A place for poems and pics
Mat Reality
yogis doing downward dog
while I lay prostate, like a log
triangles and eagle arms
I really do not feel the charm
cat and cow and plow and chair
make me think I might not care
about the mountains or the trees
or boats that never sail the seas
we twist and bend until at last
laid out like corpses, end of class
growing pains
this poem is boney meter and stanza –
gangly, dangly lines and phrases.
it stumbles over its own feet,
has no rhyme or rhythm. it dreams
of becoming a sonnet, even an ode.
and when its feeling optimistic, it can
Imaging itself a villanelle.
Imitation
I slowly strolled through the museum
admiring the flower arrangements that
had been designed to compliment some
of the artwork. Still life, portrait, landscape,
paired with bouquets of roses and exotic
bird of paradise and common daisies.
I stood beside some peach-colored dahlias
trying to interpret the floral artist’s vision
when I heard a whisper coming from
the middle of a brass planter. “There is
no painting that can duplicate us. You should
go outside to the garden to find true beauty.”
Bird Weary
The birds are merrily chirping
away in my backyard.
Robins are hopping around
searching for worms hiding just
under the surface of the grass.
Chickadees are picking out their
favorite seeds from the feeder,
then flying off to the chokecherry tree
to crack them open, finding the best
part hidden inside.
A small wren is singing loudly from
the top of the garden fence,
hoping to attract a mate.
And a pair of bluebirds are
busy hauling twigs and grass
into the bird box hanging on
a pole, building a nest for
the eggs to come.
Here I sit, all alone with nothing to
do, nowhere to be, no one to talk to.
Stupid birds!
Day Five
Sending Love
She blows kisses to a fluffy cloud
Hoping the wind will blow it
Straight to you, then squeeze it
Out to express every drop
Of love it holds upon your life
Garden Magic
Deep in each small seed
A mystery lies buried
Only sun and rain
Can create the magic spell
That will free the hidden prize
A red tomato
Or a yellow sunflower
Captured in a shell
Waiting to at last uncurl
To the gardener’s delight
Art 101
I join the group scattered around
the classroom, standing behind wooden easels,
brushes and paints laid out in perfect order.
A room full of adults with nothing else to do
at ten o’clock on a Thursday morning.
We are supposed to paint a rooster
following the step-by-step instructions of
the artist at the front of the room. A blank canvas
gazes back at me and I fantasize about turning
out a rooster-like creature, in bright blues and
greens, with bold eyebrows like Frida Kahlo,
challenging the rest of the class to imagine a
world where different is normal.
Get set . . .
Pondering Things at 2 A.M.
There is something magical
about the contrast of black and white.
Something silent that makes you “feel”
rather than “see”.
Light and shadow.
Contrast and highlights.
Like in photography,
piano keys,
snow on bare tree limbs,
stars in a night sky,
…. and Oreos
Shhhhhhh…….Quiet, Please!
Let’s skip the trip,
stay near to all that’s dear –
brew tea and
bake a chocolate cake.
Let’s write a poem and read the book
that we’ve been waiting for.
Let’s let the candle burn until we hear
finches sing of Springs return
Quadrille #240: Fill, Zip, Trip
Snowflakes
We got a feeble amount of snow, overnight.
Not enough to make a snowman or even
a respectable snowball. It is trying valiantly
to cover the grass and the sidewalk, yet
only manages to look like powdered sugar
on a homemade apple cake. Children don’t
even bother to put on snowsuits – they know
there will be no sledding, today. But if you look
carefully, you will see the intricate patterns of
those scattered flakes and marvel at their sparkle,
like magic diamonds strewn across the yard.
Poetics: New Year Snow
rhymeswithbug 