In Flight

I’m not remembering
what planted the seed

Maybe it was the repetition,
Everything three times

The bare bones of the vocabulary
was odd

Always seem to be searching trying to hang onto thoughts in flight

No one dared put words to such unsettling thoughts

Pat
5/04/21

At dVerse Poets Pub Merril is hosting Quadrille night, we’re using “seed” in a poem.

The Moment

It is especially windy today, and a bit cold. It feels like a leftover winter day. The pear tree is up in arms. Limbs are being tossed about and there are blossoms everywhere. They are on the car, the steps, the yard next door, the sidewalk and the short japanese maple. It was weird seeing falling blossoms perch on the maple’s leaves, if only for a moment.

The toddler next door is in his front yard with his grandmother. I pause to watch him from the porch as I wave hello to the grandmother. Why are they even outside on a day like this, I wonder. Cabin fever perhaps.

He is fascinated and is trying to catch blossoms in midair. Of course, he never really catches any. Yet, at the present moment, he is very much in the present and there is fun to be had.

spring wind cuts a path

carpet of pear blossoms with

vanishing footprints..

Pat
4/26/21

For dVerse Poets Pub where Frank is hosting and the prompt is… ” the present moment”. To join in or just read go here

black like me

Please pass by the original post and let Michael know you stopped by🙂

michaeljordahl

when my granddaughter milli

painted her doll’s face black

we all yelled at her for it;

now, after thinking about it

she’s the only black child

in our entire community

now i understand

dammit

now i understand

 

–photo by me

View original post

Still Life

(not mine)

this ghostly remains

now a part of the landscape –

new life, as still life

Pat

4/21/21

For Colleens Tanka Tuesday where this week we are using this photo to write an Ekphrastic Poem. I kept it short.

Amidst decay, there can still be beauty as nature plays her part.

For other entries or to participate go here

Little Things

Stomping through puddles

in my Sunday best

Sailing paper boats

in rain puddles.

Lessons on the smell of rain

“Smell that?”, she’d ask.

When the first plopping raindrops

hit parched soil.

Time taken for the little things,

never a bother

to my warrior mother.

Pat

4/19/21

For dVerse Poets Pub where De is hosting and the prompt is “Bother”. To participate or to just read go here.