I once cared
how others perceived me,
whether I fit in,
if I was loveable,
if I was enough.
Now I couldn’t care less.
Now I care
about my own priorities and values.
And in loving myself, I find
I’m far more than enough.
Care Less
21
Tag Archives: dVerse poets
These Have I Loved
These have I loved:
the scattering promise of springtime sprouts in my wildflower garden;
the burbling waters of summer-lessened streams,
metallic-blue dragonflies zipping past ramrod straight cattails;
deep summer shade;
the musty smell of an old book, its thick, browning pages
steadfastly preserving the author’s words
whether deserving of such honor or not;
well-earned rivulets of sweat streaking down one’s cheek
after a spell of honest labor;
dusty brown feet sunk into the warm, soft dirt of a well-tended garden;
the triumph of pulling up a dandelion, its root completely intact;
an intriguing story;
old hymns sung in wobbling harmony by an age-burnished choir;
stained glass windows and the kaleidoscopic colors
rendered by filtered sunlight;
short sermons;
old cemeteries, moss-covered tombstones with
names scrubbed illegible by centuries of wear,
family plots delineated with tired sagging fences;
curls of wood shavings, the crisp pitch scent released
by newly planed pine boards;
antique woodworking tools with handles smoothed by
generations of artisanal use;
well-brewed coffee and warmed almond croissants;
freshly churned buttermilk;
fresh baked bread;
a full recycling bin rolled to the curb;
unexpected blessings of chance, such as spotting a
praying mantis ootheca just as its tiny residents emerge
to face their next stage of life;
combing my fingers through the luxuriant undercoat
of my fluffy white spitz;
his generous smile as he greets my returns home;
stink eye glares from condescending cats;
time spent with my daughters, the delight of witnessing the loving,
thoughtful women they have grown into;
grandchildren playing contentedly on a toy-scattered floor;
the smell of a newborn’s silky-soft head;
warm evenings, rocking chairs on the back deck,
a curiously formed piece of wood to whittle…
All these have been my loves.
Inspired by a dVerse prompt from Kim:
Based on the second stanza of ‘The Great Lover’ by Rupert Brooke, “write a list poem that begins ‘These I have loved: ’ of the everyday things that are important or precious to you. Be specific, picking out tiny details, and don’t stop until you get to the bottom of the page. Finish with ‘All these have been my loves’.”
in the moment
our lives unfold moment by moment by moment
though we try to clump them together into
years and weeks and minute-by-minute or
compartmentalize them into
home and work and hobby and
now and then and now-and-then
and maybe it helps to think there is
some underlying structure to it all since
otherwise we are like untethered balloons
caught up in an errant breeze that
pulls us right past the delineations of
time and titles and self-imposed strictures
and how would we ever manage to define ourselves
if we just let life unfold moment by moment by moment
Stuck in Limbo
There is nothing new under sun or stars, so
bleak a plight we dread admit as much.
Life’s meaning now on apathy depends;
and even that we scarcely rely upon.
A rose is a rose is a
rose, especially if that rose is red,
primary on the color wheel,
predictable on barn or barrow.
You see it in our eyes, glazed
over and toneless and done with
useless tears. Instead, we let rain
track our cheeks in sham rills of water.
There’s nothing to do now but sit beside
old memories: books with cracked spines, the
way new snow once appeared impossibly white,
and the cackled surprise of egg-laying chickens.
It’s the last day of National/Global Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo). I’m taking today’s prompt from dVerse, where we are challenged to write a Golden Shovel poem. The form:
*Choose a line from a poem that resonates with you.
*Build your poem so each line ends with a word from that line.
*Keep the words in order, forming the original line down the right margin.
*Let your poem move in its own direction. Surprise us!
*Include attribution (after [poet])
The poem I chose was The Red WheelBarrow by William Carlos Williams. Since there are only sixteen words in the poem, I used the entire poem to form my own.
The Red Wheelbarrow, by William Carlos Williams*
so much depends
upon
a red wheel
barrow
glazed with rain
water
beside the white
chickens
*Source: The Collected Poems: Volume I 1909-1939 (New Directions Publishing Corporation, 1938)
Fleeting Blossoms
While walking through the park, my dog Chules and I pause at an apple tree. I am drawn to the white-pink blossoms and the bees that float among them. Chules is more intrigued by the base of the trunk, and the invisible messages left there by other dogs. He lifts his leg and adds his own note to the trunk.
cherry blossoms wane
pink petals carpet the ground
apple tree looks on
Day 29 of National Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo). In response to dVerse prompt: Haibun Monday: late cherry blossoms.
Groundhogs and Shadows
I did not see a groundhog yesterday, shadowed or otherwise. Nor did I see my own shadow. I stayed inside, shying from the cold and wind and rain.
My doggo, on the other hand, made several forays around the fenced yard, but did not report back on what critters or what shadows he may have encountered. He usually plays things close to his vest that way. A pup of many barks, but few words.
More winter, or early spring? I must wait and see.
earliest of blooms
dandelions tucked beneath
unmown grass shadows
Behind Bars
In my cell I’m imprisoned,
I touch no one, none touch me.
Defined by this rectangle
beyond which I cannot see.
There are others: I can sense them
just beyond periphery.
If we’d only lift our eyes
from our cell phones we’d be free.
Equinox
It is the autumn equinox, where light and dark balance equally for a day before the scale tips to favor longer and longer nights.
Two days post surgery to repair a detached retina, I am sporting a bulky protective eye patch, my field of vision impaired to half light and half dark. I trust that this scale will tip toward the light as my vision is restored.
There are so many cycles in nature and life, ebbing and flowing, waxing and waning. I am thankful for all that I see.
two parts make a whole
dawn to dusk, then dusk to dawn
in perfect balance
In response to dVerse haibun Monday: Equinox.
Boxed In
“Crabs in a bucket.”
Anthropomorphized with ill intent,
they pull one another down
such that none escapes
ahead of another.
People in boxes.
We stereotype and generalize,
avoiding the rigors of thoughtful discernment.
Outside of buckets, crabs cooperate.
Without boxes, how might people be?
First Lines
Yesterday’s poetry prompt over at the dVerse blog was to revisit the poems we wrote last year, and using the very first line of 11 poems (one chosen from each of the first 11 months of the year), combine them to make a new poem. The title of the poem is to be the first line from a poem written in December.
Since I barely wrote more than 11 poems, there wasn’t much (any) choice of lines to select. Hence, I humbly present my “found” poem:
Winter Resolve Reigns
When first we breached primordial ooze.
April buds curling
New buds dripping cold rain
Little cherub on mama’s lap
Sweet Violets in the garden grow.
It’s been a dry summer.
Cut boards apart, then reassemble.
Whose parking lot, I have no clue.
A lazy rain beat symphony
Boots sinking deep in mud-browned melting snow
Oh, to yet be young
The full set of rules for this particular writing challenge:
Poem Style:
• write a ‘Found’ poem from your own Jan-November 2023 poems
• write it as an 11 line list/catalog poem
OR
an 11 line verse poem (with or without stanzas)Poem Structure:
• choose from one poem per month
• select ONLY the first line of the very first verse of your chosen poems
• select your title from the 12th month or any of the previous months’ first lines
• if you’ve posted less than one poem per month for Jan-Nov 2023 then choose a month where there is more than one to make up the 11Poem Rules:
• your 11 lines can be written in any date order
• you must keep the original word order
• you may only change the tense or personal pronouns
• you may add a conjunction or a preposition for continuity
• minor erasure at start or end of the original line is allowed
• enjambment can be helpful
I had two useable lines left over:
Shall I compare thee to an iced latte?
and
A pig, a dentist and a cup of hot spiced wine.
I think I chose wisely.
Note to self: write more poetry this year.
What Rhymes with Stanza? 