Circus Song–dVerse Pantoum

Photo: David Slotto

Circus Song

If life’s a circus, love, then we’re the clowns,
tossed in this hurly-burly neon light.
Rollercoaster madness keeps us bound,
never free of new-moon darkest night.

Rip me from hurly-burly neon light.
Dance me into the sweetest sounds,
free now of new-moon darkest night.
Steal me to meadows, daisy-crowned.

Dance me beauty of life’s sweetest sounds;
leave behind this darkness and its fright.
Green meadows, gift me, daisy-crowned;
dream me a future that is bright.

Let’s leave behind the darkness and its fright,
this rollercoaster madness holds us bound.
Let’s dream another future, shining bright.
This life’s a circus, dear, and we’re the clowns.

Written and posted for Gina’s prompt for dVerse Form Challenge: Pantoum.

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Poetry Lives

Photo: David Slotto

Poetry Lives

She sips poetry,
gulps color, texture,
darkness, light.

She covers cold-
ness, emanates warmth
strokes coarse, jagged bark.

She shields innocence,
shelters the poor,
embraces the wonton.

She revels in birdsong,
delights in tender moments,
blesses beauty’s gifts.

She sips life.
She sips death.

Written for dVerse Quadrille, including the wonderful word “Sip.” This is the first poem I’ve written this year. It’s good to be here with you after a long drought.

Of Fire–dVerse Poetics

Prometheus: Wikipedia Commons

Of Fire

i.

flame-fingers crest the summit

plunge into mountain crevices

cleanse, destroy

ii.

unruly flames

searing dancing restless

passion unleashed—

young love

iii.

a steady glow

warm, comforting

unhampered by winds of uncertainty—

old love

iv.

relentless burn within

waiting for words to emerge

from ashes

v.

his flaming forge

bore weapons of war

Prometheus unleashed

life and death

vi.

it takes but a spark

to ignite dry kindling

it takes but a word

to set the poet ablaze

vii.

below surfaces unseen

roiling seething anger

rouses Madame Pele—

eruption

viii.

dying flames flicker

vestiges of ember crumble

we sit before the hearth—

my love and I

silence suffices

 

To be Continued…

I’m happy to be hosting today at dVerse Poetics where I’m asking for poetry on the theme of fire. Please stop by, share a poem and sip some poems.

 

 

 

dVerse Haibun Monday–‘Tis the Season?

Labeled for non-commercial reuse.

‘Tis the Season?

Quickmas is almost here.
It’s in the stores and catalogues.
Why time, why have you fled
and left me trailing far behind?

Slow down and savor now.
Don’t hurry so, my kindly friends,
lest life should hurry by
and quickly hurtle to its end.

For De’s prompt this Quadrille Monday at dVerse, using the word QUICK.

Koorogi Calls–dVerse Haibun Monday

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Koorogi Calls—dVerse Haibun Monday

Last night I sat out on the deck in utter darkness—alone except for the dogs. Our yard, and those surrounding me, resounded with the sounds of crickets. They came late this year, as did the tomatoes that are only beginning to ripen. David is away, up in the mountains for a few days. Picking up his chores, especially caring for his garden, has been a bit overwhelming. When he is gone, I become so aware of how easy it is to take him for granted. How very much he does for us.

I’m at an age now when one starts to think of, to live the late autumn of life. There is an urgency in it, assessing what is really important about this game we play, getting rid of what we no longer need, saying what needs to be said, savoring each moment—and so much more. Oh, I’m not circling the drain, not yet. At the same time, one reflects when cricket sings his urgent song.

the days are shorter
late summer, fading to fall
hurry now, cricket

I’m happy to be guest-hosting for dVerse Haibun Monday where the Kigo is Koorogi–Cricket. Come on by the pub!

Coming of Age–dVerse Quadrille

Coming of Age
a Haibun/Quadrille

Outside my office tree house, the once-huge robin’s nest seems crowded, small. Three growing babies fluff their wings, itching to fly, it seems. But still, they cuddle to mother’s soft sunset-red breast.

ready to be free,
still gaping beaks, huddling close,
teenage robins wait

Linked to dVerse Quadrille Monday. The word to include is itch. The poem, excluding title, calls for exactly 44 words. I am getting nothing done these days watching this wondrous process of nesting, birthing, nurturing and, soon, fledging.

Happy Anniversary, 7 years, to dVerse. It’s been a great ride.

Life Seasons–dVerse Monday Haibun

Photo: Pixabay
Labeled for non-commercial reuse

Life’s Seasons
a Haibun

Lately, I’m almost afraid to answer the phone when Aunt Joyce, the matriarch of our family, calls. I love this elderly, alert, wise woman who has outlasted her generation, and seems to be the glue that holds much of our vast family together. But recently the calls have been peppered with sadness—stage IV cancer, death and more death. These are members of my generation that she reports on. Brings it home, it does, as I’m the oldest of the bunch.

Outside my “treehouse” office, I spotted a large, artfully woven nest a couple of weeks ago. It remained empty until Saturday when I spied papa bird standing on its rim. He ruffled his feathers, puffed out his red breast, then sidled up to mama, snuggling for a few moments, remaining as she flew off for her break. Twelve to fourteen days, my Google Assistant tells me. Will I get to witness birth?

full-throated robin
sings summer joy lustily
I prune dead roses