imaginarygarden October in the Chair Imagined By Magaly Guerrero
“I invite you to turn October into a poem. Is your October a girl? Does he smile like a boy? Is October a feeling that kisses the back of your neck… and reminds you of your dead? What does October look like to you? Show me in poetry.”
The last of the cherry tomatoes drop
wrinkled and soft to the ground
a treasure trove for chipmunks
and other scurrying things. I frosted
the vines and wilted the flower heads,
scattering seeds of marigold upon
the waiting soil. I’ve sprinkled leaves
across the yard in gold and rust and orange
confetti. I’ve still so much to do to get ready
before the jack-o-lantern’s leering face
greets the trick or treaters. I’ve dressed
myself in taffeta rustling as I move
around the corners of the houses
with a whispery, windy boo.
dverse Quadrille #18 Posted
Clifftonian Spirit on Pinterest -Google
There’s a swift wind blowing
fluffy clouds across the sky
herding them, urging them,
as eastward they fly.
I think it would be lovely,
a fantastical whim,
to swim that flow with them
dipping up and dipping down
high above to the starry rim.
adashofsunny Descent into the abyss of Solitude prompt by Sanaa Rizvi
“I never found the companion that was so companionable as solitude. We are for the most part more lonely when we go abroad among men than when we stay in our chambers.” – Henry David Thoreau
I used to play my music loud
the TV a storm cloud
festering from the den,
everywhere a din – anti-Zen
of clamor and cry, ruptured air,
explosions of sounds, a blare
of wear and tear on nerves
and ear drums…
Now I delight in a steady diet
of discreet… hum of energy an om
of modernity, flowing through the house.
The tinkle of chimes in a light breeze,
the chitter of a hummingbird,
the scuttle of clouds in the sky
just barely heard as they
swiftly pass by
I’m done with mingling
in stuffy rooms talking and talking
of inconsequential things
of politics and fashions,
heated opinions and passions,
I’d rather listen to the breeze
rustling tales in the trees
all whispery, hush-hush
I’ve let my world become quiet
now that I have grown old
for there’s wisdom in the gold
dverse Razzle Dazzle Me! Posted
What sleight of hand turned green
to shades of autumn hue
then let them drop in bunches
at the slightest wind that blew?
What forethought made the oaks
yield the acorn for squirrel and deer
teach them where to curl up safely
when the first snows appear?
What imagination put the Dippers
pointing to Polaris in an inky sky
leading travelers northward
to freedom by and by
There is magic and majesty
everywhere you look
planning and provision
from some great ledger book
and season come and season go
and earth still turns on her axis
so midst all the negative is the good
you’ll find it with a little practice.
The Big Dipper was an important part of the Underground Railroad during the Civil War. Slaves escaping from the South were told to “follow the Drinking Gourd” to the North, according to the website The Constellations and Their Stars.
adashofsunny Crunching, Crinkling Autumn swirling in the Breeze by Sanaa Rizva
Autumn is a drunken, gluttonous, slattern
who takes a haphazard swipe
at the brittle, weathered leaves
and scatters them from her dirty apron
like crumbs before a tribe of Guinea hens.
Her broom licks the earth in a tipsy tiff
from horizon to horizon she sweeps
the fallen debris under the hearth rug
and satisfied with her household’s keep
lays herself down to troubled sleep.
“I am pessimistic because I don’t trust history. But at the same time, I am optimistic. Out of despair, one creates. What else can one do? There is no good reason to go on living, but you must go on living. There is no good reason to bring a child into this world but you must have children to give the world a new innocence, a new reason to aspire towards innocence. As Camus said, in a world of unhappiness, you must create happiness.” – Elie Wiesel, New York Times interview, April 7, 1981
There is no good reason to go on living
except that I find myself alive. My lungs
claim air, my thirst demands water, my
stomach food though my throat rebels.
I entertain the thought of death, oblivion,
dreamless dreams forever.
What stays my hand?
A wee flicker of hope in my black despair
a tiny spark, was it really there? A firefly
flash in the midnight blue then morning dawns
in golden hues. The madness of grief
loosens it hold. I promise myself
one more day, then one day more…
Hope makes her stand.
adashofsunny Prompt Nights – When shades of loss weave with pattern of madness
prompt by Sanaa Rizvi
mindlovemisery Tell me so I can tell you prompt by Oloriel
“For the prompt, I want you to look at this painting (or the painting of your choice) and describe it to me: just simply describe what is there.
Try to not use any comparisons or excessive adjectives, or even imputing a personal opinion when describing the items. The idea is to list them and name them, in a way you see fit, in an order you see fit.”
*Image found HERE
Crab fresh from the sea, caught by Dinsby’s boy this morning, served on Richard’s mother’s blue ware. A nice contrast I thought, though she would have criticized my choice. A stand of lemons, one peeled, to squeeze upon the meat. A glass of buttery chardonnay pairs perfectly. Crusty bread and a side of mixed vegetables will be filling. Concord grapes, a simple, sweet dessert to cleanse the palate.
I stand back and view the tablescape. The butter knife, with its modern ceramic pattern is a bit jarring but Richard and I received it as a wedding gift from cherished friends. It adds a touch of home though we are far away. The only thing I add are his books and a tankard as a bookend. Perhaps after he has dined, Richard will read some poetry to me by the hearth fire’s warm glow.