that's mrs. mediocrity to you

it is winter it is summer it is spring
all green and hope and
procreation
blind sun
squinting through branches
more bare
than picked over
bones

it is bird call and free fall
moss and shadow
growth that forces its way
in and out
of yesterday’s
vision

it is
fuel for the fire of tomorrow
seed for the next generation

fecund with promises promises

that will all

be

broken

repeated

believed

broken

it is winter it is summer it is spring

::

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this post is part of:

the scintilla project. see more here

Today’s prompt:
Talk about breaking someone else’s heart,
or having your own heart broken.

and

dVerse poets Open Link Night, join us!

::

Write a list of 23.
(I chose some of my favorite words).

::

rapscallion and serendipity

infinite

monkshood and ranunculus

mediocrity

zephyr and perpetual

phosphorescent

desiderata and flibbertigibbet

periwinkle

bivouac and supercilious

onomatopoeia

harbinger and possibility

decorum

ramshackle and luminary

whimsical

reverberation

and

mellifluous

::

this post is part of the scintilla project. see more here.

spring comes
on the day
when i rise
to the surface
of the pool
that was winter

gasping for air.

the sun
warms my face
as i pull
myself up
hand over hand
clinging to vine

and veracity.

the grey ghost
regrets his decision
to give up
the reins
a week early,
but in the forest

the vulture

smiles.

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::

this post is part of:

the scintilla project. see more here.

Today’s prompt: Show a part of {your} nature that you feel you’ve lost.
Can you get it back? Would it be worth it?.

and

 dVerse poets Open Link Night, join us!

::

when i was a child i found a rock
that shone with flecks of gold

excited (and thinking it was real)
i ran to show it to my father

who gently explained (in the way
that fathers do) that it was not.

he told me the name of my pretty,
sparkly nugget and i was sorry.

worthless, he said, trying to explain
the difference between pyrite

and the gold that circled his finger,
and together we imagined the

disappointment of miners who surely
must have thought they struck it rich.

yesterday, i walked through a garden
that was not mine and stopped in the sun

to chat with a friend and (listening) i looked
down to discover chunks of my childhood

sparkling up at me and i smiled as i stooped
to pick up three pieces to give to her girls.

i told her the name and the story, and then
placed one last piece in my own pocket,

because these days, i am happy to believe
that there is far more value in this stone

that glitters just enough to remind me
of a long ago moment with my father

than there is in any amount
of the real thing.

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this post is part of dVerse poets Open Link Night, join us!

i watched a seagull fly over a field of snow
and the word metaphor flashed through my mind
though i refused to take it any further
because all i really wanted to do was watch it fly.

by mid-afternoon the sun had melted all the snow
into a watershed running through my fingers
down over my toes and i thought that perhaps
i had imagined that shadow of white on white,

sun glinting off wings built for shores less frozen
but then (of course) i found a feather in my hair
that i am certain was as black as any raven’s
and the wind tore it from my grasp precisely

at that perfect, beautiful moment when
i recognized the color of hunger.

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this post is part of dVerse poets Open Link Night, join us!

by dawn the stars have been forced behind the curtain
all sparkling chitter chatter must be silenced
as the boss man takes his place in the sky
defeating darkness inch by inch and
rapping at windows to prove his prowess

i shield my eyes and make wishes on pennies

rise to stand here sipping tea and folding laundry
feeling small and perfectly ordinary creating
order from chaos one shirt at a time living
always in the circle of my mind that glows in
patterns as rich as sunshine and at night

i simply try to remember the light

.

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this post is part of dVerse poets Open Link Night join us!

when we first met
i used to lay my head on your chest
and listen to your heartbeat.

after all these years
i can hear it
even when you’re
not in the room.

the rhythm of my steps
the patterns of my days
the music of my life.

the shape of
you.

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Happy Valentine’s Day, Mr. M

in my sleep i can skate to the other side
…………artfully missing all the weak spots
…………gliding smoothly in arcs and swashes

…………………but in the light of day i lie on my belly
…………………………….scoot my way across the thinnest places
………………………the ones where i can see bottom and

…………words wave up at me, asking to be rescued
…………or at least remembered (even willing to be
………………………….used) but this ice
…………………………………refuses to shatter

…………………or split
……………………..or splinter and

…………………i have no opening
…………all i can do is watch as phrase and dangling
…………………….participle sink down into mud

…………to be eaten later by hungry catfish, or
………………………occasionally
………………..disintegrating before my eyes
………………………………letters break off
…………………………………………..and slowly
…………………………………..begin

……………….their ascent to the surface
……………………..spelling words i hadn’t thought of
…………………………………that stick
……………..………………to the underside
…………………………………….of this cold glass sheet

………………………………………………….teasing me
………………….………….……………taunting me

………………………………..i can see them,
……………………………hear them,
…………………………………spell them out on
…………………………………….my tongue
……………                   ……………but they remain
……………………………………………………..out of reach

………………………begging
……………………………for warmth as i

…………………………………….press my cheek to the ice

………………………………………………………shivering

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this post is part of dVerse poets Open Link Night join us!

she crawls on her belly
through a barbed-wire world
eating hope and fire
as they drip down to earth
from all kinds of secret places
in the sky

her life is lived
in moments of peace
and she lies on her belly
in a bed made of mud
as her fingers form clay
into bowls of tomorrow

she collects
heart-shaped stones
curves sticks
into smiles
and empties fossils
from her pockets
at sundown

her tears
mix with seed
to grow
night-blooming vines
in shades of lavender
and purple
to be braided
into bracelets
for the moon

she has words
as companions
and silver
for protection
and if you
put your ear
to the ground
you can listen
to her heart

beat

.

.

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this post is part of dVerse poets Open Link Night join us!

it was no coincidence that you crossed my path
grey winged and sharp shinned
causing me to trip on my own shadow

you rose high in the sky, the color of winter
and i felt your power fall back to earth
in a tiny tumbleweed of promises.

my hope never meant as much as your survival
and no one has ever measured up to your glare
but she called you icarus in a threaded whisper

that still echoes through each moonlit night
in the season of cold and the year of empty
like the drip and song of icicles melting.

the fact that you soar is my forgiveness.

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this post is part of dVerse poets Open Link Night join us!