Madame Democracy

Belied by her soft
pink verdigris shoulders,her
strength rose out of sheer need
She grew to know men in a
world she cared so to guide
who came to kiss her hand
She skillfully drew men to her side
In her drab wardrobe's
pockets and sleeves, she hid secrets
for peace in her land

It took centuries
for her ideas to be heard;
eliciting help
from billions -
workers, inspired wordsmiths and
musicians, doctors
and scholars
collaborated
the almost perfect plan for
her dreams
All doors leading to her caused
more doors to open,
and the more people she took
into her home.
A selflessness was born

A miracle, some say, she
survived as long as she did;
the shame of it all
for selling to the highest
bidder, bigotry and fear
In the name of God,
they betrayed her, took away
her pride; they traded her crown
crumbling in the harbor for
a statue of gold
currency
She could have endured many
millenniums had
her ideas been saved, her
values abided by
Her energy saved for
hardest battles fought;
rough currents ebbed
and flowed about her,
she was a Princess of Tides
Far from raising the world up,
they failed to maintain
her legacy, her dreams
were half realized
Most had faith she would
live on and on, but she died

   dversepoets.com

We are writing about irony today....

Into the Woods...

dversepoets.com

Nature is our subject today as we explore from the perspective of something in nature giving giving it a voice.

                         
Walking in the woods,
I came upon a scene, laid
bare for only me
to see, platinum moon beams
cast into forest's deep sleep,
a spotlight spilling
into mysteries

unexplored

Disturbing ancient charred tree
trunks, fallen trees, imposing
on the privacy
of a rare mushroom fungus,
heretofore unseen
Secrets kept among
old lichen and moss;
muskrats, owls and deer
camouflaged in shades of green 

and grey, newly awakened,
naked and still

Aware of specters
in the glowing grotto clearing,
I might never be the same, 
where likely no human stood 
before, a unicorn's resting place

I love a moonlight sonata,
moonshining on my face

Letting go

\

At dversepoets.com  today we are writing for Quadrille Monday, a quadrille of 44 words, one of which is balloon or something about a balloon.

So happy was I,
balloon tied to my wrist;
delighted smiles put to my lips
April love's delighted
my heart strings
Releasing them now,
periwinkle and white,
in memory
of his chivalry
Knot in throat, teary-eyed,
float up to patchouli heaven,
out of sight

Like a river flowing

https://dversepoets.com/

  Columbia River  between Oregon and Washington States

Birthed in Canada,
pure drops of water,
crystal clear,
trickle from portals
in glacier-sided mountains,
filling secret streams
Emerging hastily to catch up with
her many tributaries
Like her children,
all join her as she mightily
travels through the emerald
Cascade mountain range,
quenching her land's thirsty throat

Home to Chinook salmon and
Indian spirit lakes mirroring the sky,
'tis where I hail from,
where I was raised by
her coolness bathing my mind,
instilling in my heart passion
for pristine waterfalls,
places named for legendary chiefs -
Multnomah, Sealth, and
Swinomish

It led Sacajawea
and Lewis & Clark on virgin trails
through tall timbers
along its route winding to the sea

Roll on, goes the song,
roll on Columbia,
roll on

She engages along the way,
ghosts of history
who inhabit her banks
Train tracks on either side,
gigantic dams constructed,
speak of energy supplied
to people living far and wide
Separated by heaven and earth,
she is the main artery,
churning sustenance
from darkness to dawn

She is the life blood, vein in some cases.
She journeys west, nourishing
as she creates bounty galore -
apple orchards, produce,
vinyards and wild huckleberries; from mussels and clams to cedar and fir boughs, from elegant elk
to wildflowers and forests.
The population writes, reads and paints her beauty
While continually,
she flows easily into
the wide sandy
mouth of the Pacific
ocean with
sighs of relief...

       
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            

Awakenings

At dversepoets.com today, Bjorn asks us to write or paint with words of impressionism in art, where the essence of the subject is brought out with light and brush strokes that draw us in. There is a freshness about the art that is easy on the eye and evokes strong emotions.

                                                                                              by Jean Mannheim

Emerging gracefully from 

around a grey corner,

spring arrives at a bleak time,

taking to task for 

not leaving sooner, hail, and
winter's slippery grime

 - where maroon vines of heartache 

now creep,
Spring bliss will line the street

birds trill in concert
with stained glass chimes

Still, hands reach for other hands 

to grasp; arms stretch for 

other arms to hold

Pink snow appears all around;

light plays with slender
beams of gold

White wisps of cotton ridges
dab the sky, breezes nudge
dreamers 

longing for softer days,
to stroll heathered paths

looking for the one thing that 

really matters
Removing her hat to let
sun kindle her cheeks,

she drops easily to the ground,

sensing awakenings 

Braced by one elbow,

she rests on rounded side in
a green grassy lea
 She waits for
flowers
to fill her garden bed 

After all,
Spring is appreciated