Rain on Mosaic
Drop.
Flat.
Rain
is
sad.
Dropping
straight.
Falling
sure.
Into
a
world
of
blue
mosaics.
Glide on smooth.
Slide off easy.
Straight.
Sure.
Rain
is
sad.
Our assignment today was to write a minimalist poem. Last day of NaPoWriMo!!!!
After Seventy
Is it gain or loss to feel contentment—
no wild surges of emotion,
no bodily electricity,
no need for thrill or wild abandon?
Is this not the time for settling, for thrusting all
those wild venturings back to a safe place
on a back self of memory?
The universe is built on repetition
and change. This last stage, a sinking back into.
Communion with birds and dogs.
A return to the careful watching of childhood.
Of discussions with self as though you were
two people—one listening
as that inner person does all the talking.
Wisdom melding into sleep in the afternoon
in hammocks or on sofas.
Trying to distill wisdom from the flight of birds
or the observed quizzical reasoning of a small dog.
Old age, with one stiff arm I hold you at a distance.
I am studying up for you by reading books and by observation.
By reading myself for long otherwise empty afternoons.
Pinned in a backyard hammock by a small dog and by lethargy,
one foot on the ground, I steer us side to side—
A pendulum sweeping my life away, into corners,
fueled by the hovering of hummingbirds,
the quick flutter of butterflies
from throat to throat of the tabachine.
That seesaw of mind between the inner and the outer
as though practicing for that time when the one will claim me
and I will spiral forward or backward
with that wise knowing, perhaps, at last,
that they are precisely the same thing.
The NaPoWriMo prompt was to write a poem that was a meditation.
This is the intricately beaded cape of a voladore or “flier.” More about this incredible Mexican ritual later. For now, let’s concentrate on the flowers.
I couldn’t resist slipping this delicious mango flower into my FOTD post!
For Cee’s Flower of the Day prompt.
Dinner Party Snafu
That tiny jar of olives on the shelf
called out to me to add them to my list
carefully planned by no one but myself
and yet, it’s true that I could not resist.
To add to salad, plotted from the first
to blend so perfectly into the meal
to whet the appetite and prompt the thirst
for my perfect wine-soaked succulent veal.
Who knew that bottle would be so well sealed
that it would remain steadfast to my grip?
meanwhile, the veal course cooled and congealed
as I used armpit, hand and tooth and lip
to try to budge those olives from their jar,
to spill them onto salad quickly wilting.
My guests called out for dinner from afar,
their hunger-weakened voices softly lilting.
Thus do dinner plans oft turn out Hellish
due to starter courses we can’t relish!
Well-timed Adoration
You’re such a marvelous beauty. I worship at your feet.
You’re the most gorgeous woman of any that I meet.
Every day I see you on my usual rounds
around this graceful city where beauty so abounds.
And now my lovely lady, would you find me rash
if I asked if you could spare a little cash?
Prompt words for today are rash, lady, worship and marvelous. Here are the links:
https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2019/04/26/rdp-friday-rash/
https://fivedotoh.com/2019/04/26/fowc-with-fandango-lady/
https://onedailyprompt.wordpress.com/2019/04/26/your-daily-word-prompt-worship-april-26-2019/
https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2019/04/26/marvelous/
Tidelines
The water laps from shore to shore,
From India to Ecuador,
bringing precious things and more—
dried starfish and an apple core,
a never-ending seashell store.
The water laps up ever higher.
The ocean wave will not expire.
Tide on tide, it does not tire,
topples chair, douses campfire,
to the wind’s insistent choir,
The water laps around my feet
in the day’s insistent heat,
always destined to repeat,
to the moon’s consistent beat,
this constant rising from its seat.
The water laps against the dock.
Listen to its constant knock,
testing the seawall, block on block,
undiminished by the tock
of nature’s ever-ticking clock.
The water laps by halves and thirds
against the sides of ships and birds.
All its shores it scours, then girds,
undetained by poets’ words.
To stop the sea? it is absurd!
For NaPoWriMo’s “repetition poem” prompt.
The flower is a durante erecta or sky flower, and I want to thank this lovely white butterfly for making this photo! I am trying to crop according to Nancy’s rule of thirds, but there is a problem. What should be the focus of interest—the butterfly or the flower? Which photo do you like best, top or bottom?
For Nancy Merrill’s Rule of Thirds prompt.
And for Cee’s FOTD.
Rainy Season
When you walk into my photograph
in your new yellow raincoat,
a stalk of grain is in your hand
and you are plucking at it, shredding it.
I have set the tripod,
pinned the curtain back,
and I am waiting for the turn of light.
Chaff blows in the rain behind your shoulders.
In the wet street I can see you twice.
Steam from the straw pile down the street,
yellow blossoms of the spirea bush—
and still
I do not close the shutter,
for I am waiting for the turn of light.
You woke earlier than usual today,
craving fresh yogurt.
A waxed street that your footsteps
and the wheels of bicycles had marked
did not prompt me
to close the shutter,
for I was waiting for the turn of light.
When you return three hours later,
your pockets filled with fresh strawberries,
as though this is the reason
for which you left,
your shadow passes
across my photograph
as I stand waiting for the turn of light.
For the NaPoWriMo poem we are to write a poem that:
Is specific to a season
Uses imagery that relates to all five senses (sight, sound, taste, touch, and smell)
Includes a rhetorical question, (like Keats’ “where are the songs of spring?”)
For 
