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

By Any Other…

“Oh, bee barf…?”

“Stop calling me that!”

“Why?” I smile knowingly.

“Because it’s an insult!”

“Not to me.” my standard response.

A decade plus later…

“All this damned time you’ve been calling me honey?” His mouth ajar.

“Yes, bee barf.”

Stupid Internet ruined everything…

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A memory of the day my late-husband learned something of a sticky situation…

dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Quadrille #13 

Today’s Quadrille (a poem of 44 words: no more, no less – not including the title) has to include the word jar. A word that can find many uses, as a noun or, as I’ve chosen to do, a verb (with or without an object).

The Call…

There’s a demon sitting on my shoulder
Whispering things and it’s getting bolder

A susurrus of dark and dangerous things
Makes the sinner in me want to come out and sing

And it’s getting stronger (you know you want to…)

Leaving its score on dark parts to remind me
Desire for such is within not behind me

Right now I know I’m the one in control
Of what’s clawing and braying to get to  my soul

But for how much longer? (you know you want to…)

There’s a demon sliding along my spine
Twixt my head and my heart claiming “both will be mine”

I’m crying for the call of it chills me
I’m lying for the call of it thrills me

And it’s getting stronger (you know you want to…)

Though I feel the rumble of defiant laughter
I do not give in to the dark it’s after

But for how much longer? (you know you want to…)

I feel the scratching on the surface of my skin
Hear the voices dripping with inevitable sin
Scraping and tearing at what fight’s left within
Let me in! Let me in! Let me! Let me in!

No!

Let me in! Let me in! Let me! Let me in!

Nooooooo!

Let me in! Let me in! Let me! Let me in!

Nooooooooo…

There’s a demon crawling under my skin (you know you want to…)
A sadistic lover calling from within (you know I want to…)
And it’s getting stronger (I know you want to…)

Ooooooooooooh…

Not much longer (I know I want to…)

Ooooooooooooh…

I know I want to…

Oh

I want to…

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dverse

dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Open Link Night #177

 

Don’t Give!

I look at him and I see a face:
One that’s covered in silent tears
His voice is in the deepest bass
Every word riddled by silent fears

Don’t give!

Always so cautious, always trying
never to give himself away
And yet I can see, he’s dying
a little bit more each day

Don’t give!

And the thought stabs my heart like a knife
Time put him in this spot and only time can heal
That all I can do is pray that the strife
Does not push him past where he can deal

Don’t give!

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real-toads-buton

Real Toads | Tuesday Platform

Another Forgotten Soul

I hear the steady rhythm of a familiar beat
The beat that belongs to my heart
Each intake of breath induces own brand of sweet

I’ve been lectured its beat won’t last through the night
A motif I’ve heard several times before
This new morning again dispels that tale and again I’m alright

Well as right as right can be with these tubes in my chest
The clicks, chinks and whoosh, a daily orchestration of my machines
I half think to ask to take them out they’ve done their last test

I’ve buried children, a husband, and friends
The blessing and curse of having a long life
Outliving those who would be with me at my end

No longer with the ones of my long life’s sharing
To pillow my days with fond memories
I slowly die alone attended by some other’s caring

Who will last close these feathered eyes is out of my control
With no one left to rescue the memory of my name
I wonder how long before I’m another forgotten soul

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At dVerse we’re asked to pen our fears. This is mine – that I will outlive everyone who would love and advocate for me. That I will die, not necessarily by myself, but definitely alone.

dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Poetics: What Are You Afraid Of ?

Real Toads – The Tuesday Platform

Sevenling: (That entry)

That entry with stately Neo classic columns of two centuries ago
This courtyard with intricate Moorish tile work showing past Spanish influence
The balcony with geometric bas relief of American mid-century modernism

All coexist on a block hinting at the beauty of what it once was
On a crumbling calle of poverty and dilapidation of what it is
Within sight a renovating neighborhood of what will be again

Means nothing to those in a one room shack out in the back country

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Today’s form: Sevenling.

A Sevenling is a  7-line poem (two tercets and a one-liner as the final stanza) with these parameters:–

– Three lines that contain an element of three. This could be three connected or contrasting statements, a list of three names or details, etc. The three things can take up all three lines, or be contained anywhere in the stanza.

– Three more lines that contain an element of three (can relate to stanza one directly, as a juxtaposition, or have no connection whatsoever).

– Final line: a punchline, strange twist, narrative summary, or punctuation mark, of sorts.

No particular rhyme, rhythm or meter are required. Titles are also not required. If you do decide to title it, the title should be “Sevenling:” followed by the first few words in parentheses. The tone should be mysterious, offbeat, or disturbing, and the poem should have an atmosphere that invites guesswork from the reader.