Monday, April 6, 2020

Chameleon































































CHAMELEON



Blended into the folds of the universe,
I adapt to any location.
No one sees me for who I truly am.
I can identify with any matter or patten,
animal, vegetable, or mineral.
I’m happy to wave as a banner in a parade,
or travel as a dollar bill in your purse.

A mosaic of sorts, you might wonder
where or when I disappear...
I choose what battles I lose or win,
I’m a talented portmanteau;
I’ve posed  on an African’s open heart,
or become the feathers of the Lark,

I can slip into the hibiscus design of
an Hawaiian shirt.
be the forest floor you walk on,
a teal dragonfly on a lake, inert.
I feel differently when I’m a luscious
mink collar or lie upon the page of
poem or verse.

If I choose, I could appear to be clear,
as on the bare skin of your arm,
for I’m safest when forgotten or taken
for granted. There are tricks to my trade.
I could be the water in your glass of
lemonade.

I’m most lonely when you  can’t see me,
ironically,  which is most of the time.
To surmount this, I want to cover your
bright mind as a felt beret.
Let me hide in your rumpled bed unmade,
to be as near as can be.

Imagine I am, magically, the rouge
on your cheeks, the bug in your ear.
So, you can take me anywhere
and no one will see or hear.
Imagine I am the red of your lips,
the bubble in your bath,
or spread out over your chest,
feeling you breathe.





Long ago




































































Long ago


We played in the sun
when dreams once danced in my chest,
a long time ago.

The calm sea listened
when my salty tears first fell
in cruel undertows.

I pleaded for help
as I turned to storm watching,
changing horizons.

Waves voices told me,
“The stranger who was your self,
you will love again.”

Enchanted April































































April’s enchantment 

     brings soothing warm rains...
courageous blades of grass 
     reach for sun stolen.
Long roots explore rhythms 
     of gullies and hills

Garden scents breeze through 

     swaying willow chains.
Kaleidoscopic raindrops 
     reflect colors broken, 
hammering rains break
     for distant whipper-wills

Time dissolves in watery 

     windowpanes...
grief and joy are balanced,
     delicately woven.
Turbulent streams flowing 
     through me distill.

Seasonal mist heals over...

     Earth’s damaged veins.
In adoring champagne light,
      flowers open.
Spring quivers in it’s desire 
     to right human ills.  

Hearts together break free...

     from shackles that remain,
lazy woodlands dress in
     words unspoken.
Finally, I find my wayward 
     windmills.

Tuesday, June 18, 2019

The Abundance of June












































































































Summer is emerging,
June is abundant in all possibilities 
for global peace and caring.      
It’s the best time to dream 
in colors of Tuscany,
throw away any neuroses.
become all we can be.

 June brings warmer rain,
for running barefoot again.
Flowers exploding in full bloom.
Believe in Unicorns and rainbows.
Hearts not broken croon,
yellow monarchs swoon.

Say only what you mean to say,
Express yourself in every way.
The sun will block out all neuroses.
Be a little bit crazy,
give a name to the moon.
Unchain your melody

Ride a bike smiling,
discover your Huckleberry Finn.
Love being all you can be,
live audaciously.
Find your bliss,
live life more fully,
climb the Mountain again.


Monday, April 29, 2019

Haibun Monday - That Picnic










































dversepoets






As clear as can be
is the memory -
the scenic setting of our summer mountain  picnics.
Rows of small white clouds fended off the  heat.  We followed a dirt path to the sky blue lake's edge where Indians often caught and smoked their fish.
Picking and eating berries,
it was not unheard of to spot a bear and her cubs nearby.

Huckleberry pie
scoop of vanilla ice cream,
calling geese fly by.


Saturday, April 13, 2019

I wrote this a couple of years ago but I never showed it to anyone but a small handful of friends.  It speaks for itself...a familiar sight to those who live in the White Salmon, Trout Lake area near Mt. Adams in Washington State. Now I am ready to share it here ;-)
We 










                                                              by klr                                   Klickitat County WA

Her reclining silhouette looks up to heaven
draped in a gown of multi-hued greens,
she sleeps eternally above the golden valley

Hills of smoldering spruce form her breasts,
 new growth where her flowing lava hair
once was quarried.
  
Indian legend says she died of an aching heart
Gods fought for her pure love
yet she lived for no other than her young brave

The story tells how the volcanoes rumbled,
echoes of Romeo and Juliette,
immortal mountains make a true love's grave

Autumn turns her garb to silky rusts and golds,
 while hints of lime and magenta foliage 
grow next to ebony bones 

In winter she imparts warmth to those who eye her
A snowy princess in sweet repose
shy clouds cling to her feet

Springtime birds fly gladly all around
finding shelter in her terrain,
Rainbows often circle her throat

The sun and stars take turns 
shining down upon her,
Her majesty can be seen for miles

Veils of mist breathe a faint sound
One senses a slight stirring motion
as she slumbers and smiles





Friday, February 1, 2019

Dancing with the Stars











































































This photo was taken the other night by a local photographer.  Many captured similar results of the sunset all around the Puget Sound area.  It fits nicely the rubiat form of poetry we were prompted to write today at  dversepoets.com






Dancing with the Stars



You came to me in a dream indigo,
a timeless honor from long, long ago.
I, wearing a primrose evening gown,
you, your magenta and sapphire trousseau.

Through furrows of aquamarine and bordeaux,
we waltzed to the outer archipelago,
skipping the teal streets of tinseltown
to crimson tunes in stereo calypso.

We royally stole the starlight's show,
painted the skies like Michelangelo.
Before early black, we boogied til sundown,
when we reveried in the cobalt-violet afterglow.





Wednesday, January 30, 2019

Harbingers of Spring









































Harbingers of Spring
dversepoets

Emerging harbingers of spring
have begun - 
returning birdsong,
the stretching of days,
slow smile of the sun.

Racing thoughts scatter
to the scent of a China moon.
Rain abides for fools...
the glance of
a dream lover -

Narcissus croon.

Born of the side of a stem,
buds of silky fur pussy willow,
the bleating of 
prancing new lambs
in green pillowed meadows,
and me -
stepping lightly.

Saturday, January 26, 2019

Au Revoir



























































































This month at dversepoets Bjorn has offered us a Sonnet challenge. Many poets struggle with writing Sonnet form, myself included.  Part of the difficulty comes in working with the meter and rhyme scheme.  I chose the Petrarchan Sonnet form...abab abab cde cde..with a pretext statement or problem and the resulting change or solution.




Au Revoir


Hopeful hearts rise and fall, undulate, sway,
revolving doors of full blown joy and pain.
Tangled in life's elegant human chain,
bloodied, tested by snags along the way.

Harder lessons living with shame and blame,
heady dreams impossible to sustain.
On bitter wings we lift to fly away,
need for healing by soft, delicate rain.

Lost in the amethyst eye of the storm,
archangels wrap their wings around our fears,
we follow our one reappearing star.

Finding repose amidst our Milky Way home,
the love inside through billions of light years,
we take with us in sweetest au revoir.



Tuesday, January 8, 2019

Art on My Wall














































































What is on your wall?
https://dversepoets.com



Wall Hanging



This basket creation recalls a primitive time,
embedded in my heart of hearts,
It signifies a previous era,
and even though I was not there,
only a twinkle in my parents' eyes,
it yet imparts
exist in a future sense.

Another tense,
a timelessness.

Why does it impress me so,
when in time, I too,
will be long gone?
Perhaps, to know that I am,
is all, and there is evidence
from whence I came
which is strong,
I am immortalized.



A Patch of Blue
































It is Haibun Monday and "January" is the prompt.
https://dversepoets.com




A Patch of Blue


Gulls still nest in the thicket on the lane by the old beach house, the walls wherein I spent my childhood days. The cherry orchard muffles the sound of waves.  Each year I return to the small beach town and revisit the past and restore my soul. On this particular day, morning fog parts to a patch of blue. I am exhilarated as I walk the four blocks to buy coffee.

It rarely snows at the ocean, but in January the ubiquitous wetness and cold combine with gale winds to create a blistering sleet.  Most days are marked by dark clouds meeting the horizon, the sea and sky and pavement, all darker shades of cheerless grey. Of all the hours in a day, only a few are actual daylight, so it might as well be night.

Sitting by a fire ablaze, open book on my lap, I see the hallway where we used to slide across the floor in stocking feet, the bench seat in which we used to hide. I see loved ones rapping on the door, arriving to welcoming arms. My senses are  aroused by familiar, easy surroundings,  the fresh smell of  linens on the beds, the reckless feel of gritty sand on the floor, and the sound of hungry birds calling  overhead. Over time, one becomes set in his ways. January is full of the past, much in the present, and offers hints of the future.

All I've ever been,
The sea's where I want to be.
All I am is here





































Tuesday, December 25, 2018

Unshiver This Night



























































































Unshiver This Night



Long winter shadows dream together

in slow dancing candlelight.
Reverie is much sweeter 
when whispered assurances unshiver the night
“it will be alright”.

Fire kindled by innocent timber

a hundred years ago,
guarded and honed within heart’s chamber,
nurtured to grow,
lingers still in its glowing embers.

Love, worn and tested over the years,

becomes its own reward.
From nothing’s morn 
to this Christmas Day, fears, 
like icicles melt, all things achievable are born.




































































































































































Monday, December 3, 2018

November Moon







































































































November Moon



I watch the ins and outs of sandy bays
and rock coves, 
wade the shallow water of the Salish Sea.
luminated by November moon.
With every breath I take,
prepare for life without sun and water
untiI finally, I can let it be.

You, Earth, are the apple of my eye,
who deserves so much more than we
seem able to give.
My pet flavors, colors, 
favorites of everything
will to survive, to live.
This isn’t how it was meant to be,
the pulsing globe is a dying being.

In the garden of my all days, 

bees never sting,
as I reread letters he wrote from the war.
The sound of surf, the eagle’s wings
on changing driftwood winds
take the pain from my swollen heart,
tend to the swelling
in my feet.

I’d like to be a doctor of pure magic,
ride Pegasus on Intergalactic winds,
string a necklace of sweet words
scented with Plumeria and seashells,
to hang around his neck
as a blessing for
for all I learned from him.



Thursday, October 18, 2018

Not an Ugly Face































































































Open Link Night at the poets' bar @ dversepoets


Not an Ugly Face
















She welcomes the shadowing rain,
a wide brimmed hat, no less
the sun on her face to remain.
Since birth it's been her bane,
causing undue duress.

Though harmless and causing no pain,

it laughs unhappiness.
For his facial port wine stain,
Gorbachev drew no disdain,
nor lack of confidence.

Were it a beauty mark of fame,

or the color of cafe au lait,
she would not be so plainly vain,
uncomfortably undressed.
inclined to hide her face.

























































Saturday, October 13, 2018

Sonnet for Midterm Elections









































































dversepoets  Iambic Pentameter



       
 Sonnet for Midterm Elections






How I would like to see a normal face


instead of this political Frankenstein.


A false patriot disseminating hate,


he's loyal to only himself, his goldmine.


His conduct not based on love of country,


he mocks allies, castigates dissidents,


disturbs the peace unnecessarily.


Patriotism is oft misunderstood,


exploited to suspend people's happiness.


His charges of fake news beg for real truth.


So while he is basking in his power,


we are waiting for his ship to come in.


We will rescue ourselves come November,


and he'll slip into darkness in the end.




Thursday, October 11, 2018

What's in a name?












































The Poetics prompt at dversepoets this week is to write about our name.  From the Greek "Aikaterinë", to the French "Catherine", to the Gaelic "Caitlin", one can see how it was Anglicized again to Kathleen by the IrishEngish.  Yeats penned a legend - a young Countess Cathleen offered her soul during a famine, in exchange for food for the starving, proving her courage.






KATHLEEN



Borne of the Middle Ages -

Kathleen is an Irish lass,
idealistic, intuitive,
unpretentious,
and a bit feisty,
stubborn, alas,
quick-tempered...
Melancholy brown hair 
bears tints of auburn
in the sun..
...common freckles sprout
within fair rosey cheeks
where tears frequently run.
Sometimes clairvoyant,
she converses with 
leprechauns.
Her name translates to
unsullied purity and 
innocence...and yet, 
she can be pushed only so far.

She walks stone paths -

across green hills and valleys
by day...
through soft rainbows and
disappearing pots of gold 
She waits for arms to hold her
by the fire at night.
Her world is an Irish stew -
complicated...for 
she can be happy...
and sad at the same time...if
only she could recognize
... either she is successful
or, quite miserable.

A pioneer of sorts, 
she 
learned early a smooth sea 
never makes a skillful sailer...
Her heart is as slippery
as a bar of soap, 
her armour made of
sacrificial linen and lace.
With an inner desire to inspire
others in a higher cause, 
she likes to share views on 
spiritual matters.
Opera music 
is carried out her frosted,
snowflaked window...and 
from her garden magic light 
from daffodils shines 
back onto her welcoming 
hearth...where she dreams of 
white cliffs and castles 
by the sea.