Tipping The Scales

Written for:  Poets United Midweek Motif~”Life:  Paradox And/Or Balance”  (posted by Sumana)

Our life is a hybrid of opposites and we struggle to strike a balance between the two forces.

In this whirlpool of apathy and care, brutality and kindness, faith and doubt, pleasure and pain human life shines in its perfect balance.

Explore the opposites and let all merge together in a harmony that life is.

Or you might either write about the antithesis that life is or an impossible balance that life is.

“Every exit is an entry somewhere.”— Tom Stoppard

“Life is strong and fragile. It’s a paradox…..It’s both things, like quantum physics: it’s a particle and a wave at the same time. It all exists all together.”— Joan Jett

Illiteracy – Intelligence

Balance swings
in favor of
when education

Wealthy – Poor

Although there are
more poor than wealthy,
wealth rules. If wealthy
people are charitable
and care, balance
could improve.

Prejudice – Tolerance

Bias may be passed down
by generation. Again,
education can improve
attitudes. Learning
other cultures, conversing
with people different
from you, can benefit
each side, and the scale
would tip towards tolerance.


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“crisp beige”

Written for:  The Twiglets #109 – “crisp beige”

crisp beige
neatly pressed folds that flutter
kitchen curtains

Her brand new beige blanket
was burnt to a crisp
in the accidental fire.

She looked smart in her beige Channel suit
knowing they’d be eager to recruit
her for the position
as head of nutrition
as long as her addiction to Twinkies was kept mute.


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Written for:  dVerse Poets Pub – Quadrille #71 – “ch-ch-ch-ch-changes”  (posted by De)
Today I want us to chatter a bit about the word change.  The changing of the guards. Spare change. Positive change. Change your clothes. Change your attitude. Change your life. Changed. Changeability. Changing. You could even go a little creepy on us, and write about a changeling. Whatever you write, just be sure it’s 44 words, and includes some alteration of the word change.


Look at her!
She is a changed girl.
Well dear, after dressing
in worn rags, no decent
shoes on her feet, and that
unruly hair, who could
have guessed she was
a beauty.
No doubt there will be
stiff competition
at that ball tonight.

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes (Quadrille #71)


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Chilled Notes

Written for:  The Sunday Muse #38


I send chilled notes
to you, so far away
on another galaxy.
My hair is graying.
Cold never changes.
Come home to me,
and bring back the warmth.


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What Drives Me To Pick Up A Pen

Written for:  Poetic Bloomings2 – Prompt #230, “Motivation” – What gets you (keeps you)  on track?  Write a poem about what motivates you to write.

If I hear a funny
conversation, see an
unusual sight,
I write.

If I think of people,
and animals I’ve known
and loved in my life,
I write.

If death rears its head,
causing me to lose
someone I love dearly,
I write.

If I am in the early
days of depression
when all seems futile,
I write.

If the government pisses
me off, and I begin
shouting at the television,
I write.

My motivations are plentiful, and,
I love to write.


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Wayward Weather

Written for:  The Sunday Whirl, Wordle #386

Words:  glazed, wail, will, box, name, wheel, rain, snap, frame, white, depends, bait

White sails snap
at frame of boat.
They are out too
far. Weather quickly
changes its mind, as
it will. Sunny sky
begins to veil gray.
A wail of wind ensues,
opening skies to rain.
She knows nothing
about boats. Her living
depends upon a potter’s
wheel, and glazes for
her finished works. He
says her name, reassuring
her that he will get them
to shore. She thinks
she is shark bait. She
worries about Bruno,
their Boxer. Who will
take care of him? Suddenly,
sky blinks, silver stops
falling. A rainbow appears,
and the little sailboat
coasts safely to shore.


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Written for:  Carpe Diem #1579 – bonfire (takibi)

bonfire (takibi)

sit around bonfire,
sparks rise and fly like glow worms;
charred logs fall with thud.

© Mamta Agarwal

foot of the mountain–
without a cheer
my New Year’s bonfire

© Kobayashi Issa

the scent of pine trees overwhelms the senses –
back to school again

© Chèvrefeuille (our host)

Here is my attempt:

scented flames
waft over ocean waves
bonfire on beach




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Watermelon Basket

Written for:  Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads:  Just One Word – “Hollow”
(posted by Marian)
“With the new year, let’s try a new weekend challenge here in the Garden. Let’s try allowing just one word to provide a springboard for our poems and see what happens.”

Large oval watermelon–
beginning of Mom’s
fabulous fruit-filled
basket. First step, hollow
out juicy pink melon,
leaving one strip of
rind on top. Mom cut
zig-zag fringe to make
a handle. No one could
hold a candle to the artistry
she displayed. Myriad of
melons were turned
into balls with a scoop, golden
pineapple and small strawberries
added last. Everyone oohed
and aahed at Mom’s glorious
creation. There is a hollow
in my heart when I think of Mom
and her celebrated baskets of fruit.


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heart open

Written for:  Carpe Diem #1578 Amaryllis (modern kigo)
“This month we will explore the seasonwords (kigo) for winter. A kigo is a word that indicates the season in which the haiku scene was seen. This month I will try to inspire you through modern and classical kigo for winter. Today I have chosen a nice modern kigo (taken from Jane Reichhold’s “A Dictionary of Haiku”) … Amaryllis.”


Here are a few haiku themed “Amaryllis” created by Jane Reichhold:

the amaryllis bud
already red

low-slanted sun
in the red amaryllis
turning on lights

© Jane Reichhold (taken from the online version of “A Dictionary of Haiku”)

Here is my attempt: 

hearts open
bleeding red in winter
blooming amaryllis


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Written for:  Carpe Diem Weekend Meditation #66 On the road again … Tacna (Peru)
We have arrived at Tacna Peru, close to the Chile border, and as you maybe know Peru was once part of Spain and the main religion was Catholic church. For this weekend meditation I have a wonderful image for you of the “Catedral de Tacna” to inspire you. Next to that image I love to challenge you to create a haibun with a maximum of 250 words (including the poetry) in which you try to describe your “inner journey”.

I constantly seek signs from people I love who have passed on.
Sometimes I wake in the middle of the night, certain I hear
my father saying my name.

Meditation has become an avenue of seeing myself, recognizing
what is truly important, and what is trivial. Inner peace
is illusive, yet worth striving to reach. So I continue,
and wonder if I will ever feel it , and if it has become a fixation.

Dogs smile
On walks they are ecstatic
Have they found an answer?


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