First Freeze

Photo credit: nikkidesign.blogspot.com Check out her beautiful work!

Leaf’s curl sparks fear in my sylph’s heart.
Soon the plant will succumb to a cloak of frost.

Lavender’s sweet balm exudes last tastes of remembrance.
Ice shards spew death, stumble into the sprite’s craggy shelter.

In the distance, Thor practices his drumming
while overhead, clouds skip across lofty sea-skies.

Inside, wrapped in warm hues, a poet
spawns autumnal moods by the light of a dwindling flame.

If you listen with care you will hear leaf’s surrender
as it kisses earth. Sylph sighs.

I’m happy to join in for dVerse Open Link Night. This is a poem written using the advice I offered in my previous post…based on words selected at random from a dictionary. It always amazes me how the subconscious mind chooses words that seem to lend themselves to a theme. Or perhaps it is the theme that influences word choices.

Please stroll on over to dVerse and join the crowd for wonderful friendship and inspiring poetry. And it would be good if you would add one of your own. If your muse is on a leave of absence, as mine has been, take the risk: grab your dictionary and have at it!

Autumn god–a Cento

Photo Credit: sparygraphics.com via Google Images

In every heart there is a god of flowers, just waiting
where the wild asters, last blossoms of the season straggle uphill.

We are the dead. Short days ago we lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow.
Back then, the green grass sprouted and little red flower blossomed.

O world, I cannot hold you close enough. Your woods this autumn,
that ache and sag and all but cry with color, a dazzle dim;

he fathers-forth whose beauty is past change, as when a leaf
or petal is drawn to the falls of a pool, and circling a moment above it

rides over the lip—perfectly beautiful—and is gone.
Death, be not proud.

This is written as a cento in response to the prompt by Sam Peralta over at dVerse Meeting the Bar. The poets I used, with alterations, include Mary Oliver, Jane Kenyon, John McCrae, James Weldon Johnson, Edna St. Vincent Millay, Gerard Manley Hopkins, Oscar Wilde. Some of the lines are blended.

Yet Another Autumn–Alpha Acrostic

Photo: David Slotto

Autumn traipses in
Boasting burnished leaves,
Coddling those who
Dread outrageous winter intrusions.

Even beauty can deceive.

Fall freezes rape our
Garden deva,
Hold her hostage
In a clump of evergreens.

June memories linger:
Kind breezes that caress.
Light bleeding into early morn,
Melding dawn into day.

Never trust the promises of a rogue.

Only days ago we basked and
Played in sunshine.

Quiet moments lie ahead
Recapturing the long dark days and
Silent nights.

Today however changing leaves
Unfurl in cacophonous colors.
Veils of mist enshroud the Sierras.

Whisper in my ear.
eXpire in my arms.
You promised me forever, now you flee
Zealous lover of my yesterdays.

Over at dVerse Poetics, Mary Kling is our newest pub-tender, offering up a taste of autumn. Hope you’ll join us!

Enter Death–dVerse Open Link Night

Image by finofilka via Flickr

Enter Death

Death, you’re not supposed to
come today.
Not on a day when Nature
overindulges—carves
slabs of alabaster
into a cobalt sky.
When blood-red branches
stretch out arms
to embrace the heavens in
ecstasy.

I cradle his body—
silken feathers dipped
in gold—
perfect symmetry.
His head plume,
like a tear drop,
falls to the side
as life escapes
the fragile form.

You overstepped
your boundaries.
This quail didn’t know you,
lurking in that window,
waiting with empty
promises.

Please join us at dVerse Poets’ Pub for Open Link Night. Share good poetry, friendship and a glass of winter ale. The party begins at 3PM EST.

Monday Morning Writing Prompt–Let’s Have Some Fun

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Something about autumn invites us to think of death, loss and change. Right now, here in Reno, the sun is shining, the weather is nice, but the wind is trying its darndest to blow the first leaves off the trees. Beautiful cumulus clouds are bouncing around in a blue sky. In a word, there is a battle going on between the fair and the foul.

Let’s take a break this week from the sense of impending doom and have some fun. I invite you to write and submit a short story, essay or poem that touches on humor. Let’s work hard to make each other smile or laugh. For my part, I’m going with a short story I wrote a while back. It was published in a small literary journal and it has an element of memoir (just a touch) in it.

So let’s have some fun:

• Write your short story, essay or poem.
• Post it on your blog.
• Access Mr. Linky at the bottom of this post and share your name and the link to your submission.
• Go ahead, take time to visit other submissions, give them a word of encouragement and enjoy yourself.

Love Food–Flash Fiction for MMWP

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Love Food

The scent of baker’s yeast communing with cinnamon wakens me and I know Dale is in the kitchen. Coffee’s brewing and I hear the chitter of a lone blue jay, trying to defy the reality that cold weather is upon us.

The rain seems to have let up. Staccato drops pounded our window most of the night and last night, rather than lull me into sleep, it accompanied disjointed thoughts that battered my exhausted mind.

Now I toss aside the comforter and steady myself before dragging my old body from the bed. When Dale starts the day in the kitchen, I know how it will unfold. Chicken and dumplings is what he promised and I bet you anything, he’ll make a pie. Fall does this to him—rouses his inner chef. And by evening I know my already-wrinkled hands will shrivel even more from hours of washing pots and pans. I guess great creative spirits aren’t exactly prone to being neat and tidy. At least Dale isn’t.

When I emerge from the hot shower, it is with images of glaze melting over the hot cinnamon rolls, of steaming cups of java and a sweet morning kiss. My senses are so acute that I begin to salivate.

I dress slowly now. That’s the way it is when arthritis has its way. Then drag a comb through my white hair. I remember how long and full it was when we were young. I take a moment with my make up. Dale cares enough to fix me comfort food and so, I take the time to fix myself for him. Our love is always young.

Walking down the stairs, I grip the railing, but still my heart is quickened as I know the love that waits for me below.

I enter the empty kitchen and only then I remember. We buried him yesterday, didn’t we?

Written in Response to my Monday Morning Writing Prompt where I invite you to share your thought about autumn’s FOODS. Poetry, flash fiction, essay, recipes, photography…all are welcome.  I hope you will join us. Please note, this is FICTION. My wonderful husband/chef is alive and well.

Monday Morning Writing Prompt–Comfort Food

Image by sleepyneko via Flickr

Autumn is a time of the year that seems to scream: “Write about me!” And there is so much to inspire: the beauty of the changing leaves, the melancholy sense of loss that accompanies the waning of warm weather, the smells, the holidays… And FOOD. The onset of cold weather, the conclusion of the summer harvest and the availability of various winter crops bring out soup chefs, bakers, stew-brewers and the rest of us who just enjoy the fruits of their labors.

For today’s prompt, you may be encouraged to write about a favorite comfort food, its harvest, preparation, its scent–whatever comes to mind. Feel free to write poetry, essay or fiction. Or maybe you would like to share a recipe. Have at it and enjoy the process. I’ve got to go get a snack now.

To participate:
Write your piece and post on your blog.
Access Mr. Linky on this post. share your name and copy the URL for your post.
Take some time to read other submission.

I haven’t gone out to recruit more participants in this prompt…perhaps you will invite someone to join us?

October Waning

October Waning

Early morning sun kisses the foothills
with hues of bronze and purple.
You descend the staircase.
I wait for your touch to heal my wounds.

As always, you gloss over my sadness,
take me in your arms as though I were a doll
abandoned by a child in a corner of the room.
Your love restores my hope for the moment.

At noon we wander in a field of pumpkin gourds.
Among a bed of drooping roses one stands tall.
You slice its stem with your pocket knife,
inhale its fragrance then hand it to me.

When evening comes we sit together on the porch,
extract the last ray of light from day’s end.
You hook your arm in mine
and lead me gently back into the night.

I am posting this in response to yesterday’s Monday Morning Writing Prompt (on this blog) and also linking it to dVerse Open Link Night at http://dversepoets.com  If you haven’t stopped by this wonderful poetry community to imbibe of great poetry and good friendship, I suggest you hustle on over and serve up something of your own. OLN opens for your enjoyment Tuesday 3 PM EDT.

Monday Morning Writing Prompt–Darkness

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Here in the northern hemisphere, autumn is finally creeping in. The days are growing longer. It’s become harder to drag the old body out of bed early in the morning. Darkness is upon us.

For this week’s writing prompt, I invite you to consider the darkening aspects of the season. You can take it wherever you like: nighttime, moods, shortening of daylight, personalities. The door is wide open, so let’s go out into that dark night.

To participate:

• Write your poem and post it on your blog
• Using Mr. Linky, share your name and a link to your poem
• Pay a visit to other participants…as many as you can

The purpose of MMWP is to help you jumpstart your writing week. I don’t want it to be stressful, so the link stays open indefinitely. However your chances of having your poem read by others increases if it’s up sooner rather than later. If you would, invite your fellow bloggers to join in!

Thanks for your participation. And don’t forget, both poetry and prose are welcome!

I’m still have problems with commenting on blogspot and blogger, so if I don’t return your visit, know that I’ve read your work and appreciate you all.

The Glory of Autumn–Season’s Favorite for Broken Sparkles

The Glory of Autumn

Favorite Autumn Quote:

Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it, and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth seeking the successive autumns. ~George Eliot

Favorite Autumn Poem:

A Late Walk by Robert Frost

When I go up through the mowing field,
The headless aftermath
Smooth-laid like thatch with the heavy dew,
Half closes the garden path.

And when I come to the garden ground,
The whir of sober birds
Up from the tangle of withered weeds
Is sadder than any words.

A tree beside the wall stands bare,
But a leaf that lingered brown,
Disturbed, I doubt not, by my thought,
Comes softly rattling down.

I end not far from my going forth,
By picking the faded blue
Of the last remaining aster flower
To carry again to you.

Favorite Animal: Quail

Plump quail forage seed.
November winds howl, buffet
swirling mounds of leaves.

Favorite Movie: On Golden Pond

Living my autumn
fading in flamboyancy
float On Golden Pond.

Favorite Word: Orange
Favorite Song: “Autumn Leaves”

Autumn Leaves

Inching into Autumn’s end
orgasmic orange gives way
to drab

brown leaves that huddle
into niches of
the Maple.

From nowhere, it seems,
a brilliant Stellar Jay
intrudes.

Favorite Food: Acorn Squash

Pulpy acorn squash
maple syrup and butter
autumn’s comfort food.

Favorite Flower: Dahlia

Brilliant yellows, orange,
festival of fall colors
pure fantasy.

Favorite Town: Napa, California

Grape harvest begins
winemaker’s crush new vintage
heaven blesses earth.

Favorite Book: “East of Eden”
by John Steinbeck

Promise of harvest
in a land East of Eden
hope’s uncertainty.

Linked to Broken Sparkles challenge Season’s Favorites: http://brokensparkles.wordpress.com/