Tuesday, October 27, 2015

To the keeper of my nights

When the darkest of your nights come 
And moon hides its slumbering eyes
remember that you are loved

When your thin arms are pierced with pain
See how light climbs and peeks through sky
Even when the night is lit with darkest clouds

Open your palms in gratitude
I am here, beside you
Remember that you are loved

Even when your heart is failing as autumn leaf
And your words are stuttering, asking why
And when the darkness of the night will come 

And end your suffering, hold my hands
Let silence wrap us like seedpods
Remember that you are loved

Our memories comfort us 
like thundering rain on land so dry
When the darkest of your nights came
You remembered that you are loved

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - I am going to miss you when you are gone ~  Hosted by Kelly Letky ~

Thursday, October 22, 2015

Feast of slimy pumpkins

Yellow moon, black bats, horned owls
Lend us your faces to scare folks 
Waiting for us by door on coldest night
Don't put the candy maker on sick call
We going to sing ghost songs until we are numb

Yellow moon, black bats, horned owls
Cast away the witches' spell, a joke  
We are turning plump as pumpkins
Filled with glee from treat bags haul
We show off our tongues, green with slimy gum

Picture credit:   here

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Hosted by Victoria ~  Join us for some fun starting at 3pm EST

Tuesday, October 20, 2015

Song of the Witches

Picture credit:  Colossal

Light a candle, 
Boil water in cauldron 
Measure a cup of trouble
With a pint of sea salt 
Add sprig of mischief
Then skin of slippery eel 
Hair of dead bird 
Blood of piglet
Spice of Devil's dung 

Boil and steam
See white heat froth
As we cackle grackle 
See our faces turning red
As bloody puffy moon
Then the charm is good and fine*

Title and last line from Macbeth's Song of the Witches by William Shakespeare

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub- Thrilled and Chilled hosted by Kanzen Sakura

Thanks for the visit ~

Tuesday, October 13, 2015

The land of giant beavers

carve me
with mighty heart of caribou
under mustard sky
I will fly with northern geese
to settle down with my spears 


we mark trails
crossing the river of hundred fish
the sun is tempest bee
yellowing the fields to maple honey
we cast nets wide in a single wave


we stamp our feet 
to furious beat of sticks and drums 
come to prairie 
where the soil is black 
and every stone is alive with our blood 

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Hosted by Bjorn Rudberg who shared with us these petroglyphs, stone carvings from Sweden.    

Saturday, October 10, 2015

Before dawn & storm's landing

                                                       Credit to:  Joni Niemela

night sky is bathed in deep purple 
mystery, while moon is sword dangling
between two mountains & broad river
alone I am not
hearing the calls of migrating birds
& stampede of thousand wildebeests
i prepare to travel west 
where drum songs for the dead 
echo heartbeats 
of closing thunderstorm

Posted for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads -Micro poetry.  A decastich, a poem of 10 lines and Poets United ~  Thanks for visit ~

Thursday, October 8, 2015

Black moths, white fear

                                                     Carlos Amorales

We are drawn to the light
to soothe our coal-inked wings
singed by fumes & polluted air
we inhale heat behind walls

to soothe our coal-inked wings
and lighten talons of fear
staking our ebony chests

singed by fumes & polluted air
we swarm as clouds, our bodies 
hovering dry-pitted earth

we inhale heat behind walls
to garnish our lithium eyes
long blinded by chemical dust

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Trimeric form hosted by Mary ~  Thanks for the visit ~

Notes of this art installation:   Black Cloud can be understood as a cautionary tale if we go back to the years of the British Industrial Revolution in the mid-nineteenth century, when the grizzly environment, tinged by coal combustion, originated a natural selection of black moths in the cities. The typical moth in England prior to the Industrial Revolution was the dominant light-coloured form which made it very difficult for birds and other predators to see it against light-coloured trees and clean walls. The coal that was burned as industry spread throughout the north of England blanketed the countryside with black soot and a new dark form of moth emerged. It appeared suddenly, came to dominate the population in industrial areas, and then declined just as sharply following the closure of coal mines and many industrial centres. Pollution levels dropped, clean air laws were introduced, and the sootiness that prevailed during the nineteenth century disappeared from the cities. Dramatically, as the cleaner, lighter conditions returned, so did the lighter form of the moth. Some biologists suggest that the dark moths will soon be extinct.             

Wednesday, October 7, 2015

Gifts of African Night Sky

by barren land
ancient trees gnarled by storm dust
rise with garland 
& dress shimmering of silver raindrops-
tonight, she dances under diamond-lit sky


love the trees 
as your beloved children,
said her grandmother to her-
so she planted trees until her last day
tonight, she hears their music for the gods


think for yourself
and question everything,
her teacher told her-
so she broke bread with friends & strangers
tonight, under sea of stars, she writes

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Gifts hosted by Ahbra Pal ~
and Poets United - Teacher, hosted by Susan 
Thanks for the visit ~

Monday, October 5, 2015

Caught in a dream

She hovers light as bird in a nest.  Yet her feet are lead, tangled in history of hurts and twigs of betrayals.  It has been 3 years now, but tonight when the moon glints coppery red, the past recoils like black tide shrouding  her vision.   She can hear the whiplash of his words, like a storm circling overhead.  The hard fist of his hands, gnawing fear in her chest.

Slowly, she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand as if to rid of acid-laced memories.    Outside, the wind rattles crushed soda cans on the streets, sweeping them like lost feathers.   She thinks of leaving the city and starting a new life somewhere. A place to call her own with a small garden.   Sinking deep into sleep, she hears the ticking of the clock.  Every second reverberates, as echoes of gunshots.  As heartbeats of runaway prey.

red maple leaves
blanket rose-less garden,
night is tinderbox

                                                                  By Brooke Shaden

"Yesterday is but today's memory, and tomorrow is today's dream." - Quote from Kahil Gibran

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Haibun Monday - The prompt is open all week, so come and join us!    Thanks for the visit ~

Thursday, October 1, 2015

Women of north, descendants of Adam

Credit to Noell Oszvald

cattle, slave, devil
these are not my names
carved on my desert skin
i am bull's light keeper
looking to free my sisters


i weep for my ancient faith
and sins of all dead tribesmen 
like a lost sheep
i weep for more than
40 days and nights


who hears 
slaughtering of goats
young girl's tears as she is beaten & tied down
burning of old temples


before I'm to be sold 
as a gift to black-masked killer, 
i make a death wish 
wrapping scarves around my neck, so tight 
sun razed red soil to ash      

Posted for D'verse - OpenLinkNight - Hosted by Bjorn Rudberg

I chose to write about the plight of Yadizi women, who are suffering from persecution under the militant ISIS.