The Days of Lemonade

Written for:  Go Dog Go Cafe  
Tuesday Writing Prompt  (posted by Devereaux and Beth)

"Write a poem using "lemonade days".

Children set up a stand
selling lemonade in days of Summer.
Friends lent them a helping hand,
dependent of course on weather.

A dime a cup was all they charged
for pure homemade lemonade.
Fifteen cents bought you a large.
From nearby tree, a bird serenade.

Today the sun bears down 
only a soft breeze sashays
to take away your frown,
for these are the lemonade days.
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“shadows vanish”

Written for:  The Twiglets #232 - "shadows vanish"

When his shadow vanished
so did I.

After the plum-scarlett 
sky vanished, night
occluded the beach.
Not even shadows
could be seen.

shadows imprinted
confused frog on lily pad
sees two reflections

              Wendy was worried and pacing
         Peter's shadow had fallen while chasing
            Tinkerbell, so jealous
           of Wendy, such rudeness.
     Wendy sewed Peter's shadow back, Tinkerbell raging.
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First Beach Visit

Written for:  dVerse Poets Pub - Haibun Monday 6-21-21: Solstice I
(posted by Frank J. Tassone)

"Whether you are visiting the beach for the first day of summer, or building the first snowman of Winter, breathe in the Solstice air. Celebrate the day with an original haibun that alludes to the Solstice, whether Summer or Winter."

Wriggling my toes in the foam of the ocean
brought a sudden chill.  First beach visit
of Summer, and the water felt blue-lip icy.

Before water reached my waist, I splashed into
the ocean.  When I walked out to dry off,
I turned back, standing still as the sun overhead.

      opened buttercup
      fills with summer sunbeams
      overflowing joy
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Written for:  Poetic Bloomings - Prompt #339, Makes Sense

"Today, we are addressing the idea of sense. There are the five senses and the organs that put them to work. There is dollars and “cents.” There are different scents in our daily lives, We can also address a sense of humor, a sense of decency, common sense, a sense for business, a sense of closeness and loss … or any other sense you know or make up. All these can be put into play in your poem. Put your poetic skills to work and let us sense your muse!"

sent through summer breeze 
the scent of perfumed jasmine
symbol of sweetness

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Written for:  The Sunday Whirl, Wordle #506

Words:  symbol, sign, history, end, onslaught, people, slide, pour,
        drought, still, week, nights

Don't pour me no more,
slide out that door. You
are history.  Mystery to
me how I didn't recognize
the signs of 'bad dude'
all through those nights,
now at an end.  After
the onslaught of flowers
and gifts, you began
to drift, a symbol
of a non-keeper.  After
a week you'd return
stinking like an old
still.  People warned
me, but I was in a
deep drought, and thought
you would provide a way out.
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Written for:  Carpe Diem Haiku Kai #1845 Troiku Challenge: Summertime

"I have chosen the theme Summertime for this Troiku Challenge, because here in The Netherlands we have a very warm, say hot, time with temperatures rising above 30 degrees Celsius, so yes it is Summertime here."

at the seashore
wind of summer through my hair
the shortest night

© Chèvrefeuille (our host)

at the seashore
wind of summer through my hair
the shortest night

at the seashore
dip my toes into ocean
water rushes in

wind of summer through my hair
scent of salt and brine
tickles my nose

the shortest night
moonlight touches waves
sight imprinted in mind

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Chill In My Bones

Written for: Sunday Muse #165 (posted by Fireblossom)

Education.  That's what 
I need if I ever
hope to leave this
job, the boss that
comes with it, and
this godforsaken country.
Two choices of weather
here, rain or fog.  I
wait in my assigned
spot for Mr. I Am
The Smartest.  Permanent
case of the chilly-willies
snaking through my 
clothing, and settling
in my bones.  I try to
send most of my money
to Ma.  The need is
great, so for now
I must keep this job.
Live in a rathole,
and probably eat
less than the rats. 
It is all about education.
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Written for:  dVerse Poets Pub  (posted by Grace)
Poetry Form:  Trimeric

1. Trimeric has 4 stanzas
2. The first stanza has 4 lines
3. The other three stanzas have 3 lines each
4. The first line of each stanza is a refrain of the corresponding
   line in the first stanza (so 2nd stanza starts with the second
   line, third stanza starts with the third line, etc.).
5. The sequence of lines, then, is abcd, b – -, c – -, d – -.
In meditation last night
we discussed forgiveness.
Some things are hard
to forgive, but you attain peace.

We discussed forgiveness,
uneasy topic for many
who hold steadfast grudges.

Some things are hard
to get out in the open
without the usual ensuing anger.

To forgive, you attain peace,
and that is a rarity.
Take the weight off your shoulders.
Posted in Purple's Home | Tagged , , , | 28 Comments

A Fine Life

Written for:  dVerse Poets Pub 
Poetics:  Exploring the Realm of Minimalist Photography
(posted by Sanaa)

"Minimalist photography draws inspiration from the idea of minimalism in art, which emerged in New York in the early 1960’s.

‘Minimalism,’ is a movement in sculpture and painting which arose in the 1950s, characterized by the use of simple, massive forms. It’s marked by clarity, purpose and intention.

At its core, being a minimalist means intentionally promoting the things we value the most and removing everything that distracts us from it.

That being said, the goal of minimalist photography is to convey a concept, or an idea, to provoke an emotional response or provide a visual experience that is unique.

For today’s Poetics, I want you all to select one out of the twelve photographs shared above and write a poem. It can be an Ekphrastic poem, if you like. Go philosophical. Go dark or romantic or solemn. Share what you feel about Minimalist photography when you see it. The idea here is to provoke an emotion, and what better way to pour them out other than poetry?"

Old Rusty Truck – Photo by Glenn Buttkus
Lived a fine life with
various owners,
like Big Ted–easy-going,
hearty laugh.  He ran
the local grocery store,
and polished me every
week. Ted's son used me
for a spell, than fancied
himself a newer model.  
Jonas was my favorite.
A farmer, he took me
to all the markets. Jonas
and I loved this piece
of prairie.  Retired now,
I rest my rusty carcass
on nice soft grasses.  
Land stretches to infinity.
That's me!  I lived
a good old life.  

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Old Man In Sorrow

Written for:  Poets and Storytellers United
Weekly Scribblings #74:  Painted Tales
(posted by Magaly)

"Today’s prompt came to mind after I watched Girl with a Pearl Earring, a movie inspired by a novel which was inspired by a painting… Now, I’m inviting you to choose a painting and write new poetry or prose from the point of view of a character in said painting. Your contribution should include the painting or a link where others can look at it. Significantly rewritten pieces are welcomed."

~ Vincent Van Gogh
I weep on a pillowed chair,
barely warmed by a stingy 
fire.  All members of my
family passed on long
ago.  My circle of friends–
how I miss their laughter
and companionship.  Alas,
I have just said farewell
to my last friend.  Old
age is a blue time
of aches, of loss,
of loneliness.  I weep
for them all, and for myself
for living too long.
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Written for:  Go Dog Go Cafe
Tuesday Writing Prompt - "heaven in her eyes"
(posted by Devereaux and Beth)

He coveted her from the start
bewitching woman blinded him,
for he knew not of her black heart.
He coveted her from the start.
In her eyes he saw heaven's stars,
so full of romanticism.
He coveted her from the start
bewitching woman blinded him.
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“happy as grass”

Written for:  The Twiglets #231 - "happy as grass"

I'm happy as grass
that never gets cut.

He was only happy
when smoking grass;
he was always happy.

i will be happy
little girl tells her mom
when I grow like grass

        Little girl who was poorly behaved
        was on picnic with others her age.
              When time came to leave
               she started to scream
   'I'm staying on grass,' 'til snake bit her on the ass.
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Written for:  dVerse Poets Pub - Quadrille #130
(posted by Mish)

"Today, I give you the word …..


as a verb:

to cause (something) to become messily smeared by rubbing it.


a blurred or smeared mark on the surface of something

Build me a smudge-proof
house, where fingerprints
hide, and paw prints 
do not smudge
glass doors.  Upon 
moving in, we saw
smudgy-pudgy finger 
swipes in ice-pop hues
dotting refrigerator.
I’d love a dust-proof
house, but would settle
for smudge-proof.
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An Old Song Plays In My Mind

Written for:  Poetic Bloomings, Prompt #338
"Hey, That's My Line" #5

"Take that “I wish I had written that” line from one of the poems posted at Poetic Bloomings, or of a poem you love, and for the moment, make it your own …  as the title of a totally new poem. But, be sure to credit the poet and poem from which it came.  Have fun!"

Unspooling like 
an old reel of film,
my mind unravels
the words of Maggie May
by Rod Stewart.  Husky
and rasping his voice
takes me back
to a time in my
twenties, when lover
was all I ever wanted
to be.  I listened 
to a lot of Rod Stewart.
Most people I know
associate music
they love with events
in their lives.  I am
awaiting the next 
tune to unwind.

(Line taken from Mike Bayles
 for the prompt of hard and soft)
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Bourbon On The Rocks

Written for:  The Sunday Whirl, Wordle #505

Words:  game, shock, overshadowed, wicked, rock, fleeting,
        sounds, stick, glass, sugar, hand, shots

Could use a shot
of bourbon 
on the rocks
in a thick cut glass.
Hand me one, sugar,
would you?  A wicked
time has passed.  At
last we are less over-
shadowed by shock
over the fleetingness
of life.  It is not
just a game.  Now,
sounds sizzle in the streets,
shops welcome customers.
Laughter is kiting to
the sky.  Besides, I am weary
of suffocating in a mask
that sticks to my lips.
Bring me some chips,
and a shot of bourbon
on the rocks.
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Patterns in Clay

Written for: Sunday Muse #164

As I create
another vase,
I peer down
at my hands.
An intriguing web
of clay forms
patterns on my fingers, 
art work more innovative
than my pots and vases.

Posted in Purple's Home | Tagged , , , | 17 Comments

Daylight Delight

Written for: Poets and Storytellers United
Weekly Scribblings #73:  Butterflies and Moths
(posted by Rommy)

Daylight welcomes
butterflies as they flit
from flower to flower–
monarchs mimicking
stained glass, white,
yellow, and the beautiful
blue morpho who makes
its home in the tropical 
forests of Latin America.
A delicate dance
of wings brings joy
to mornings.
Posted in Purple's Home | Tagged , , , | 19 Comments

Vital Move

Written for:  Go Dog Go Cafe  (posted by Devereaux and Beth)
"Write a poem that uses the words, "weary", "nails", and
"mind control".

Weary of being the subject
of his father's mind 
control, he nailed a new
position on the opposite
coast, where he hoped
he was out of range.

Posted in Purple's Home | Tagged , , , , | 2 Comments

“no rope”

Written for:  The Twiglets #230 - "no rope"

I'd hang myself
but I have no rope.

As a child I loved
jumprope; thickness
of the cord gave 
heft when turned.
No jumprope like that

he spots the calf
frolicking in field
drops rope at his side

             His life was that of a fisherman,
              not an overly ambitious man.
                 Showed his son the ropes
                but the kid could not cope
        with rod, reel or smell of a river man.
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Written for:  Poetic Bloomings - Prompt #337
Winnie The Pooh And The Boring Day

"We want you to find poetry in the monotony of life. It could be a day that you manufactured yourself to get a break from something. Maybe you had no control and the boredom was thrust upon you. (Think of a pandemic of some kind – yes, use your imaginations). Make boredom interesting enough to read."

It's much too hot
to find a spot

Ennui sets in
head does spin
with list of chores.

I could write, yeah
read my book, nah
or not wash floors.

But, it's much too hot
to care a jot
I'm simply bored.
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Reluctant Child Prodigy

Written for:  Sunday Muse #163

You see me, hear me,
think my eyes are closed
to better concentrate
and feel this lovely
music.  Oh yes, I am
a child prodigy, not
not a choice made by me.  
In my mind I see kids 
my age playing sports, 
hanging out at someone's house
listening to all kinds
of music.  Always, I hear
their laughter.  This
instrument has become
my ball and chain.  When
I could play when and where
I wanted, I had a normal
life.  Now that is stifled,
and you cannot get time
back.  You see me, hear
me, but there is another
behind closed eyes.

Posted in Purple's Home | Tagged , , , | 24 Comments


Written for:  Go Dog Go Cafe: Huitain poetry  
Prompt by Donna Matthews

Here are the basic rules of the huitain:

8-line stanza
ababbcbc rhyme scheme
Usually 8 to 10 syllables per line

We slowly step towards normalcy,
everyone looking for guidance.
Weary of life in dormancy,
in need of each other's kindness.
Open doors to laughter, end silence,
and loneliness; bring on the hugs.
Give needy people sustenance.
See the hope in Spring's flower buds. 
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Take Care

Written for:  dVerse Poets Pub
Meeting The Bar:  To turn again, about turn again
(posted by Laura Bloomsbury)

“It is often remarked that if you are to read or repeat a word continually in a short period of time it seems odd or loses its meaning or sense altogether.” (Leo Cookman) 1

"Thus, one use of repetition in poetry is to dislodge the reader from preconceived ideas and meanings in order to hear the words, as if for the first time. Other poets seek to add a touch of musicality, especially with reiterative sound devices such as assonance and alliteration. Whilst word repetition is a way of being emphatic, dramatic even, to let the reader really hear and consider what is being said. Or perhaps to restate a theme as with the use of a Chorus or merely to round up the poem."

"Epiphora, from the Greek ‘to turn about/upon’, is used:-

To drive home a point
To make the words “catchy” or memorable
To express a deeply held belief
To convey strong emotion
To create a regular rhyme scheme
   So today we shall write our poem using any style or meter as long as it contains:

1a. Epiphora (aka Epistrophe or Antistrophe). The end line repeats should for the most part be consecutive, although allowances are made for alternates as well as the use of the repeat word with variance. Employ repetitions with the maxim ‘ too often is too heavy’!

Walking down the street he takes care
by looking right and left and carefully
listening for sudden footsteps approaching.
Danger lurks 'round every corner.  He cares
about the world and its people, so care-worn
from battling senseless violence.
Why the proliferation of guns?  Don't people care
that death is all around them? That it could
be their daughter, son, mother, father, care-giver,
next? Why do guns remain on the street, easy to
purchase by felons, and the mentally ill not under care.
Too many memorials, and vigils–not enough caring. 

Posted in Purple's Home | 15 Comments

Dog Mop

Written for:  Poets and Storytellers United
Weekly Scribblings #72:  unusual, uncommon, uncanny
(posted by Magaly)

"At this moment, for our 73rd Weekly Scribblings, I just wish to invite you to write poetry or prose which includes one (or all three) of the following words: unusual, uncommon, uncanny. You are welcomed to choose your own topic, genre, form… But your contribution must include at least one of the words."

He was an uncommon
breed of dog.  Looking
like an upside-down mop
made him appear quite
unusual.  With a uncanny
sense, I knew he would
win the contest.
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Mango Madness

Written for:  dVerse Poets Pub
Poetics:  How to Cut a Pomegranate  (posted by Kim)

"The challenge is to think of a fruit, how it looks before and after it has been cut open, and how it tastes. Think about where and how it grows, and what it makes you think of."

Mango–exotic name for a fruit
especially if you were growing 
up in Brooklyn.  Dad's passion 
was mangos.  Red and green ovals 
sat in bowls until deemed
ripe.  Too soon, and the taste
will be sour.  Too late,
and the fruit turns to mush.  
Do not be fooled by a mango's 
nondescript appearance.  Cut 
through skin in sections. Peel 
each one, and you will have found 
gold.  The center pit is large 
and long.  Your challenge is 
to remove as much golden fruit 
as you can.  Taste that juice, 
eat that fruit, and you will agree, 
the fuss is worth it.
Posted in Purple's Home | Tagged , , , , | 23 Comments

Red Herrings and Keys

Written for:  Go Dog Go Cafe  (posted by Devereaux and Beth)
"Write a poem that ends with the word "key".

Engrossed in fast-paced
mystery/thriller, she could
not guess who the killer was.
Red herrings popped up
in the story, some gory, but
who had blood on their hands?
As she neared the end wondering
when the culprit would be exposed,
a character of minor stature
proved guilty.  In this puzzle,
she had missed the key.
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“cupped hands”

Written for:  The Twiglets #229 - cupped hands

She cups her hands
to gather
Spring showers.

Cupped hands
gather no moss.

sits at the stream
making small waves in water
with cupped hands

             There was a man born with strange hands
             At the ends of his wrists were cups, and
                   though he could not write
                    he was quite the sight
          at water fountains and popcorn stands.
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The Shop of Curiosities

Written for:  dVerse Poets Pub
Quadrille #129: A Curiosity of Poems.  (Posted by whimsygizmo)

"Today, I want you to get curious. Let your curiosity get the best of your muse. I hope that you are curiously intrigued. Yes, for this week’s poem, take any form of the word curiosity you wish, and plant it firmly in your piece. Curiosity may have killed the cat, but today it’s going to build the poem. So open up your favorite curio cabinet of most fabulous words and phrases, and have a ball."

Sign read, CURIOSITIES.  I was
curious enough to enter, and see
what they were.

Came across a carousel horse,
all alone. Too large for
my curio cabinet.  Ruby red
glasses, pink teacups, and
old Coca Cola signs.

Was not curious enough
to keep browsing.
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Under the Moon Of Dreams Come True

Written for:  Poetic Bloomings
Prompt #336 - Under The Moon of (--------)

"Fill in the blank"

Under the moon of dreams come true
you can stand when the moon is full.
Gaze 'til a face appears to you,
under the moon of dreams come true.
If you chance upon one that's blue
your dreams will happen on schedule.
Under the moon of dreams come true
you can stand when the moon is full.
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Double Reflection

Written for:  Sunday Muse #162  (posted by Carrie)

after deluge
water pools amidst stones
bird marvels at swimming moon
sees his body reflected
in both water and moonlight
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Watching The Sun Go Down In A Waiting Room

Written for:  Poets and Storytellers United
Weekly Scribblings #91:  Waiting  (posted by Rosemary)

"Write about waiting."

You put off securing
an appointment.  You call.
'There is no availability
for at least a month, but
you can always go to the
ER if you think it is
an emergency.'

Finally, your big day arrives.
You are on time, but perhaps
for someone else's appointment.
Waiting room is filled with 
peeved patients–foot tappers,
magazine flippers, and pacers.

An hour goes by.  They call
your name, like you are a
lottery winner.  A perky 
assistant ushers you into 
a room cold enough 
to store meat.  After vitals
are taken, you are left,
bereft of covering except
for a flimsy cotton garment.
When the doctor deems
enough time has passed–half
an hour–she enters smiling.
Now you have forgotten
why you are there, and list
of pertinent questions
cannot be found.  The doctor
doesn't  mind, she's on
her computer anyway, back
Posted in Purple's Home | Tagged , , , , | 19 Comments

New City, Tired Feet

Written for:  dVerse Poets Pub
Poetics: “Go Ahead, Make My Day”  (posted by Mish)

"We all have our favourite movies that have deeply impacted us with powerful images and of course, those catchy lines, dialogue that transcends beyond the screen. Many movie quotes have made their way into our daily conversation, advertisements and more recently, “memes”. They have moved us, made us laugh and made us cry. Withstanding the test of time, they reproduce the scene for us over and over to enjoy again and again. Some are simple, some are silly while others have become ingrained in our brains because of their brilliance. For whatever reason, they stick."

"So as you may have predicted, “your mission should you choose to accept it” is to select one of the movie quotes above and incorporate it into a poem of any style."

Lost and broke
in a new city.
Feet blistering
as I walk from one
job prospect to
another. Brother!
what a humid heat
beats in this town.
I frown.  Have to get
off my feet, drink
something cool.  Hunger
can wait until there are
more coins in my pocket.

Find a diner, slide onto 
a red cracked vinyl stool 
at the counter.  'Large 
cherry coke, please' I say
to the harried waitress.
I sip as slowly as I can.
A well dressed, expensively
suited woman sits down beside me.
'Why honey,' she says, 'you
look ashen.  Are you all
right?'  Cue for my stomach
to rumble like a runaway

We chat.
She urges me to order
some food.  Humiliated,
I explain my situation.
She believes there is
a spot open in her company,
and invites me to stop in.
Against my protestations,
she buys me lunch.  Did she
have a hunch about me?
Well, there is no one 
in my family that will
help me out.  That's why
I have always depended
on the kindness of 
strangers.  We walk out
arm in arm.  I have hope.

(“I have always depended on the kindness of strangers.” 
– A Street Car Named Desire, 1951 –) 

Posted in Purple's Home | Tagged , , , , | 25 Comments

Casting Blues

Written for:  Go Dog Go Cafe  (posted by Devereaux and Beth)

"Write a poem based upon this picture."

Casts hues of blues
over building
and river where ferry
boats dock, awaiting
passengers at end of
working day.  Glaring
afternoon gold-rimmed
sun glitters off 
grassy park where people
and dogs stroll.  
Fugacious forms of clouds
drift slowly by.
Posted in Purple's Home | Tagged , , , , , | 4 Comments

“deranged silence”

Written for:  The Twiglets #228 - "deranged silence"

On a pitch black road
the car stutters,
shakes to a stop.  Silence
ensues.  She panics into
a state of derangement.

They called him deranged
because he was silent.
He had nothing to say.

silence engulfs lake
formerly deranged man listens
he is unused to quiet

         A woman became quite deranged.
      Doctors wondered at this sudden change.
         They found she'd discovered
           her husband and lover
       on her bed in flagrant display.
Posted in Purple's Home | Tagged , , , , , , | 8 Comments

May Moon

Written for:  dVerse Poets Pub - Haibun Monday
Flower Moon  (posted by Frank J. Tassone)

"The Full Moon of May is known as Flower Moon to signify the flowers that bloom during this month. There is a myriad of wildflowers which bloom in May in the Northern Hemisphere, where these traditional Full Moon names originated. For example, many types of anemone, wild garlic, indigo, bluebells, lupine, sundrops, and violets, to name just a few. It is no wonder that the colorful displays these flowers create in nature have inspired people to name this time after them."

"Write a moon haibun."

I gaze at phases the moon provides from crescent
to full flower moon in May.  Like a nanny,
the moon watches over its silver charges
bathed in its light.

Sometimes dark shadows appear on the face,
giving it a more somber appearance.  Moon,
in any phase is always a welcome sight.

     goslings under moon
     ethereal birds reflected
     pale shapes paddling
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Slick Sycamore

Written for:  One Woman's Quest II
VJ's Weekly Challenge

"Spend some time communing with trees."

Smooth bark,
elephant feet
planted firmly
on ancient roots
forming trails 
underground.  Little
pockets provide laps
to sit in.  Bumps
and knots protrude
in irregular patterns
adorning the torso.
The tree stands
outside my living
room window, a giant
sycamore I have named
Posted in Purple's Home | Tagged , , , , | 2 Comments

Steel and Silk

Written for:  Poetic Blooomings2
Prompt #335 - Soft and Hard

"We’re working both sides of the street today and delving into the concepts of SOFT and HARD. We’ll write either into a poem. But to compound things further, you are to come up with a compound word highlighting either extreme. We’ll be doing a few of these exercises with different opposing ideas so this is just the beginning.

You ask, “What does Walt mean compound words!” Think of these few examples: Soft Cell, Feather Soft, Hard Sell, Hard Times, soft opening, hard headed… You get the picture."

He was a hard-boiled
detective.  She was
soft silk stockings
that swished as
she walked.  Talked
about the hard times
besetting her.  He knew
he would do anything
to avoid upsetting her.  
His steel blue eyes met 
her liquid brown pools
like melted chocolate.
She was being harassed
by a hard-core stalker.
He walked her home to check
things out, see her safe.
After a couple of bourbons
on the rocks, he told her
he would take her case.  What
else could a hard-boiled 
detective do?
Posted in Purple's Home | Tagged , , , , | 1 Comment

The Attraction of Pale Blue

Written for:  Sunday Muse #161

Surreal Art by Catrin Welz-Stein
Butterflies gravitate
towards pale blue
like my dress.  They
know I will care
for them.  Not put
them in a cage.  Now
that you have released
them, I do hope
the butterflies will
forgive you, and your
washed out pink frock.  
Posted in Purple's Home | Tagged , , , , | 23 Comments

Beat of Three

Written for:  dVerse Poets Pub
Meet The Bar Waltzing  (posted by Bjorn)

. . . Thinking of the beat of a poem, like a waltz . . .

I attempt to count to three
as you try to teach
the rhythm of waltz to me.

You move your feet so lightly
as if you dance on air.
My movements are unsightly.

Oh how your feet will throb
from my heel's imprint,
a hazard of your job.
Posted in Purple's Home | Tagged , , , , | 22 Comments

About Maya Angelou

Written for:  dVerse Poets Pub  (posted by Laura Bloomsbury)
Poetics:  Poems To A Poet

"Select ONE of our favourite poets (a celebrated or a lesser known one) and write a poem either

About them (the indirect voice, as exemplified in the first two poems)
Addressing them in the direct voice"

You overcame a brutal
childhood trauma
     and rose above it

You wrote, and sang
with a light-filled shining face
     so free

You knew the secret
of the caged bird
     sharing it

You wrote, A Letter To My Daughter
though you did not have one
     you dreamed

I saw you on stage, lit from within
unforgettable experience
     you lived
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Good Intentions

Written for:  Weekly Scribblings #70: Listmania

"Hello, Word Artists and Admirers! For this week's poetry prompt I'd like us to think about lists. Your mission, if you choose to accept it, is to compose either a list poem or prose piece that incorporates the idea of a list."   (posted by Rommy)

I make lists.  I even
take them with me.  As
soon as I enter the grocery,
the list becomes the lesser
part of my shopping purchases.
An example:  I wanted to make
pork fried rice.  I needed a
new bottle of soy sauce, an
onion, some scallions, and
ground pork.  Fruit was first,
then a vegetable that looked
particularly fresh, though
it would not be by the time 
I used it.  A box of cookies,
a chocolate bar, jar of jam,
and my list items . . . all
except for the ground pork.
I ground up some chicken
cutlets instead, and promptly
sliced my finger on a
food processor blade.
Glad to have some frozen
Amy's dinners to fall back on.
Posted in Purple's Home | Tagged , , , | 10 Comments

Changing Face

Written for:  Go Dog Go Cafe  (posted by Devereaux and Beth)

"Write a poem based upon this picture:"

Used to be lit
by lamplight,
now glaring street
lights make it less
homey.  Being built
up, you know.  A
tremendously tall
edifice, secretly
hidden behind canvas
draws speculation
from the elders
of our town.  Too
big.  Can't be anything
we need.  Used to be
lit by lamplight.
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“silent, like sleep”

Written for:  The Twiglets #227 - silent, like sleep

Bedroom seemed silent,
we thought he was asleep,
'til he snorted like a tea kettle.

Only the sleep of the dead
is silent.

she sleeps soundly
no expression on her face
chaos in nightmares

         That guy's gonna sleep with the fishes
        said the Mob boss.  Those were his wishes
              He sent out his goons
             with some cement shoes
        and the fishes found him delicious!
Posted in Purple's Home | Tagged , , , , , | 9 Comments

Picnic in Park

Written for:  One Woman's Quest II
VJ's Weekly Challenge

"I have this fantasy, that we all meet – money and COVID not being an issue. I ponder the how and where, imagining animated conversations and unexpected bondings.

Won’t you join me this week with a little fantasy. Help me fill in the details.

Can’t wait to see what you come up with. Could be a setting, a preview of the agenda, an imagined conversation, or even a guest list. Have fun."

Select a rural space,
a place in which to have 
a picnic.  Jot down
what you would like
to bring.  It is Spring,
so we can spread out
large blankets. Suggestions:
cheese, crackers, wine, etc.
We chat, laugh, tell tales,
and eat our repast.  Then,
someone begins a story,
and each subsequent
person writes the next
line. We will get to know
each other, eat, drink,
and have a finished
piece of writing in
which everyone takes a
portion of the credit.
Posted in Purple's Home | Tagged , , , , , , | 7 Comments

Stay Calm

Written for:  dVerse Poets Pub - Quadrille

What's In a Word?  (posted by Lillian)

It’s WOUND. How did you just pronounce the word in your head when you read it? It can be pronounced in two different ways, each with its own meaning. It is indeed a homograph!"

"Want to make today’s prompt a bit tougher?  Instead of just using one pronunciation/meaning of WOUND as one of the 44 words, include the word WOUND twice – as two of the 44 words – using both of its meanings/pronunciations and thus including the homographic pair. Whether you use the word “wound” once or twice in the body of the poem, the poem must be exactly 44 words in length- not including the title."

I am wounded, bleeding.
Please call for an
ambulance, but take no
chances.  Wrap my leg
up first.  Don’t curse,
Do you want me
to lose my leg?  Yes,
you can.  Do not get 
all wound up; use your 
shirt, and tie it tightly.

Posted in Purple's Home | Tagged , , , | 23 Comments

Not Happening

Written for:  Poetic Bloomings2
Prompt #334 - It Happens

"What has happened?  What would you like to happen?"

Consistency continues
day after day.  In
my gut, I feel like
I am stuck in a rut.
Oh, to be at a beach, away

from thoughts that linger
in the forefront of my brain.
Afternoons lolling on sand,
evenings dining on seafood.  No
appointments, temporarily sane.

I need no European vacation,
nor formal clothes of any kind.
A mere change of scenery
would be refreshing with soaring
birds, and scent of ocean brine.

Posted in Purple's Home | Tagged , , , | 4 Comments

Spring Break

Written for:  Sunday Whirl, Wordle #502

Words:  Florida, news, middle, lie, run, fun, girls, unify,
        scandal, hard, second, spray

Spring break school girls
are unified in their decision
to take Spring break in 
Florida.  What fun to lie
on soft sand, jet-ski, 
and not have to run 
on a schedule.  On-line
schooling made concentration
hard.  Stealing away 
from bad news that sprayed
on them like acid rain.  
Escape being caught 
in the middle of local 
scandals, and not,
for a second, think of
returning home.
Posted in Purple's Home | Tagged , , , , | 4 Comments

Party of Hunters

Written for:  Poets and Storytellers United
Weekly Scribblings #69:  Of The Hunt  (posted by Magaly)

"I invite you to write poetry or prose from the point of view of a character or speaker who is hunting, being hunted, or both."

I am six years old 
today.  We are playing
Treasure Hunt.  My friends
spread out among trees
and bushes.  I search 
grass and flowers.  Starts
to seem like hours of hunting.
We are looking for a large 
gold coin.  Hope someone
finds it soon so we can have
my birthday cake.
Posted in Purple's Home | Tagged , , , | 5 Comments

Pink Sand Castles

Written for:  Sunday Muse #160  (posted by Shay)

I lean against 
these tenement bars,
cold steel, like
this city.  While holding
my face up to the sun, I
close my eyes, and dream 
of an island life, friends
gathered around me, teal
pools, green seas,
and pink sand castles
that never crumble.
Posted in Purple's Home | Tagged , , , | 22 Comments

This Poem is Blues

Written for:  dVerse Poets Pub - Poetics:  Blue Tuesday
(posted by sarahsouthwest)

"In March last year, I asked you to write some red poems. Tonight, I want you to write me some blue poems.

Red is pretty straightforward. It’s out there – fiery, passionate, dangerous! Blue is different. It’s a little cooler, a little stranger, a little more mysterious.

Let’s think about blue for a bit. Blue is the sky and the sea, obviously, so we associate it with calm and peacefulness. Other than that, there’s not much of it in nature. Most of the flowers we call “blue” are actually purple, there are few blue birds and lizards, a handful of butterflies, and a couple of fish. We recoil from blue food, because we associate the colour with blue mould."

that get you on indigo nights-
that wails, weeps, leaves
you sleepless.

This poem shivers-quivers you
like Alaska's ice floes.

This poem is music crying

This poem is Bluebeard,
infamous pirate.

This poem is a pool
to drown sorrows in.

This poem is an ocean
to clean-sheen you
washed of blues
and whole again.

Posted in Purple's Home | Tagged , , , , | 24 Comments