Category: Poetry

Gray

Monochromatic

This love child of black and white

A color between

I bathed in gray skies

Then wandered on white beaches

Draped in cotton robes

In this universe

Gravity takes the shape of gray

All things fall to earth

Peace, people.

The Dust

I know a thing or two about dust

A Texas panhandle childhood taught me its sting on the playground

Grit-filled eyes and sandblasted legs

Days of dust

And tumbling weeds

When gray choked skies obscured and

Scouring winds grew teeth

I thought that was how the whole world worked

Nature’s castigation

For our sins.

(I do not miss those days.)

The Right Word

I wonder

Is there a better word than dappled

For the way the sunlight plays through the trees, speckling the road?

Variegated is all wrong; unless one is speaking of yarn,

And motley only makes me think of clowns or crews.

Discolored doesn’t work, suggesting there’s been a mistake, and make no mistake–

Dappling is perfection; poetry in shadowy motion.

Flecked? Checkered? Parti-colored? No!

Stippled? Perhaps. I could work with stippled.

Still, dappled comes to mind first, when I crest a hill and see the canopy of trees

Filtering the light on a sun-kissed day, painting abstract patterns on the pavement

And peace in my soul.

Peace, people.

Hung Out to Dry

Yesterday I posted a link to my friend, Julie’s blog post that featured her photo (below). Just in case my readers didn’t click on the link, here’s the poem I wrote to accompany the photo.

“Hung Out to Dry”

Passion had its way with her

Swept her up

Cast her about

Until she was

Strung out,

Wrung out,

Hung out to dry,

Swinging from tenterhooks

For all the world to see.

A lesser woman might’ve

Given up,

Shriveled up,

Dried on the vine,

Not she, no for

She claimed her place,

Staked her bets and

Stood on her own two feet.

Unbound.

Inspiration and Collaboration

The work of my photographer friend, Julie Powell, whose blog can be found at juliepowell2014@wordpress.com, inspires me. Her work is often playful, sometimes edgy, and always beautiful.

Occasionally my mind runs along similar paths as Julie’s, and I’m moved to write a piece in response to her art.

I hope you’ll click on the link to Julie’s post and my poem.

https://juliepowell2014.wordpress.com/2020/01/05/hung-out-to-dry-by-leslie-noyes/

The Cat Peed on the Tree Skirt. Again.

I cross my fingers

Every day

That there’ll be no pee

Under the Christmas tree

Or in the bath tub

Or on the Persian rug.

It’s all a crap shoot

My life now revolves

Around the wheres

And the theres

The calming formulae

And deterrent sprays

I’m a detective

For my cat’s defective

Elimination behaviors

Seek and destroy

Clean and remove

I guess it could be worse

It could be poo.

Peace, people.

A Little Lost

Crushed by a harsh word

Confused and a little lost

Left alone to cry

Don’t even mind her

Feeling sorry for herself

Sitting in the dark

Why is she always

Afraid to test the waters

Lest she slip and drown

An Artist’s Prayer

I borrowed this from one of my favorite authors. It applies to just about everything, and I felt compelled to share it this morning.

Peace, people.

Places

Places I’ve never been

Paris, England, Reykjavik

In my dreams I see the

Towers, Eiffel and London

And the stony crags of Iceland

Chances are I’ll never have the

Opportunity to cruise the

Seine or cross the Thames

Or ford the fjords

But they call to me

Just the same.

Who Goes There?

Interloping man

Creeping ’round my craggy lair

Shaking in your boots

Sir, you seem my type

Quite crispy on the outside

Moist in the middle

You smell of cold fear

And yet still you venture forth

Brave fools taste good, too.