Seasonal Alignment

My eyes close with the turning sun
Summer takes a nap her day done
I sleep right through my morning run

Entranced I miss the miracle
Pulse of creation’s spiracle
Fall prey to ruse satirical
Unaware of life in half-time

Day unfolds as sun awakens
Like clean sheets on a bed shaken
Crisply made unforsaken
My eyes adjust to its beauty A zejel. A new form for me. I had to look up a few words in this description. Maybe this is a first draft. And I thought I was on a break.

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Overflowing Fruit

Past, present and future
What I taste
Tastes like home
What I yield
Is from what I’ve sown
All before me
Leads me forward
To my destiny
Waiting for me Tuesday prompt. Poetics in season. Write a poem about a fruit that evokes a memory, or write about an emotion or abstract concept, or step out of the bowl and create a fruit of your own.
I slept on it, and this is what I have. I will get to your poems soon. I’m behind again.

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Time to Linger

Some move at another’s pace
Trip over air and space
Is time a vortex?
Is it a vacuum?
Eternity stretches beyond each end
Cups of coffee blend friends
I can no longer run your race
It’s my turn to linger
Your turn to wait Monday quadrille. Poem of exactly 44 words excluding the title. The word to include is linger.

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You Choose

People often don’t know
If I’m coming or going
Front and rear
Both seem to appear
If I try to conform
To the image in your mind
You may end up regretting
What you find
Look deep in the mirror
Do you really want two?
I’m learning what not to do
Its tough being blind open link. Poem of choice. Watercolor by me.

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Shadows shift and squeeze the reins on summer
Slowly seduced by sleep flies linger longer
I think one less fly won’t matter
It’s in my way
Oh, its purpose greater than my demeanor?
Can I transfer my words
To this chaotic world
As I hear the incessant buzz
The ominous hum
Of the unsavory every day
What will I say? Sara, our host says “Tonight’s prompt is inspired by Paul Brookes. Paul tweets as @PaulDragonwolf1, and blogs at”

Her challenge is to write a poem,, he writes sonnets, we can write any form, about arachnids and insects, finding their strange beauty and essential link to the world we live in and similarities to humans.
I share my offering here, but will say, I do not like flies, or mosquitos. I own a flyswatter.

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Rome apples, coarse, blemished, unsprayed, fell straight from her tree. I was grateful for the gift. I roughly cut them into asymmetrical chunks, tossing the good into the bowl. A few frozen wild blueberries from last summer’s yield thrown in, a drizzle of local maple syrup, cinnamon and grated nutmeg are the filling for a pie. My thoughts backtrack to homemade, unadulterated goodness. Tasting the pure, I whined for the processed, packaged cookie-cutter desserts.

Even now, as much as I try new recipes, the kitchen always takes me home. Why years to realize I wasn’t raised in a mold?

So if all do their duty, they need not fear harm. I need not beg for allies. Those with the same palate will find me and no crust will ever out-flavor my moms. I can taste it and it’s not even baked yet. Prosery. A line from William Blake’s poem ‘The Chimney Sweeper:’
So if all do their duty, they need not fear harm. Mine is exactly 144 words including the title.

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Season Transitions

Sitting under the apple tree I dream

As leaves drift lazily rocked downward bound

Summer latches onto lullaby’s beam

Mesmerized to the bidding of the ground

A breeze jostles me i wake to my task

Unlike the seasons I must not let go

To quit me like blossoms no one has asked

Whatever fruit left yet I do not know

Dreams of apples sustain me through the snow A novelinee. Yes, it’s a nine line stanza poem overlaid with this rhyme sequence:

I missed the link by 2 hours.

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Rhythmic Waves

Rivers, streams, creeks, lakes, ponds
I follow them through bramble and wooded trails
I trace their edges with my eyes
Watery autonomy with no outlet
Oceans call me to where I have lassoed my signature on rocky shores, markings of hues and shades of fuchsia sin; each one a reminder of the kind-less person I have been
Words drift in cerebral waters
I trace the restraints and know
Ebb and flow-even the tide knows not to overflow
Gently cradled by another hand and a sun-lit moon Dungeons and derivatives….Pick one line from 8 of Sanaa’s poems and change at least one of the words, compose your own and unlock a dungeon. I believe I unlocked one. I am trying to take a break. I hope I did it right.

Her line…“I have left my signature on rocky shores, marked with hues and shades of fuchsia sin; each one a reminder of the kind of person I have been.” – the waters and wild.

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Response and Ability

It doesn’t seem fair or just that one maintain a incomprehensible depth of joy when the sorrows of this world are at its unfathomable height. Is that why I so often sink into the groove of despair? I become a stranger among friends, a foe among family. Many are but oblivious to the inheritance they claim. How sad my yesses dissolve into guesses when one refuses my generosity. It is easier to hope in a distant fortune than to manage it.

“Why, my soul, are you downcast?
Why so disturbed within me?
Put your hope in God,
for I will yet praise him,
my Savior and my God.” (Psalm 42:11)

A six-sentence syllabus traced along the perimeter of my mind

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All Things New

It’s a familiar September
Earth pies in usual fractions
I fall with Autumn’s retraction
Years long gone I still remember;

Although leaves will soon dismember
Sturdy are the roots that feed them
Underneath already new stems
Pulse with life in hope of springtime
Listen look beyond the gray lines
My eyes see now bright sparkling gems Open link night. Poem of choice. No prompt. Thought I would try a decima.

Next week, a break

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