The Prince and The Pauper

 Time for a Quadrille in the dVerse Poets Pub ~ Melissa is hosting ~ the magic word is 'ZERO'

Harry's a prince with great wealth to spare

our grandson's pockets ~ light as thin air

often at zero ~ blessing his heart 

handsome enough to play the Prince part

status does differ ~ of course that is true

but in looks we think he beats Harry too

Thankfulness

 Rommy shares this quote from Joana Walsh's essay "My Life As A Goddard Movie"  as inspiration for our poems ~~

“The most expensive garment you’ll ever own is your own flesh.”

Thanksgiving arrives the way it always does

the clatter of dishes, stories we tell

our first born carves the turkey

steam rises in praise, laughter shakes loose

we pass plates and memories with the quiet understanding

being here is never guaranteed

The soft ache in my bones reminds me

how long I've lived in this skin

paid for with every stumble, scar

every winter settled in my marrow

every determined spring pulling me up

Costly as my flesh has been

it has carried me all the way

to this warm room, this crowded table

this moment where love exists 

in the simplest ways, passed hand to hand

like bread

Dancing With My Grandson Charlie

Open Link Night at the dVerse Poets Pub ~ Sanaa is our host and as she reminds us ~ Anything Goes!!  

This is a poem I first published in March, 2021

  

My hand rests in his

we twirl together

his smile a melody

I have known forever

I follow, as always I have 

As always I will

someday my feet will falter

someday I will let go

but not tonight

tonight we dance

to the melody of a wish

I hold deep in my bones

that life is kind to him

that love finds him whole

that his road is long, never lonely

as music swells, his eyes shine

I gather myself into the moment

knowing he will carry this dance

long after I am gone

Perchance to Dream

 Lisa is hosting the Quadrille challenge in dVerse Poets Pub ~ she chose the word "Coax" or a form of it ~ to use in our poems.

I dreamed a poem last night

this morning ~ coaxing bits and pieces

to coalesce, materialize, return to me

stubborn devils ~ pesky details!

must I nap to dream? 

[ I don't ordinarily unless I'm ill ]

seems a waste of valuable time

looking for an encore tonight

Generations

  Time for Meeting the Bar in the dVerse Poets Pub ~ Laura's challenge is the Chaucerian Roundel ~

Three generations sketched, frozen in time

each of us different, like yang and like yin

each shaped by childhood, defined from within

Decades together, memories sublime

cooking and laughter, the yarns we would spin

Three generations sketched, frozen in time

each of us different, like yang and like yin

Three sisters left, the female paradigm

would we pass muster? I ask with a grin

how to say thank you, where would I begin

three generations sketched, frozen in time

each of us different, like yang and like yin

each shaped by childhood, defined from within  

 

Long Ago & Far Away

Time for Prosery ~ Not Poetry in the dVerse Poets Pub ~ Kim hosts and presents us with the challenge of using this line "not yesterday I learned to know the love of bare November days before the coming of the snow" from Robert Frost's poem My November Guest.

Not today, not yesterday, I learned to know the love of bare November days before the coming of the snow, as a child growing up in small town USA. We were three sisters in a modest home, rich in all but money. Four seasons shaped our world, snow forts and sleds, willow swings, barefoot summers, crisp leaves and laughter, lilac breezes in spring. 

Nearby, grandparents' hands worked the land. Rows of corn, jars of ruby jam, hams cured in their smokehouse. Our mother sewed dresses from feed sacks, her needle singing love into every stitch. We knew joy without knowing want.

Now as November settles soft and gray around me, I walk memory's lane, each season, each face, each echo of laughter still warm against the chill. I give thanks for the wealth of simple, boundless love.

The Dark You Do Not See

 

For Poets and Storytellers

Appreciate the shimmer ~ the artful face

coiling into charm ~ a smile that almost means it

beneath the lacquered calm her pulse keeps time

to older music ~ wild, unruly, half-forbidden

she knows the rules ~ how to break them softly

she walks in light ~ keeps a piece of night

tucked under her tongue ~ a secret flavor

she will not spit out

she's a bright one ~ YES

also one who burns her own edges

curious to see what survives the flame

Rock On!

 Open Link Night in the Pub ~ Bjorn is hosting ~ Anything goes!!

Swore I had closed the window quite tight

unlatched ~ wide open this very night

messages flying ~ most rumors do

wildlife has formed a long concert queue ...

First guest through window is Freddie the Moth

dressed all in velvet, looking quite goth

brought his first cousin, Claudine the cute Flea

along with her band called “The Reverie” ...

A text from Raccoon: "got too many suits

wearing black jacket and black biker boots" ...

Squirrel arrived ~ bushy-tailed ~ and with sass

skidded in sideways while flat on his ass ...

Foxy's grand entrance ~ suavely aplomb

“get yourselves ready, 'cause I am the bomb”

plugging her mike into a phone

free-stylin' Lynyrd's rare jangly tone …

Chaos sure bloomed, a rocker's delight

Woodstock-like vibe throughout the long night ...

by dawn they were gone, crowd had dispersed

window's frame fine, I'd expected the worst …

Found a short note lying next to the sill ...

“Next week, same time ~ do we still fit the bill?”

window space now forever kept clear

Guest List is full for rest of the year!

Craftsmanship

 Time for Poetics in the dVerse Poets Pub ~  Lisa is tending bar and asks we focus on craftsmanship ~ the quality of being well-crafted or well-built.

Lori Crawford Arnold ~ Photographer 

I have watched the sea

craft a shard of bottle

into something soft enough

to cradle in my palm 

years of patience

a quiet apprenticeship in grace

Forests do the same

each fallen limb reshaped

by moss and time until

even decay feels deliberate 

I learn from them

how to let making endure

how to trust the weathering

 how to become a craft

of my own making 

Reality Walking

Mish is hosting Poetics in the dVerse Poets Pub ~ 'tis the season of scary stuff ~ Mish provided us with ten lines from really scary films ~ we are to choose one, make it the first line of our poem!!!

Ben Willis, I Know What You Did Last Summer (1997)

I know what you did last summer

you were barefoot on his porch

his laughter in your hair

your shadow tangled with his on the beach

where he once swore 'forever' to me 

I can see it now

lazy afternoons stitched with deceit

lips rehearsing for your return 

when you would look at me and exclaim 

"I've missed you so much, Roomie"

When reality walks into the room

It hums, trembles, cuts

I don't need your reasons

there are none that fit the

shape of what you broke 

# 10 Downing Street

 [ Confession ~ I don't know much about the British Prime Minister, Sir Keir Starmer ~ only what I've read ]

Sir Keir took the helm with a sensible frown

vowed order and progress would steady the Crown

he promised renewal, reform and repair

then tripped on tradition, loosened his hair

The UK keeps waving and singing its song

while Keir checks the balance of right versus wrong

a kingdom of nuance decorum and tea

where change moves as slowly as scones on the sea

Micro-Seasoning

 Kim is hosting Poetics in the dVerse Poets Pub ~ today we are 'creating' mico-seasons ~ Japan's year is divided into seventy-two micro seasons ~ each lasting only several days ~ each with a poetic name

John Garrett Photography

Song Water

Arrival ~~

clouds gather softly

as air hums with quiet hope

frogs still their breathing

Awakening ~~

morning dawns anew

song water drifts into breeze

glorious rainfall

Renewal ~~

leaf tips overflow

pond-mirrors ripple with stars

croaks weave through thick mist

Waning ~~

silence after rain

lonesome  frog is calling out

steam drifts from soaked stones

She'll Be Back!!!

 Laura hosts Meeting the Bar today in the dVerse Poets Pub ~ our challenge is to compose a Quatern. which is a French Verse Form.

I want to be a hologram

projecting light .. no flesh no bone

a shimmered ghost with time to spare

who shares advice .. a point of view 

Chats at breakfast, to launch her day

a simple back and forth she seeks

                                  I want to be a hologram

I am present .. thoughtful and wise  

She asks "Mama, what should I do"

I hum and tilt .. share my best

I want to be a hologram

immortal .. pixel-perfect me

But then perhaps she'll pull the plug

"enough advice .. you never stop"

and poof .. her life is calm again

I want to be a hologram

Misplaced

Merril is hosting Poetics in the dVerse Poets Pub ~ our poems are all about "Holding Onto Your Head" 

Montecatini Terme, Italy ~ 2016 November

I misplaced it one stormy night

my head, i mean

set it down to think

and when i turned back

it had rolled off into legend

since then, i've done quite well, thank you 

no migraines, no bad hair days

no biting my tongue

now my thoughts float freer

without all that bother

people scream when they see me

but truly i am the calm one

they're the ones losing their heads

funny how quiet the world becomes

when you stop overthinking it

Journey to Dinner

Bjorn hosts Meeting the Bar in the Poets Pub today. Our prompt:  write from a different perspective than we usually do ~  challenge ourselves with something new ~ I published a version of this poem in April 2010 .. I would categorize it as 'first person with observation of others' ~ going to rewrite, using second person perspective this time around.

you watch as their day 

comes to a close

you can't help but feel 

tenderness in the moment

you see the endless shuffling 

of bodies and souls

some steady on their own

some pushed in wheeled chairs

you follow their familiar journey to a room

they may not remember in the morning

you wonder if he or she will be there tomorrow

the thought lingers longer than you'd like

you realize how deeply you've grown to care

how attached you've become

how much of yourself you leave with them

Sing, Sing a Song

 In the dVerse Poets Pub Tuesday means it's time for Poetics ~ Guest Host Truedessa shares a poem titled "The Song My Paddle Sings" from a book of poetry by Emily Pauline Johnson and invites us to use the title as a springboard for our poems.

my paddle sings a song

older than my breath

rhythm low

against river's skin

with each paddle's dip

lyrics of water

lift, fall, dissolve

blue sky listens without reply

i follow the current's melody

knowing how motion, silence 

can be enough

Petals Falling

 Lillian is tending bar today in the dVerse Poets Pub ~ ~ Careful with that shoulder, Missy!!!   The word for Quadrille Poems is "Petals"

Pinterest 

'neath umbrella's 

canopied dome

gorgeous blooms 

have found a home

petals whisper 

colors bright

softly they tremble 

in perfumed night

with each gentle fall of silk 

a question a prayer

my heart laid bare in fragrant air 

he loves me 

he loves me not

Fourteen Words

 For Poets & Storytellers ~ Friday Writings

once I looked 

into your eyes 

I knew the flame of love 

burned bright

The Measure

 

Time for Poetics in the Pub ~ Melissa offers this line from Leo Tolstoy's 'The Death Of Ivan Ilych' ~ she requests we write a poem about a time our actions aligned with that idea ~ and a time they did not.

In the 50's our mothers were the compass

carrying duty like a second skin

rarely speaking of desire, ambition

only their overwhelming desire for us

to be happy, healthy and safe

Marriage came like a costume i was fitted into

children, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed

joy i wrapped myself in, the heart of our home

and in those moments 

when children's laughter filled the air

i felt my worth like warm sun on skin

How then did we falter

grow stale and heavy

expectations pressed against our chests

divorce a shadow we never imagined

yet after decades, the silence cracked open

We stood shaken, but strangely free

wondering if we had ever truly chosen

or merely followed a script

our mothers had wordlessly handed down

We did the best we could

with the tools we'd been given

our story did not end as promised

it did end in quiet courage

of an enduring kind of love

of beginning again

Luck's In a Number!

 WhimsyGizmo is hosting Quadrille Monday in the Pub ~ the magic word is "Much"

How much voodoo

went into choosing

Quadrille's magic number

“forty-four”

[curious minds need to know]

what's wrong with twenty-three

when I play the lottery

“pick your own”

I play “forty-four”

and “twenty-three”

both there Saturday night

looking for four winners

your tips, pretty please?

Fading Away

 What's Going On? 

Susan's Challenge

Old Glory on splintered pole

the mirror's reflection does not lie

her fabric pulled by greed's control

a promise stitched in freedom's seam

bartered cheap for power's dream

her stars dimmed by angry cries

truth drowned in cunning lies

red runs hot, white is frayed

blue is bruised, trust decayed

still she waits in tattered grace

for hearts to heal, minds to face

freedom simply not a prize

it lives or dies

in how we rise

Oh Yes.

 Time for a meet-up in the dVerse Poets Pub ~  Björn is hosting and it's Meeting the Bar Thursday ~ our challenge ~ a Cinquain!

cheers to

margaritas

having fun in the sun

the breeze is cool the sand is hot

olé

frolic

till the sun sets

never forget this day

we were meant to be together

always

********************

and for a change of pace ~~

test me

i come alive

at the top of my game

nobody's gonna stop me now

no way

test me

throw me to wolves

i will teach them to dance

i want to go where i am scared

solo