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 Punam has challenged dVerse poets to think long and hard about the cities we live in ~ turn those thoughts into poetry!

Winter in Bend ~ For Nineteen Years

After moves that spanned seven states, each with its unique charm and character, I found my forever home in the heart of the Pacific Northwest ~ Bend Oregon. I have experienced diverse landscapes and cultures in Illinois, Missouri, Minnesota, Maryland, Georgia and Florida; my heart resonates most profoundly with Bend.

What sets Bend apart is not just its breathtaking outdoors, but the sense of community that permeates every corner. Despite being a city, Bend has a small-town charm; people genuinely care about one another. Whether its' our local farmer's market, community events ~ or simply strolling through historic downtown, a strong sense of camaraderie prevails. A spirit of innovation and creativity thrives here ~ I take full advantage of every opportunity that comes my way!

In Bend I've found my anchor. Though lovely memories of other states linger, Bend is where my heart feels truly at home.

here there everywhere

climatic kaleidoscopes

in Bend forever

Ekphrastic + Haibun

Self-portrait with family by P.Konchalovsky 1917

1917 ~ amidst the backdrop of historical upheaval, societal shifts and war, a family of four stands poised, ready for a self-portrait, their moment frozen in time. The mother, adorned in blue velvet exudes a quiet strength. The father wears a stern expression softened by paternal pride. He is a 'man of the cloth' ~ exempt from the horrors of war ~ a stoic figure brimming with wisdom garnered from a life shaped by ministering to his congregation. The daughter, a bow at the end of her long braid, embodies both innocence and curiosity, her youthful spirit yearns to explore the world beyond the confines of tradition. The son, a smaller version of his father, carries an air of responsibility that belies his tender age, already learning the ways of the world from this patriarch. Together they symbolize the unity that sustains them ~ create a touching testament to the enduring bond of a family ~ ready to face the winds of change.

lo, the winds of war

men know not what they have wrought

life in the trenches

We are enticed with art in the dVerse Poets Pub ... three lovely paintings. Poems describing a work of art are called ekphrastic poetry.

Beat of the Bongo Haibun

Havana Cuba, July 1959, a small group of tourists, on a very small aircraft, touched down at the Havana Airport. Helen, her two sisters, our mother, aunt, uncle and two cousins. Possibly one of the last groups to enter Cuba for what would be decades. 

Armed soldiers patrolled the airport, drab green military garb a bit disconcerting .. but I was about to turn eighteen! Feeling invincible! This was another country! Another world! My first 'adult' adventure!

Since then I've read volumes about Castro and the Revolution. I will never know how we were able to engage a Tour Guide with a van, visit cigar and rum factories, sample delicious Cuban dishes, enjoy drives into the countryside .. ending our week with an evening under the stars at the famed Tropicana Nightclub!

The second we walked into the room, bongo drumbeats called my name … I can still remember how I felt, that raw energy. In front of me a gorgeous man, bongo between his legs, accompanied by flute, guitar, bass, and snare drum.

That evening I watched as a swarthy Cuban approached our table, asked permission from my Mother for a dance .. with ME! A whirl around the Tropicana dance floor, his arms, scent of musky aftershave .. I will never forget.

foot-tapping rhythm

my heart beats in 'bongo time'

simply have to dance

Havana 1959 

Fear & Dread

 'tis the season for spooky ghost stories!

It was time for her walk down the runway. Seems she had misplaced a few essentials along the way; THE CLOTHES!! And now what? Designers from round the world {and the great beyond) had gathered for this Season’s launch. His reputation depended on her ability to sell haute couture. And sell it good! Shivers ran up and down her spine.

What kind of ghastly garb had Monsieur Fossoyeur created this time? Last Season’s “Beyond the Spectral” a dismal failure. The year before that ~~ “Otherworldly on Display” a definite no-go! Lights dimmed, music began; from seemingly out of nowhere, her dresser appeared. This time there would be no flops, no damning reviews.

Ahead on the runway a coffin, a shovel, bandages. A shroud. Monsieur’s swan song. No more anyone or anything. Complété. Finie.

winter's landscaping

draped in yards of taffeta

ready for the ball

Tutti Frutti

 think of a fruit ~ how it looks before and after it has been cut open~ how it tastes ~ write a poem about it 

My sisters and I picked them .. best of the crop. Peaches dripping sweet juices, cherries ready to burst their skins, strawberries serving a higher purpose. Time for some old fashioned hand-churned homemade ice cream. Our favorite Tutti Frutti flavor thank you very much! An old fashioned churn ~ the contraption you never want to abandon! 

Though it took three of us, ten minutes at a time, sister after sister, to turn the crank that turned the paddles that created the magic elixir.  That dumb canister got heavier and heavier as the confection neared its solid perfection. 

Finally! The canister of Tutti Frutti ice cream lifted from its wooden barrel, paddles pulled.  TA DA!!  A feast.

those were precious days

huge family gatherings

an endless summer 

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