Category Archives: Poem

Night Thoughts for dVerse Poets


Night Thoughts

They lie there like slumbering cats,
unaware of my presence,
then stir to stalk a field
where hidden metaphors hunch,
twitching, in the tall grass.

Whether they exist in a dream or not,
they do not know, but dwell there
in the shadow of my sleep,
transformed into jungle animals.

Exposed to the light of day,
they spring, as though tired of waiting,
into my conscious thoughts,
leaving their footprints on the page
where I jot them down guiltily,
a grateful plagiarist
who has merely trapped
the stuff of dreams.

Showing, then curling and retracting their nails,
paw after pawprint, they stalk
one line after another,
as, taking the credit,
I fill another page.

 

For dVerse Poets.  What Animal serves as a perfect metaphor for how you write?
See how other poets wrote to the prompt HERE.

Fire and Ice for Wordle 636

Fire & Ice

The fatal flakes of swirling snow
covered everything below,
including picnickers too frail
to withstand the frozen gale.

Framed in words, alas, more gory
than what was the actual story,
the fading flame of their last fire
was said to be their funeral pyre.

But they who replace truth with fable
sometimes choose to turn the table,
feigning facts with spurious lies,
creating fiction in its guise.

The truth is that the icy glaze
that covered lovers was just a phase,
for just before it was too late,
they hopped aboard a passing freight,
then jumped off at a neighboring town
where they flagged a taxi down.

Those bodies reduced to mere ember
scattered under snow-decked timber
were not human, but slabs of veal
placed in the fire form their meal.

But since such legends are mostly truthless,
they fabricate details more ruthless.
And that is why, finding the fire,
they named that hollow “The Lovers’ Pyre.”

 

For The Sunday Whirl Wordle 636 the word prompts are: fatal flakes frame phase feign fable fame favor freight flame frail fade

Seesaw, for Stream of Consciousness Saturday, Jan 6, 2024

Seesaw

When folks tell me to just do it,
my first thought is to eschew it.
And though I may change my mind,
I’m really not the doing kind.
On the other hand, if you
reveal something you’re going to do—
something of the crazy kind—
I might see fit to change my mind!

 

For Stream Of Consciousness Saturday, Jan 6, 2024  the prompt is “just do it.”

Pen & Ink, for the Weekend Writing Prompt, Jan 6, 2024

Pen & Ink

Guided by a hand like yours,
pens can open many doors.
Unclip it. Uncap its point.
Let paper that pen anoint.
As words somersault and caper,
flowing from your heart to paper,
a simple point, an ink-trailed line
could link your lonely heart with mine.

 

For Weekend Writing Prompt: Guide

The assignment is to write a piece of exactly 45 words making use of the word “guide.” I snapped this photo in Guanajuato. Never hurts to have a pen handy!

Penultimate/Ultimatepen, For The Daily Prompt, Jan 5, 2024

Penultimate/Ultimatepen

He said they couldn’t fence him for he liked to roam free.
No sty could ever hold him. No captive pig was he.
That he was a wild pig was true without a doubt.
As soon as they would pen him in, in seconds he’d break out.
But the farmer, too, was resolute. As his prize pig departed,
he vowed that he’d contain him. He wouldn’t be outsmarted.

He built a sturdy metal fence, and then he strung it higher—
woven fine and tight of the premium barbed wire.
Then he caught Porky and closed him in, determined that he’d win,
for it wasn’t up to any pig to refuse his fencing-in.
But indeed the pig devised again a means by which he left,
leaving the farmer feeling defeated and bereft.

Once more caught and then re-penned and taking his repast,
the pig had not a clue that this meal would be his last.
This escape his penultimate, now the die was cast.
His days of glorious freedom, alas, were in the past.
Then, his last meal finished, he made his next advance
toward a fence reconstructed, ready to take his chance.

But, alas, he’d met his match. Escape would never be,
for the farmer had infused the fence with electricity.
This time not the penultimate, it was the ultimate pen,
for Porky has been seen, I fear, just one more time since then.
Spread out on a platter, an apple in his jaws,
his final feat a foolish one, bound to give one pause.

When he said they couldn’t pen him in, I fear poor Porky lied,
for when he hit the fence this time, in minutes, he was fried.
Ham that he was, I fear that poor Porky’s lot was cast.
For the pen after the penultimate turned out to be his last.
Probably not the first time a pig who was a sinner
paid the price for it by turning into Easter dinner.


For The Daily Prompt: Penultimate

To the Island, for MVB, Jan 2, 2024

       Click on Photos to enlarge. What do you see in these beach finds?

To the Island

If I sent you to an island, it would be for your own good.
It wouldn’t be unwillingly, with chains and ropes and hood.
I’d lure you off to be with me, surrounded by the sea.
You wouldn’t have to talk or walk or be in love with me.

The objects that I’d give you are a camera, notepad, pen
and a computer with no wifi to connect to where you’ve been.
You’d live in the present with the details of your life,
examining where you have been without the daily strife.

With no Internet distraction, no ringing of the phone,
sometimes you find a part of you that you have never known.
There’s something that is lacking in what’s crowded in one’s brain.
It’s hard to find ourselves when we must live the whole world’s pain.

In the morning, you would walk the beach, move inward with the tide,
examining what treasures the waves conceal inside.
A stone shaped like a check mark or a continent or heart–
it’s hard to suspend looking, once you’ve made a start.

You may take photos of them or collect them in your pocket—
something to make art from, or a picture for your locket.
Another way to get inside is what you write about them.
If you have secrets, it’s inevitable that you’ll out them.

The sea’s part of something larger and each treasure is a clue
connecting the whole universe to something within you.
This is why each object plucked up from the sand
is part of you that you’ve reclaimed—there within your hand.

What you see in what you find is what you have inside.
Perhaps it’s something you don’t know or that you know and hide.
The very fact that it is here revealed for you to see
may mean that you are ready to finally set it free.

The sea with all its treasures and its recurring tide
is also found within you—safely tucked inside.
So look into a mirror—a metaphor, more or less;
if you are wondering if you’ve changed, you won’t have to guess.

You’ll look for things within yourself as closely as the sea
and find out more of who you are and who you want to be.
You’ll see the changes on your face that say you’ve become wise.
Deep worry lines around your mouth and laugh lines by your eyes.

And once that you have found yourself, you’ll find yourself again;
for you are always changing—refining what you’ve been.
Tucked off on an island like a wallflower on a shelf,
perhaps you’ll find the whole wide world there within yourself.

And when you see the world within, you’ll want to live in it,
for it’s a world that you have power to change as you see fit.

 

For MVB the prompt is Island

Quandry, for the Three Things Challenge

Quandry

When your thinking is simplistic, it’s bound to be confusing.
And if you are not organized, the logic that you’re using
may lead you ’round in circles with the result that you’re not
successful in discovering the answers that you sought.

 

 

For the Three Things Challenge, the words are: SIMPLISTIC ORGANISED CONFUSING

A Bah Humbug Primer: For the Sunday Whirl Wordle #634

A Bah Humbug Primer

If a White Christmas isn’t your “thing,”
If popcorn is something you eat but don’t string
into chains for the tree, and if twinkling lights
and tinsel and candy canes are dreaded sights,
if you are weary of seasonal cheer,
lest a stray chorus should fall on your ear
of “White Christmas” or “Jingle Bells,” close tight your door,
seal up your window, or you’ll hear more
joyous renditions you feel you’ve heard
over and over until they’re absurd.

If you grow feverish thinking of shopping,
then break out in chills—back and forth, without stopping,
then put on the skids or else you might pop.
Don’t make me send over the Bah Humbug Cop!
With unwavering calm, put dreams into action,
lest you commit  a Yuletide infraction.

There’s no law that says that you have to do
holidays that you happen to rue.
Hop a bus, then a plane. Find a tropical isle.
Take off to Arabia. Sail up the Nile.
There are plenty of spots without holly and snow—
places where Santa Claus dares not to go.

Just because some of us love our tradition,
doesn’t mean you will be tried for sedition
if you neglect to put up a tree.
So perk up your ears and listen to me.

There is a truth that everyone knows.
The best gifts of all don’t come tied up in bows.
Friends we can trust and friends we hold dear
We celebrate every day of the year!!!

The Sundaywhirl prompt words today are: dream white joyous twinkle waver chains stray chorus might chill feverish sight

Sealed Windows: Weekend Writing Prompt #343

 

Sealed Windows

These windows do not open, but keep me trapped inside
with no hope of escaping, so in full view, I hide.
Seen by every passerby but never touched by one.
For all the beauty trapped inside, there’s not a gram of fun.

Sterile empty paintings. An airless motionless room.
No other person enters to chase away the gloom.
As I look out, observing the drama of the world,
I hold my drama in my mind, where it’s securely curled.

 

 

For the Weekend Writing prompt #343 : Window (exactly 79 words)

Judy’s Addictive Sangria Brew


Judy’s Addictive Sangria Brew

Frozen strawberries, eight or ten––
find a pitcher, toss them in.
Pour Tequila, just to cover.
(Not too much, Tequila-lover!)
Next, Sangria, Kirkland brand.
a third way up the pitcher is grand.

Then orange juice in equal measure,
and then to guarantee your pleasure,
7-Up to fill the place
that formerly was only space.
Let it sit, then stir it up
and pour it in a pre-iced cup.

Guaranteed to please each guest,
but the way I like to serve it best?
Frozen strawberries in lieu of ice.
And the presentation’s especially nice
with bamboo skewer to stab the berry.
Is this drink addictive? Very!!!!

I learned how to make this sangria at a friend’s house in Wyoming and carried it back to Mexico with me where it has become an addiction among my friends, with only one or two hard-core white wine-drinkers abstaining,

Looks like I missed the cutoff date, but this was written for the  dVerse Poets: Recipes in Rhyme