The strangeness of it all

Do you remember? Remember, the time we went to the
moor? Barefoot round a turning in the path— in the 
darkness an unexpected scent touched us, of honey,
heather and gorse bush which seems to be embroidered
into the very landscape.

Tell me how do you feel?  Sleeplessness unveiling itself from
the bitter blue sky; if only we could paint choices on its walls
wouldn’t need to then endure all that follows. I am slightly
damp,  for romance of melancholy found within the classics
refuse to leave me; is this what it means to be an old soul?

We look at him through the wrong end of the long telescope
of time, mortality, my dear, is a flavor long attached with the
moors. And I wonder if expansiveness, if mere concept that
tugs needs to be explored more often? Do we cry or rest?

 

 

 

Photo credits: Mira Nedyalkova, Stockholm Syndrome

Kim hosts at dVerse and asks to write inspired by a line from “Hummingbird,” by D.H. Lawrence 💝

Posted for Prosery Monday: Telescope of Time @ dVerse Poets Pub

October beckons

Watery-white, the moon casts its glow onto the city, the sycamore
maple silhouetted, in the distance, against the obsidian sky. Have you
ever wondered how the moon could be bringing heightened emotions
to surface? Like the sudden blooming of colour that sears through
one’s cheeks, the tide with its waves rolling in and out, its rhythm
as steady as our own— have you noticed how similar the magnetic
effect?

I am lonesome, the light from my iPhone much like absent rain not
beating down; slender fingers scrolling through and replying to
misunderstood syllables. Honestly speaking, I find that the moon
senses a tinge of sweetness behind my eyes and in turn lends to fiery
spirit. I am hardly one to pout while seated upon plush furniture; it’s
too much work in my opinion. I’d rather smile my way through the
floodwaters of relating myself to the world.

 Sanguine moon observes,
the rush of blood during a full phase—
heron calls.

 

 

 

Photo credits: Green Bedroom by Richard Tuschman

Frank hosts at dVerse tonight and the word is ‘Moon.’
Come join us! ❤️

Posted for Haibun Monday: To the Moon @ dVerse Poets Pub

A Soft, Silent September Night

“Swans should never despair over ducks not liking them.” ― C. JoyBell C.

Slipping subtly through to lift the blackness is want; its brazen
light shimmers across dark waters, just outside, and streams in
through the space between my curtains. “Sometimes, all that a
heart needs is a push.”

In their dreams they sleep with the moon; freed of gravity, flail up
to dimensions of realms unknown. Herons, unlike us, fret not over
gulls not accepting them. I am a soft, silent September night sewn
by the sense of you. I tell myself misgiving is first and foremost an
external force, stating that one isn’t capable of handling situations;
are we seriously going to allow it to stand in our way?

I hold a perfect salt-bleached shell to my ear, listen to the voices
reaching out from all sides. Sweet, succulent, savory, the sting
that rises
within erases all remains. I prefer stewing in dreams wide
awake.

 

 

 

Photo credits: Edward Hopper, “Night Windows,” 1928

Merril hosts at dVerse and asks to write inspired by a
line from
“Death at Wind River,” by Mary Oliver 💝

Posted for Prosery Monday: Moonbeams and Moon Dreams @ dVerse Poets Pub

On the corner of 26th Street

Whatever happens, happens once.  It’s ephemeral like passing mist.
Somewhat like the taste of dark chocolate, the night less than nocturnal;
life is brutal that way, the moments that touch us are also those we can
never hold onto for long.

I write them down every chance I get. The exquisite blend of hot and
cold; that is life. When I found him, I learned things I never knew about
myself. How I long to kiss his lips, shapely as a rosebud, sometimes I
still my thoughts in hopes of hearing his heartbeat. We are many miles
apart at the moment. We will remember once when it is over, said and
done – it was a time and there was never enough of it.

By day the café is the colour of bergamot orange. I hold on to knowledge  
that it’s disposition alone that determines affinity.

 

 

Photo credits: Edward Hopper, “Automat,” 1927

Today we are asked to write inspired by a line from
“A Time,” by Allison Adelle Hedge Coke 💝

Posted for Prosery Monday: A Time @ dVerse Poets Pub

The air is wild with leaves, with poems and feelings

 

“That’s not what I meant!” I sigh as I go through the comment section.  The mixed responses make me wonder how it’s possible for people to misunderstand a poem.

Outside the rain conjures a sweet pattern along the rustic pavement. I watch as the droplets fall from a confident sky and wonder if words I write convey emotion properly.

It is then that I recall the wisdom of a much loved and dear friend. Poetry is like art. Everybody has their own interpretation and that’s all right.

I tend to write a lot of love poems. It’s what I do. But a very few people know that my poems are actually based on my life! Each poem recounts a different story from a different time and era.

For example, October: When Poets Dream, Lament and Sing speaks of the time when I was besotted by a man who loved nobody but himself. Of course, I had no idea at the time. The poem speaks about pain and invisible scars.

Do I like it when people misinterpret a poem? To be honest, not a bit! But then, even I have misunderstood other people’s work from time to time.

But oh, when a poem strikes a chord! Now that is the most beautiful feeling in the entire world. A few months ago I wrote a confessional poem that resonated with every person who read and commented on it.

Twenty-three hit me like a hammer/ drove me over the edge/I slept with danger and flirted with the idea of death. Dark Origin is one of the most personal poems I have ever written.

I am going to be very honest. I was terrified! The moment I hit the publish button I thought to myself. “What have I done?” But when the responses started coming in, I felt relieved! I was happy that I shared the most intimate part of my life with people whom I wrote poetry alongside with.

I use to become annoyed when a poem was misunderstood. But no more. When has the moon ever complained for being both light and dark?

 

Photo credits: Pinterest

Posted for Moonlight Musings: The Interactive Edition @ Poets United