Category Archives: Writing

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Revenge–dVerse Quadrille #84

Image: Wikipedia commons

Revenge
A Modified Limerick

There once was a kid who was heckled.
The cause? His fair skin was so freckled.
But the kid was a champ,
From an overhead ramp,
He made sure that those brats, too, were speckled.

(The paint gun, you see,
Took them out, all three.)

Today, at dVerse Quadrille, Mish offers us the word FRECKLES, which made me think of a boy in Grammar School who was, not a bully, really, but a bit of an imp. Here’s to you Michael, wherever you are. Join in with a poem of exactly 44 words, using the word FRECKLED.

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The Castle Within–dVerse OLN

Earthen Lamp–Labeled for non-commercial reuse.

The Castle Within
A Sestina
Revised 7/25/19

The Soul
Journey to a place that’s sacred,
travel above, below, within.
I walk a path of emptiness
not knowing who it is I seek.
Clouds catch colors that fill the sky
casting reflections on pure water.

Satan
Naked, submerged in fetid water,
utter words, evoke the sacred,
brandish ideas across the sky,
soak in lies that stir within
not knowing what it is you seek
embracing only emptiness.

not understanding emptiness,
your thirst ne’er quenched by stagnant water
you do not know the source you seek
cathedrals, temples, though deemed sacred
cannot answer those doubts within
though spires stretch, they reach not sky.

Drowned in mystery—above, the sky.
Below—a trough of emptiness
that murkiness you find within.
Troubled tempest of primal water
envelops all that you hold sacred,
eludes the meaning that you seek.

What is it, soul, that you seek?
To know who lies beyond the sky?
To touch the silk of all that’s sacred?
To fill the void of emptiness?
Blissful, to float in limpid water?
To satisfy yearnings within?

The Soul
Satan, begone, for here within
the castle of my soul I seek
not to probe the depth of water,
nor soar to crystal heights of sky.
You tempt, betray my emptiness,
eschew the gifts that I hold sacred.

Love Speaks
Your emptiness has birthed the sacred,
immersed in water—filled within
because you seek, you touch the sky.

(Based on the writings of John of the Cross and Teresa of Avila.)

I rewrote this 2011 poem for dVerse Open Link Night, paying more attention to the form–a Sestina with an attempt at iambic tetrameter.

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Requiem

Requiem

Bring back thoughts of you
as sun comes shining—

grain, golden,
hair, gilted as well,
the sound of a step
different from all others.

My heart— ready to greet you.
Only with the heart can one see.
But I shall cry.
(I shall cry.)

An Erasure Poem
Taken from The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint Exupéry with some adaptation for the quadrille of 44 words.

Revised and linked for Grace’s Quadrille prompt at dVerse Poets. Join us!

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY TO ALL!!!

Labeled for non-commercial reuse

 

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I Am–dVerse OLN, a Quadrille

I penned this too late for De’s Quadrille prompt last week, so here it is for OLN using the word WINK. Sorry I’ve been absent so long. My husband was away for seven weeks to oversee work in Palm Desert and left his huge garden responsibilities to me! Not to mention our spoiled dogs.

Image: CC0 Public Domain

I Am
a Quadrille

I am a periwinkle sky in May,
obsidian roiling sea when winter
winks at weakening boundaries.
And when summer evening
breezes kiss the dusk, there you will
find me waiting ‘neath the
sheltering green of maples.
Watch carefully and you will see.

Linked to dVerse Poet’s Open Link Night. Join in with a poem of your choice: any form, any topic.

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Moon Muse–dVerse OLN

For dVerse OLN, I’m bringing a Quadrille with all the words thus far in the 2nd cycle.

Photo: David Slotto

Moon Muse
(a Quadrille with all the words as of 3/2/18)

Full moon murmurs,
“Come.”
My heart leaps. I rise,
her poem burning inside.
She begs,
“Write.”
With a bounce in my step,
I hurry outside.
Last season’s leaves crunch
beneath bare feet.
I find my rock in moon’s brightness,
sit, pen in hand, listening

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Reno Weather Report

Reno Weather Report
a Haibun
Franks Tassone’s Haikai Challenge
dVerse Monday Haibun

Living in the Truckee Meadows, as I do, almost any kind of weather is not unexpected at any time of the year. In winter and spring, Reno suffers from winds howling through the passes of the mountains that led the Donner party to the inexplicable. Frost wipes out tree blossoms in full bloom. Fences succumb to gusts, while trees scratch the sides of our house in outrage. But once spring settles in, with summer close behind, there is no other place to be. Moderate temperatures, high desert’s low humidity, and yes, a cooling breeze in the evening hours.

gusty winds
move through early spring meadows
offer clarity

Written for Frank Tassone’s Haikai Challenge (Haru Ichiban–First Gust) and linked to my challenge at dVerse Haibun Monday (No Ko Me–tree buds, pending)

If you have never visited Frank’s website, I encourage you to check it out. He offers a wealth of information and stunning poetry in Japanese forms.

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Adagio–dVerse Haibun Monday

Photo: David Slotto, Cedar Wax Wing in Our Ornamental Pear Tree

Adagio
No Ko Me—Tree Buds
A Haibun

Outside my office window, on the second floor of our home, an ornamental pear tree shares the seasons with me. In summer, her leaves are full and green, offering their shade in the southwest, yet still allowing a view of the setting sun as he hops over the Sierra Nevada. A robin perches in her fluffy nest.

Autumn paints my landscape in glorious tones of gold and orange and crimson…a final shout-out before the now-brown leaves let go, returning to nourish the earth, revealing the tiny, inedible fruit that appears to be a berry. An influx of migrating cedar wax wings stop by to eat of her offerings, along with an occasional chickadee.

But it is in spring that promises pop out on all the gnarly little branches and as I wait for them to open, the return of wrens and finches fill the room with poetic song. This is the first movement of another year’s symphonic beauty.

adagio—buds
brace themselves, appear anew
soon, a crescendo

Today, I’m hosting the Monday Haibun at dVerse. The prompt Kigo is No Ko Me–Tree Buds. To learn more and to join in HERE is the link.

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It’s Spring–Or Is It? Frank Tassone’s Haikai Challenge

Photo: Tomas Sobek via Flickr–labeled for non-commercial reuse.

It’s Spring—Or Is It?

The first year after we moved to Reno, my sister sent me a gardener’s diary. A thoughtful gift-giver, she knew of my newly born enthusiasm for the garden that we were able to plant in our large yard. Each week I dutifully entered notes: what we planted, sowed and dead-headed, the weeds we battled, the heights of the tomato plants and their yield, the weather conditions, what fared well, what needed more light or water, what didn’t make it. This journal offered us the surety that the following year we would know exactly what to do when spring first showed her colors.

The second year, I abandoned the diary. The slopes were open to skiers on the Fourth of July; tomatoes planted after the last snow on Peavine wilted; blossoms froze on the Stella cherry tree,which subsequently gave no fruit and the sweet peas and jasmine didn’t have a chance. Spring and each season that follows is a new experience every year. We have grown to love the adventure of extreme gardening.

Snow covers Peavine
Morning sun bronzes her slopes
Spring cowers behind clouds

Linked to Frank Tassone’s Haikai Challenge. Peavine Mountain is just northwest of Reno. Local lore has it that you don’t want to plant your tomato seedlings outside until the snow is off of Peavine.

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The Good of the Poor

The Good of the Poor

About 1981 or 82, I sat in a cold church in Detroit, Michigan. I pulled my coat around me, barely noticing the cold, entranced, instead, by the strong voice of a diminutive woman clothed in just a white sari with blue edging. Fearlessly she proclaimed the need for more care for the poorest in our community, and she had the right to do so, as she was opening a shelter for the poorest in Detroit. Outside, winter winds howled. Within, I questioned how I could do more in my own mission of nursing the impoverished elderly.

After her talk, those of us who were engaged in such service were led to the basement for a reception. There, we had the opportunity to meet and greet Mother Teresa, one-by-one. The warmth of her words and her hug have remained with me, sometimes encouraging, sometimes chiding. I recall them now with deep gratitude.

Four tiny swallows
hound a lurking hawk—
winter desert sighs.

This week for dVerse Monday Haibun, Kim would like to have a take a look at handwriting of famous people. I have chosen that of Mother Teresa and am including a snippet of an analysis of her handwriting which fits my experience.

“Mother Teresa may have been diminutive in size, and shy of personality, but this sample shows that when she wanted something done, she found a way for it to be done. ”  To read the full article, follow the link HERE.

The pub opens Monday at 3:00 PM EST. Please join us!