September moon

I stand by my window:  red skin  

As heat coils on last summer day

Lingering sweet as nectarines  

I lay down pen & verses – stay

As tonight is harvest moon, pinned

So low in sky, orange bouquet -   

Let’s celebrate, I say.   You grin-

Light spills – sunset, moonrise, flaming

    

Each seed, each grain, a wine so sin-

Fully lush, we collect & weigh   

These nights as silvered gems, claiming

Them as ours, one-of-a-kind   – stay  
  

I sway

 into the night:  plump orange

A pearl drop above thick maple trees, 

Or a mirage,  silvered  grey  as my hair 

I take out  my  white veil,  now  worn  frail

There is a time to forget,  letting  tides  fall

But tonight, when moon wraps the sky, 

luminous purple,   radiant  bride, 

Remembering is all 

you  

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub  -  Tonight is the harvest moon ~

Poetry form:  tetrameter-trimeter ballad form, using the rhyme scheme: ABAB, ABAC, ABCB.

And 55 moon-lit words for the G-man ~  Thanks for the visit ~

picture credit:   Tumblr.com

color of last night's moon

she is 

dreaming 

of  his face drawn 

silver and shadow, turning 

towards  her  by  the window-

at last,  the mystery will be  revealed

holding  her breath,  she imagines a

cold mask of death, when at last 

the  moon's  gaze  is complete    

she is awed by his soulful 

eyes, color of sadness 

equal to her

own 

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub and Flash Fiction Friday for the G-man- 55 Words    

Picture credit:   Elena Kalis

Elemental

your eyes are parched blue

  a sky amidst the thickset trees

       your words are seaweeds 

           fresh as limes in my japanese cup  

               and why am i breathless

                  when   i   see   you 

              drilled down to the elements, 

           you are 65% oxygen

       & 18% carbon 

  & 10% hydrogen 

& 3% nitrogen 

  & 1.5% calcium 

     & 1.0 phosphorus 

         & traces of minerals    

             found in rocks & trails by the lake-

               you  have  no   roots 

                 nor wings to anchor your moorings-

             you can slip through my

        fingers like the eel or disappear 

     in a flash of elephant's rage

or rust cold in the depths of sunken ship-

but    you   come 

   every     morning

       hungry for each rush & pull, 

          fascinated with

              sun's play on the sands,

                    wind's drum on the conch's belly-  

                       beyond bones & rags of our flesh,

                   we tangle spineless

               and the sea 

            cradles us, weightless, size of the planet    

        this love

     a mere drop in canvas of endless mass   

   but it's precious dew

on our lips

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Poetics:  Water, water, everywhere  ~  Thanks for the visit ~ 

Words at the tip of my tongue

at the tip of my tongue,
it dances slowly, 
awakening spring bud, 
unfurling pink leaf


it dances slowly
ballerina on tiptoes
unfurling pink leaf 
stretches arms wide open 


ballerina on tiptoes 
like a cocktail glass,
stretches arms wide open
leaps in mid-air, lingering    


like a shaken cocktail,   
awakening taste buds,
to leap in mid-air, then lingers      
at the tip of my tongue

~0~0~0~0~0~0~ 

I prefer the verb        
          to the noun
                when I am
                     with you


                        dripping  
        
                    so slowly
       
               or faster
       as I want to
 or moving up
and     down


as I like to


sweating
cradling hips       
gripping  arms


writhing to music   


at mid-point, adding dashes--


and punctuation points ! !, ending with a sigh~




First post:   D'verse Poets Pub - Pantoum form
Second post:   Flash Fiction Friday -for the G-man - Tell a story in 55 words ~
Shared with Poetry Jam - Verbs    


picture credit:  here

Glass and lavender

in this land 
of maple trees, i am a

sugar cane harvested in summer 

stripped of roots and leaves, my tongue 
twisted   as   you   blow   pipe   my   ears 

give me your lips, open your thighs, 

come  to   me  like  a   thunderstorm 

pen drips of molasses, darkening spoon on white plate 

rippling the rock garden, raked into stillness by monks 

how   well   you  cleave  me,  my  wind   whisperer, 

i thought i was made of hollow bowl, seedless grey,  

but i am young again in mouth-blown Reidel glass 

   flowing ice wine, soft lavender on your palms,      

stem bent listening to the  

    

sea and sun 

Posted for Imaginary Garden of Real Toads and D'verse Poets Pub:   OpenLinkNight 


picture credit:  here

Native heart

                                                                                                

       There are words that

    Bloom from your lips

      Follows not the arc of the sun

          But the curve of your hips

             There are verses needing no sub-titles

                Strung with passion stained fingers        

                  They roll from the tongue 

               

                   In heavy guttural sounds,

                    Primal echoes to your ears

                You close your eyes

             Imagining the stormy sea

          The raindrops drenching your skin

       You are swept in the tide  

   In fragments, in pieces

   You don’t put together

      In one coherent stanza     

         But leave it to seed

           Nourishing native heart

Posted for the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads- OpenLinkNight - Monday 
and D'verse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight - every Tuesday at 3 pm


I am participating in the National Poetry Writing Month in my other blog.   Thanks for the visit.


picture credit:  http://gildam.tumblr.com/

Greatest fear

                                                                                       

crimson 

blood stains

running down thighs

nausea  rising dry  throat

shaking hands holding belly

lost  in  prayer  as  sky  opens 

to spew and belch her sacrifice

heaving shoulders, she holds

broken shell in silent agony

in cold washroom, alone, 

she   confronts   her

greatest fear:  

barren 

                                                                                          image: djajakarta

Posted for The Mag 112 :    From the writer's point of view, my greatest fear is to lose my muse.  Sharing a personal experience as this month, we celebrate the birthdays and milestones of my two children.   Happy Easter ~   

Shared with Poets United

To the sea

take me

to the shore,

lay me down the sands

warmed by afternoon sun,

scented by coral reef spray

listen to the roar of waves,

lilt and bass of whales and dolphins

carry me to the deep end,

    where fear pulses and fervor pierces,

stirring limbs into fins, arms into weeds,

awakening feral heart,

quivering for salt,

pour me,

unto the

naked

sea

 

Author's Note:   This is a revision of this post in my other blog but the source of my words came from this picture.   I live and work in the concrete city jungle so this post is just a creative expression for me.   I am also participating in the National Poetry Writing Month but my poems will be posted in my other blog.

Posted for OpenLinkNight:   Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - every Monday
and D'verse Poets Pub - every Tuesday at 3 pm EST

picture credit:   here