A Flower’s Folly

 

I considered the flower
The fragrant rose
Its petals soft to touch
But thorns keep friends and foe alike
At distance a bit too much

Lily-of-the-valley
Delicate and small
Highly toxic to children
No, I won’t be their downfall

Tulips and daffodils
Welcome spring’s sun
When summer brings bouquets
Of colors — away they run

Dandelions gather
Hang out for a only a day
Always leave a trail
Such a nuisance some say

What flower would I
Like to be if only I could choose
The elegant Brahma Kamal
Darkness’s sparkling jewel

Fragrant and white
A burden to none
Blooming in moonlight
Lovely to all

dVersepoets.com what flower do I identify with and which is my favorite. Well, it is hard to pick a favorite. Mums in fall, Daffodils in spring, roses in summer, then all the others, but not in any order! It’s as hard as choosing a favorite color!

I

considered what I would not like to be, and perhaps what I would like to be in my poem. I tried to find a picture to post of this spectacular star-shaped white blossom, but could not find any “free” images.

 

 

 

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Resuscitation

On the bus, her mind wandered back to a time life was simple. Funny, at the time she didn’t think so. She was restless and had to leave that secluded town where life on those dusty roads led nowhere and the cemetery down the road apiece held the cobwebbed remains beneath marble forever. How could one call that life? But now, fifteen years later memories took on a different flavor. Raw fruit ripens as it grows and turns sweet with age.

As the bus pulled into the depot, she saw the view from her window. Many names and businesses had changed but the landscape was the same. The “Dollar Diner” was still on the corner. She traced the streets in her mind, and knew the direction to go. At once she felt alive. From home and back again, there are moments caught between heartbeats.

dversepoets.com  Its Monday and another flash fiction Prosery. 144 words incorporating a line from a poem by Louis MacNeice called “Coda”. The line is the last line of my prose,

“There are moments caught between heartbeats”.

 

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Looking For Love in all the Wrong Places

I stir the tea leaves
Lean into the steam
Caressing my skin
My bones absorb it
Like quicksand
I expect them to give still
As they lie
Limp
Dead
Scentless
Against the bottom of the cup
An unwilling sacrifice
All it delivers
Gnaws like an abscessed
Wisdom tooth
Death without resurrection
Makes a lousy love potion
I should have stayed home

Linking up with Linda Kruschke and Paint Chip Poetry. This weeks words are tea leaves, bone, deep-sea vent, quicksand, maraschino, love potion, wisdom tooth. The theme is there’s no place like home.

We can use 2 or more of the words.

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Spring’s Promise

 

I saw a robin yesterday
A harbinger of spring they say

She flit between the oaks still bare
Searching for some bugs of fare

She knows not the thrill she did impart
Upon my cold and barren heart

For spring still lies some ways ahead
Who knows what we still must tread

And yes I’ve heard some robins stay
Throughout the year just hidden away

But what a thrill a spark ignites
A flame of hope within the night

And Isn’t that what hope’s about
It gives you reason not to doubt

Seasons are just spans of time
We walk through to the other side

I won’t be seeing her today
The snow’s too deep…she flew away

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Killington’s a Killer Walking Down

They all said it would be fun and I had
nothing to worry about and every little child there
could do it and I saw them gliding and laughing
like they came from the womb
on their long slender skis but I was a cesarean birth
and knew nothing of pushing myself down a canal
much less a mountain so the gondola didn’t stop and I fell
like a fallen snow angel face planted and my friend told me there
were plateaus and I could stop on the way down to catch
my breath yeah the walk took two hours that was the longest
delivery but the fire later thawed me and I melted into laughter when they asked why didn’t I take the free lesson

dVersepoets.com.  A one-sentence poem exploring the theme ‘the end of civilization as we know it”, tell an embarrassing or odd incident either hears about, witnessed or autobiographical. It must be improvised.

Yup. True story. First and last ski trip!

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What is it Anyways?

What is it about the race
You cannot embrace?

What is it about the night
That robs your sight?

What is it about contrast
You can’t move past?

What is it about color you despise
As you favor white in your eyes?

Is it not a line defining you?
A black frame accentuates the art I view

Treasures lie in deepest waters
Shallow keeps me safe but hollow

Though I use black to paint my pain
My short comings are to blame

Black is never easy to erase
It leaves a smudge, a cloudy trace

A fire ignites in rage and fury
But spreads its light so more can see

We are stalks that will bend and bend and bend
Though we lose some, resilience is our eternal friend

dVersepoets.com February is Black history month. A line from Jamaal May’s poem “A brief history of hostility” “We are stalks that will bend and bend and bend…” inspires me as I think of a Bible reference,

“When the messengers of John had left, He began to speak to the crowds about John, “What did you go out into the wilderness to see? A reed shaken by the wind? But what did you go out to see? A man dressed in soft clothing? Those who are splendidly clothed and live in luxury are found in royal palaces!” (Luke 7:23-25)

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Empty to Fill

The missing component is not
that which screams the loudest
for attention
The real need is that which is silenced
Only as one empties, can one be filled
Listen
What don’t you hear?
Nothing makes no sound
No one drinks from an empty well

dVersepoets.com Quadrille Monday and the prompt word is ‘fill’

I heard nothing, and this came out!

 

 

 

 

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