Tag: #dverse poets

January’s Frost

As Mother counts her last days, and I open my heart to forgiveness, a daughter calls, reaming me out for wrong-doings – January is not cold enough to freeze tempers – family coals burn and shatter, and all we can pray for is metamorphosis.  Soon, I will return to warmer temperatures, attempting to elude this frigid climate, save the scorching for the sun.

Hearts have seasons too –
I lumber through chilled air,
crave a touch of warmth.

(A haibun for dVerse, hosted by Kim tonight.  I am also submitting this for Ragtag Community’s lumber, Fandango’s metamorphosis, and Manic Mondays 3 Way Prompt, shattered.)

Naughty or Nice

Naughty thrilled her –
lacked inhibitions toward elicit,
tantalized by promised ‘nice’

Imagined blood red petals
strewn atop steamy suds,
champagne flutes and
intoxicating entanglements.

Fantasies never ran to
infested walls crumbling
in barren captivity –

his version of naughty
turned her blood to ice
nothing about the scenario ‘nice’.

(Tonight is the last Open Link night at the dVerse pub for 2018, hosted by Grace.  I am submitted this poem, inspired by the prompts of Manic Mondays 3 Way Prompt, and Twenty Four’s 50 word Thursday.  Image provided by Deb Whittam of Twenty Four.)

Absence

Slippers, perched at night stand,
twitching impatiently,
mark the absence of feet,
cannot appreciate the meaning
of unruffled bed covers.

Abandoned, a coffee mug
bemoans its curdling contents,
complains of thick brown lines
contaminating its porcelain shine,
has not noted absence of hands.

Chair, pushed back from desk,
in partial rotation, sits awkwardly,
commanding attention, disturbed
by its misalignment, has not thought
to ponder absence of body.

House, uncomfortable with silence
creaks unnaturally, loudly voicing
objections to the absence of footfalls,
automated machinery and incessant
rings, beeps, and chimes of technology.

I try to reassure them that the absence
is only temporary, that the man whose
presence so strikingly fills this space
will return,  hope they cannot read
the apprehension in my tremulous heart.

(Gina is hosting at dVerse Pub tonight and challenges us to consider the magic in ordinary things.  When my husband had a heart attack a few years back,  I noticed how everything took on new meaning while he was gone.  It inspired this poem.)

Waiting On the Storm

The air hangs heavy and yet I shiver,
threat of rain clouds the forlorn sky;
high above the palm leaves quiver,
the air hangs heavy and yet I shiver
even birdsong has become a wither
Nature’s wrath seldom a passing sigh;
the air hangs heavy and yet I shiver,
threat of rain clouds the forlorn sky.

(An attempt at a triolet for Jilly who is hosting the dVerse pub tonight.)

A Recipe for Wonder

Trust, as if
trust is not an issue

Let curiosity lead –
hunger for learning

See the world as undefined –
focus soft.

(Amaya is hosting in the dVerse pub tonight, encouraging us think about “the secret ingredient”.  I am also linking this poem to Willow Poetry’s: What Do You See?  Image provided by Willow Poetry.)

HoHoHo, What?

A snowy-bearded man in
a uniform of red, says
HOHOHO
sets our wheels spinning –
suddenly behavior counts,
and calories don’t, and mistletoe –
well you know…

Does not anyone else find it odd that
a marketing construct is our ambassador
for good cheer?

(A quadrille written for dVerse where the focus is on cheer.  Also linking up to Ragtag Community’s : uniform.  No Santa Clauses were harmed in the making of this poem, nor does the author claim to be totally humbug.  Artwork is an original.  Cheers all!)

The Fire Dance

Thrum-thrum-thrum –
I awaken with a start –
heart pounding,
intense heat stifling –

flames shooting
ceiling high form
a ring around my bed,
as if dancing –

I am frozen, mute.
Is this death?

Distorted faces
leer through fiery curls –
like ancient tribal masks –
menacing, angry

the distinct sound of voices
penetrates the fire’s roar
and too frightened to respond,
I succumb to unconsciousness.

A hallucination, the doctor deduces –
an adolescent’s overactive imagination…

till, child no more, I gather
with other women,
and a drum –
thrum-thrum-thrum

and darkness pulls me back –
to the centre of the ring –
flames, and faces, and voices

only now, I am no longer afraid –
release my soul to the dance.

(Written for the dVerse pub where Victoria is hosting with the prompt: fire.)

Waiting for Recharge

I alternate between vigorous activity and coma-like crash.  It’s the nature of this disease.  No middle ground, it seems.  Or maybe that’s just the nature of this personality.

We celebrated Christmas early this year.  A Saturday afternoon gathering, and I cooked.  First time in four years.  I felt a certain sense of pride till the last guests left and I turned to face the aftermath.  Now, just  two days later, I am packing up the household and preparing for a four-month excursion.  I think I’ve defined a new breed of crazy:  waiting for a spurt of energy and then frenetically doing until I hit the next wall.

Winter pelts windows,
stirs frenzied need to escape –
waiting for recharge.

(Imelda is hosting in the dVerse pub tonight with the prompt: waiting.  Coincidentally, waiting is also the prompt for Manic Monday’s 3 way challenge.  I have also received inspiration from Ragtag Community:  vigorous, and Fandango: coma.  Tomorrow is load up day and then we hit the road, so not sure how often I’ll be around until we get settled somewhere.)

A Child Glows

Child,
delightful youth,
my heart’s jewel,
you are light-bearer,
hope for the future –

antics haphazard,
laughter contagious,
spreading joy,
sparking imagination –

I pray that your spirit
remains joyously vibrant,
that reality dawns gently –
does not spoil the radiance
of your glow.

(Written in honour of my granddaughters, for dVerse pub, where Lillian is hosting and a quadrille based on the prompt spoil is called for.  Also linking up with Ragtag Community – jewel, Fandango’s- haphazard, and Manic Mondays 3 Way Prompt – heart. )