Look Out Below

Underneath it all

Down where the anglerfish live

Time stands almost still

No wind, no tossed waves

Just days of isolation

And gullible prey

Below the surface

In the realms where no sun shines

Light attracts, light kills

Discover Prompts: Below

Shelter in Place Haiku

Alone, together

We play at isolation

Without a game plan

The ground rules have changed

Practice social distancing

For the greater good

In this brave new world,

Every minute a bell tolls

We listen alone

A Facebook friend said she needed sheltering-in- place haikus. I was happy to oblige.

Love Poetry

Several of my blogging friends write beautiful poetry. I give it a go now and then, but I really don’t know what I’m doing. It seems there’s more to composing a poem than merely slapping some words down on paper and trying to get the last word in every other line to rhyme. Go figure. Although,

Roses are red

Violets are Blue

Sugar is sweet

And so are you

Always makes me smile.

I want to share a favorite love poem by Pablo Neruda.

Translated from Spanish by W. S. Merwin

I cannot explain why I love this so much. Is it the melancholy? The imagery?

Is there a poem about love that makes you sigh? One that makes you want to stare longingly out the window while watching sunset’s fiesta? Tell me about it.

Peace and love, people.

Loves Me; Loves Me Not

Petals plucked in time

He loves me; he loves me not

Anticipating

Seek daisy’s wisdom

But choose your flower wisely

Odd numbers suffice

A garden’s bounty

Yields answers; questions results

How dare blossoms lie?

(After I published this I looked back in my archives and discovered another poem I’d written with the same title. The original is better, I think, but it made me laugh. It was bound to happen sooner or later.)

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.