He Stands Alone
He stands alone in the still air
the last bastion of civilization
waiting for the breath of air
to stir his pumps back to life
and give him purpose once more
and so he waits, a murmuration
of Starlings his only company
he stands alone in the still air
This post inspired by Crimsons Creative Challenge 213
Til next time ~Stand tall like the mountains ~JP
For Fandango’s flashback friday. This was originally written for dVerse Poetics on March 25, 2020 at the beginning of lockdowns and other inanities that have become part of our global “new normal.” The prompt was to contemplate what we have gained through personal (or global) crisis. What I gained from this most recent global crisis was the steadfast realization that I am far stronger than I ever realized.
Like the Moon I Rise
Like the moon, I rise
from the darkness
to brighten the very sky
like the moon, I rise
Like the Phoenix, I rise
from fire and ash
I spread my wings and fly
like the Phoenix, I rise
Sorrow cannot keep me down
when in pools of darkness
I fear to drown
like the sun, I rise
every day, warm or cold
every night brings good-bye
but, every morning,
like the sun I rise
Til next time ~Peace …, just peace ~JP
Lillian has provided us an interesting challenge for dVerse Poetics, to write a poem inspired by a given adage.
For today’s prompt, I’d like you to consider one of the adages/proverbs listed below as inspiration for your poem. You don’t have to include the line itself….but we should be able to guess pretty easily, which line you used as a jumping off point to create your poem. Do give the line and its source at the end of your poem, and of course, mention the poem is written for dVerse.
So do pop on over and take a look, see if you can guess which adage I chose for this.
Our Choices
A box of chocolates on the table
tempting me to come and taste
just a tiny, bitty, bite
surely won’t enlarge my waist
Like my life, each one is filled
with choices bitter and sweet
you never know until you try
what fate you will meet
A left when I should have turned right
lead me to a long and winding path
showed me life through a different sight
and that has made all the difference
A left or a right, choices near and far
our choices show who we really are
my heart flutters my mind is set
take the plunge, see what I get
Till next time ~Stay Happy Hippies ~JP
We have this week a rather complex assignment from Lisa at dVerse to create our own microseason. In honor of the Year of the Tiger, I’ll give it a lash, although I think my offering rather more resembles prose than anything else.
Embracing Naye final new moon of the season of the Crone
Rain on the lake as it begins to thaw as ducks paddle furiously while they can. Raindrops suspended at the tip of branches, not quite heavy enough to fall. By morning all will be frozen once again as the season of the Crone, the season of rest and restoration, enters Naye, the last new moon of her reign. The air vacillates between damp warmth and freezing cold.
Sturdy winter greens and root vegetables simmer happily in my ever-present soup pot, the scent heady with warm spice. All too soon the cold will fade, warming soups will be replaced by tender salads. Dried flowers on my mantle will give way to spring bulbs and afternoons spent curled up near the fire will be supplanted by the need to plan gardens.
But for now, the Crone still lingers while the Maiden rests. For this final new moon Naye holds the position and whispers to Spring “not yet, not yet.”
rain melts away ice
crone holds back the maiden’s warmth
raindrops freeze glisten
Til next time ~Cold never bothered me anyway ~JP
Ingrid is hosting Dverse Poetics this week and has asked us to write from a place of pain keeping in mind Wordsworth’s definition of poetry as “emotion recollected in tranquility.” While I realize that for most people, this probably speaks to us of emotional pain, I’m taking a bash at the tranquil recollection of lessons learned from physical pain.
“I need my pain!” Capt. James T. Kirk
Pain is Like an Old Friend
In the cold and rain, old injuries ache
with the phantom memories of pain
like an old relation, it comes unbidden
reminding me of times better forgotten
I have felt the hurling force
and the white hot lance of fire
as a bullet ripped through
the meager protection of flesh
I have felt bones snap and break
as blood vessels ruptured
from crushing impact before blessed pain
rendered me unconscious
Yes, pain is an old friend, an unwanted guest
mostly you smile and endure until the visit is over
But sometimes, if you listen very carefully,
you glean bits of unparalleled truth
and flashes of enlightenment
Every scar, every ache is a reminder
that I am stronger than everything that
has ever tried to kill me, it is a part of me
my spirit has been hammered
on the anvil of life and tempered
in the fires of pain and I have learned
I learned to see the world in all it’s
lush beauty and stark despair,
and to love them both, but mostly
I learned to love the woman I am today
After all, I went through a helluva lot
to become her
Til next time ~Stay Wild Moonchild ~JP
Laura is our host for dVerse poetics this week asking us for a poem based on paintings, or the titles of paintings. Do visit the pub for all the fascinating details.
I must say this was fun and challenging. I chose “Convergence” by Jackson Pollock and started with a painterly poem based on the title, an attempt to paint for you the vision I see when I think about “convergence.” Then, when I looked up the actual artwork, the words came out much different even though (for me) the feeling was the same. I should have expected the unexpected from Pollock’s work. I must say, I see much stargazing in my future because of this prompt so thank you ever so much Laura.
Convergence Part 1 — a painterly poem
convergence of planets
align on a starry night
leaning back on my elbows
watching the indigo sky
devolve into the stars of Orion
the new moon rises in Gemini
your lips graze my throat
draws a shuddering breath
you point out Betelgeuse,
a red star burning bright,
and Rigel steadfast and true
your arm wraps around me
as I shiver, stealing
warmth from your body
against the night air
expectantly, I breathe you in
and exhale into your kiss
let the convergence begin
Convergence Part 2 an ekphrastic poem
Lines converge
in distant galaxies
harsh black and white
splashes of red and gold
Orion Nebula filled
with gaseous debris,
vapors and mist
kiss of the heavens
strength of the eons
womb of the stars
Til next time ~Stay Wild Moonchild ~JP
Kim is our host for Poetics at dVerse Poets Pub, “the challenge is to write a metaphor poem that starts with the words ‘This being human is…’ You can compare being human to anything you want: a building or place, an object, something natural or something manufactured, a ritual or an everyday act. It is up to you to explore whatever it is in your poem.”
Humanity of Trees
This being human is a tree
rooted deep within the earth
yet reaching toward the sky
drinking in the sunshine and
pondering the eternal mystery
of the moon and stars
and our own humanity
one tree with many branches
each with thousands of leaves
that sway and dance with the wind
offering shade and shelter
to all who seek respite,
a quantum of solace and renewal
always growing, always changing
the wisdom of the seasons
leaves that fade and fall
in a flurry of color
breathtaking reminders
of the beauty of letting go
this being human is… beautiful
Til next time ~Stay wild moon child ~JP
For Tuesday’s Poetics where Mish is hosting, asks us. “Writing from a perspective other than our own is a great challenge. We’ve had some very interesting prompts over the years where we have climbed out of our comfort zones to look through a new lens. That has usually involved looking through the eyes of another person. I’d like to float a little further into the unknown and suggest we take the perspective of a color. (or “colour’ as we spell it in Canada)”
Amber Hues
Cattle in stark relief exposed
black silhouettes juxtaposed
against my gentle winter hue
would you notice if I were blue
perhaps shade of summer green
but all unnoticed I remain unseen
Wait for the waxing pink moon
as amber buds begin to bloom
I am not some lifeless tone
but fragile glass and precious stone,
like the shine in lovers’ eyes
I am fading sunset’s golden prize
Til next time ~stay wild moon child ~JP
For dVerse Poetics, Mish asks us for an “object poem” beginning with “this is not a ____”
Pearls of Wisdom
This is not a necklace
but a strand of memories
each more precious than the last
Layer upon shimmering layer
each covering the tiny seed
of discontent, making it more bearable
beauty in the layers, truth in the grit
pearls of a mother’s wisdom
wrapped in layers of love and life
Til next time ~Stay trippy hippies ~JP
SarahSouthwest is our host at dVerse Poetics this week. She has asked us to write a poem based on a chosen title HERE.
They Say that Only the South Wind Flattens Grass
The South Wind flattened grass that day
we watched as they filed past
skies billowing noxious clouds of grey
with putrid remains of toxic gas
No mercy left within their eyes
bodies bent with pain and sorrow
the harbingers of death and lies
hold no hope for tomorrow
The South Wind flattens more than grass
where verdant crops once grew
sorrow’s seed will now trespass
grief take wing where sparrows flew
Nowhere left to hide, we fled
while broken dreams around us lay
on fallow ground now stained bright red
the South Wind flattened grass that day
Til next time ~Peace ~JP
Wide Eyed Wonderings 