Dreaming in Green

source

I came to ask you

how you have managed 

to endure for millennia,

with humankind

so threatening.

Do you tremble

when you hear

the grapple-yarders

and the saws,

coming ever closer?

(I think you do.)

They rip your roots

out of the ground;

they stick up in the air,

like the wisdom teeth 

of the planet,

being pulled

by madmen

who have forgotten

we all need 

to breathe.

I imagine, much like us,

those peaceful hours when you sleep

are your release.

I imagine, when you dream,

that you still dream in green.

source

for Magaly's prompt at Real Toads: strange news. The question is do trees sleep at night? I think they do. They are very alive, and must need rest.

On the Left Side of My Head

source

On the left side of my head, I turned my cheek.
Trying to kiss my lips, he landed on my ear.

That may have been the clue
we should have heeded.

The justice of the peace proclaimed the words
that turned me from girl to wife.

No skin off his nose; he was grinning,
likely imagining the awkward night to follow.

On the right side of my brain were enchanted
and magical thinking dreams.

On the left side of my life, I paid the price.
Being a wife did not bring a happy life.

My third eye was fixed on escape and liberation,
which finally arrived; o! merciful release!

The next man said "You've not been kissed
for a hundred years."

He said, "You came to me a virgin." It was true.
After that, left and right sides came together.

After that, when cage doors appeared,
I was a bird with eyes completely on the sky.


for Sanaa's challenge at Real Toads: to pen a poem in the style and format of Joseph Legaspi's poem "The Kisser's Handbook". Given my memory bank, this is what popped up. Nevertheless, I have remained a hopeless romantic all my life.

Instead of roses........

source

Instead of roses, bullets.

Instead of smiles, tears 

that will never end.

Like September 11,

Valentine's Day

will never be the same.

We remember you.

Today is the anniversary of the Valentine's Day shooting at the Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School.  Those Parkland kids who became activists after that event are my heroes, and my biggest source of hope. I hope all millennials turn out at the voting booths. We need every single one of their votes, if we are going to turn this ship around and get into sane and sustainable waters. Those who have sold their souls to money are never going to do what needs to be done. There is a good article about some of the Parkland survivors here.

In Love With the Wild

My heart belongs to the wild.

My eyes make love to the shore.

As long as I can hear the waves,

I could not ask for more.

I fell in love with the sky.

I lost my heart to the trees,

and a small wolf pup

with a goofy grin

claimed the rest of me.

He awakened the wild in me.

I loved the wild in him.

He lives forever in my heart.

His memory will never dim.

The creatures of the earth,

its mountains, fields 

and streams,

feed my hungry soul

and wander nightly

through my dreams.

As long as there is sky,

as long as there are trees,

I need little more than a roof

and a bed -

the wild's enough

for me.

for Susan's prompt at Midweek Motif: Love

GIFTS

Gratitude travels

from eyes to heart,

at the beauty I am seeing.

Memory rolls out

the long line of gifts

I have been given.

From way back then

to the wonder of now:

blessings.....

my spirit rising

in a prayer of thankfulness

to the All That Is.

Gratitude is my most constant feeling, these days and all my days. For Marian's prompt at Real Toads: Sensation.

In This One Moment

source

At the shore,

sandpipers picky-toe

along the sand,

then rise as a group,

flying off

when a loose dog

gets too near.

The song of the sea

swirls through my being,

like a lullaby,

a hymn,

a cry of freedom.

The waves roll out;

they roll in.

Forever

is happening

in this one moment.

for Karin's prompt at Real Toads: Finding a Moment

Wolfsong

from deviant art

AroSilverfang

follow a raven

and find a wolf

hear her gobble-cry,

his soft whuff

up on the ridge

where wild grasses grow

they tarry to listen

while the west wind blows

the wolf sings out

when the full moon beams

hear his howl

threading through your dreams

out on the desert

before the dawn

you can look for his tracks

but he'll be gone

at the end of the trail

near the Joshua Tree

a big black wolf

waits for only me

one from 2012 to be shared with the Poetry Pantry at Poets United - great reading every Sunday morning.