Thursday, July 31, 2014

Traveling with doves..

At  dversepoets.comdVerse today Brian ask us to use the form Paradells -
this is described thusly:
The paradelle is a 4-stanza poem, where each stanza consists of 6 lines.
For the first 3 stanzas, the 1st and 2nd lines should be the same; the 3rd and 4th lines should also be the same; and the 5th and 6th lines should be composed of all the words from the 1st and 3rd lines and only the words from the 1st and 3rd lines.
The final stanza should be composed of all the words in the 5th and 6th lines of the first three stanzas and only the words from the 5th and 6th lines of the first three stanzas.:  

Traveling with white doves from dawn till dusk 
  - traveling with white doves from dawn till dusk
my sail seeks your sweet kiss on a slight breeze 
My sail  seeks your sweet kiss on a slight breeze
A soft breeze carries my kiss traveling
from dusk till dawn, white doves carry your kiss

Faintly I hear your tender whisper call
 - faintly I hear your tender whisper call
I'm gliding due west searching for my bliss
I'm gliding due west searching for my bliss
Due west,  tenderly gliding, your whisper call
faintly I hear, my bliss due west ..searching

Falling stars spell your name in midnight blue
- falling stars spell your name in midnight blue
I feel your presence with the morning dew
-  I feel your presence with the morning dew
Your name I spell in the falling morn dew
Midnight blue feels your presence in the stars  

Searching in the midnight blue for your kiss
 I feel your spell falling with soft white doves
Due west, a slight breeze carries your presence
blissfully gliding my sails from dawn till dusk
With the soft morning dew I hear your call
I hear your name whispered by the stars

Thursday, July 24, 2014

Lady in the blue dress...


Today we are writing poems emphasizing bold metaphors without using words "like" and "as" that would weaken the form  @   Thank you, Claudia, for your intro.


From the pitch black night sea,
one can see her shrouded head
She keeps the lamp burning
ever since the last storm,
Sheltered by a spit,
driftwood and waving grass,
she was born in 1883,
then moved to her present location
in 1903, before the war
A wall of layered stones
leads to her high waisted
petticoat form
She waits another day in vain,
dedicated to the search
for brave men
Her white Fresnel eye blinks
remembering the disaster
that happened;
she had withstood the hurricane
Gigantic white waves sprayed against her,
took over her favorite sunny place
Wind howled and blew,
so menacingly
she clung tightly
to her foundation's spiral staircase

She has spent years keeping watch -
focused on the beaches still
and the soft lapping waves,
Often glimpsed moving
between night shadows,
in the tower an apparition
appears - when
old mirrors refract the light
of the moon and stars
and if you listen carefully -
you can hear her cries
in whispers at night

By day,
The Lady in the Blue Dress
looks down on the grassy hill -
where children climb the big Sequoia
tree overlooking
the sparkling aquamarine sea
A stray cat her only company,
the Lady in the Blue Dress -
mistress of Admiralty

Over the years many women have been keepers of lighthouses....some are haunted they this poem there is a symbiotic relationship between the woman and the lighthouse itself a woman.

Wednesday, July 23, 2014

Finney on time....

Jack Finney wrote books about
time travel;
the significance of which leads
us to speculate
My mind is open to the idea,
in any case
Clearly we use only a small
percentage of our brains

It's given there is a subconscious state
If it could change people's lives,
get to the heart of things,
if we could re-unite with ancient
friends and relatives via
chant, rubbing a penny,
or hypnosis -
would it give reason to the universe,
or false hope
that there is more,
other than the short lifetimes
we now seem to have in store?                                                                                            
Shudder to think we chase
the wrong rainbows;
Better to have lifetime after lifetime,
loving and sharing as humans,
I would think,
than spend eons evolving from nature -
from plants to bugs to toads,
mammals and fish//
Or to be squished
- and then nothing more

We ought cling to the betterment
of life on earth, while we have it,
as we know it to be true,
to the interconnected web we weave
complicated or surprisingly simple -
It's about time -

Finney's stories take us into the past,
romantically and historically speaking
His books suggest one could go back -
by only clicking heels
However you opine,
it's all about time
and how we use it,
never boring,
never enough


Friday, July 18, 2014

Your carriage awaits...

We are celebrating at  dVerse poets' pub this week.  The grass roots of the group began 3 years ago with a small band of people, and we are having a "ball."  It's a virtual garden party and I'm taking the ice....treat yourselves to some good poetry today.

Fountains spray champagne wishes
for the minions,
chiseled ice is kept cool;
Marvel the artisanship
of the centerpiece-
images of us
Carved statuesque sculptures,
frozen in time
Elegant pieces of art,
statues in ice.
surrounded by gourmet                                                                
hors 'doeuvres -
a scene fit for a king
No jagged edges,
only clear portals to the soul
Dormant yet alive -
breathing, yet not,
intimate words escaping
in cool breathes,
warming -
Potent, poignant philosophy
embedded within
Flamenco dancers in ice
flow with the music,
lull us into la-la land -
revealing within themselves
numerous colorful party lights,
each one a poem reflected
in the melting stream circulating,
Their pondering creates
unique interior shine
For poets, writers, of all types
and nationalities-
cool waves fuel their thoughts,
preserves them temporarily,
for us to savor their offerings
until the last birthed
 stanza or word

Looking through the glassy bodies,
or the vitreous book,
we see many slants on life,
candles burning bright
At the ball, masque it is to be,
there are no prize for gain,
no contests and no fame
Join us in the celebration
of light -
There is a party tonight!
Stay while waterfalls
of verses run
to the rivers, and the rivers
run to the sea -
we simply celebrate with joy
reading and writing poetry

Tuesday, July 15, 2014

Ode to the piano man and poetry..

We are celebrating 3 years of success of our favorite poetry website,f the  dVerse Poets Pub     Feel free to read others' posts on this awesome occasion.  I"m so glad to be a small part of it.

"Love wants to stay" sings the piano man;
notes flutter around the room with such ease
He takes us back to where it all began
knowingly fingering old ivories

Piano man's hands magically transcend
all time, underscore scenes kept in our hearts
Soundtracks of our lives airily  suspend
how autumn leaves fall, how love falls apart

Sheet music that maps comedy and pain
Lyrics we know, oh so well, as lovers
who never wanted the love to wane
memories of being left for another

He plays keys that once sparked love and still do
he sits in the dim corner on his stool

Music's a vessel for written poetry
The story 'bout "My Baby", you on a train
Of love always wanting, fighting to be
The night you left me naked in the rain

Applause for the piano man's talent
new lyrics don't erase old melodies
whether smooth jazz, hip hop or classical
it''s how you touch those fine black and white keys

I still believe that love does want to stay
that it never really wants to leave pain
pianissimo and allegro play 
Yes, love instead always wants to remain

Piano man sounds mellow, calm and cool
gold stars on a carpet deep midnight blue

Sunday, July 13, 2014

Sunday Swirl....Jackie O..

Above are the 12 word for the prompt called Sunday Swirl ....this is what automatically came to my mind.  Do visit the website to see what others did with the words.

She entered the lackluster interior
of Air Force One;
there was little room for the press
One photographer captured
the moment, nevertheless
an iconic image of one of
America's most tragic events
Shots rang out in Dallas that day
that eclipsed the world;
Millions watched as she stood in shock,
in her blood-stained suit (in black and white)
Words must have stuck in her throat
that for years she silently kept

The hospital had declared John dead
at 1:49pm when few knew the details
To put the pieces of the puzzle together,
The Warren Report was manufactured 
to support the theory that
there was no conspiracy afoot;
detectives were cheekily told to take a hike
Some interviews of witnesses
never became testimony
As John Jr. stood saluting
at his mother's side
while the horse led caisson paraded by
I often wonder what might have been
if his father had not died
Mourners filed to a resting place,
as only bagpipes
and muffled drums played
An eternal flame was lit at the grave,
a lamp to forever honor him
and remember how brave

For the sake of little noses...thoughts

For all the little noses,
and the poses they make,
for all the rings 'round the rosy;
For crayons and paints galore,
books in the mind bank to store
shrieks of discovery and more -
I'm afraid for lack of education,
a firm foundation,
more starvation
How can we as a nation
allow the exploitation,
the humiliation
of children in harms way?
No amount of coinage can replace
the smile on a child's face -
When I think of the dangers
of the world today,
I find no solace when I try to sleep,
knowing how now, as I speak,
there is torture at the hands of strangers
And for all the delightful good in each day,
for everything beautiful in this world,
why must children anywhere,
face hardship in any case,
loss of rights or morals hurled,
have freedom from fear,
 - why can't we make it all go away?
I don't want to hear
it's under investigation;
show me instead our children's

Saturday, July 5, 2014

Whales of Summer..


                                                                                                                by klr

No feeling of ground 
beneath their feet,
streamlined for swimming -
they float in sapphire straits
Each summer they return to greet
one another, 
to raise offspring 
as on salmon and shrimp
they feed 
They pass on lessons of birthing,
knowledge for surviving 
the Salish Sea

We honor Orca whales,
but they do not know;
raising a candelabra 
to them does not rid 
garbage from waterways- 
or prevent toxic spills
Threatened with extinction,
for loss of Chinook in estuaries,
we rescue them, 
treat their sonar ills
We make their voyages safer,
for fewer injuries 

They entertain with playful
splashy  breaches,                                                                                 
have the power to heal
Their phonic squeals communicate
what they think and feel -
so much they teach us,
We are allies,
entrusted with their care, 
24/7 vigilance
Youngsters know their names, 
beginning with pods J, K, or L,
such as J2, Luna, and Chance

With their natural talent
they could illustrate-
with the ocean as their canvas
on which art to paint; 
with Earth's colors as their palette,
fins as fine brushes- 
to create
fine cetacean giclees
They could fly kites in the air
with all their abilities,
trade whimsical tales with crusty 
pelicans, crabs, and sand fleas

Instinctively good-natured,
they deserve our dedication
For future millenniums,
it's important to help them
Last night I heard their 
calls from Lime Kiln;
their cries we must answer -
like floating lanterns
 illuminating their return
And with a big blink of the eye,
 they will make the journey again -
and we will exchange goodbyes,
but for now, it's only July