October 18, 2016 by Victoria C. Slotto

Of the Onset of Cold Weather–dVerse Poetics: Homophones

Credit: ProWritingAid.com

Of the Onset of Cold Weather
A Snowbird’s Lament in Homophones

If I’m allowed, I’ll rant aloud
of autumn’s need to dye, to die
or so it seems, to knit
the season’s seams together
through leaves it threw to ground.

The endless summer’s sear
has left the land so sere.
The trees, in springtime fair
did not, this year, fare well,
the ash has not survived.

As winter’s morn draws near
I’ll mourn the loss of warmth.
We’ll travel south to find
the sun and pause to play
some golf and walk the dogs
where paws don’t freeze.

And, as for golf, I drive my
ball, yell “fore” and hope that
(unlike last year’s very first drive)
I will not break a window.
(Said story’s sad, but true.)

For dVerse Poetics, Lillian invites us to write some poetry using homophones, that is, words that sound alike. There are tons of them, just Google “homophone lists” and have fun with them.

If it’s Haibun Monday you want, that poem is here.

April 28, 2016 by Victoria C. Slotto

Desert Days Waning–dVerse OLN

Photo: V. Slotto

Desert Days Waning
a Haibun

Winds batter our desert, stirring up water on the pond. Clouds hang over the mountain, try to decide whether to move on in and bless the valley with rain or to continue their teasing ways. The heady scents of warm-weather blooms fill the air as the sun begins his descent behind the Santa Rosa’s.

Six surviving baby ducklings grow rapidly, Mama scolding them for taking off on their own, without her protective oversite. Soon our finches, sparrows and hummingbirds will stop by and find that the feeders have been put away for a while, reminding them that they, too, need to think about migrating north.

I should be packing, but the allure of words drags me into outstretched arms and I succumb.

i am your poem
holding this moment in time
jasmine’s sweet fragrance

I hope you will stop by dVerse Poets’ Pub where I’m hosting Open Link Night. Bring a poem of your own–any topic, any form–and settle in to enjoy the work of our poetry community. And don’t forget–the prompt for Haibun Monday is open all week.

March 7, 2013 by Victoria C. Slotto

Deserts

Today at dVerse Poet’s Pub, Meeting the Bar, I’m happy to introduce Pamela Sayers, who makes her home in Puebla, Mexico. I’ve always been impressed with Pamela’s ability to capture a sense of place in her poetry. Today she shares with us a bit about her own process of bringing us into the heart of Mexico, and invites us to join her by sharing something of our own, about the place we call home.

Photo: David Slotto
Chaparral CC

While I make my home in the high desert of Reno, Nevada–a short 40 minute drive to Lake Tahoe, when those cold winter winds and snows start getting to our old bones, my husband and I pack up the dogs and head south with the birds to Palm Desert, California. The desert is in my blood from my childhood, when we would head east from the LA area each April to soak in the sun and get our first sunburns of the year (big mistake).This poem is more of a reflection on what the desert means to me, than a travelogue. If you have a sense of deja-vu, I have posted it before!

I look forward to reading as many of your poems as I can and Pamela will support me since my husband and I are currently in the midst of a small renovation project.

Photo Credit: Tim Laman

i
Sometimes something
we judge to be barren
throbs with life.

ii
Wind scatters sand
like gossips spread destruction.

iii
If you go to the desert,
you will see the stars.
Perhaps one of them
holds your life purpose.
Then you are no longer
afraid of the viper’s kiss.

iv
The power of thirst
consumes all other desires.

v
Shifting sands
are like people
who vacillate—
you don’t know
where you stand.

vi
The desert is a canvas—
open to splashes
of vibrant color.

vii
The desert is
a state of mind.
Are you alone?
Or lonely?

viii
The desert is
a place of temptation.
There the devil tempted
Jesus—
bread,
greed,
power.
Nothing has changed.

ix
If you try
to leave your mark
upon the desert,
Nature will erase it.
Wind.
Earthquake.
War.
We don’t really matter.

x
The hotter it gets,
the fewer people hang around.

xi
Many people
do not understand
the beauty of the desert
or of wrinkled faces.

xii
At some point
you will visit a desert
and discover
aridity.

xiii
When the desert blooms,
you will find grace.

April 6, 2011 by Victoria C. Slotto

Snowbird’s Lament–a Haibun NaPoWriMo Day 6

Image by Helpman 77 via Flickr

Snowbird Lament
a Haibun

Mockingbird failed me this morning—no song to rouse me from restless sleep. I drag my aching bones from bed and plod to the window, crack the blinds and greet a pewter sky. Heaviness, oppression.

Does all nature sense
the shifting winds and weather
April’s heaviness

Has the desert sun and palette of blue spoiled me for vagaries of spring? Will we be able to keep our nine-thirty tee time?

First tee—wind kicks up
my ball finds water
an excuse today

We go ahead and play eighteen. Gray skies tamp down the ball’s flight, slow down the putts it seems. Rain spits at us all morning.

Spring in Palm Desert
old people play rounds of golf
ignore aches and pains.

Written in response to Monday Morning Writing Prompt and for NaPoWriMo Day 6. The form is a haibun–a blend of prose and haiku.

https://liv2write2day.wordpress.com/2011/04/04/monday-morning-writing-prompt 6/

http://www.napowrimo.net/