Sing to me with your ever-altering leaves, Autumn

Periodically, panting, the gleaming parquet floor
creaks underfoot;
pervasive thoughts halting to every urge,
like rose wine
the sense, the taste of you awakens every ounce,
every fiber of my soul-

With every changing season,
                                             I am looking for a reason.

Boastingly, brilliantly the blue sky inebriated
speaks of bravery,
as I trace circles with fingertips from lips
to collarbone,
thoroughly exploring wisps of breath;
Autumn is a time for bearing against the wind,
for introspection,
a combination of events, chances, wishes that thrill
beyond measure.

Dichotomy tells of contrasts between two things;
ebony black brooding
dove-white conviction,
I have loved you without knowing how, without
knowing when,
I cannot decide whether it’s clairvoyance or déjà vu
that draws me to your being—only
that sweet sting of syntax serves as confirmation.

Are you afraid to believe?
To embrace the aching sensuality of your thighs?
I adore their resilience,
their vulnerability, their anger, their passion, their truth
and lies.

Love iambic – Love invigorating

With every changing season,
                                  I am looking for a reason.




Photo credits: Pinterest

Peter hosts on dVerse tonight and invites us to write the sounds of our poetry. (I hope I got it right) 🙂

Posted for MTB: Let Your Words Ring Out @ dVerse Poets Pub

Late October

Poem inspired by the title of Maya Angelou’s poetic masterpiece, “Late October.”

Adumbral red this feeling;
echoes round and round the colonnade as a gospel choir,
oh how I love it so–
symptomatically, the leaves fall and kiss the ground,
as though
aware of all that goes on in my heart;

spiritual songs

                        pale heat,
                                             palmed rose

I have recognized you,
while listening to sweet rustling music that inspires
the wild pirouettes of earth-bound truths—
would that obsidian sky look on as we gaze into each other’s eyes
and become one;
fervour painted upon less than rosy lips,
you are the flower,
I am the thorn, watchful and vigilant—
seeking to make our way through on a much more somber note, 

grey life,

               dim accuracy

                                       pellucid quest

only lovers know of dilemma,
hunger for the light
I have come to know that it begins as a storm and continues
to become a poem—
can you feel the thunder within as days become colder and shorter?
I have recognized you.



Photo credits: Pinterest

Laura is our hostess at dVerse and introduces the poetry of Samuel Greenberg.
She invites us to select exactly five of the “charms” from a list taken from the poem The pale Impromptu.” 💝

Posted for Poetics: The Charms of Samuel Greenburg @ dVerse Poets Pub

Because I have studied him

Because I’ve studied him;
know exactly how it plays across chiseled features,
this wild honey,
this art of reaching into the soul merely
by listening—
it appears cloudier still,
how lips taste like every thought I’ve ever had;
this magnetic hypothesis’s efficacious
is confusing.




Photo credits: Pinterest

De is our hostess today at dVerse and the word is “Magnet.”
Come join us! ❤️

Posted for Quadrille #114 @ dVerse Poets Pub

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