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.

life–dVerse Haibun Monday

Cedar Wax Wings--Source Unknown

life

around me
(though chill seeps in)
life flourishes

winter birds
cull berries from leafless trees
drink from rainwater puddles

a lone purple flower
flaunts beauty at
my garden gate

three weeks ago today
i was there to receive
her last breath

eternal life flourishes

On October 30th, I arrived in Huntington Beach, California, to celebrate my almost-96 year old mother’s birthday on November 5th. I spoke to her the day before I left and she was happy I was coming, telling me, as she did quite often, “Don’t forget you are my little girl!”

When I arrived, I found that she was non-responsive. The night before she had told her caregiver that she was tired and was ready to die. The following day, she did just that–peacefully and with loved ones at her side.

I returned home yesterday, after three weeks sans Internet, tending to what I term “the business of dying.” That explains my absence. I have a lot of catching up to do here at home, so I may not be real present this week either, but wanted to take advantage of today’s wonderful Quadrille prompt at dVerse that asks us to use the word “breath” in any of its forms in a poem of exactly 44 words. Please join us. Little by little, I will get around to reading yours.

 

the color of longing–dVerse quadrille

Photo: V. Slotto

Photo: V. Slotto

the color of longing
a quadrille

early winter doldrums
sky heavy with payne’s gray clouds
birds silent, gone

flowers sag
leaves weep while chill
seeps into old bones

but then a vibrant flash
an incongruous spark-
ing of a flame

shedding warmth
on this cold scene
(so like your touch)

Today, for our wonderful quadrille prompt at dVerse Poets, we are invited to submit a poem of exactly 44 words, no more, no less, that uses the work SPARK in any of its forms. Please join us for this prompt. The link is open all week.

This rose opened this last week, smack dab in the middle of our flower garden, defying the withering of everything else. I’ve cut back all the other rose bushes so this is truly “the last rose of summer.”

I will also add this to Cee’s Daily Flower (photography) prompt.

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.

of a pristine october morn

Photo: Victoria Slotto

Photo: Victoria Slotto

of a pristine october morn

blue glass sky, cloud-
less, diamond dew-studs,
shimmering hoar frost

leaves blush at branches bare
bold crickets cry frantically
singing last-chance choruses

a flagging rose scatters petals
before winter’s advent
and i watch life slip
from between my fingers

Written for Kim’s Quadrille prompt at dVerse Poets’ Pub–asking for a poem of exactly 44 words, using the word cloud.

my garden in early autumn

my garden in early autumn

i.
the feather of a dove
dances in brisk autumn winds
a gift from above

ii.
fat quail forage
gleaning seeds from
desiccated cosmos

iii.
a dragonfly shimmers
in broken sunlight
pauses to drink

iv.
clunk, clunk, clunk
the half-empty hummingbird feeder
knocks against the house
misses its companions

v.
nests are empty
the birdhouse sways
in a naked tree branch
i remember a baby bird
with no feathers
dead in the grass below

vi.
today our ash tree
offers its first leaves
to the browning grass

vii.
the ornamental pear trees
wait seductively
tempting passing cedar wax wings

viii.
absent wrens and sparrows
blue jay scolds me instead
from a low-hanging branch

ix.
leaves on tomato plants droop
while exposed
green tomatoes blush

x.
competition in the rose garden
heats up
which will be the most memorable
last rose of summer

xi.
the neighbor’s apple tree
extends her branches
into our yard
offers her fruit
a worm waves to me from
the one I slice open

xii.
the rake leans against the hut
it’s waited all year
for someone to notice

xiii.
asparagus ferns
drape over the garden
like a pall

Photo: Victoria Slotto

Photo: Victoria Slotto

A second offering for Bjorn’s cubist prompt at dVerse Poets’ MTB–I had a hard time deciding what to write about until I spent a little time in the yard this windy autumn morning. This is such a great prompt. I hope you will give it a try.

of a gray september day

Photo: V. Slotto

Photo: V. Slotto

of a gray september day

this early morning
(pewter-skied day),
i long for shadow-slices
undulating among rocky crags,
swooping into tree trunk crevices,
unraveling ribbons
of golden sunshine–
light tickled by grass threads.

yesterday, they clung sensually
to a solitary rose,
her beauty now swept
beneath a leaden shroud.

Photo: V. Slotto

Photo: V. Slotto

My favorite prompt, the Quadrille, a 44-word poem (exactly, exclusive of the title)! This week De is looking for the word SHADOW in the poem itself. Stop by dVersePoets Pub with your Quadrille and sip delight by reading the submissions of other poets, sharing comments, too. The prompt is open all week.