Haibun Monday – Talking Soup

When I was growing up, each day of the week had its own menu. Sunday was beef, wednesday was stewed (red) peas, friday was fish and saturday was soup day.

The different types of soup sounds a little nuts, but they were good. There was beef, cow cod (don’t ask), fish head, cow foot, goat head, red peas, split peas and chicken soup. Red peas soup was my favorite.

That thing was a meal. My mom would let us ‘help’ by passing the vegetables which were carrots, celery, turnips, yellow yam, potatoes, and dumplings. We all wanted to help make the dumplings. A soup without dumplings was just not a good soup in our house. Then, of course, there were the spices – salt, scallions, thyme, garlic and pimento seeds (Allspice).

These soups brought a healing touch to every part of our insides. You could smell it from everywhere! It was fuel, it was filling, it was love.

through this autumn gray

memory from childhood wafts in –

soup day, saturday

Pat

10/25/22

For dVerse Poets Pub where the prompt is “soup”. The host for Haibun Monday today is Mish. To participate or just read go here

Paper Boats

Moving across parched earth

a ground level dust cloud drifts

With the same breeze comes the scent of rain.

It was the rainy season and

somewhere in the distance

a quenching was in progress

Soon, it will be time for that soothing rhythm on the tin roof

Soon, it will be time to secure a spot on the verandah and make paper boats for the puddles

Then scampering down the steps through large plopping raindrops to set sail the next paper boat

Paper boat sailing – in this family of four kids, a rite of passage.

Pat

8/24/22

For the dVerse prompt where Jo is the host. The prompt words is Scent. To stop by to read or participate go here.

Glympses

In mid tumble it swayed sideways. It looked like a butterfly, but there betrayal came in the landing. A falling yellow leaf is what it was. But, for a moment, it was pure joy to watch. At least I could see it. It’s better than chasing a memory that remains illusive. One that I still haven’t been able to bring into full focus.

Now, through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings..I listen closely. Along with the voice were melancholy strains from a horn played by the likes of Miles or Coletrane.

I should know this, I do know this. I close my eyes and surf the notes, willing and carefree. It’s laced with a hint of the blues. Maybe not remembering this title is a gift. Because I would just play it over, and over again, to what end?

https://dversepoets.com/2022/08/18/open-link-live-322-august-edition/

Pat

8/19/22

Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings:—
–by Oliver Wendell Holmes Sr., from The Chambered Nautilus.

This line is to be incorporated into a piece of prose over at dVerse Poets Pub. The deadline to submit to the prompt has come and gone. But I’m now posting it to OLN ( open link night) To check out what’s going on over there go to the link above. A good weekend to all.

After Words – Quadrille

These conversations of ours

It feels like you are forever in my presence

moreso than when you walked the earth

So agreeable, and still with the jokes

Don’t you have somewhere else to be?

What type of grieving is this?

– these conversations of ours

Pat

8/08/2022

For dVerse Poets Pub where the host, De, gives the word Type to be used in a quadrille (a 44 word poem created at dVerse). To participate or just read, go here

Another One!!

Another one! We are, yet again, undone. The only thing that seems to come out of these tragedies are the usual talking heads pretentiously wallowing in their fifteen minutes of fame.

The hands deep in their pockets also move the trap between their beady little eyes as they mouth platitudes and lamentations in the form of thoughts and prayers. All of which has become white noise because power takes precedent.

So, we continue to live under sinister skies raining death with nowhere to hide. Hoards of lost souls that will never again see morning. They  will never again set eyes on arcs of grass bejeweled by dew reflecting twilight. 

It is up to us to erase the platitudes and become a part of the solution. The way we do this is with our vote! These are the things they don’t tell us often enough.

Vote!

Pat

6/06/2022

For dVerse Poets Pub being hosted by Msjadeli where the topic is “How many will it take” as it relates to gun violence and mass shootings. To participate or just read go here.

Holding On

Last evening while the setting sun was writing its own story cantankerous clouds to the right were leaving deep smudges in the evening skies.

The bird songs outside my window were unrelenting, piercing the roar of the harsh spring winds. Even the delicate cherry blossoms are standing up to this latest rage.

It seems we are all to discover what we are made of. In the end, we are all just holding on.

the ire of spring

that will not be placated –

belligerent storms

Pat

4/03/22

For Haibun Monday over at dVerse who is hosting with a theme of “Cherry Blossoms”. To view other entries go here

Also linking to Tanka Tuesday over at Colleen where the prompt is to take a photo from your day and write a poem in relation to it. To see other entries go here

Over Time

I never could see my life without him
But there stood this broken trust

Shoving past all that I had come to know would only lead to regrets piled atop regrets –
never again feeling safe

As great as this love was
I knew me
It would not end well
So, I let it go in the most awful way
Never to see, or speak to him for ever
Time is not always the healer
she purports to be
Years later when we could again speak
He asked.
I explained.
That was not about you, I said.
That was about keeping that thread I was hanging by intact.

Pat R
6/22/21

Isn’t it pretty to think so.
–The Sun Also Rises (1926). Ernest Hemingway

Over at dVerse we are to write a poem based on a chosen quote from Hemingways work. I chose the above.

Linking to dVerse Poets Pub where Lisa is hosting Poetics -“One true sentence” . To read other entries go here

Spirits

smudged skies

Plumes of smoke follow her
swirling as she moves from room to room

“Smudging mean spirits”, she explains

As she moves about, there were whispered words escaping her lips. His young mind wonders,
“Who is she talking to?”

He’d best be well behaved today.

Pat
6/15/21

For dVerse Piers Pub where Mish is hosting and the word to be included is “Smudge”. It is Quadrille Monday. To join or read go here.

https://dversepoets.com/2021/06/14/quadrille/

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