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
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—
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
Berries come to autumnal air;
unaware of blemishes borne by the world,
are we not responsible for what goes on?
Kudos to those who have failed,
failed as leaders, as citizens of the community,
as human— just as it’s unsafe to eat unripe berries
it’s questionable to tread on path,
for this is what happens when social injustice hits fever pitch,
do we dare say what we mean?
I look outside the window and see smoke instead of clouds;
men breaking windshields,
groups setting fire piece by piece, gun violence
and yet witness not change, what is this all about?
To each their grief, we learn not from the past
we stand divided,
trellis with vines so fickle they breathe nor sigh—
a penny for your thoughts,
would you prefer to live on where fruit poisons the eater?
Damages the mind and robs of sight?
Dare we raise our voice against discrimination,
demand what’s right
and leave issues unhanging; my heart weeps
when I hear of rape, of inhumane acts that defy the grounds
of humanity— do we dare raise the volume of television?
A shadow isn’t our face nor dust our ear,
raging in our hearts we ingest; it’s time that we protest!
Photo credits: weheartit.com
Grace hosts at dVerse and invites us to write
Protest Poetry. Come join us! 💝
Posted for MTB: Protest Poetry @ dVerse Poets Pub
Red, these unslumbering clouds know not difference;
they indulge in the fragrance,
in the very winds that whisper in alluring accents,
I can barely express–
the oddity of roses,
they pout and pose in the innermost workings of my mind
where you reside,
are you ready for the change of seasons?
Such poetry in the contour of your cheeks,
in the duskiest glow
of autumnal leaves swirling; I could memorize every inch of you
and still yearn to know more,
it’s as though your initials are engraved on soft
and supple skin.
I sense you in the waxing crescent of the moon,
belong in the direction of my words;
tell me, is there anything sweeter?
The roses surrounded by solitude and song speak of you
as much as I do,
sometimes we just know without knowing why and how.
Photo credits: The Art of Catrin Welz-Stein
Lillian hosts at dVerse today and invites to indulge
in ekphrastic poetry. Come join us! ❤️
Posted for Poetics @ dVerse Poets Pub
This black mood,
this malaise that coats sweetness
of cherry, flowering—
nutant, the brightness of morning
When did it become so insignificant?
We are only taught what’s worth our investment;
what of altruism?
And now, the sky is my backyard; it lends perspective.
Photo credits: Pinterest
De is our hostess today at dVerse and the word is
“sky.” Come join us! ❤️
Posted for Quadrille #112 @ dVerse Poets Pub
Isn’t that what the moon is antonym of?
Refined, its sugars are absorbed into the bloodstream
what little is left of breath, of light that longs to become one
I am cobalt etched, a glorious panoply of sensual scrawling(s)
ranging to mauve-blue, from buttercup yellow to rose.
Bend me over to the edge of the moon
as body arches toward its direction, its ways—
the virtuous, the chaste, the naïve, the unsullied aren’t afraid
of what sends shivers down the spine;
a leaf in a hurricane,
we are equipped to run miles in a universe of pleasure and pain.
Nobody notices it at first;
pristine, its crevice large lures and later covers with memory.
I dare not cross the bridge knowing “never,” is a garland
waiting on the other side—
like an addicted smoker who inhales poetry, I can’t get enough
of his verse;
the moon, dressed in red velvet, in turn exchanges a smile.
Photo credits: Aaron Westerberg, “Kimono.” Pinterest
It’s time for OLN at dVerse! Come join us! 🍹
A Skylover Wordlist: Shiver, bridge, refine, etch, leaf,
cobalt, pristine, garland, drape, never 💝
Posted for Open Link Night #274 @ dVerse Poets Pub