In Step

1! 2! 3! 4! 5! 6! 7! 8!
1! 2! 3! 4! 5! 6! 7! 8!

Her booted stilettoes are a forte staccato on the polished wood
Counter point to the allegro of the snapping castanets in her hands

1-2-3-4,
1-2-3-4,

Kitten heeled pumps are andante, in the diminuendo chords
Arms ebb and flow evoking waves, foliage that caters to a wind’s bend

1, 2, 3,

1, 2, 3

While soft soled flats give a dolce presence to the calando of the tune
Her fingers doloroso wiping imagined tears in the final longa before applause

1 and 2 and

Bare toes touch floor at last

Finite

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At Real Toads I am given inspiration to write a poem on shoes for Susi.

While at dVerse I Meet the Bar by giving some elements of music for Victoria.

A Recipe for Hygge

A large dose of merriment in the holidays that herald the coming of winter, regardless of hemisphere.

Delight in the dashes of Joy that are the a blanc beauty of fresh fallen snow.

Dollops of peace in enjoying the solitude of a good book or movie, new or old.

On a snowbound night – nothing re-hydrates like hot cocoa if cold; a chilled chardonnay if warm.

Dole heaps of compassion and goodwill for humanity’s less fortunate.

Whisk together friendship where the pot luck results in a smorgasbord of laughter and love.

Keep an extra roux of wisdom and strength on hand for rejuvenation to reduce the doldrums that may appear. Serve yourself and others liberally as needed in remembering it is only a season, and like all seasons, this too shall pass.

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What is Hygge? If you were to try to translate it, hygge (pronounced hoo-guh), like duende, it is more of a feeling than a word. It’s sort of a full-on embrace of all things toasty, cozy, and restorative to the soul, especially in wintertime.

Today at dVerse Michelle (Mish) tends the pub for Poetics and challenges us to create our own “recipe poem”, but not of the culinary kind. To instead, write about something more abstract such as “a recipe for love”.  Thus, for those of us, like myself – who are not major fans of cold weather –  I present my recipe for getting through the winter season quickly encroaching on the northern hemisphere.

dverse
dVerse ~Poets Pub | Poetics | Recipe Poems

 

We are in the first full week of December and several of my northern friends are already facing snow. It seemed a good time to get this recipe going.

 

sol

Slice of Life Tuesday Writing Challenge : Two Writing Teachers

real-toads-buton

Imaginary Garden – The Tuesday Platform

 

I Am Ready

A million candles burning for the love that never came
I can’t say much has happened since
If you are the dealer, let me out of the game
If you want a partner, take my hand
If it be your will
I’d crawl to you baby and I’d fall at your feet
You want it darker

I am ready

Vilified, crucified, in the human frame
I swear it happened just like this
If you are the healer, I’m broken and lame
If you want another kind of love
I shall abide until
I’d howl at your beauty like a dog in heat
I’m your man

I am ready

Magnified, sanctified, be thy holy name
A sigh, a cry, a hungry kiss
If thine is the glory, mine must be the shame
If you want to take me for a ride
Let your mercy spill
I’d claw at your heart, and I’d tear at your sheet
with nothing on my tongue but hallelujah

I am ready

You want it darker
I’m your man
With nothing on my tongue but hallelujah

I am ready

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At dVerse Bryan takes honored guest turn tending the pub and challenges us to to give our best “cover” a poem by a poet whom you admire.
In tribute to a great poet who passed away earlier this month, with the sole exception of the I am ready refrain, all lines are from the following songs of Leonard Cohen: You Want It Darker – I’m Your Man – Hallelujah – If It Be Your Will – Closing Time

dverse

dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Poetics– Covers with Bryan

And I Know…

I hear his footsteps coming towards me and I know…
The words he is saying
The rules he is laying down
The fears I am betraying

…it’s not right

I see him in the dark before me and I know…
She does not make a sound
As his fist takes its first pound
And knocks me to the ground

…it’s not right

I smell him as he lowers towards me and I know…
This time won’t be because of drink
Inside myself I start to slink
I must go where I cannot think

…it’s not right

I feel his arms around me and I know…
How many cracks are in the ceiling above
Not to ever resist or push becomes shove
Only open my mouth for the depth of his love

…it’s not right

I taste more than tears on me and I know…
All the lies I’ll contrive
The pleasure he derives
In taunting “Why you still alive?”

…it’s not right

My senses overload when he leaves and I know…
When a fourteen-year-old is no longer sad
Cannot be so bothered to be mad
When ordered to coo “Goodnight Dad”

…it’s not right

Where The Buffalo Still Roam

For centuries the sun and moon have risen
here over the horizon of rolling hills
in this home where the buffalo still roam.

In the centuries past, our forefathers were forced here.
Here where the land, and our forefathers, were thought
never to be needed, wanted and preferably seen again.
Giving away that which was never owned by them to begin with
in this home where the buffalo still roam.

In the centuries hence, we dried our tears and made this land ours.
We’ve lived and died here. And in spite of it all, thrived here.
Keeping that which is sacred – sacred,
in this home where the buffalo still roam.

In this century now, the smooth grassy curves of the horizon
are broken by the sharp lines of a civilization, vying to creep in.
Exhausting what is theirs now profanely vie to disrespect what is ours
in this home where the buffalo still roam.

This is our sacred, because it is not so for them does not belie it,
in this home where the buffalo still roam.

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Inspired by the buffalo sighting at the Standing Rock Dakota Access Pipeline Protests last week.

Color Me With Food

I’m faced with my choices

Cranberry, Beluga, Custard,
Caramel, Albacore, Eggplant

Really Raivenne?

I’m such a foodie.

I came here for one thing.

One.

Decisions. Decisions.

With a sweet sparkling
of creative inspiration
an image forms before my eyes.

Giggling I take them all

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At dVerse this week’s Quadrille is being hosted by Dee (WhimsyGizmo) who challenges to find the spark as this week’s word prompt.

Moving into a new apartment, I was bemused that all of the paint color choices that appealed to me had food related names. Most, if not all, of those colors will be in a mural that came to me.

dverse

dVerse ~ Poets Pub : Quadrille 19 – Spark

Smiling Face

I face the sun trying not to see

The shadows I know follow me

They hunger for possession

That plays with my depression

For my mirror darkly

Shows the pains starkly

Always on the cusp of despair

Past the façade of jokes I share

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Today at dVerse De, aka WhimsyGizmo, invites us to take a look at our shadow in form of a Quadrille this week.
dverse

dVerse ~Poets Pub : Quadrille #17

Yesterday Haunts

like water in desert

the beauty of you quenches

my lips part – breath gasps

for the feel of your strong arms

that have yet to hold me close

><——><

a bloom of scarlet

stark against a white canvas

then sheets – now snow drifts

both give note to the battles

of my birth and of my death

><——><

where there is no sound

one hears how your voice  trembles

its timbre thrills – pains

gripped in memory’s cruel grasp

yesterday haunts tomorrow

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Today at dVerse Toni has us exploring the Tanka in its more traditional use. Having written non-traditional and super tanka before, I challenged my self to string a few together for something of a little narrative. The first tanka above are lovers at first sight, the middle – a soldier’s poem on his birth at his death and the last tanka – the lover left behind who remembers.

Tanka have a 5-7-5-7-7 syllable count, per line.  The first two lines of the tanka are known as the kami-no-ku – upper poem, the last two lines are the shimo-no-ku – lower poem.  The third line. middle line, is the kireji or, cutting line or pivot denoting the difference between the two parts.  This is important to remember when writing tanka.  There are also no uppercase letters, no punctuation (except for the short dash, like an aspirated breath) or title. Tanka are subjective and can be emotional, opinionated, sensual, and lyrical.  They move back and forth through time and use elegant phrases or euphamisms, simile and metaphor.

dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Meeting the Bar – Form: Tanka

Looking For You

Looking for you to love
Laughing delightedly with empty leash in hand

Yawning widely

Your soft body in my lap
We all knew you chose me
Not the other way around
Tail wagging furiously
Already happy
On your first day

Yapping noisily

Gnawing my extended finger
That served just as well
As your favored chew toy
In your puppy days

Barking jubilantly

I quickly learned to measure
What was tail safe height
When you greeted me at the door
In your doggie teens

Growling menacingly

Strangers were quickly warned
Enter either with permission
Or at their own risk
In your adult days

Whimpering piteously

Though we could not see
Anything without
It was our first clue
Something was wrong within
In your senior days

Sighing contentedly

Looking up at me
Your soft head in my lap
Tail thumping the floor
I knew you were
Still happy
On your last day

Crying uncontrollably with empty leash in hand
Looking for you to love

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So Walt is tending bar at dVerse and we’re asked… what does love sound like? I was totally stumped not having truly thought of love from an aural perspective, other than love-making – and I did not want to go there. Honestly, I  was going to give Poetics a pass this week when a good friend of mine posted that his beloved Sherlock had crossed the Rainbow Bridge with the words:

“My best friend died today with his head in my lap.”

I immediately recalled a video he had posted a while back of a happy Sherlock making trilling noises and I thought he’ll never hear that again. That’s when I realized the sounds of love are not relegated solely to humans, and thus with a little poetic license – this poem for Drew and Sherlock.

dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Tuesday Poetics: The Sound of LOVE