Warm Heart
The small dogs are still warm from their day’s exertion
curled into balls—one at my feet above the covers,
the other, too small or timid to leap up to the bed,
a tight knot in her cushy denim bed just a yard away.
For the dVerse Poets Quadrille prompt, the subject this week is warmth.
To see the prompt and to read some wonderful poems on the subject of warmth, go here:https://dversepoets.com/2022/11/28/dverse-quadrille-165-warmly/
jdbphoto
Is there any more unifying element in nature than the moon? Who on this Earth has not looked up at it and dreamed their dreams? Suns bake, winds blow devastation, rain washes homes away, but the moon is simply there, pulling our tides and our hearts in different directions.
Lucid Moon
With half a life lived in the dark,
an owl’s hoot, an answering bark,
the moon across the water scattered,
ragged clouds, wispy and battered––
I float in night and solitude,
the night determining my mood.
I lie in darkness and I brood,
a nightly lucid interlude.
When sunlight comes in fits and starts,
the day brings out my other parts.
They rise in me from dawn to noon,
dispelling powers of the moon.
Thus balanced between dark and light,
each half consumes its daily bite.
I welcome each within its time
Life varied, balanced and sublime.
for d’Verse Poets moon prompt.
Writing a Poem with the Radio On
Makes me want to cry, all the cowboys with guitars
strumming in accompaniment to a world
whizzing through a universe it can barely comprehend.
The world is a wall that is crumbling, crumbling,
and no amount of musical mortar can keep up with it.
Lyrics on the radio swirl into a quagmire
of words to be written,
lists of what to do.
A new riff floats my mind away:
her backdoor screen is closed.
Turn around,
turn around my darling
or the world is lost.
Everything so crazy
it makes him want to cry
Drowning my sorrows in his,
the task of this poem remains unaccomplished.
The small dog cries over an untossed ball.
Yolanda with her mop, dispenses advice and laughs at my jokes.
That melody fading into silence,
I wait for a new one to begin.
For dVerse Poets Beat Poetry Prompt they ask us to write a stream of consciousness poem . Go HERE to read other poems of this ilk. Photo by Dave Weatherall on Unsplash.
Sangria Punch
Take strawberries, about a cup.
Disinfect, then slice them up.
If you are a liquor lover,
pour tequila in to cover.
Overnight, just let them stew,
then add sangria to the brew
and add fresh orange juice to it
and 7up, more than a bit.
Then slice more strawberries to freeze
and add as many as you please
to pretty glasses picked for show
and put them neatly, row on row
upon the freezer shelf to chill,
ready for your guests to fill
with fresh sangria punch to kill!
For dVerse Poets Quatrain “Punch” Quatrain prompt. Recipe below in non-quatrain form.
1 or 2 cups sliced strawberries and peaches, too, if you wish
2 or 2 cups tequila to cover well
Soak overnight in tall glass pitcher. In the morning, add
1 quart Kirkland Sangria, 1/2 quart fresh orange juice.
When ready to serve, add 1/2 quart 7up, mix and pour over
frozen strawberries places in glasses in freezer to chill.
Adjust for tastes. I do every time. Amounts are approximate.
Store covered in fridge. It improves in flavor as it sits.
HERE is the original dVerse prompt.
Homecoming
All rivers led away from home, each highway, path and plane,
but little did I know that I would be led back again.
Memories pressed upon the page like flowers in a book.
Every story, every poem records a backwards look.
The prompt by dVerse Poets is to write a poem based on this amazing painting by Lee Madgwick. See her other paintings here: leemadgwick.co.uk.
See other poems written to this promt HERE.
Wishful thinking.
Jam and Toast for Dinner
She could not stand to touch a worm,
for squiggly things just made her squirm,
and so she cast a naked hook
into the waters of the brook.
You might have guessed she was not able
to provide protein for our table,
thus proving that old axiom
forgotten by our squeamish mom.
“When you go out fishing, best do it by the book.
No one ever caught a fish with an unbaited hook.”
For the dVerse Poets prompt: aphorisms.
I believe this is a new aphorism to add to your list!
“Since there’s no help, come let us kiss and part.”
Love Lost, Love Gained
Since my true love just up and left,
there’s no relief. I am bereft.
No matter how much I expound,
help is nowhere to be found.
Come, wipe the memory of his face.
Let, then, a new love take its place.
“Us” bleached out from my memory,
kiss wiped so a new kiss may be,
and so forsake this moan and vetting.
Part of love lies in forgetting.
For the dVerse Poets prompt, we were to take one of the given lines and to make a poem of it, using each word of the line, in order, as the the beginning word in each line of our poem. The the line I chose precedes the poem: “Since there’s no help, come let us kiss and part.”
For dVerse Poets
To see other poems written to this prompt, go HERE.
Morning Chorus
Morning opens one eyelid,
casting eyelash shadows
across the terraza.
The small dog whines a greeting
as the dogwalker opens the garden gate.
Tap tap of woodpecker in the tallest palm.
Echo of church bells.
Only the first sunrays
silent in this early morn.
For dVerse Poets
HERE is the prompt.
The Real Dirt
Dirt has had, since its inception,
an unfair place in our conception—
a thing for us to rail against
and throw the laundry pail against.
Dirty thoughts are seen as rude,
and yet dirt grows our daily food.
Without it, we would flail and totter.
Impossible to walk on water!
Just had to repost this poem from four years ago for the dVerse Poets prompt. You can find it here: dVerse Poets
To read other poems on this topic, go HERE.
Couldn’t resist reblogging this for the dVerse Poets Restaurant Prompt.
The Prompt today was to write a poem that begins and ends with the same word.
“Dining Alone at the Maria Bonita Restaurant Bar”
Smoldering.
Señor Garcia is smoking today.
Below him,
Maria Phoenix lies on satin sheets
on the wall of Maria Bonita Restaurant Bar.
It is a small palapa restaurant––soft orange front with
hot pink trim–– that I’ve driven by hundreds of times before;
and every time, I’ve wanted to come in, but haven’t.
Now today, suddenly,
I don’t want to go home
and so my car turns in across the carretera.
I am the lone customer.
The cook and waiter
spring to action.
Totopos for him to bring,
a fire for her to light.
This is a fish restaurant
and I am a non-fish
eater, choosing between
quesadillas and beans
or a hamburger and fries.
Needless to say, I’m not here for the food.
I am…
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lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown 