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Time for Prosery in the Pub * Sanaa asks us to use this line "who can utter the poignance of all that is constantly threatened, invaded, expended" from Denise Levertov's poem * 'In California: Morning, Evening, Late January' 

Who can utter the poignance of all that is constantly threatened, invaded, expended by the demanding digital arena we find our adolescents immersed. 

Kids who navigate an unrelenting social landscape; a culture of unrealistic body image standards that distort self-perception. A “Follow the current Leader Prince / Princess” mentality ~ no matter the cost. 

Teens' authentic development frequently overshadowed by curated ideals challenging their mental well-being. Social media platforms designed for continuous engagement ~ all of it streaming behind shiny glass screens. The vulnerability of Gen Z / Zoomers is problematic and quite profound.

Woonie Witchy Pharmaceuticals

 

"ZOMB-AIDE

~~ BECAUSE EVEN THE UNDEAD DESERVE TO HEAL IN STYLE ~~

ARE YOU TIRED OF LOSING

YOUR HEAD BANDAGES

DOES YOUR UNDEAD LIFESTYLE

LEAVE WOUNDS OPEN

YOUR BRAIN EXPOSED

FEAR NO MORE FELLOW ZOMBIES

INTRODUCING ZOMB-AID

LIKE A HELMET - BUT SQUISHIER, MORE ABSORBENT

THE FIRST EVER HEAD BANDAGE

DESIGNED BY A ZOMBIE

FOR A ZOMBIE

HUSTLE ON OVER TO YOUR NEAREST

ZOMB-AID RETAILER

CHOOSE FROM A VARIETY

OF VIVID COLORS MADE FROM

100% RECYCLED SURVIVORS' CLOTHING

REMEMBER YOU ARE NOT

JUST COVERING A WOUND

YOU ARE MAKING A STATEMENT!!!

Posterity and Me!

Bjorn invites to a meet-up in the dVerse Poets Pub ~ his poetic challenge for us  *Verbification*  I re-worked a poem from 2023 about Holograms and Helen.

holograms yesterday themselves into static dust

three dimensional light beams instantly orphaned

AI blue-prints a brave new world

engineering our ghosts

data-mining for virtual immortality

manufacturing digital duplicates

to populate the void

we bequeath text-streams at the grave

chat-bots programmed to simulate 

out-live, mirror-image the flesh

we cobble fragmented histories

video-stitch old glances, letter-box faded ink

blog-post stray thoughts into an algorithmic pulse 

every memory loaded, injected 

processed into the machine

do we dare resurrect, dare posterity ourselves

for the coming centuries

i assure my family it's possible

they merely laugh

question my sanity   

BOO TO YOU

 Time for Monday Haibun in the dVerse Poets Pub ~ Frank is hosting and our focus rests on the "Hunter's Moon" or "Halloween." '

'tis the Season. ~ ~ 1951

Our first real Halloween party, I believe I was ten, my Sister nine. As I closely examine our "tops" I see no evidence of our "soon to arrive" puberty. We are the gypsy girls, in the first row of standing party goers ~ second and third on the right, wearing 'crepe paper' dresses. I designed our costumes and figured crepe paper would work just fine. Purple, red and yellow were involved as I recall. Stitching them together was pure hell. I remember our sweet sedate mother running her hands through her long brunette hair in frustration ~ the dead give-away. Those costumes survived dunking for apples, pin the tail on the donkey!  We won First Prize, each of us carrying home a little pumpkin trophy ~ and WAY too much candy.

wonderful childhoods

we were amazingly blessed

to be young again

Dreaming Memories

 Time for Friday Writings with the Poets & Storytellers 

now I sit me down to look

photos in a memory book

searching for a hidden clue

person, town, a visual cue

memories flow, they dance, they stream

my eyelids close, as in a dream

to find myself is what I seek

though odds today feel somehow bleak

Darkness Descends

Laura hosts Meeting the Bar in the dVerse Poets Pub ~ time to revisit a challenging form, 'the Cadralor'

On October 15th, in Bend Oregon, at Iron Rail Elementary School, a 16-year old gunman killed three special needs children and their teacher. Another child and teacher remain hospitalized. The shooter is dead, taken down by the father of two students who carries a concealed firearm permit. He was driving home from work for lunch and saw the shooter climbing over the school fence with a shotgun.  

small hands held fast, hiding their fear

their teacher stood, a shield of strength 

we lit candles, a vigil through the night

three tiny lights, lifetimes left to live

stolen by the sudden freeze of dark

autumn's sky in Bend dimmed

chalkboards fade, silent desks remain

a community wrapped in shared grief

its peaceful air of "place" ripped away

unimaginable pain descends on families

Bend, we hold your heavy heart

side by side our mountain town will stand

lifting each other through darkness 

the pitch black soul that exists

in a world that's not ok

 

  

Tree as Rorschach

 Lillian introduces us to Azul ~ an eight year old boy from the Philippines ~ and his artistic talent! She shared several of his paintings with "patrons" in the dVerse Poets Pub as inspiration for our poems ~ I chose this beauty! 

Azul's Art

To an eight-year old boy~ it's a tree ~ a sturdy trunk, grass at its base, a large canopy of branches. 

What if I saw a Rorschach Test instead ~~~

A stack of cards, one card at a time

some greyscale, some technicolor

spontaneous ~ free association

my adult mind tries to find balance

to see what darkness has to say about light

I see the world of today, off-kilter

on the verge of losing what we value most

I see the outline of a far-away countries

 borders bleeding red into deep violet

I see a flock of neon birds hiding in a canopy of branches

gone in a flurry of rapid gunfire

I see my childhood

 

sprawling

 

full of adventure

no end in sight

What do you see?

 

 

Lonely Walker

Time for Poetics in the Pub ~ Sanaa hosts and introduces us to artist John Grimshaw. She shares that Grimshaw uses a defined visual language in his work. His focus is on solitude, darkness, beauty, light. His darkness is seductive. Figures rarely dominate. Landscape has the greater power. I find his work fascinating.

Silvery Moonlight [public domain]

 

moonlight reflects amber

onto damp cobblestone

bleeding her shadow

into dark wetness ..

nothing more than a form

dissolving into rusty mist

hidden from the waking city

as fleeting as the fog

The Wonder Of It All

 A Poem for Friday Writings

early morning spring

when daffodils dance

weave through the air

a tapestry of tender petals

time stands still

we wander a labyrinth of new pathways

losing ourselves in the sweet beauty

surrounding us

and in this oasis of serenity 

our weary souls are soothed

day fades to dusk

daffodils take on a new guise

standing sentinel as shadows

fall among the blooms

weaving tales of mystery and wonder

My Journey With Mother

 Time for Poetics in the dVerse Poets Pub ~ Bjorn is hosting and requests our poems reflect a journey we've taken ~ how it impacted us

Within these words her spirit thrives 

a love that time indeed survives

I retrace the countless steps

the overwhelming need

to remember our long dance 

~ to reflect, to feel, to see ~

the journey long through shadowed halls

where memories dim, where silence calls

where I held her in the crook of my arm

solo witness as life force ebbed

shallow breaths, tiny sips of air

in a deep sleep, the time had come

I spoke softly, trusting she might hear

find comfort in my voice 

one tear escaped the corner of her eye

instinctively I touched it, lifted it to my face

blended it with my own 

~ our journey ended ~ 

Five Thousand Miles and Counting

We are gathered in the dVerse Poets Pub this evening to share poems we wrote in response to a challenge from Laura who asks us to write about 'leaving home' and the four directions we might head from there. 

do i or don't i

should i or shouldn't i

will i or won't i 

hitch a ride

run away from home

north takes me where

the winds blow cold

snows run knee-deep

but they say hearts are warm

and doors open wide for strangers

east is way cool - where things happen

museums, a deli on every corner 

broadway, ballet, opera ~

but they say it's very crowded

and folks pass without smiling

south is lush and warm

beaches made for walking, shell hunting

theme parks and walt's friends

but oh the endless humidity

and the ever-present annoying snowbirds

west must be best

this van is headed that direction

look, there's a photo of me plastered 

on the side - must be a sign, an omen

westward ho, away i go

 

 

Riding the Rails

Time for Prosery in the dVerse Poets Pub ~ Mish is hosting and introduces us to Gordon Downie, Canadian musician, author, poet, songwriter, storyteller and activist. Mish chose this line from Downie's poem "Starpainters" to use in our prose.

~~ The Starpainters are taking over now ~~ 

Pinterest Image 

New-found friends, off to see the world approaching said world as though it were a gigantic defective transit map. 

[This journey had the potential of ending horribly.] 

In Paris, we boarded the Orient Express for Vienna, only to awaken in a foggy freight yard outside Bratislava. A rusty switch in Kyoto sent us rattling toward mountain snows ~ not cherry blossoms we were dying to see. 

Months of iron rails and misplacing platform tickets became our shared language. Yet somewhere between the off-kilter itineraries and derailments, we stopped feeling like abject failures. 

The starpainters were taking over now! Friendly frictions becoming a real track! Clashing personalities giving way to happy travelers! 

Stepping off that final sun-bleached platform smiling ~ exhausted and bound together forever!

Turning Tables

Time to dance the Quadrille in the Pub! Melissa is hosting and today's challenge word is "Xenolith! For those of you unfamiliar with the word ~~

[A xenolith is a fragment of foreign rock trapped

 inside a larger igneous rock.]

a few of the shells i've collected

 

glass bowl holds them safe and sound 

gathered from many coastal zones

ocean's bleached and lovely bones

a stranger breaks my parlor door

this heavy uninvited guest 

exhumed from deep tectonic hell 

there to swallow up each shell 

a jagged beast, the xenolith

reaching out with tongue of fire

 

It's a Descort!!

Grace is hosting Meeting the Bar in dVerse Poets Pub today .. our challenge .. compose a Descort ~ a medieval French lyric genre where every line and stanza intentionally breaks uniformity, varying widely in length, meter, and rhyme.

 Alone With My Thoughts

i love dancing by 

myself

apples on our tree 

            changing color!

would you stay with me ~~ forever ??

it's way way way too cold here today   ❄❄❄❄❄

[ furnace on ]

stayin' alive, sort of

..... slowly i hope

~~ just tell me ~~ where is

 

Barry Gibb when i need him ?!

Magic

Time for Open Link Night in the dVerse Poets Pub ~ Grace is our host. I was intrigued with the line Dora chose for Prosery in the Pub from the Stanley Kunitz' poem 'King of the River' ~ I have had a life-long love affair with trains ~ the whistles ~ the magic. 

“and the iridescent image swims through a mirror that flows.”

~ Tracks in our neighborhood ~

long ~ long ~ short ~ long 

chords that drift behind

pulling the anchor of my mind

the melancholy strain

the grief of a whistling train

morning's whistle calls me from the deep

breaks the fragile tapestry of sleep

B Major 6th chord [ D#4, F#4, G#4, B4, D#5 ]

my day begins with a softened gleam

searching the edges of my dream

and the iridescent image swims 

through a mirror that flows

A Cross-stitch In Time

Time for Meeting The Bar in the dVerse Poets Pub ~ Laura is host and asks us to write poems using compounded forms of a word we choose. I chose the word "cross".

Seated at my Grandmother's feet

laughing hard not missing a beat

[the cross-stitch]

The pattern she chose is complex

now Grammy is needing her specks

[fingers crossed]

Grammy claims it's very easy

counting stitches easy peasy

[cause cross-eye]

How many colors must she choose

too many shades simply confuse

[try cross-hatch]

It's one tiny stitch at a time

there's no way to make this line rhyme

[been cross-checked] 

A Wee Bit of Advice

 ~ For Friday Writings Magaly has us considering the juxtaposition between despair and delight ~ 

Good Afternoon, my friends. Take a step outside to breathe in that fresh air, sit yourself down for a moment of peace and quiet ~ enjoy a cup of tea or coffee, a glass of lemonade, wine ~ or a stiff belt of something stronger if you so desire. 

NOW turn “them” off. I'll wait. Just turn them OFF! OK? Better? Turn off the scrolling doom, the flashing alerts, and the weight of a world that feels constantly broken. We need moments like these, to resettle ourselves, to turn off the crazy noise.

Breathe in, breathe out, you'll know when the volume, the incessant shouting, has diminished. Now close your eyes, open them to look at something that gives you joy, peace and comfort ~ maybe your garden, your child, your pet.

Simply BE for a moment. IN the moment. You may learn that between despair and delight lives afternoon delight! 

I Promise.

---

The Dark Side

Time for a 44-word Quadrille in the dVerse poets Pub ~  WhimsyGizmo  [ aka De ] is hosting ] The magic word today is JUMP or some form of the word jump. 

problem is

they suck kids in

with tantalizing images of 

bad boys

naughty girls

cigs dangling

 from pouty moistened lips

~ come on, kids ~

jump on board the bandwagon

cigs for a boost

cigs to lose weight

cigs to look cool

~ teach your children well ~

Remembering Sally ~~~

 

 

She formed words

in her mind

brilliant, succinct

words she could not speak 

mind intact, body failing

motor neurons misfiring

muscles wasting

bone density lost 

like iron converting to rust 

there was no way out

 

no happy ending

disintegration unstoppable

ALS ~ a cruel, merciless disease

Wildfire

 Merril is hosting Poetics in the dVerse Poets Pub today ~ Butterflies are on her mind ~ and on ours as well. Words in color are butterfly names. 

the sky has forgotten how to be blue

it hangs above Oregon like a grief

too heavy to name

its lungs full of ash

its heart beating in a frantic rhythm

forests collapsing into themselves

a cathedral of green

becoming a barrage of cinders

birdsong folded into silence

we search for something alive

LOOK ! butterflies

clouded yellow finding nectar 

in flowers that insist on returning

orange sulphur lifting from fresh

clover like a small declaration

mourning cloak no longer mourning

but bearing witness

we cannot unburn the forests

but we can plant, rebuild porches

trails, homes and trust 

we can plant one sapling beside another

one kindness next to another

until the land remembers itself

and perhaps the butterflies

[ who have always known 

how impossible transformations begin ]

will find us there