a valentine day’s poem

He leaned toward her proclaiming,
her novels are all about marriage,
such a narrow radius!

An observation about characters,
conducting elegant conversations
in a quaint manner, she contributed.

Women with fewer concerns than
comparing the attractiveness
of mutual lace, or the truth
of muslin, he mocked.

Oh, if ever any man would make
a remark about how pretty,
that’ll send the heroine into
an agreeable flutter, she derided.

And what’s the value of exchanging
one broom for another?
Isn’t all that parading in balls
excessive, all that fawning over
romance when the quest for knowledge
is far more important, she concluded.

Unexpectedly, a handsome arm offered,
Shall we take a turn in the room?
The tiniest pleasurable pang hit her,
in a blaze of sequins, her face
incandescent, and romance
a large, luminous feather.

Process notes: Love is in the air. Austen is in my hands. So inspired my poem for Valentine’s day. Roses, chocolates, teddy bears? All three! How trite! How dare you! No, I mean, with you, every day is Valentine’s day!

Oh my toe!

Stubbed by a shard, a recurring
punishment, a breaking sound
surprising eardrums as something
fell, when you swivel, you clown!

Yours is a story of blundering,
a prophesy of Murphy’s Law,
a repetition of past mistakes
nailing you to imperfection.

It’s not so much that you’re spastic,
though that too, but life is,
you found out the hard way,
as treacherous as a monkey bar.

Always the eager apprentice,
you swaggered past a swing door,
like a cowboy, managing to dodge
scrapes like a stray gun shot.

You swivelled at the bar counter,
ordered a frothy beer, you heard
your name called, you turned around
expectantly, and that’s when

your avalanche of hands sent
the glass skeetering to the hard floor
and due to lack of proper footwear,
you stubbed your toe on a shard.

Which only goes to show,
you need primping, cowboy boots
or whatever, and you need to claim
grandly, you missed a gun shot

which, when you think about it,
is no small victory, for all the crap
you take, while you go about
your skillful apprenticeship.

grace

Under blue skies
on a street away from

home beside the bay
windows lined with

sprigs of lavendar
in garden buckets

did I see the white
picket fences

did I see graffiti
sprayed on walls

did I see a warm
mosaic sparkling

there within
the wild colours

I felt suddenly
the grace of you

Process notes: In response to the “grace” prompt over at One Single Impression. Here comes the sun.

while you’re away

I’ll refurbish the apartment,
new shelves for a cache of
poetry books arriving in
an excited small carton.
Should I go Madison style
or romantic Laura Ashley,
a bit of florid pastorals
perchance, passing for
art on the walls? Of course,
you like a minimalistic,
pared down clean look,
dust-free, so put in miles of
clever storage tucked away.
When you return, my dear,
to a brand new house,
bearing parables, I’d have
scrubbed away austere
loneliness like Cinderella,
the ruins buried, the poems
gleaming on oak shelves,
happy songs of a nightingale.

Process notes: Only the lonely. Aren’t we all? This is written in response to the lonely prompt over at One Single Impression.

when I’ve breathed my last

You would not be beside
gone like a harbinger

a gray dove on a lamp-post
with a scarlet letter

beside the café awning
the bright rays emanate

just like this morning
I looked slant toward

the drifting clouds
you’re not beside

diving into the parted sea
the bird had splashed

warmly into embracing
ripples pulsating terminally

under the fat belly of
the blue nameless

Process notes: Written in response to One Single Impression’s prompt about “the passing” (by The Dark Lord). We’re all afraid of passing. We’re mortal. We’re not invincible. You and I were here. Here is the loving evidence – a poem written by me, read by you.

Because

Because the call of the wild draws us
Because when it rains it pours
Because when it pours we freeze
Because there aren’t enough reasons why
Because no matter what there’s birdsong

Because curry is yummy
Because the unexpected happens
Because shit happens
Because pens have lovely pigments
Because the postal system works

Because the river doesn’t run dry
Because it’s hard to wake up,
Because it’s hard to damn sleep
Because summer is hot and dry
Because a squall happens everyday

Because the eagle soars above
Because our heartbeat goes on
Because we live like avatars
Because we’re natives
Because encyclopedias are outdated

Because a cough betrays something
Because we store our lives in closets
Because we dream of landscapes
Because we dream of homes
Because we haven’t seen the desert

Because when we turn on the TV
there’s a hostage crisis
Because the world is getting hotter
Because the world is also getting colder
Because tribes still live in forests

Because time lets us play musical chairs
Because our eyesight are failing
we cannot thread the needle
Because there’s something wonderful
about failing
Because long distances scare us

Because there’re sharks in the ocean
just like us
Because someone’s sleeping
in the next room
Because progress is slow
Because it’s impossible to say
what you feel

Because roses unfurl their petals
Because there’re places we’ve never been
Because there’re mountains
we cannot climb
Because the weather is mild
Because the weather is unpredictable

Because beauty lies in the eye of
the beholder
Because the world is endless

Process notes: Written in response to the word prompt, “Pensive”, in One Single Impression. It is so addictive, like caffeine, to write this. Perhaps I *was* high on caffeine. You could write this during coffee break when you feel like ranting or raving or whatever.

plate

image by Sarah Regnier

What alchemy in early desire,
brushstrokes like dew,

the bridge of sighs in cobblestones,
giggles, masks we put on,

take off, in beds turned to frozen
dusk, tunneling inside

the dark. There’re beginnings,
bridge over canal,

a picture plate hung above, sky
blue, a house I never knew.

When the sun rose, the cock with
a red wattle crowed twice.

Process notes: I’m feeling prolific, so another poem. Easy as pie, country style. *Kidding.* This one is in response to One Single Impression and the image prompt over at We Write Poems.

Protected: we keep going

This post is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

Password:

Protected: love like gold

This post is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

Password:

Protected: glowering moon

This post is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

Password: