Winter Hues

Glossy on the snow-washed street,
winter continues
the sky is of rolling clouds, a thousand shades that range
from abalone to stone
as beech trees cry their last tears in the half-morning light—
here hope is ash coloured
yet the darkling sits, unperturbed;
and I wonder, if the snow loves it dearly?
I don’t have the slightest inkling about what happened
to my heart,
how it healed,
four-chambered muscular organ that sings: cardinal red
and emotionally scarred.
Perhaps, it too is aware of mournful lyrics,
of how everything goes around,
of how it’s conducted.
I kissed the lips of the cold surrounding me,
              qualms blurred.

If winter can be formidable then why can’t we?



Photo credits: Trisha Adams, Winter Color Series 12″x6″ oil, Pinterest

Merril hosts at dVerse and invites us to think, to reflect upon connections -in any sense. Come join us! 💝

Posted for Poetics: Connections @ dVerse Poets Pub

Leaning atop the graceful balustrade

One cube of sugar and a mug full of likelihood as the sun upon
the horizon sets; why is it that we taste every detail of ongoing
life twice? Everything has meaning, even silence that glows in
the pupils of those who have understood;  I am slightly hesitant
owing to the direction of the wind, its sting outweighs buoyancy
dark amber; rejection is all but unimaginable, we seldom think
of it.

Being humble is just that, being humble.  It’s neither a weapon
nor a strategy nor a mask, only a virtue.  I reminisce about the
days when I was younger and everything seemed hypnagogic,
rosy. Could it be that we never truly change but merely learn to
outmanoeuvre it all? The sparkle in my matured hazel flows in

And though, sometimes the great bones of my life feel so heavy;
I keep going.




Photo credits: Pinterest

Linda hosts at dVerse and asks to write inspired by a line from “Spring azures,” from the book ‘Wild Geese,’ by Mary Oliver. 💝

Posted for Prosery Monday: Bone Weary @ dVerse Poets Pub

Red Language

The wind in its monochrome musings is no longer indifferent,
it’s curious
to the effect that cherry nearly neon pink
that appear in clusters are offered reinforcements
in exchange for answers—
exactly how does one grasp something as fleeting as whispers?
If I could hear the words that take form in the wild storm
of your being,
believe me I’d reciprocate by using red language;
vernacular, if I am to be direct—I place my faith entirely upon detail
as I choose to side with weighty rather than whim,
this vinaigrette dressing of desire would disband all doubt,
together with crumbled blue cheese,
chives, lettuce, spinach, halved strawberries
and candied pecans,              

its subtlety alone would ignite emotion otherwise lost in translation,
consuming the heart, the mind, the body and soul
with forbidden knowledge—
I imagine a blush as perfect as early black kissing your skin.
The wind holding its breath is the sole witness,
in anticipation even though she knows it begins and ends
within herself;
do we ever truly comprehend?




Photo credits: Pinterest

Grace hosts at dVerse and invites us to utilize personification,
imagery or both. Come join us! 💝

This poem is inspired by the title of Heid E. Erdrich’s poetic
‘Red Language.’

Posted for MTB: Personification and Imagery @ dVerse Poets Pub

After a reading of “Lady Lazarus.”

A puff of powder, a dab of lipstick
and sprinkle
of ozone-friendly aerosol to keep my hair subdued,
there is little that hasn’t been said
about what goes on
a Poet’s head; one suspects a double death,
for outside
even the sourwood blushes.




Photo credits: Loui Jover, “Cocktail Drawing,” Pinterest

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

Posted for Quadrille #119 @ dVerse Poets Pub

On a cold day in January

Of late, I have been thinking of connections
in a white bowl of fresh fruit;

we talk about political poetry as if it’s a kind of effusion
about something going on—
can we hope to see past the glitter, the charm
and gravel
in voice?

I am percussion,
city heat blushing with the surge of ongoing atrocities

beneath the rug of the fourth estate;
do they really think they can separate ache (that strips
of colour) from writing?

Despite its fragility, the city comes out as artwork

in medium of ice; like darker veins, the cold winter is our friend
for it freezes the larvae of pests and allows anarchy
to die disheveled, diffused
and soft—
in my book, that’s better than bedside coffee
and croissants.



Photo credits: Pinterest

Word List: ache, gravel, percussion, city, carnation, bedside, heat, bread, poems 💝

Posted for Open Link Night #281 @ dVerse Poets Pub

English Plums

Leave me whole
as vibrant, as full of potential as English plums
placed under the darkening sky,
where pain is audible—
I have witnessed the ushering cries of newborns
and hopes
of estranged lovers a thousand times,
each more harrowing than the last;
why do we hide behind the skin of clouds
subconscious is but quiet fragments that move
with the whisper of rain?

The answers discovered at long last liberate me,
so much
so that I run out of excuses
to run
from my own limbs
and bones—
do we ever truly escape all that lies in waiting for us?
The wind continues to blow blurry and soft.




Photo credits: Elena Klimenko art, Pinterest

Sarah hosts at dVerse and invites us to write a poem
in response
to something we have read over the last year. 💝

I chose Rainer Maria Rilke and his poem ‘At The Brink Of Night.Come join us! 🙂

Posted for Poetics: “A conversation,” @ dVerse Poets Pub