as falling leaves dance
among the orange flowers
feel the gentle breeze
This haiku is my response to
Poetics: The Landscape Sleeps, Ekphrastic Prompt,
From Merril at dVerse ~ Poets Pub.
Image source: Wikimedia Commons
Katsukawa Shunshō: Child Dancing
with Chrysanthemum Branch
Los Angeles County Museum of Art
Mindless Direction
There was no order,
only madness.
Windows became doors,
doors became less.
A house divided,
claimed by a mass
that claimed to represent
the masses, became a shell.
No murmuration, this.
An uproar, a swarm
flocked to relight
a star totally eclipsed.
Their order a chaos,
disjointed, disorganized
yet contrived as rebellion,
brought only more darkness.
Disarray their purpose,
they took to flight,
dispersed, scattered,
their damage done.
murmuration – the flocking behavior of starlings
United States Capitol Attack – January 6, 2021
This poem is my response to The strange houses of Lee Madgwick, the prompt from Sarah at dVerse ~ Poets Pub, which is to find inspiration in one of four surreal images of various structures. I chose “The Murmuration at No. 57.” More of the art of Lee Madgwick can be found here.
Out of Touch
“I thought of the future, and spoke of the past.”
Truman Capote, Breakfast at Tiffany’s
Through a haze that erases
possession and masks potential,
where is the horizon?
I grasp but find nothing.
There is no satisfaction
in what is denied.
Past and future out of reach,
the present slips away
with each passing moment.
This is my response to Eugi’s Weekly Prompt – Unbounded
and the photo that is provided.
It also responds to Poetics: Breakfast at Tiffany’s, although it is outside of the window to link it at Mr. Linky. (other responses here). That prompt from Linda Lee Lyberg at dVerse ~ Poets Pub provides several quotes from “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” for inspiration.
Timeworn
Red, dull
in bright sunshine,
with edges worn, rounded.
The history of then
and now in each separation,
each drop that flows
between them a microcosm
of all that has passed, will pass,
the traffic of millennia
leaving impressions upon which
all that follows is built.
This poem is my response to Twiglet # 274: red bricks.
Shared with Day 16 at napowrimo.net.
Each New Sunrise
On the edge of nowhere
In the middle of everywhere
In your heart
And in your mind
Right there, before your eyes
Each new sunrise
That awaits you
Holds a potential
That is yours to discover
This is my response to Poetics: The Light of “Vika Muse,” which is to write a poem inspired by the graphic art of Vika Muse, whose work can be on Instagram @get.muse. I have chosen Perfect Autumn. (Click image for larger view in new tab.)
astronomers marvel
as my heart swells,
consumes the cosmos,
at the mere thought
of your presence
This ekphrastic poem, inspired by an image from Astronomy Picture of the Day,
is my second response to Day 11 at napowrimo.net,
where we are asked to “write a poem about a very large thing.”
Image source: © Francesco Batistella via Astronomy Picture of the Day
Helios
What is distance
when you pass before us,
out of reach, yet so large,
so bright as to blind
any who gaze upon you?
When you dwarf any chariot
we send your way, your passage
from horizon to horizon
will always remain a mystery.
This ekphrastic poem, inspired by an image from Astronomy Picture of the Day, is in response to Day 11 at napowrimo.net, where we are asked to “write a poem about a very large thing.”
Images
Astronomy Picture of the Day – A Space Station Crosses the Sun © Wang Letian
Wikimedia Commons – Helios and His Chariot (The British Museum)
Cold, Blow the Winds of War
An ill wind blows.
And so they march
to any border
but the border
that brings this madness
upon them, with nothing
on their backs
but sacks of sorrows,
the weight imposed
by clouds of war
come to life, their lives
in turmoil, their soil
no longer theirs.
This ekphrastic poem, inspired by Cauld Blaws the Wind Frae East to West, by Joseph Farquharson, is my response to Poetics: March Wind Ekphrastic, the prompt from Merril at dVerse ~ Poets Pub, which offers four poems as inspiration.
As the World Turns
What rises from this wheel
is at the mercy of the hands that shape it.
Will there be traces of the elements
that go into its making?
Or will the making remove the traces
of all that came before? Will it rise,
or will the hands that determine its future
crush all that lies within in it,
like tanks rolling across a border
that means nothing to those hands?
This poem is my response to The Sunday Muse #200, which offers ten of the top viewed prompt images of the last four years. When I used this image last year it was for a love poem. The current invasion of Ukraine by Russia sends my thoughts in a different direction.
Blue Skies
Beyond a bay of blues layered
with a weight that would pull me under,
a harbor that holds only sadness, lies
a horizon of hope that draws me
from these depths in search of a better day.
This poem is my response to the prompt, Tuesday Poetics: Fay Collins revisited,
from Sarah at dVerse ~ Poets Pub, which offers eight paintings by Fay Collins
for inspiration. I chose Floating Seaweed.
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