Outside my window

Picture by Grace @ EverydayAmazing 

The roses are abounding

    like tiara of rubies & silk

        umbrellas unfolding in the rain 

Do you see each petal glistening

    ruffled red, lavish as the sunset     

        leaning in to inhale the last days of spring

Each neck arching to the clear sky  

    slender & long as crowned cranes-

        bones tender under the prickled flesh 

Do you hear the energy & pulse beating   
     of the seeds in its bosom or curling of roots  
         in the soil, sturdy even in harsh winter season

Are its memories intact when cut & wrapped
    into a bouquet or pressed dry between the pages-             

       Or does it make new ones, birthing & rising anew-                  

I marvel at the mystery- 

    And I am content with not knowing more

       As I gaze at their beauty framing my window      

Posted for OpenLinkNight at D'verse Poets Pub ~ Thanks for the visit ~

The father's eyes

i'm shy

as a turtle

under this shell, i'll  hide

from everyone, yet you always 

see me

I don't want to come out to play. Photo by Jenn Jilks

you held 

me in your hand,

there's a twinkle in your 

eyes:   pride, joy, a tinge of sadness - 

i'm awed 

                                                                  
                                                                                Tree frog. Photo by Jenn Jilks

Posted for:   Imaginary Garden for Real Toads - Hosted by Kay
and Poets United - Happy Father's Day ~

Poetry form:  cinquain

Spring bloom

the way you swell:  

a fuller moon, a fragrant rose -

on my hands 

Picture credit:   Just a Picture

the way you tremble:

petalled pink, breathless wind, a dewdrop

on my lips

Posted for Poetry Jam:   Its All About Flowers
and Haiku Heights:  Ripple - It's been a while since I wrote haiku/senryu.  Smiles ~

The Immigrant

  

  This city is not our city.

  This hand which scrambles

  to find the file and pen

  like seagull scrunching for food

  in theme park is not our hand.

  This street which squeezes

  houses into perfect square brownies

  is not our street.

  The hours which consumes our day

  in the work factory and stores,

  are not our lives.

  This train ride is not our journey.

  Nor the food we buy in the cafes

  our nourishment, the bread that

  fills our hunger and wine that fires

  our blood like autumn burst

  in the morning dawn, scorching the

  trees of russet skein and golden honey.

  This shiny fruit is not our fruit.

  The words leaping from our tongues

  like holiday greeting cards are not our words.

  We eat, we work, we spend

  and put our aches in Ziploc bags.

  Every night, we trudge back

  to this roof and walls, but this is not our haven.

  This bitter truth hits us hard

  At night,

  the moon searches

  for our amber eyes—

  keening in every breath—

  This city, we are learning
  to grow

  our tongues, 
  hands & feet --
  To cast words
  like rice grains
  for our children --  

  

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - 100th OpenLinkNight - This post was written late last year and is languishing in my draft folder.   Looking back now, I have edited the ending and thought of sharing this to all of you.  Thanks for the visit ~

Picture credit:   Poetry Foundation - Snake  

Nightwatch

we climb out of our cars, straining 

to see the last harvest of full moon. 

The trees are silent as we're counting

each grain weaving across the dark sky-

each light sliding, skating the lagoon-

each verse stitching like a neat bow tie-

lustrous is canvas unveiling, awed 
are we to witness this feat: scooped,  swooned,

lifted like a gem - a night unflawed !

 

Posted for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Nocturna poem and theme - I am hosting this mini-challenge this weekend.

Poetry form:  This is a 9 line poem (3 tercets) linked by the rhyme of the centre line. I have kept the 9 syllables per line (instead of 10) and have followed the rhyme scheme:  a. b. a. c. b. c. d. b. d.

Shared with Poets United

Photo credit:  here

The night

Photo by Grace @ Everyday Amazing

the night 
brings the restless
words into open:  raw
as pitted seeds, bare bones, grieving 


of you -  

Posted for:   Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Nocturne 

Poetry form:   cinquain

Landays: The poetry of Aghan women

You sold me to an old man, father.

May God destroy your home, I was your daughter.

~0~

My body is fresh as henna leaf:

green outside; inside, raw meat.

~0~

I call. You’re stone.

One day you’ll look and find I’m gone.

Landays and Picture above from Poetry Foundation, June Issue 2013

Here are my own landays:

I walk each step as lightly as the wind.
My burgha covers my wounds, heavy as a mountain. 

~0~

I bathe, but this body belongs to many:
my father, my brothers & the old man with coins.

~0~

The words flow like honey from my hand.
I imagine your cheeks, like pages, pressing into mine.

~0~

Beneath this veil are the eyes of a bird,
even when it seems I have forgotten my wings.

~0~

I am more than just a stone.
Someday, I will build a tower for all my sisters.

Posted for OpenLinkNight of D'verse Poets Pub - June article of Poetry Foundation is dedicated to the Landays of Afghanistan..   I was reminded of how lucky I am to write freely, of poetry specially, without the threat to my life nor womanhood.

Poetry form:  Landay is a two line poem or a folk couplet, depicting the themes of war, separation, homeland, grief or love.  

where i was this morning

Grace@ Everyday Amazing

you'll find

me standing here-

bare toes against the grass,

with a yellow hat, greeting you

hello !

Posted for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads:   OpenLinkNight

Poetry form:   cinquain

In the shower

      the water divides // 
 my body into many parts- 

                        some i like, some 
                        i don't -                         

     in between the stone-scrubbing,
 i am confessing to the walls-

                        here's my unwanted cells, coarse hair,
                        the ugliest of my side, the words 

     i wanted to say but couldn't -
 take it all, aLL, ALL  //  i peer at myself closely:    

                       wrinkling flesh, scabs & purplish veins,
                       tiny freckles,  dry lips & unpolished nails-  

     as foamy suds sag under the weight, 
 i recite verses of contrition

                       you are beautiful, it wasn't your fault, 
                       don't be too harsh on yourSELF-- 

     the tiles are silent,  even the toilet   
 seat covers itself, not joining in the private chat-  

                       unlike in the public bathroom, i
                       let everything out, ouT, oUT, OUT until --

     there is nothing to drown into,  
 only a ritual of penance as I towel dry-  

                      groomed & scaled into a page,  
                      i step out &  

     write again-- 


Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Hosted by Claudia, where we are writing bathroom poetry ~  How fun is this ~ Have a good weekend ~

picture credit:  here

At the parking lot

it was only
a split second--

                                 his eyes, blackest of nights,
                                 unexpectedly piercing as spring's afternoon heat-

                                 & my eyes, frailed by days 
                                 of hobbling from sprained right ankle, waiting-

locked across the
space, empty of cars--

                                 he glowered, fallen warrior on the ground, 
                                 flexing skin, silky sable against the hard cement - 

                                 & i, in the car, massaging my leg, wondering      
                                 when I can walk without a limp-

then in a
flash--

                                 he took off, an arrow surging after his prey, 
                                 undeterred, a ferocious hunter once again --

                                 i gaze at the eagle, his wingspan carving the sky, bluer 
                                 than before, & lifted by his flight, i start the car into the road--



Posted for OpenLinkNight - D'verse Poets Pub - hosted by Brian Miller