listen as our planet’s worries seep
onto dry land, the cracks of aging Earth.
No longer able to support her growth,
she’s faced, instead, with slow, incipient death.
Drought silences pure hope of her rebirth.
How, wonders she, shall she support new life.

Look closely, see the subtle signs of life.
Allow your hope to flow, at least to seep
into our land, so longing for rebirth.
Creation casts its lot upon the Earth
to stop the onslaught of impending death.
We wait, in vain, for rain to nourish growth.

Observe the baby duckling’s daily growth,
the blooming of our Jasmine’s fragrant life—
aware, the while, of nature’s dance with death
as life-force takes its leave and slowly seeps
away to make a place upon the earth.
Wake up in awe as springtime brings rebirth.

Now, hold your breath before the lands’ rebirth
and watch for blooms unfolding as new growth,
but pray for rain to fall once more on Earth,
to give the West the promise of new life.
Don’t let despair allow our world to seep
in entropy to reign, succumb to death.

Remember there’s a meaning to each death.
The seed that’s fallen offers us rebirth.
The song of birds into this morning seeps
to speak of joy to come and foretell growth.
Let not that joy deceive our quest for life
as drought casts doubt upon our fragile Earth.

We share responsibility for Earth,
the consequence of choices that bring death.
The future looks to us to care for life.
(Our children’s children are our own rebirth).
On us depends our world’s on-going growth
that truth we share in each of us may seep.

Bring life to Earth and tend to her rebirth
and bow to death who brings to us new growth.
Care for each life lest sweet Earth’s wounds shall seep.

Here in the West we face a terrible drought that has brought increased awareness to our need to conserve water.

When I face “word-drought” I like to turn to form poetry to find the discipline needed to write again. This is a Sestina in Iambic Pentameter. It is a first draft. The word “seep” was supposed to be “seed.” I couldn’t read my own writing. Seep is not an easy word for ending a sentence.

Written for and Linked to dVerse Poets’ Open Link Night. I hope you will join us to read and to bring a poem of your own.


A Petition to a Not-So-Long-Lost-Friend

As I sat and pondered the prompt for this week’s dVerse Poetics, absolutely nothing came to me. My care-giving responsibilities seem to have alienated my muse who I have neglected for want of time. And so, without her help, I crafted this rather pathetic poetic request:

Image: thegipsiewonderer.com

Image: thegipsiewonderer.com

A Petition to a Not-So-Long-Lost Friend

I didn’t notice when you left.
You stole away one night.
My spirit, now is so bereft
without your gentle light.

I’ve sought within, without, above,
below—just all around.
No words you left for me, my love—
no feelings, thoughts or sounds.

My days are full. Yes, blessed are they.
But still I miss you, too.
If you’ll return to me, and stay,
I’ll make more time for you.

My fickle muse, come back to me.
Inspire my words once more.
I’ll listen closely, you will see—
write poetry galore.

The doors to the Pub open at 3:00 PM EDT–please join in with your own poem and enjoy the work of others. The prompt is to write a poetic letter to whomever, whatever you choose.