What if days were berries
growing bright, whose sumptuous
juices blossomed only in Summer?
How sad it would be –
such limitations, disrespectful
of the creator to surmise
an inevitability of dormancy –
I will not believe it!
Our days are like seasons –
motivations and movement
fluctuating, weaving into
a tapestry of greater glory
There is no single season
of bloom – even berries resurrect.
What ideology is this –
the feminine clothed in conservatism,
carting creatures whose nature is wild –
are we to believe women, too, are tractable,
or that girls should aspire to control
their beastly selves, become pets
for mass consumerism?
Glances say it all –
the inability to face the authors
of this myth – subdued by shame,
powerlessness, or conditioned politeness –
do not be fooled; there is more to this story –
it may be invisible, we may all pretend
it does not exist, or downplay its significance –
but one day, rage will have its say.
(Written for the dVerse pub, hosted tonight by Merril, with the theme: invisible. Â My poem is a reaction to the featured image, offered up as a prompt by Willow Poetry for her weekly challenge: Â What Do You See?)
No path would blossom
if summers were about poetry –
a colder vine leaving me water.
Must let earth & animal
use this pure and wild air –
listen for dusk.
(I’m not running a weekly challenge, but I am inviting others to join me in playing Magnetic Poetry online. Â For details click here.)
He recalls we were gorgeous,
pleased me like an egg – fast
Why lie to men about
what blow must skin cry?
We are black from mist above moan,
I bare my drive as pink,
sit through summer of aching,
show my gown sweet…
though never did sleep.
(Fridays are magnetic poetry. Â Find it online at magnetic poetry.com. Â Love it if you’d join me.)
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.)
Serenity waits,
wrapped in Nature’s artful call,
harmony’s invite.
via Daily Prompt: Observe Short Unsolicited Advice on Writing Poetry write long poems on short days short poems on long days you don’t need a drummer but you do need rhythm avoid melodrama your head cannot explode all the time, there is uncharted territory between ecstasy and despair look after your images they should splash […]
via Short Unsolicited Advice on Writing Poetry — Stopdraggingthepanda
Seduced –
the virility of youth
irresistible even for an old
duck like me –  so unexpected,
relentless, I ignore exhaustion
lean into the fantasy, allow
desire to embrace me,
cross a boundary,
surrender…
step up
to the stage,
bare-chested,
shameless, speak
into the mic, reveal
my words: those
childlike bits
of myself;
hope
my passion
does not offend,
the blatant sexuality
of my tongue, my voice,
raw desire, peaked arousal,
does not mar my reputation,
pathetic, really, that one so past
her prime should dare to grace the
boards – surely a younger woman’s game.
(Passion Exposed was penned in December of 2016 after attending my first poetry open mic.  Having been a closet writer for most of my life, I still find it uncomfortable at times to share my words.)
No value
have these words –
splotches on white –
no meaning
structure worthless –
two-dimensional
until eyes curious
willing to linger
invite order
add focus,
insert experience
inject emotion
paint the page
with resonance
bring a poem to life.
(A thank you to all my dear readers, whose support gives me so much encouragement and brings my words to life.)
One Woman's Quest 