Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight - Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.
Thursday, April 25, 2024
morning commuter
Thursday, April 18, 2024
dear traveller
Do not wait for me
I have found my map
Though my pockets are lined with sadness
I carry your gift, a wild flower yellow pin
I have found my map
And travelled to another country
Carrying your gift, a wild flower yellow pin
Reminding me to smell the flowers along the way
While travelling to another country
Your letters keep me company, soft as light
Reminding me to smell the flowers along the way
Will our paths cross again? Maybe, I'm hopeful
Your letters keep me company, soft as light
Though my pockets are lined with sadness
Will our paths cross again? Maybe, you said.
Please, do not wait for me.
Tuesday, April 16, 2024
Insomniac
Let us talk about insomnia
at 3:15 am. A dark bird sits on my bed
& wants to talk about his ambition. I am
curious, where does ambition come from?
Is it a seed that suddently grows into
giant tree out of my head? Is it a slow
painting of canvas, taking shape, defining my face?
The bird wants to climb Japan's Mount Fiji.
The bird wants the fancy feathers of peacock.
And fling himself to the moon.
His ambition is burning his feet after jumping
over fire stones after piercing the hornet's nest
Well I had enough of the bird chatter dream
I want to talk about my ambition - that
fire within me that refuses to die when an idea
Comes to me, like a buzzing bee
over the blooming yellow daffodils
Deafening sounds, lively chitter-chatter
As my heartbeat is running faster and
faster. Sleep is forgotten library book.
My feet are itching for calm after
leaping into the air, like a gazelle
bounding out to the open fields
My spine tingles as if a lover's touch
stole my sleepy head. Finally
dawn comes with pink hues and holds
a giant mirror to my small idea bulb,
now scribbled with crooked arrows. Will I survive
the scrunity of harsh reality? Dark bird, remind me
again, where does ambition come from?
Come to me in circles.
Come to me, piercing my bosom.
Tuesday, April 2, 2024
Other Worldly
we are floating in dust & gas
we catch burst of light
as well as the tail blue-violet of darkness
there is an awakening
we are shapeless yet shaped
by forces unseen, more powerful than ocean's
turbulent waves & scorching as
volcanic eruptions
a daffodil blooms
a nursery of beginnings of space &
matter. over time, where do we cast
ourselves listening to the waves
of energy & light
budding leaves of tulips rises
around us, clusters of stars & dark matter
colliding, collapsing, pulling & pushing as if
following the blue print of Master Hands
digging the soil, soft as rain
the black hole divides
us, the sun completes our divinity
though we are mere specks, wrapped
in the continuum of light
a season of firsts, spring
Photo by John McKaveney: The Orion Nebula. “This is an active star forming region about 1400 light years away, of condensing gas and dust, illuminated by newly forming stars. Our solar system formed in a region much like this about 5 billion years ago. The photons that were observed when this picture was taken, left the nebula in 624 AD. At that time, Mohamed had just won the Battle of Badr, in Saudi Arabia, the classical period in Europe was ending and the middle ages beginning, the Mayas were just beginning to build their largest pyramids, and Europeans had not yet set foot in North America. Throughout this entire time, those photons of light were traveling through space to be captured to form this photograph, where their journey finally ended.”
Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Stepping Out of this World, hosted by Lillian. Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm. Thanks for the visits and comments.
Thursday, March 28, 2024
coaxing spring season
my mom forgets her thoughts, butterflies in flight
but not her prayers. her rosary beads are bright as sunlight
where do you find yourself at end of the day
are you cradling a lady bug? or do you stare at the moonlight ?
the shadows have their seasons too.* filled with dead poets.
yellowing regretful sighs. time to change curtains to spring light
i will etch the walls with songs. with color. with feathers.
because inside me, is cardinal, awaiting spring. with sky light
the white wall. the blank page. you stitch the emptiness
into fullness. you are embroideried canvas & edged with light
*Line: The Shadows have their seasons, too" from John Updike, Penumbrae
Posted for dVerse Poets pub - OpenLinkNight - Hosted by Sanaa Rizvi. Thanks for your visits and comments. Poetry form: ghazal.
Tuesday, March 26, 2024
the building (land acknowledgement)
you moonwalk out of the building
whose wall tiles are blue-etched in history
giant banners follow the marbled columns
as you stand to witness sunset throbs
in glorious colors, washing
large window frames with ecru & peach tints
beneath black suit
how sober cold you hold yourself
refracted by city neon lights-
you belong here yet not quite from the tilt of your head-
on cobbled steps, you marvel the carvings
and gothic shape of the building
and hearing the folklore rising from the relics
and feeling its hot breath on your skin-
maybe it will take another decade or two
of walking & inhaling the sun-baked streets
to feel connected to the ancient land the building
stands after hearing the land acknowledgement
for now, you just want to respect
the ties that bind us all under the eyes
of the ever-steady moon-
for now, you just want nothing more than be hurled
to the sky, star-wrinkled
glinting of mysteries, stirring in you an ocean of awe
Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Hosted by Kim Russell. Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST. Thanks for your visits and comments.
This is an example of a land acknowledgement:
Land Acknowledgement for Toronto
We acknowledge the land we are meeting on is the traditional territory of many nations including the Mississaugas of the Credit, the Anishnabeg, the Chippewa, the Haudenosaunee and the Wendat peoples and is now home to many diverse First Nations, Inuit and Métis peoples. We also acknowledge that Toronto is covered by Treaty 13 with the Mississaugas of the Credit.
Thursday, March 21, 2024
False Spring
I listen to western wind's murmurings -
Birthing songs by iris and daffodils
High-pitched cries by broad winged hawks nurturing-
There is restlessness in the air, the chills
Of winter are ebbing low & bordering
Small buds & silky tendrils sprouting gills
Shedding dark skin of soil & instinct to cling
And inhale the marvelous light of spring
The sun's crimson fingers brings fresh mirror
Sketching the pale grey sky blue as bluebells
Coloring the leaves young and green, clearer
Than raindrops that shimmers with silver spells
But all that is short-lived as once more, furor
Of winter wind comes back, peeling back shells
Of green & draping its white coat, unasked
It's false spring. We all huddle back, hands clasped!
Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetry Form: Ottavo Rima or Sonnetto Rispetto. We are learning this traditional Italian poetry form. Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.
Tuesday, March 19, 2024
cold & lost in the song
What was that I see
Over the bridge
Not two lovers walking in dance-steps
Not line of cars threading slowly
Away from the green lamp posts
To where the lake swallows
you
It is bleak darkness
As if the sun is lost behind trees
As if all the colors got sucked out
And wounded tightly in hard fist
Or is it I who is
lost
A bird
with wings heavy as pewter
with no driving instinct to return
To where "home" is
That is nowhere between
me
and the goddess with lion's mane
Magnificent but so pale
As ghost, listless and weary as
i
Where is the zest for life?
What secrets did we keep that broke our peace?
Our yesterdays changed us
All the energy is spent
lost
And though there is this undeniable longing
inside my chest
To return to the familiar womb
To gather all the light once more
and embrace your laughter
i am content with the cold
absence of
you
René Magritte, Homesickness (1940), oil on canvas.
Posted for dVerse Poets Pub: Everything We See, hosted by Melissa Lemay. Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm for the ekprastic challenge. Thanks for your visits and comments.
Monday, March 4, 2024
my hand holds a pomegranate
I swallow the seeds
spilling
warm sea in my womb
bless my body
- a child -
untouched by sorrow
bestowed from darkness to light
through slumbering fog
hear my plea
heal bleeding pain
i'm weary but hopeful
when will our child of love be born?
Posed for dVerse Poets Pub - Quadrille, hosted by Punam. This is a 44 word post with the chosen word, slumber. Thanks for the visits and comments.
Tuesday, February 27, 2024
the hands of the artist
the middle finger of my right
hand
grows a tree
white tap roots skitter
down
interweaving with my veins
branches protude
fingerlings swimming upward-
against gravity
northbound -
this is homeward drive
where mollusks are plenty
my body is listening
leap
capture the raging
tides swelling within-
this warm clay
coarsely molds friction & fire
with flights of fancy
to sculpture -
wings are not required
the fruiting is art
Artist Credit: Anastassia Zamaraeva
Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetics - 2024 Poets Leaping hosted by Lisa Fox. Thanks for your comments and visits.