She sees the glances,
hears the comments
and muttered names.
It is not who she is.
She does what is necessary
for survival — takes, scavenges
or … other things.
It is not who she is.
She runs with this band
of orphans, the safety
found in numbers.
It is who she has become.
.
.
for the Trifecta writing challenge
to use the 3rd definition of ‘band’
Shared at dVerse.
Filed under Poetry, Poetry - Prompts
he stood outside
the cemetery
hesitating, once more,
before the gate
unable to tell through
the mist
which stones the ravens
perched upon
.
.
for the Poets United ‘verse first’ prompt
inspired by this fantastic image.
Filed under Poetry, Poetry - Prompts
last night
the clouds refused
to allow the moon’s glow;
spiteful and wicked were the clouds
last night.
last night
the shadows grieved
for their hidden matron;
lost and hopeless were the shadows
last night.
last night
hunters were still,
unsure of where to lurk;
silent and fearful were hunters
last night.
last night
the timid prey
ventured forth in the dark,
hunters having no where to hide
last night.
last night
she fled from me,
leaving naught but a note,
knowing I would not notice till
morning.
.
Cloudy Moon (Photo credit: jbelluch)
an experiment in form,
yes, I know, I do not generally
do “form”, but that is what the
lady asked for in her prompt.
This one a chain cinquain which
is perhaps a bit overdone on the ‘chain’ part.
Filed under Poetry, Poetry - Prompts
Somewhere there is a shore
where she rides painted ponies
on the sand,
each day starts with beach
walks and a multi-colored
sunrise,
each one ends with family
arriving unexpectedly
for dinner.
It is a place where dogs
never grow old
and children and grandchildren
always live next door.
Somewhere,
she has found
her carousel
on the shore.
Carousel (Photo credit: mrpbps)
Filed under Poetry
There is still a thrill
in watching the storms form
on summer afternoons,
sitting in the sun while
the clouds build
on the horizon,
clear moments before.
A breeze begins,
precursor to a stronger
gale, lightening flashes
across and through the
darkening scene as the skies
transform from blue
to a greenish hue. The echoes
of thunder sync
with the electrical outbursts,
and in a blink
the power of water
is unleashed.
The fights are almost
worth it, to be able
to witness the storms
in her eyes.
Filed under Poetry, Poetry - Prompts
Note the sick pallor of the second man —
standing just behind and to the right
of the first — compared to the dark,
healthy complexion of the other.
One has to wonder if they are together
as friends — surely not, as visibly
different as day and night — or strangers
who happen to stop for rest at the same spot.
You made an assumption — whether or not
you care to admit it — about the character
of each, based simply upon their appearance,
and your own skin-color-based bias.
What if they should leave by a similar path,
and harm should come to one; will you
assume it to be the fault of the other,
even though you now detect no animosity?
Our two subjects ignore each other, even
in such close proximity, each assuming
the ill-will, or indifference, of the other,
neither makes a conciliatory gesture.
But — here you should be careful dear student —
do not entertain the mistaken logic that the color
of one’s skin will translate into some insight
Into the intent of their conscience, furthermore,
while the apathy and ambivalence of each
towards the other may indeed be symptomatic
of our societal ills, they are, in and of
themselves, not malicious, nor criminal.
.
For the Sunday Whirl wordle
perhaps not the best topic for today,
not likely to be well received,
but this is what came from the words.
shared at the dVerse pub
Filed under Poetry, Poetry - Prompts
It took a minute for her
to process the implications
of me being there —
you don’t just ‘drop by’
the hospital
in Maryland when you live
in Georgia — then she bypassed
joy, went straight
from shock to panic.
Sedation and waiting were
the only options offered;
kidneys failed, ravaged
by chemo and radiation.
She was ‘made comfortable’
for five days, while her last
words echoed through
the silence of the sterile room,
Don’t let me die,
don’t let me die…
Filed under Poetry
Oh, it will be uncomfortable,
a cold hard table — you never
did like the cold — and bright
lights…no where to hide.
Layer upon layer will be revealed,
there will be no secret you
can conceal, no mystery
to remain hidden.
But you should not worry,
in the end it will be a futile
exercise. There is no way to cut
from you that which you never had.
.
A bit of morbidity loosely inspired by
Knowledge by Natasha Trethewey,
which is fantastic.
Filed under Poetry
Awakened Words 
Shall We Have Coffee First?
It happened once,
several times,
a Jew, a Muslim and a Christian
came together over
a beverage — no, this is not the beginning
of a joke looking for a punchline, and no,
the choice of beverage is not important,
let’s say it was coffee — as friends…
Conversation outlasts the heat
from the cups, smiles and companionship
overcome any differences — which never
come up.
A couple of friends join each: the talk
remains amiable, but there are polite debates,
both religious and philosophical.
The crowd grows, and becomes segregated,
each choosing to associate with their own,
glances are exchanged, disbelief at the
other’s ignorance is mumbled just loud
enough to be overheard.
When the numbers swell the groups
separate into different establishments,
refusing to drink what the others
are drinking, refusing to allow any
of the ‘others’ into their place.
Lines are drawn when the animosity
and populations are of sufficient size,
rocks and insults frequently being
hurled across.
At some point one, or another depending
on the century, decides they have
endured enough of rocks, or insults.
Puzzling, is it not, how a cup
of coffee can lead to war.
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Filed under Commentary and Ramblings, Poetry, Poetry - Prompts, Political, Politics
Tagged as poems, Poetry