Death Among the Stars

In response to; dVerse prosery, hosted by Dora this week

“What does it matter that the stars we see are already dead.”

Your challenge: Write a piece of prose (not poetry) of no more than 144 words that includes the above given line. You may change it with breaks or punctuation without altering the order of the words.

The night sky shines down on a lonely grave, heavily adorned with flowers. The flowers will soon be dead, much as the night sky with fade with the dawn. Light reaching us from unimaginable distances racing across time and space to reach this blink of existence. What does it matter? That the stars we see are already dead is just another juxtaposition of life and death across the vast and ever changing sky.

Word count 73

Keep your feet on the ground but keep reaching for the stars ~ JP

Flashback Friday – My Wabi Sabi Heart

Welcome to another Friday Flashback as Fandango invites us to dig through our archives and share an older post. This short quadrille was originally posted November 18, 2019 for dVerse Poets.

My Wabi Sabi* Heart

my wabi sabi heart
is filled with cracks and holes
letting in the light
that colors up my soul
cerulean blues, volcanic reds
and yellows
kaleidoscope colors of my years
and I am grateful for every shade
bright white laughter
and glistening black tears

word count 44

*Wabi-Sabi is a Japanese word with many meanings relating to observance of the impermanence and imperfections of life. The definition I have always found most enjoyable came to me from a street vendor in Osaka, Japan “it is a way of living that focuses on the beauty within the imperfections of life and peaceful acceptance of the natural cycle of decay.”

Til next time ~Stay Cracked ~JP

Like the Moon I Rise — a Friday Flashback

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

The Cold Mountain – a dVerse Haibun

Frank is our host for dVerse haibun this week and has asked us for some “Cold Mountain” poetry. *shiver* makes me cold just to think about it.

Today, write you haibun on either one of the following options:

A Cold Mountain: the towering heights, frigid temperatures, majestic views, or existential challenges of a mountain. You could even go metaphorical, describing the cold mountain of overwhelming circumstances, or how we make mountains out of mole hills.
The Cold Mountain: a haibun that follows the influence of Hanshan (Cold Mountain), with his immediacy, concern for humanity, and deep devotion to nature.

Cold Mountain

Snow glows white in the harsh sunlight today, scorching the eyes. A misstep along the trail and I sink to my knees. Overhead a pine grosbeak twitters as I struggle to pull my frozen toes from the icy depth of the snow. Is he laughing at me I wonder. I reach the door and stamp the powder from my boots.

Inside, I carefully stoke the fire, holding my hands toward the hungry flames. But not too close. I suspend the kettle from it’s hook and go to fetch the tea. Hot liquid slides down my throat thawing my frozen belly.

A frigid moon has replaced the sun now. At this elevation cold is prevalent, harsh and sometimes deadly. But the mountain beckons the weary traveler. Weary of all that lies below, the noise, the dank air, and the humans who trod so thoughtlessly upon the earth.

Pine Siskins call out

the wind howls in frustration

come spring, come spring, come

Til next time ~Keep warm ~JP

Our Choices – a dVerse Poetics

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

Oh So Many Faces – a dVerse Poetics kō

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

I brought no book – random musings for dVerse Poets Pub

Ingrid is our host over at dVerse Poets Pub for Prosery this week. And we have been give the inspirational line “And bring no book, for this one day we’ll give to idleness.” from “Lines written a small distance from my house” by William Wordsworth. Oh my, what a wondrous thing, to give over one whole day to the sheer joy of idleness, let’s see what we can do.

Random Musings – I brought no book

I love to sit amongst the trees and read. Words flow from page to eye to mind to heart to soul and I am filled. But not today. Today I brought no book, naught to read but the starlings’ murmuration designs. For this one day, I will give myself over to idleness. I will laugh at the Jays as they scold me for such lack of industry and treasure wind’s languid passing. I will breathe in the air and caress the earth, and I will be filled.

Word count 87

Til next time ~Peace Out Scouts ~JP

Dverse Poetics – I Need My Pain

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

dVerse Haibun — Perfect Moments

Frank is our host at dVerse for haibuns this week. We are asked to focus on the present moment for our haibun. Life is made up of moments, precious, terrifying, beautiful moments. Once in awhile, it all comes together and for just that moment, life is perfect.

Perfect Moments

Standing on the overlook, gazing at the fairytale landscape below. Orange and yellow stones painted with the colors of the setting sun, and the azure sky. You wrap an arm around my waist, and the moment is perfect.

I watch as the shadow of a butterfly dances across the floor, refracted through the sun and glass. Blending with hospital floors and furniture, forming abstract shapes. A cloud passes over the sun. I lose the shadow dance. The doctor walks in. You are alive. My heart overflows with gratitude, and the moment is perfect.

Spring warms the flowers
the wind filled with promise and
blessings not yet known

Til next time ~Find your perfect moment ~JP

Dreams of Late — a quadrille

De (aka WhimsyGizmo) is hosting Quadrilles at dVerse Poets Pub and has asked for a poem about “bother” what bothers us, what do we find bothersome? What gets us hot and bothered? Hmmm … as I poke my muse repeatedly until she finally gets tired of being bothered and manages to convey some sort of inspiration.

Dreams of Late — a quadrille

At night of late
dark dreams have come
frightening and bothersome
dark shapes I cannot see
swoop, harass and bother me
moonless skies
throughout the night
colors fading from my sight
searching for the moon’s bright light
I wake to find it’s all illusion

word count 44

Til next time ~Stay Wild Moonchild ~JP