Moon Ghost

Written for:  Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads-Out of Standard: “Writing Unseen”
(imagined by Isadora Gruye)

Write a poem about something you cannot see fully.  Whether it’s the sea monster draped in darkness or just the silhouette of a lover blotted out by the sun, we are all intrigued with the details that exist but escape our sights.

Chalk mark on the sky,
ghostly outline. Purple-
reds sink lower, rippling
blood across the ocean.
Heavens heave a sigh
of soft gray, darkening around
the outline of moon.

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Written for:  Carpe Diem #1233 – Geometric Patterns  Dana Gordon’s art

“For good painters, the challenge is not so much how to reach some visual destination, but rather how not to reach it too quickly—or too easily. For good painters, facility can become facile. The shortcuts of the brush can miss the joys of the journey and the discoveries along the way.

Good painters therefore look for ways at redirection. They will put up roadblocks, obstruct their path, make formulas to complicate their progress. And, perhaps most importantly, once they find they can paint in a certain mode too well, they will simply stop doing it—realizing that pictorial success, overly pursued, will ultimately lead to failure.

Dana Gordon is just such an artist who matches painterly intuition with a philosophical awareness of the great history of art in which he takes part. I can think of few painters who are able to write effectively on the legacy of Camille Pissarro, as Dana has done—or have a history in creating avant-garde film, and sculpture. Dana is one of those creative originals.”

flower life wallpaper trilogy documentary spiritual science

Sacred Geometry (an overview of all sacred geometric patterns)

in its simple form
full of light
geometric patterns grow
everything around us

© Chèvrefeuille (our host)

Here is my attempt:

within his heart
strong borders connect a frame
he holds her heart

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Written for:  Carpe Diem #1232 abstract autumn (unknown artist)

abstract autumn

(unknown artist)

yellow, red,
orange and deep purple

© Chèvrefeuille (our host)

Here is my attempt:

flames edged in blue
yellow and orange sunbursts
first act of Fall’s play

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Faulty Vision

Written for:  Poets United – Kintsugi:  Art of Mending (golden repair)

“And they can’t understand, what hurts more — Missing the other person or pretending not to.” — Khadija Rupa, Unexpressed Feelings

Kintsugi (golden joinery), also known as Kintsukuroi (golden repair) is the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver or platinum to highlight imperfections.(Wikipedia)

This disintegrating world, Nature, life, belief-system, trust, promises, relationship etc. etc. could be mended too. And the scars will become precious.

said it will
never be
an issue again.
But then, this is not the first time
he has given her his promise of fidelity.
Her heart has hardened, her eyes are blind, her ears, deaf to futile pleas.
She no longer cares.
He is happy, thinking their relationship has mended seamlessly. Only she sees invisible stitches. Tunnel vision mends fences.


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Lottery Woes

Written for:  Poetic Asides #405  Write a money poem.

How unnerved I would be
to win a lottery.
Instead of feeling free–
One issue would be fairness,
absolute awareness
of who should have a share of
these winnings I now bear.
Many a worthy cause
would give reason to pause,
and decide–would I draw straws
or just give it all to paws?

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Written for:  The Twiglets #36 – “a straight line”

even with a ruler
my straight line wiggles
to break away

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Written for:  Carpe Diem Writing and Enjoying Haiku #4 – having fun?

tears fall
on an empty sheet of paper
a new day rises

tongues melt together
as one

© Chèvrefeuille (our host)

Well …. that was my interpretation of “writing and enjoying haiku”, what is your interpretation? Do you have fun while creating haiku? That’s the goal for this “weekend-meditation” … step back and look at your haiku (or tanka) what do you see? Change your look and look at it like you were the reader and not the poet. What do you see … what scenes are coming in mind?

Here is my attempt:

Long cooking sauce
liquid evaporates 
essence is rich

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A Porcelain Creamer

Written for:  dVerse Poets Pub – Haibun Monday:  “How Wonderfully Imperfect”-Wabi-Sabi  (posted by Victoria Slotto)

The story is told of a young man who went to a renowned Tea-Master to learn the Japanese ritual known as the Way of Tea. The Master, to test him, asked him to begin by cleaning his garden. After doing so to perfection, the student approached a cherry tree and shook a branch so that a few flowers would fall on the cleanly raked sand. The inspired student pleased his teacher and became recognized as one who had a deep understanding of beauty.

Wabi-Sabi is the art of imperfection. It is the recognition that everything real is transient and imperfect. It recognizes the circle of life—that things die, break, disintegrate—and to find therein beauty.


A towering china closet owned a wall in my grandparent’s
living room. Grandma called its inhabitants, tchotchkes.
Creamers, pitchers, sugar bowls, and ceramic figures
were endless sources of fascination to me.

Grandma loved wearing red nail polish, and displaying
her few pieces of jewelry. After she passed away, I inherited
her diamond engagement ring–which I wear every day– 
and a little flowered sugar bowl and creamer, with its
fragile handle broken off.

standing regally
marked with black lightening streaks
a lovely flawed tree

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Written for:  Haiku Horizons – stop

daisies growing wild
he loves me, he loves me not
at the bus stop

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The Worried Patient

Written for:  The Sunday Whirl, Wordle #311

Words:  chains, throat, surface, mixed, burst, nut, label, matter, punch, simmered, color, won

Surface of her throat
was the color of red
fruit punch. Felt like
rusty chains were being dragged
over it. Fever spit, and simmered
in her head; she thought
it would burst open shooting
flames. Tough nut to crack–
bout of strep throat. At first
scratch, she thought, oh, a day
off from work. She soon had mixed
feelings about the matter. It was
not like she could enjoy
the respite. She was too ill.
Pills were hard rocks going down.
She wondered who they would get
to fill in for her. She had fought
tooth and nail to win her promotion.
Powerful woman, they labeled her.
Why then, was she feeling concerned?
Age. What if the sages upstairs
were planning to replace her?

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