Blowin’ in the Wind–dVerse Meeting the Bar

Today, I’m hosting dVerse Meeting the Bar where I’m sharing a modern version of an old French form called the LAI (pronounced Lay). I would love to see you join in. The rhythm of the form begs me to be a bit whimsical although the original purpose was quite different. Lean more here.

Photo: Lansingwbu
Labeled for reuse.

Blowin’ in the Wind

So windy outside,
the birds seem to hide
in trees.

They just seem to glide
like kelp on the tide.
Strong breeze.

I will stay inside;
I think justified.
Oh, please?

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Revelation–Poetry Potluck’s Theme of Art, Music and Poetry

D. Slotto 4/2011

Oleander and the Sky
Image by ozgurmulazimoglu via Flickr

D. Slotto 4/2011

Submitted to Poetry Potluck: http://jinglepoetry.blogspot.com/ and

Monday Morning Writing Prompt: https://liv2write2day.wordpress.com/2011/04/24/monday-morning-writing-prompt-dream-symbolism/

Revelation

Last night as I slept
the Artist came and dabbed Oleander’s
green with brilliant buds of pink
then feathered white across
a chosen hummingbird.

Last night as I slept
the Violinist played, sweeping
his bow across the fronds of palms.
Music hummed in branches of Crepe Myrtle,
sprinkling her blossoms all across the Earth.

Last night as I slept
the Poet tossed his words into the water,
ripples bore their beauty
all across the world so sere,
so desperate for salvation.

This morning I awoke
to colors of joy,
to sounds of grace,
to possibilities of peace.

This week the Oleanders blossomed overnight, the winds howled, and a striking albino hummingbird has graced us with his presence. Happy Easter to all.

February Desert

Submitted to Lady Nimue’s Months-of-the-Year Challenge: http://ladynimue.wordpress.com/2010/12/01/challenge1-months-of-the-year-challenge/

February Desert

Even in the desert, February
winds harass the trees,
whipping fronds from their palms.

Hummingbirds seek shelter
in clumps of orange Lantana,
appear surprised by winter’s onslaught.

Mother joined us for a Valentine’s
Day visit. Alone for too many years,
she still cannot befriend the loneliness.

That night the desperate clamor of frogs
promised us an early spring
Wind howled its objection.