in the tree outside my window, blue jays
lug twigs up to a high leafy branch,
build a nest for their little ones,
feather-lined avian hope
that autumn flashes, blue
would surprise with orange-
so much change,
i hoped for
that dreams would always
stay on course, would be sure.
i built my castle in sand
forgot that wind could destroy it.
alone once more, i waited for fate.
colors flashed in the trees, but i saw naught.
I’m tending the poetry pub today at dVerse, challenging you with the Etheree Form. I do hope you will stop by, learn more about this fun shape form, give it a try and share with us! The prompt opens at 3:00 PM Eastern Standard Time.
The night before I plan to take down the Christmas tree,
I crawl from beneath the covers, slip downstairs
and curl up on the couch to read stories of our life together.
The tree rotates, a swirl of colors, as ornaments recount
the years. 1991—“Our First Christmas,”
two critters snuggled in a hollow log.
Photo: D. Slotto
The merry-go-round of the tree unfolds the years,
one-by-one. Cycles of remembrance unfurl—
the hard and happy times, the growth, the losses.
Upstairs you snore gently. Sometimes we sleep
and overlook those subtle changes—the waxing
and waning of our marriage, of our shared love.
Photo: D. Slotto
At eleven o’clock (you set the timer) the tree goes dark.
I steal back to bed, hold tight our memories, hold on to you.
Photo D. Slotto Christmas 2012
Arriving late to the pub for Claudia’s prompt on change. I wish each of you much joy and good health as we wind up 2012 and plot our course for the coming year. I will be traveling this up-coming week but will do my best to keep in touch.
Each year “Santa” places a new ornament on our tree. The tree rotates and is set up on a timer. It’s all put away now.
I wrote this poem a couple of years ago. The night before last, the first stanza actually happened. You may have read of the horrendous wind-fueled fires we had here in Reno yesterday…not far from me. (The second stanza is fictional).
I believe that fire, like change, is a natural part of nature’s cycle–a force that destroys the old and useless to make way for new growth. As much as I hate to think of destruction, we need that friction of two sticks rubbing together to generate creativity.
Coincidently, our charming hostess, Sheila Moore, offers up a prompt about change at dVerse Poetics today. If you’re looking for a fun and exciting way to spend the evening, drop on by and bring a poem of your own. You won’t be disappointed!
This is the time of year when the seasons start to change. Here in the Northern Hemisphere, snow begins to melt and crocuses emerge from their winter’s rest. And, I suppose, below the equator, the opposite unfolds. Wherever we are, each day brings a dying and an awakening.
For today’s prompt, write about something in your life that is declining or coming to life. Or both.
Waking Up in Reno
Morning starts cranking
in slow motion.
Befuddled thoughts unfold
like arthritic joints.
Silence wraps the house,
except for the groaning heater
as it stretches and snarls.
A train rolls toward
emitting a plaintive lament.
Everything’s on the verge
of arousing to another
People stir into wakefulness
to repeat what they did the day before and
the day before that.
creativity simmers, sparks
Steam from a
cup of coffee
fogs the computer screen.
If you respond to this prompt, please leave a link to your blog in the comments…or post your poem, if you prefer.