Food

Light is made material,
in colour, shape and form,
substantial and ethereal;
all our food is born.

Consciousness in cherries,
cows and carrots too,
cornucopia brimming;
all for me and you.

Nature offers nourishment,
varied and sublime,
bringing us our nutrients;
all that is required.

Succulent the fruits,
tempting all that veg,
nothing can't be used;
everything so fresh.

So is life sure offered,
more than we can eat,
bounty to be gathered;
leaving us replete.

http://dversepoets.com/2015/06/16/poetics-you-are-my-caviar/

 

Hermit

That place where one can sit in silence, be alone

And where the presence of others is not denied,

But put aside, to form that crucible of isolation;

To make that haven of solace and required distance.

 

If only there were more such quiet realms waiting,

Or ready to be constructed, somewhere inside of mind,

Holding out the promise of peace and concentration;

Undisturbed by noise and travails in this time.

 

Yet in our constant, deep, demanded connection, is

It possible to step aside, to put ourselves beyond

Others, distinct from hearts and minds which call

Across oceans and through hours; always touching?

If only

If only we could turn back time,
or trim the world to fit, edit, tidy
draw new shapes, hold back the
pain a bit. But life remains

inexorable, all happens as it
should, at least that's what I
tell myself, to ease the hurt
which holds, and make it

just more bearable, diluted
in its form, so mind and
heart can process, assimilate,
absorb, and find a place

where hopes can stand, and
where the future hints, of
possibilities, now felt lost;
of love returned as gift.

If only we could turn back time,
or trim the world to fit, edit, tidy
draw new shapes, hold back the
pain a bit. But life remains.......

Place

Having had my first effort at a palindrome summarily removed as a link without any warning or guidance, or time given to correct, I have turned the original variation on the theme of palindrome so it can be read backwards.

And if this gets removed I give up.

I.



The cuckoo in the nest which time did bring,
as if my form could have no settled shape,
destined to be other, held separate and apart:
there seemed to be no place to put myself.

No matter all the efforts and the tears,
the one who would find no sure place to rest,
the cuckoo in the nest which time did bring,
and I was doomed to never quite fit in.

As if my form could have no settled shape,
the twisting to manoeuvre into place,
no matter all the efforts and the tears;
there seemed to be no place to put myself.

As if my form could have no settled shape,
and I was doomed to never quite fit in,
the twisting to manoeuvre into place;
No matter all the efforts and the tears.

The cuckoo in the nest which time did bring:
and I was doomed to never quite fit in,
as if my form could have no settled shape;
there seemed to be no place to put myself.


II.

There seemed to be no place to put myself, 

as if my form could have no settled shape, 

and I was doomed to never quite fit in; 

the cuckoo in the nest which time did bring. 

 

No matter all the efforts and the tears, 

the twisting to manoeuvre into place, 

and I was doomed to never quite fit in; 

as if my form could have no settled shape. 

 

There seemed to be no place to put myself, 

no matter all the efforts and the tears, 

the twisting to manoeuvre into place; 

as if my form could have no settled shape. 

 

And I was doomed to never quite fit in, 

the cuckoo in the nest which time did bring, 

the one who would find no sure place to rest; 

no matter all the efforts and the tears. 

 

There seemed to be no place to put myself, 

destined to be other, held separate and apart, 

as if my form could have no settled shape; 

the cuckoo in the nest which time did bring.

 

 

http://dversepoets.com/2015/06/11/meeting-the-bar-palindrome-poetry

 

Seasons

I watched you over seasons ever long,
saw time take you to where you did belong,
and days draw in to limit, keep, retain;
a song of life sung to its own refrain.

The drum was distant yet you heard the call,
and followed where it led and gave your all,
committed to the path, let angels lead;
left behind what did not fit your creed.

It was as if you followed maps unseen,
determined to make real your inner dreams,
and in the doing left us far behind,
until there was no trace of you to find.

So now we mark the edges of your form,
seek substance in the shadows finely drawn,
and hold to memories of all you were;
gone now, and likely never to return.

 https://imprompt.wordpress.com/2015/06/11/the-yam/

 

Blemish

Yes I am less than perfect,

those defects are displayed,

the fault of inner grieving;

disfigurement engraved.

But Soul has no deformity,

and ego may be bruised,

as Self repairs the damage

from years of heavy use.

'Erect,' the angels whispered,

stand tall, upright and straight,

hold to your inner knowing,

let no-one fabricate.

There could be no dishonour,

in being who I was,

constructed in experience;

assembled in full trust.

Unique in all time made me,

with foibles, flaws and vice,

lopsided in so many ways,

askew, awry, not nice.

And yet in all the ruins,

of who I might have been,

was someone truly beautiful;

things are not what they seem.

 

For in the dregs and dross,

the blights and scars alike,

stains and smears of being,

we shine as heart's delight.

There can be nothing perfect,

time renders us reduced,

and in the wounds of living,

we find our deepest truths.

 

Blemish, erect, lopsided.

http://www.threewordwednesday.com/2015/06/3ww-week-no-431.html

Moon

A light in the moon by Silke Otto-Knapp


Wistful in your rising into sallow night,
holding to horizon as you draw yourself,
up into the dusted, fading drift of sky;
so is moon then placed on heaven's shelf.

Subtle is your dance of yellowed light,
caressing edge and form of all below,
redolent and making darkness bright;
fears dispelled of that we do not know.

Softer is your touch than shining day,
gentler is the face you bring to earth,
wiser is the gift of hallowed gaze;
watching over dreams as they do birth.

Visions creep at edges bare revealed,
hiding from the truth you would display,
sun now lost and for the hours is sealed;
lunacy  does beckon, leads us all astray.



http://dversepoets.com/2015/06/09/poetics-black-and-white/