Written for:  dVerse Poets Pub, “Arrangements by Emily Blincoe”  (Posted by Grace)
I have chosen her work, Arrangements, the theme for this Poetics.  If you are a tidy person, the one who conscientiously arranges things, then her photos would speak to you. If not, its fine too as you can write in rebellion to the neat arrangements of things in a canvas.   

If your palate rebels at ingestion
of fiery foods, line up selection
in order–for your protection–
by mildest to blazing perfection.

If you have a predilection
to sort by size or section,
be prepared for complexion
to flush crimson at interjection
of red-hot peppers that play with digestion.

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Hair Fibonacci

Written for:  Poetic Asides #369 – Write a pattern poem.
Yes, this is based off today’s prompt number: 3-6-9; the next number would be 12, right? So yeah, there are number patterns, but also patterns in how people act and re-act to situations, patterns in animal behavior, and even weather patterns (I’m sure my meteorologist/storm chasing brother appreciates me mentioning the weather in one of my prompts). Whatever pattern you follow, I hope you have fun.

all her life.
She yearns for a change,
fears breaking established pattern.
Scissors cut and shaped, locks lie on floor. She feels weightless.

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Written for:  Carpe Diem #1063, Butterfly

a fallen blossom
returning to the bough, I thought —
but no, a butterfly

© Arakida Moritake (1473-1549) (Tr. Steven D. Carter)

a falling leaf
up from the earth
a matching butterfly

© Jane Reichhold

yet the monarch takes time
to visit me

white butterfly
afternoon Sunshine
slides away

© Jane Reichhold

Pygmalion’s lesson
every man and woman has to be
like a caterpillar
growing to the next level
become a butterfly

© Chèvrefeuille (our host)

Here is my attempt:


on a shrub in Fall
oh my, not snow so soon–
No, a white butterfly

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Written for:  Carpe Diem #1062, Candles

one candle
gives its light to another –
spring evening

© Yosa Buson (Tr. Chèvrefeuille)

lighting a candle
the moon slips away
in a smoky cloud

replacing the candle
the full moon comes
in the window

into the dawn burns
a candle

© Jane Reichhold

in the light from the candle held
their color lost–
yellow chrysanthemums

© Yosa Buson (Tr. William R. Nelson)

the light of the candle
on her face

© Chèvrefeuille (our host)

Here is my attempt:


Scented air
drifts in, sets mood for romance
jasmine candle


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Written for:  Carpe Diem #1061, Waterfall

red rock waterfall
into emerald pools
cedar incense

water blackened rocks
falling with the waterfall
some of them

chipped rock
the shape of water

white rim
on black rock light falling
with the water

© Jane Reichhold

the waterfall
ah! that sound …

© Chèvrefeuille (our host)


Here is my attempt:

faucet of fog floats
veil across rock like steam puffs
screened waterfall

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Wrong Shadow

Written for:  dVerse Poets Pub:  Monday Quadrille #17  (posted by WhimsyGizmo)
Helloooo, poetic peeps. De here (aka WhimsyGizmo). It’s time again for the Q44, our Quadrille – when we ponder one word, and poetically transform it into 44. Today, I want you to write a poem of exactly 44 words (not counting your title), including the word shadow.

Peter Pan chased his. Sometimes we box our own. It can be a noun (a darkness, silhouette, outline). It can be a verb (to follow, to shade or darken). It can be an adjective (shadow boxing, shadowless, shadowlike).

“And My soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted -Nevermore”
– Edgar Allan Poe

Who tails him? He turns.
Sees wet streets, and shuttered
shops. Ahead, lamp post throws
circled light. Bean pole shadow
appears. Shape puzzles him.
Shadow stands, apologizes. I’m new,
supposed to be attached
to a tall, thin guy. Oops! There
he goes; must run.

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A Woman’s Rant

Written for:  The Sunday Whirl, Wordle #267

Words:  you, free mess, scream, date, pot, submit, chest, after, will, rinse, ashes

She screamed, “you smoke
too much pot. I do not care
if it is free or not. Check
out that mess in the kitchen–
fried chicken bones, empty
containers, candy wrappers,
cigarette butts piled in ashtrays
like camping tents–looks like
a tornado funneled
its way in, destroying
only food. Forty-two?
More like two. Grow up.
Clean up that disaster,
and rinse out those containers.
You will not feel so chesty
if you have to submit
to a drug test. Best not lose
your job, or I’ll have you swept
up with the rest of the trash.”

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Blue For Lou

Written for:  Imaginary Gardens With Live Toads – Play It Again, Toads
Welcome to Play it Again, Toads! where archived challenges of this Imaginary Garden come to life again. Have fun exploring the side bar (2011 – 2016) and selecting your own or choose from three I’ve highlighted below.

Music with Marian ~ A Walk on the Wild Side (November 2013)
Dear Toads, you probably know that since our last music prompt, we lost the patron saint of freaks and weirdos, poet laureate of the streets of New York, lover, preacherman, and tai chi master who really needs no introduction: LOU REED.

My eyes are a paler shade
of blue, now that you are gone.
Sweet Jane is not a comfort,
nor is a walk
on the wild side. Who
will speak for New York,
now that you are gone?

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Written for:  Carpe Diem #1060, Twilight


darkness slipping in
water that cannot be still

nautical twilight
the sea gives its last light
to the sky

among early stars
sea bird’s cry

© Jane Reichhold

Here is my attempt:

In the forest
blue shadows hide behind trees
twilight time

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Written for:  Carpe Diem Special #219 Dolores’ 3rd colorful mushrooms

colorful mushrooms
within the decaying tree
new life from old

leaves and clouds
race the setting sun
across the lake

sounds of summer fade
crisp air echoes with crickets
and crunch of dry leaves

sunlight dances
on the back of autumn trees
leaves spiral downward

© Dolores of Ada’s Poetry Alcove

vanishing summer
leaves begin to color
autumn will soon be there
the heavy rains and storms collide
trees uprooted

trees uprooted
tiles broken on the streets
the force of nature

the force of nature
finally after the autumn storm
the sight of the full moon
brings back good memories
vanishing summer

© Chèvrefeuille (our host)


Here is my attempt:

Last sunflower
autumn’s furious wind spins
struggles to stand tall
golden head of frayed petals
hangs face down to  Mother Earth

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