Calling In The Dog

Written for:  Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads – “The Poem as a One-Sided Conversation”.  (posted by Kerry)
Today, I wish for us to celebrate the poem as a one-sided conversation, written for a silent and even disinterested audience, because poetry is an aspect of individual creativity that goes beyond literary appreciation or criticism. We write because we think and the act of setting the words down shows that these thoughts matter, maybe to ourselves alone, maybe to someone else who happens to read them.

When Murphy goes out
in the yard at night
he vanishes. I look
through the glass
of the back door. Sure
enough, he is never there,
where the light pools
on deck or concrete.
A chubby auburn dachshund
dashes off and fades
into night shadows. Ready
for bed, I bang on the glass.
He passes by, looks at me,
changes direction. I wonder
how many of my neighbors
hear me try to whisper
forcefully, “Murphy, Murphy”
to no avail. Then, tail
wagging, he appears with no fear
of retribution.

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Painting Voices

Written for:  Poets United Midweek Motif~Voice

In this motif, voice is not a literary technique, but the willingness to speak from a specific point of view despite fear of consequences. That is today’s theme: the bravery or bravado of insisting on having a voice.

According to Voltaire, ““Writing is the painting of the voice.” I love the ambiguity of this definition when applied to today’s motif: Does “the voice” paint? Does writing paint “the voice”?

“Powerlessness and silence go together.”
― Margaret Atwood, Second Words

“. . . . only one thing is more frightening than speaking your truth.
And that is not speaking.”
― Audre Lorde, Sister Outsider

Beware white fog that chokes the golden words
sitting in back of your throat, unheard.
You can speak, yet you sit there mute.
Add green grass and heaven’s blue;
don’t let them silence you.
Instead of moping,
here’s what to do:
unleash you
red notes,

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Another Day

Written for:  Poetic Asides #428 – Another ________

Another day, another shooting
another casket, another child lost.
More time wasting, leaders sit disputing.
Another day, another shooting
in blood and grief the country is stewing.
No action taken, look what it’s cost–
another day, another shooting
another casket, another child lost.

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Where Am I?

Written for:  dVerse Poets Pub – Poetics:  “This One’s On Me”  (posted by Paul)

We are of course a pub where only virtual drinks are drunk and where the the real selection on offer is the talent of the group to create word wizardry from any prompt.

So what if we combine those two. Poems and drink? Now before you rush off to get tipsy, (although that could make for an interesting prompt!) what I mean is let us tonight bring poems to the pub about drinking. There have been such prompts in the past in various guises so I would like you to be creative with your words.

Our task this evening is then crystal clear. Pen a poem about drinking and be as creative as you wish with the word. Drinking also offers up some fabulous verbage for us to play with. Feel free to slurp me a sonnet, guzzle me a ghazal or chug me a chanso.

Of course the drink need not be alcoholic nor even drink right? We are after all poets!!

On a summer evening outdoors in the garden
a couple drank  Absinthe in metal glasses.
The cold devilish drink made them ardent
Though she felt heat, it was not from flashes.

Becoming tipsy, they laughed quite loudly
Causing nearby patrons to glance their way.
The couple was drawing a crowd, you see.
Slowly evening darkness consumed the day.

After a while, and applause, they staggered off
and what happened next was anyone’s guess.
He woke with a ring on his finger–the fourth
she awoke on the floor next to her dress.

The moral: don’t drink Absinthe with abandon
or your future will be one you had no hand in.

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before dawn

Written for:  The Twiglets #64 – “before dawn”

Before dawn:

– it was dark
– my dishes were greasy
– cow jumped over moon
– stars rearranged themselves
– sun snored
– I had a nightmare
– the garden statues partied

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Written for:  Carpe Diem #1369 – Kamala (along the Silk Road & reading Siddhartha) 

Along The Silk Road

Buddhism along the Silk Road


“Along the Silk Road there must have been something like places where the traders, mostly men, could find their pleasures, if you understand what I mean. And I think that the “Kama Sutra” ideas were also spread along the Silk Road, because the Silk Road wasn’t only a trading route but also a route to spread ideas and beliefs from other countries. We already saw that Buddhism came along the Silk Road and maybe this “Tantra-philosophy” also came to the several countries along the Silk Road. Maybe I am just someone who thinks to much and loves to share his thoughts with his audience, but I love to share these things with you all.”

A little controversial episode I think. At the one hand the “Kama Sutra” (the world) and at the other hand Buddhism (the Inner world), but I think it fits our theme … the Silk Road.

The Silk Road was as controversial as this episode … so I think I can publish this.”

for the first time
climbing the tree of love
along the Silk Road

© Chèvrefeuille (our host)

Here is my attempt:

a weary trader
walking for miles on the silk road
finds his pleasure

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Grey Matter

Written for:  dVerse Poets Pub – Haibun Monday – “The beauty and the misery of grey”
(posted by Bjorn)

“Today I would like you to consider grey as a subject for your haibun.

Grey can be everything between black and white, all the possibilities of compromise and harmony. Solution

Grey is also absence of color an absence of joy. Fifty shades of misery

Grey is winter, whiteout, mist and rain. It could be the swelling of the sea. Maybe you recall a moment sitting by a lake an overshadowed day in February.

Grey is ink-wash, old pewter and the haircolor of old age, it’s gneiss and granite.

Grey can be the promise of soil to seed.”

I have often been told that I only see issues in black or white.
That might be true, but it gave me power to make quick decisions
and life changes. Maybe they were not all wise, but they were
mine. To linger long in grey areas can confuse, depress, or paralyze.

On the other hand, my friend painted her bedroom in “Manhattan Mist”.
Most beautiful shade of grey I have ever seen, soft and soothing
with a mystique that lures you in.

on the beach
cry of summer seagulls in flight
misty grey fog

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ocean life

Written for:  Haiku Horizons – “vanish”

Blue ocean life
we turned our backs and you

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Following The Path To Madness

Written for:  The Sunday Whirl, Wordle #339

Words:  urge, sand, wind, sound, follow, madness, shout, power, miss, memory, hunger, boundless

There is an urge
to follow madness
during these days of power’s fist,
where shouting and violence
are sounds that hiss

from mouths of liars with egos
that know no bounds,
who lack regard
for hard times, for hunger,
sailing through life unscarred.

Where are you out there who follow,
who choose to dismiss
kindness, caring, and memories?
Have you forgotten the strong winds
that carry our democracy?

Take your head out of the hourglass;
time is running out.

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Satiric Verse

Written for:  Imaginary Gardens With Real Toad  – Hasta La Vista, Wormtail: Satiric Verses  (posted by Brendan)

“So, fellow humans of dust: What are your satiric verses this day? Take permission to unsheathe the sharpest tongue in your mouth. Take aim at the rapscallions. Let fly your fart arrows and sputum with epigrams and follies, limericks and rhymes, bawdy and bitter and otherwise.

As this is an invitation for criminally tart invectives, I’m insulating the Garden this weekend with lead walls for the blasts and soundproofing against official ears. To flip a line from Macbeth, let satire be the whetstone of your anger!

Let’s go kill some rats!”

Your orange skin becomes you,
true, if your were orangutan.
Squinting those beady eyes
makes you look constipated, not wise.
KFC is embarrassed
to have you as a patron.
Pasty skin is a plus
if you double as Elmer’s glue.
Forward combed blonde hair–
use Nair. You don’t have much
anyway. See that lovely lady
on your arm?
She will soon be gone.

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