Mary’s Morning

Morning blessings
as I count them:
wake
stretch
greet the sun

both smell and taste
of coffee
steaming in my favorite mug,
the one Darrell made,
that fits smooth
in the curve of my hand

sitting and fitting
with Otis
my sweet dog
in our favorite chair

and
writing
a few words
while the day is still new

This is for the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads where we are asked to write something keeping the words of Mary Oliver in mind, “It mustn’t be fancy.”
Mary Oliver’s passing leaves me so very sad, yet mindful of little wonders all around.

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The January House

The January halls
are empty;
they echo
with thin, pale memories

The January house
is bare and
spare,
empty

There are no tchotchkes
no collections
no trophies
no books
no pictures
to distract the eye,
or absorb the sound
of a single pair
of slippers
shuffling
through the January halls.

Hollow echoes
bounce
off the hard,
bare surfaces.

The January house
stands empty,
waiting
to be filled

This is for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads where we are challenged to write something springing from the word hollow.

Sepia Tea

We dress in Sunday’s best
sitting in the front room.
Your helpmeet serves
weak tea
while I fantasize
of rich, dark coffee

The low sun tumbles through
the open window
dazzling, on the glass-topped table
and silver-plated flat-ware

Outside, the dancing
sparkling surface of the lake
draws my gaze
Although I long
for its cool depths

 

This is for the Real Toads.

Image is The Cup by Adolf de Meyer, 1912. Fair Use Principles

24

Pride sits
on a broken throne
in its hands, a tiny
shiny blue alphabet

Pride howls
alone on its throne
in the wee
hours full of bluster and bite

Pride clings
to its slippery throne
ringed by
angry fires
listening to the fiddler

Another for National Poetry Month, the subject is from Real Toads, where they suggested we write about the seven vices or virtues.

 

23

Ah,
gotta love
the modern life –
the tweets of a twit
or the magic of
micro-po
one-four-oh!
Keep it simple, stupid,
small and statesmanlike
or not…

This is for Real Toads where the suggestion is to try a 140 character, Twitter-sized poem.

10

My life
is sealed
in long-ago rooms
packed into forever boxes
and stacked in the someday closet

Linked to Imaginary Garden with Real Toads where they asked for micro poetry using the phrase “long-ago rooms” from Maya Angelou’s poem “When You Come”.

6. Inscrutable

The inscrutable face
behind the mask
holds all
things in
all people out

No
tender
legal issues
to sort through

No
muss
no fuss
everything
in its proper place

No
man
behind
the curtain
pulling strings

Only
a reflection
of an empty room
an empty space
an empty life
an empty face
behind the mask

This is linked to Verse Escape, FF55 and the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads.
The image is an Elizabeth Arden advertising photo by Aldoph de Meyer, 1927, Fair Use>

Caught in the Wind

Caught in the wind
like lonely crow’s caw of despair.
Caught in the wind
words spilled, lost to the world, then pinned
against a branch – a scrap of prayer,
tattered and flapping, yet still there,
caught in the wind.

This is a Rondelet (see below for sepcifics)  written in response to “Fussy Little Forms” at the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads.

I couldn’t find who took the photo.  If it’s yours let me know and I’ll either credit you, or remove it, as you choose.

The Rondelet is a seven line French poetry from with the following rhyme and meter:

Line 1 :: A—four syllables
Line 2 :: b—eight syllables
Line 3 :: A—repeat of line one
Line 4 :: a—eight syllables
Line 5 :: b—eight syllables
Line 6 :: b—eight syllables
Line 7 :: A—repeat of line one

Woman with Long Hair

Woman with Long – Hair, Man Ray, 1929

I am the woman with the long hair
grown through years of want
and waiting

I am the woman with the stillborn dreams
feeling them dry up within me
throughout my gestation

I am the woman with the red shoes
dancing for my life
as the crowd looks on

I am the woman with the arching back
bent to your will
always aching

I am the woman with the bloody hands
reaching for a cigarette
sick of all the bullshit sacrifice

This is for the November Photographic Challenge at the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads.

Sweet Redux

Do not be afraid of sweetness,
of tender feelings

Turn away from the cold carvings
of idle stone.
 
Remember soft, ripe intimacies-
the sweetness of rumpled sheets
and warm, sugared skies
that melt on the tongue
 

This is for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads where Kim has asked us to  reduce the  beautiful poem, Sweetness, always by Pablo Neruda, down to it’s essance.