The Lost Art of Conversation

I hate small talk;
but if it means I am getting one step closer to knowing
who you really are,
then I guess it’s worth it.
Nowadays the doors are closed,
not because of incapability but simply because we choose it;
gone are the days
when people would engage in deep conversation—
favorite movie,
a casual comment on the weather;
that’s all good and relevant but what about insecurities and fears?
What about things that keep us up at night?
I’d like to think there is still a chance,
to pull a plain cheese from the oven just to make somebody laugh—
there is heaviness in apathy,
there is heaviness in silence.

 

 

 

Photo credits: Pinterest

Grace hosts Open Link Night at dVerse tonight.
Come join us! 💝

Posted for Open Link Night #276 @ dVerse Poets Pub

Could it be?

Could it be that everything is leading
to this juncture?
The wind ushering away volatile thoughts
which threaten
to twist pieces of straw into rope in the corner
of my mind—
I dress in a hurry,
all the while, hoping, for the weather to be fine;
coffee steaming in a richly decorated pot,
there are days when the antiseptic blue of the sky helps see
the bigger picture—

one minute it rains and another behaves.
“Excuse me sir, which way leads to Oxford Street?”

 

 

Photo credits: Juja_Han, latte, Unsplash

Sarah hosts at dVerse and asks us to write poems inspired by
three little words that also describe a location
in London at the
site what3words. I chose: behave pots fine 💝

Posted for Poetics: Three Little Words @ dVerse Pub

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

Putting together

Putting together;
I realized with a heavy heart just how ephemeral
thoughts truly are—
they avoid the periods of drought as seeds,
all the while
ushering out the old and replacing with new.
I am appalled,
for how is it possible to arrange a bouquet this way?
Putting together
a list, a person, flowers and such
proves to be unfathomable;
when synonyms themselves refuse to come forward—
life, my darling is a poem in five parts,
which no matter how much we desire cannot possibly be
read all at once,
putting together positive thoughts,
I attempt and sift the clear with the ones most obscure;
I am figuring out how to make this arrangement so that shadows
fall in correct place.

 

 

Photo credits: Pinterest

Bjorn hosts at dVerse tonight and invites us to try lists that Google gives us. Come join us! 💝

Posted for Meeting the Bar @ dVerse Poets Pub

At first sight

You sprung in me like chrysanthemums pearly,
with an unexpected sense of calm,
rounded petals blushing, inculcating into blood
reciting a prayer of psalm.

Would that the sky lend me its grey,
in exchange for velvet emotions that pour—
I feel you despite the distance,  the rest assured
peculiar this world at four o clock in the morn.

With a desire to serve, to belong and adore,
I can imagine no other throat—
such is my state, heaven and torture, one and the same
dare I venture here and quote.

I knew long before you did of longing,
like darkness both intimate and frightening
Care to explore? And want completely,
as season grows with eager boughs ripening.

 

 

Photo credits: Pinterest

Lucy is our guest host today and wishes us to pen
a ballad. (I hope I got it right!) 🙂

Posted for Poetics: You Want It Darker @ dVerse Poets Pub