the fresh breath of winter–dVerse OLN

the fresh breath of winter

shimmering snowfall
still water, frozen beauty
warming arid hearts

gazing on and on
reverent winter wonder
bare trees bow toward earth

nature’s white embrace
crystals sparkle silvery
beneath winter’s sun

Written and posted for dVerse Open Link Night–Join us at the poetry pub!

Photo: David Slotto
Mt. Whitney, California

Advertisements

Useless, Broken Things–dVerse OLN

Useless, Broken Things

In a forgotten cupboard,
behind an empty box,
I find stories, covered in dust

A child’s teddy bear,
ragged, torn,
forgotten years ago.

A toddler’s shoe,
wrinkled, scuffed.
Worn for her first steps?

Inside her lonely room,
an old lady turns frayed pages
of her memory.

She kisses photos’ tattered edges,
and wishes, once again,
to hear the sounds of laughter.

In a forgotten cupboard,
behind an empty box,
I find toys, cover them with tears.

Posted for dVerse OLN, hosted by Grace. Please join us.

Labeled for non-commercial reuse

Depouillement–dVerse

Depouillement*
A Haibun

Do falling leaves ache with the pain of letting go? Or do they revel in the freedom of floating and of the taste of earth? Did they boast of glorious colors that they wore in days before releasing their hold on life?

And the trees—do they grasp obsessively to their robes of glory, regret the day that finds them stripped, exposed and naked—vulnerable to cold and rain.

I am October now, buffeted by aging. I hurl my somethingness into the great unknown, one gift at a time. I face the imminence of winter, move beyond the sting of loss into the joy of unknown expectations. I am old but full of hope, in the springtime of new life. Beneath the soil life pulses.

Je suis depouilée
stripped bare like October trees
richness lies hidden

 

Photo: Victoria Slotto

*The French word depouillement means stripping. The verb depouiller is to strip. The first line of the haiku translates : I am stripped.

Happy to be able to jump in for OLN this week. I have tried to consider some of the wonderful prompts I have missed related to personal events–this one, especially, relates back to Kim’s prompt for Tuesday’s Poetics.

Violation–dVerse Open Link Night

Violation

When words force entry,
molest my every conscious thought—then,
surrender, I must, or endure unrelenting torture.

(Fire rages, outrages across our valley,
scorches acres upon acres of pine and cheat grass,
assaults, blasts, torments verdant mountain ranges.)

Words hound me without ceasing,
shove me from bed at 3 AM,
hammer, barrage, rape

(Deer, squirrels, bluebirds, bears flee
for safety, though flames overtake them,
devastate their habitat.)

serenity, rip it from my soul,
until I respond, rearrange them
on pure white sheets

(Ashes plunge into pristine waters,
hurl charred fragments, suffocate,
pollute, wash sepia across blue skies.)

of blank paper in my notebook.
Slowly intensity subsides
and I taste fulfillment.

(Last night a gentle rain showered
the Great Basin, purged the air.
Smoke will return, but this morn, we garden.)

 

Tonight is the popular Open Link Night at dVerse where both topic and form are up to you. I was unable to participate in the wonderful prompt for Poetics this week on muscle verbs so I decided to expand it a bit combining a poem about poetry with a poem about landscape.

While both Northern Nevada and Northern California are both experiencing multiple wild fires, most of which are due to human carelessness, we are currently not in danger, but the smoke does pour into Reno off and on. The worst is from a fire at a distance of maybe 150-200 miles near Yosemite in central California. Please keep our first responders in your prayers. They are going from one fire to another with very little sleep. Ironically, we did have some rain last night which resulted in flash floods in a community north of us.

The doors to the pub will open Thursday at 3:00 PM EDT

Image: CalamityMeg via Flickr

Image: sierrasun.com

 

Ignored–dVerse Open Link Night

 

Ignored

“The drop is a small ocean.”
Ralph Waldo Emerson

They walk by,
enveloped in concern,
oblivious to oceans of beauty
that surround them—

• undulating water in the stream caressing the rocky earth beneath
• a tiny leaf unfurling her greenness on a distant branch
• mockingbird chortling joy upon his treetop perch
• little mouse, concealed beneath hosta’s broad umbrella
• droplets of dew flashing seductive rainbows from every blade of grass
• and me.

I was the first to open,
now one among the many,
lost in a swath of golden beauty.
I offer my delight
only to go unseen.

I have been, for the most part, unable to be a part of dVerse for a while. Back toward the end of March, Mish invited us to write a poem from the point of view of nature. In a feeble effort to play catch up, this is mine, posted for OLN.

World Bank Photo Collection–labeled for non-commercial reuse.

adult coloring is all the rage

adult coloring is all the rage

Image: sketchport.com Labeled for non-commercial reuse

Image: sketchport.com
Labeled for non-commercial reuse

when you rainbow me
red me, read me

when you paint me
green me, grow me

when you ade me
yellow me, drink me

when you hurt me
blue me, cry me

then i dream you
find you, taste you
rainbow you too.

For dVerse Open Link Night, with a nod to Lillian’s prompt for Poetics–verbification.

October–dVerse OLN

Photo: jcookfisher via Flickr Labeled for non-commercial reuse

Photo: jcookfisher via Flickr
Labeled for non-commercial reuse

October
Haibun

Recently, a red tail hawk sat on our fence, watching an assortment of jays, robins, quail and doves fattening themselves on the seeds in our garden. Spent cosmos and coreopsis shrugged, let nature have her way.

Hawk, the Messenger,
seeks tomorrow’s sustenance,
dove feasts, unaware.

All the work of putting the garden to bed for the winter has claimed our attention, turning it from creative pursuits. The tasks of autumn bring to mind those chores that face us later in life—clearing away the debris of spent dreams, wasted efforts—preparing the soil for what is yet to come.

Autumn smells pungent—
leaves moldering in crannies,
poems forgotten.

A few brilliant roses still persist in their efforts to boast their beauty, proving that nature is not as fussy as we are when it comes to choosing the colors she will wear, or what’s deemed appropriate as defined by the expectations of others. Bright pink and orange: how freeing!

Late blooming roses
struggle in October frost,
clash with changing leaves.

The Truckee river, a block from our home, is feeling the effect of this summer’s lack of rain. It is fed by beautiful Lake Tahoe, flows east through Reno and ends up in Pyramid Lake, home of the Paiute Indians. Snow fell this week, just above our elevation, in the Sierra Nevada and we will see more soon, hopefully. Reno is high desert, receiving only 7” of rain annually. We depend on the snowfall in the mountains and at the Lake.

Truckee, languid now,
flows gently through our city,
hopes for winter snow.

Linking to dVerse OLN where you can post any one poem, any topic, any form. Please join us.