Photo: Flickr–labeled for non-commercial reuse. The oldest pepper tree in California
Stretch out with me,
beneath my peppertree.
Tickle, caress and coax
memories dormant within
to bring forth the scent of
peppertree-peace and youth-
full, joy-filled moments.
Our world craves love—
the love of a child who sees
beyond dross. Sunlight
dapples us with warmth.
A second poem for dVerse Quadrille where we use the word PEPPER in a poem of exactly 44 words, excluding title. I grew up in a home with a peppertree. As a child I used to hide in its wonderful branches.
Photo: Wikipedia Commons
how it rained
the day you stormed into my life
earth flipped on her back
stared at daytime stars through leafy branches
summer walks on ocean’s shore
scents of lavender, roses
gentle kisses and ardent promises
until the night you stole away
(how it rained)
Our Quadrille prompt at dVerse is to write a poem using exactly 44 words, excluding title, using the word STORM.
Now for a bit of whimsy as Frank treats us to a limerick prompt at dVerse MTB. I could go on and on.
There once was a dragon named Tony
he fell like a rock for a pony
she got such jolt
she took off like a bolt
now poor Tony thinks romance baloney.
There once was a guy who loved money
But could never impress his true honey
‘Cause he spent it on wine
and she saw not a dime
so she left him alone—what a dummy.
Here’s one I posted for one of Madeleine’s prompt:
A woman who always felt free
Burned her bra when she turned twenty-three
Now at age sixty-eight
She is rueing her fate
As her boobies keep knocking her knees.
“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.
Labeled for non-commercial reuse.
Last night I dreamt of
feathers and shape-shifting.
Today a wren perches on a naked branch
outside my window.
the tree is in full bloom.
I miss you.
De Jackson is asking for Postcard Poems, that is, poems of 12 lines or less, at dVerse Poetics. Please join us.
Art: Clyfford Still, on Pinterest
Depression is Anger Turned Inside-Out
A Narrative Poem
She hadn’t touched her paints for a while. In the other room an unfinished canvas lay propped on an easel. Orange and cerulean blue paint danced in cacophonous colors and screamed at her in taunting ecstasy. One evening she’d smeared a palette knife of black paint in a thick wavy line down the middle of the canvas—the result only heightened the drama. She abandoned her work for now—she couldn’t paint and wouldn’t write—not since he told her he wouldn’t see her anymore.
Today, dVerse Poets, hosted by Frank Hubney, invites us to submit a narrative poem–as I see it, a bit of prose that is written poetically. That implies incorporating poetic elements such as metaphor and sensory details, active verbs etc. This is a tiny piece that I adapted from my novel “The Sin of His Father.”
Photo: Victoria Slotto
canticle of waning light
whisper me now a lullaby
and hold me close in mystic
arms of memory
whisper me songs
when dreams throbbed
with love beneath the stars
whisper me peace
‘neath setting sun
and grace shall linger
in the gloom
Please join us at dVerse Poets’ Pub where we are enjoying Quadrille’s–poetry of exactly 44 words. This week’s word that must be included in the poem is WHISPER. The pub doors open Monday at 3:00 PM EST. De Jackson is our hostess and she pours a mean poem.