everyday amazing

false spring

2026-03-31T12:35:00.001-04:00

your hands were warm,
as were your letters
against my cold touch

i did not know spring then -
nor the weight of long winter

this i now know:
my heart leapt
at the sound of your voice,

that old memories rushed back
like gentle tides returning
to a forgotten shore,

that the air between us
still carried electricity
from long-ago words

who knows what might have been -
how a fragile bud,
a seed of a smile,
a light touch

might have opened slowly
into something larger
under the full glare
of sun, rain, and sky

my mind was timid then,
my resolve even more afraid.
when you are young,
naïve, and unsure of what might grow,
even hope can feel dangerous

so i let it pass -
that brief warmth,
that almost-season.

now i look back
on that time in my life
with fondness -

no regrets,
though a quiet garden
of what-ifs still lingers.

and if our paths cross again,
beyond a night of easy laughter
and borrowed friendship -

you know what?

the older me
is no longer afraid
to take that leap,
to startle the quiet air.

i will wait until then
for our spring to arrive -

not early,
not mistaken,

but true -

with wrinkles,
with louder laughter,
with songs
we are finally brave enough
to sing

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - False Spring. Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST. Thank you for the visits and comments. Have a good day!

Moonseeds

2026-02-19T07:25:00.004-05:00

Why are your words creased
in moon’s indigo carbon copy,
a blue my eyes cannot hold?

Why are my morning legs
ice-struck at dawn,
yet lift like pollen
when you place flowers in my hands?

Why does this story tugs at my ribs
toward opposite tides-
heavy as wet wool after rain,
light as dust drifting through an emptied room?

Why do my lips freeze into chalk
while my chest is a raging engine
along uneven tracks?

Why is the night crusted in salt,
unmeasured beats
between the high cries of loons?

My fingers tremble against cold glass
before the question crosses my tongue.

Are moonseeds blooming where breath should be?

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poems of Questions (No Answers). Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm. Thank you for your visits and comments.

at the mouth of the city

2026-01-29T07:21:00.000-05:00

can you imagine it

the world stops spinning

loud music simmers slow,

ice of a hard winter melts;

soft rain arrives

quiet and unannounced

we lay down our warring words,

set aside the practiced rhetoric.

streets remember safety

calm descends

a river's mouth curling in

we breathe the cool air in

what was fogged lifts, clears

we are flowers

thorns

weeds

rolling down the sidewalk

it doesn’t matter

you have to imagine this-

strangers, briefly kindred,

visible amid a polar-vexed skyline,

walking

crossing streets

without flinching

for once

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight. Inspired by the poem, Proof, By Cornelius Eady, and with the line, You have to imagine it. See you at 3pm EST.

borrowed lights

2025-12-18T07:36:00.005-05:00

the ashen sky is falling

land exhales fumes and smoke

shadows widen, rehearsing

what comes next -

or so it seems

in the rearview mirror

my hands, empty bowls

my body, battlefield

storm-tested terrain

my feet, sore from stone-shard ground

or so it seems

in the rearview mirror

but here, right now

winter sun holds

bare maples stand, listening

snow hushes what survives

i am here, attending

not to the dimming of borrowed lights,

but to the spark i carry-

fire struck from pen and paper,

time marked without

vines of regret

let us spring

toward the pale tree

where brightness still gathers

Inspired by: Extinction of Useless Lights

by Yves Tanguy

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight, our last one for the year 2025. Thank you for all your visits and comments. See you in January 5, 2026.

December Tableau

2025-12-11T07:30:00.001-05:00

I unbox gold trees

trimmed festive red bows

there are amber lights

tricking my eyes - moon-

seeds or neon lights-

cold nights, fevered dreams-

December blues paint

falling snowflakes from

silver dusted sky

still the heat of you

remains - pillows, book-

marks, coffee-stained mugs

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - MTB - Picture This in Six, hosted by Laura Bloomsbury. Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm.

sewing me

2025-12-09T09:19:00.019-05:00

with maple leaves & apricot threads

along the pattern drawn in my head-

a mash-up of seasons

pinched in circles

crinkled by moss & moonworts

there's a backstitch

to loop into,

brown as long tail of winter wheat

then scattered red as pomegranate seeds

what hardness i have is softened

what stiffness i have is uplifted

to the steady clacking of the needle plate

though the hemming is sloppy

and the binding a crooked line

i am

resilient as feed dogs,

threading & unseaming each patch

as i go along

my floral-spiked hair is loose bobbin

my feet the bias, popping with color

i ease into an

applique sutured in green

spring words leaping from my lips

sun's breath on my hair

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Come Sew With Me...Sort of, hosted by Lillian. Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST. Thanks for your visits and comments.

November morning

2025-11-27T07:30:00.007-05:00

November morning unfolds

heavy fog, drizzled grey sky, strewn apple seeds -

northern wind grows bleak and old

as maple trees stand bare, beads

of light knuckled by darkness, stalk-thin as reeds

Winter season turns the field

to ice; rose shrubs to broken sticks, fluff to stone-

the weeping willow, half-keeled,

waits out the cold, still alone

we stumble in thick socks, knitting warmth from bone

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetry Form is Spanish Lira. This is a stanza form of 5 lines, with 7-11-7-7-11 using the consonant rhyme of aBabB. Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST. Thank you for your visits and comments.

So This Is Mississauga

2025-11-17T21:45:00.002-05:00

This city is a lyrebird

echoing voices

from every corner of the world

Arriving through Pearson Airport

the road unfurls - smooth, bright

lights shimmering beyond rows of maple trees

You may be lost at first,

but the stories of travelers & immigrants,

remind you the world gathers here -

Asian bowls, Italian plates,

South American sweets, vegan bowls

farm fields and stones giving way

to tall silver towers & landscaped streets

Beneath it all,

Credit River threads through conservation parks,

past pines & fallen maple leaves, pouring itself

into Lake Ontario

This too is the city

At Riverwood, we listen for the

quick tapping of a woodpecker

Down at Lakeshore, we follow

the long blue stretch of the lake

towards the Toronto's skyline

We breathe the crisp winter air

jackets and toques pulled tight

watching geese and swans glide

white on white

our mittened hands warm as our socks

Note: “Mississauga” translates “River of the North of Many Mouths”. This is a major suburb of Toronto, Ontario.

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - So This is Ted Kooser or Local Wonders, with guest host, Jennifer Wagner. Tell us about your city. Thanks for your comments and visits.

autumn musings

2025-10-30T08:11:00.005-04:00

who braided willow’s hair and left a shoe?

a question sways beneath October’s breath.

sky flickers blue where red and gold shine through,

the sun drifts slow along the edge of death

each leaf unbuttons light the season knew

crab apple tree binds glass in morning grains

as if the sea once hummed beneath its veins.

the forest ferns hold silence in its sleeves

soft needles fold the world in tender chains

what does earth dream on, beneath fallen leaves?

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetry Form is Dizain. Thanks for visiting and commenting!

Credit River

2025-09-30T12:43:00.003-04:00

the river's mouth is wide open

gently pulsing tides under autumn's

foliage of maple and oak trees

along trail ways auburn & chestnut

fallen leaves, we go

downwards, downwards

listening to shrills of wood peckers

and birdsongs from the robins &

Blue Jays, riotous beavers & frogs

leaping, leaping

along with salmon and trout

swimming from rocky broad bend

to marsh of cattails, weeds & grass

peak season is here

our fishing rods & paddles

swirling, swirling

to catch the harvest of the season

from this land we call home

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Dipping our Poetic Paddles, with guest host, Truedessa. Thanks for visiting and commenting.

the sleeping gypsy

2025-09-25T07:22:00.000-04:00

the heat of the desert

calms my body to sleep

tired bones slump on red sands

sun-shifted by blue sky

moon rises silvery

above snow-capped mountains

begging me to play and

dance with my mandolin

but i am kicking coins

and cares away, stillness

wrapped by brown earth

ignoring the curious lion

where goes my dreaming

i say, where my gypsy

feet & heart are free &

wild - there, here i am

The Sleeping Gypsy

by Henri Rousseau (1897)

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight. Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.

travel notes

2025-09-04T12:39:00.000-04:00

empty

my pockets are

not, not when red leaves fall

on fern-bogged trails, my hands gather

feathers,

pinecones,

blue-green river

tides, snow-capped mountains, trees,

birdsongs, sky's blue, my chest swelling-

joy-packed

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - MTB: Cinquains Revisited, hosted by Bjorn Rudberg. Thanks for your visits and comments.

autumn

2025-08-28T06:51:00.001-04:00

my face, blank canvas

my body, sand and stone

until

you unlock me:

riddles, stories, rings, colors

your beating heart

is my green flag, furling sorrows

to songs, stamping the sky

blue, rubbing saffron & spice

on every blurred page of my book-

my northward wind

you gift me: autumn's eye

drawing character lines on my face

my wrinkled hands hold closely

pot of red olives & spring seeds, i

sailing deeper & further across tides

& mountains

with you

Ismael Nery - Infinity

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight - Please join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST. Thanks for your visits and comments.

August morning

2025-08-19T09:08:00.004-04:00

is cooler, than last week's steady

torching of the garden & parks

on the kitchen table are summer's produce:

juicy peaches, ripe mangoes, melons, berries

from the nearby grocery store, including

pots of rosemary, basil and lemon grass

the gifts from summer also include

home grown flowers from marigolds

to zinnias, whose seeds i will carefully

zipped up for next spring's planting

i love watering the back garden,

mesmerized by the sprinkling waterdrops

and even now that its a bit cooler,

i love the green lushness of the fields

savoring each rain downpour

as maple leaves are slowly turning brown

what we planned at the start of year

has given us a clear direction:

this home is more precious than ever-

our spring's sale showing did not materialize

which turns out to be blessing after all

as i slowly hang up paintings, unpack kitchen gadgets

from the garage, arrange a vase, curtains

cushions, bed coverings, books that

give our space a unique look

not the ubiquitous bland "perfect for sale home"

i breathe it all until plant questions intrude:

when to bring back all the tropical

plants indoors?

and where to fit them all in our living room?

Posted for the dVerse Poets Pub - Poetics - Where do we go from here? Hosted by Melissa Lemay. Thanks for your comments and visits.

untitled [summer]

2025-08-07T08:00:00.039-04:00

summer

my balcony of zinnias-

blooming pink, red and tangerine

an empty nest

amidst the birdsongs, i scatter the sun

flower seeds

Summer 2025

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - MTB, A Revisit with The Cherita, hosted by Merril Smith. Thanks for your visits and comments.

Riverwood

2025-08-05T14:37:00.001-04:00

tall red maple leaves are inviting

we walk inhaling the cool light

moss, wood ferns, wildflowers edging

our pathway of pebbles & grass

we pass the storm-struck fallen tree

scattering bark, a haven shed

for chipmunks, squirrels, buzzing bees

and birds with wings of black & red

terrain is rugged yet wood-soft

at the credit river, we marvel-

wood duck, mallard, and blue heron

catching fish & blueing sky joyful

Riverwood, Mississauga City, Ontario

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Let's Take a Walk in the Woods - Thank you for your visits and comments.

imposter syndrome

2025-07-31T06:58:00.001-04:00

i am going bananas

over my empty bag

i take out my fishing rod & reel

and cast the line over the lake

it is summer & sun

has blued & sparkled the shore

stones, sands, pebbles, low tide

i take it

crackles, bouts of silence, birdsongs, sweat

running down my back

a tremor pulses

and i reel in the line to look at my catch

is it lost door key?

is it freshwater salmon?

or maybe a lost train ticket?

nope

it is the shape of

a woman's torso

robust, unpretentious, glorious

the randomness is serendipity

the nothingness is everything

and this sits right with me:

lens of the uncertainty of the poet

The Uncertainty of the Poet

Giorgio de Chirico

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight. Please join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST. Thank you for your comments and visits.

the color of my days

2025-06-26T08:11:00.000-04:00

i. monday

white is the color

of regret, an un-

painted bowl left on table

ii. tuesday

i am color-

less sheet of blue static-

-unsent messages

-unfinished thoughts

iii. wednesday

i can eat the sun-

flowers all day, but my

tongue is dragon fruit -

coloring the rain water pink

iv. thursday

it must be the sand

or the sandpipers

how else can my mornings

be joy-struck, bicolored musings of sky

vi.friday

i walk these city streets

and see different shades of color

from skin to hair to eyes-

i do not pretend to be colorblind

your story is different from mine

but it is the same ocean tides that

powers your lungs & mine to go out

there & protest & march-

vii.satuday

i read the

books & albums

as if they sugar candies-

it was sticky with colorful memories

of the past

though its all in black and white

viii.sunday

and what of black?

it is erasure

it is sacrifice

not a color lacking

a seed

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - MTB Synesthesia. Thanks for your comments and visits.

steps to my arrival (here)

2025-06-24T07:30:00.001-04:00

Cut the twining cord quickly

with a sharp scissors

Use the cord clamp to stem

the bleeding

It will not hurt (for now)

The scars will fold under my navel

As will my native tongue

sink to the bottom of my belly of fears

Learn the language of

weather politeness of 4 seasons

Handle the etiquette

of fork & knife with ease

Still the waving hands as intuition

& glaze the summer skin to winter ice

Walk the balancing act

between following & not following

between listening & not listening

To myself & this pathway that I have

chosen, from brave idea to blistering reality

of starting over in a new country

a 360 degree turn

from one journey to another

Jump as if there is no bridge

to return to,

Even if each detour, is a dead-

weight of self-blame

Even if every mistake is a sword to

the carefully constructed excel timeline-

In the rearview,

Plow along as elegant swans, with no outside

signs of breaking point

What kept me sane, gentle as raindrops?

Writing poems

A balm & thread to my turmoil

Strewn away as spinning dandelion fluffs

on a windy summer day, scattering

verses lead to stanzas, rhymed

& unrhymed, each poem

a journey to

Forgive & find myself

after patching & stitching faded lilac

blooms & falling autumn leaves to my sleeves-

I am (wholly) grateful

For marking 20 years in this land, we now call home

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub: Poetics: Building from the Broken hosted by Mish. Celebrating this day as our first day in Ontario, Canada with my family. What a journey it has been!

coward

2025-06-10T07:00:00.001-04:00

you lied

when you brazenly told the new group

that you are wild & adventurous

one person took your word

& tested your boundaries-

he knocked at your hotel

door at midnight

you are new <here>

strangely, this city is brimming of cloves,

nutmeg & spicy hot peppers-

you are writing a new page

in this exciting theatre stop

your head is swimming with beer & crackers

enamored with the lure & lore, you

are making a a bold move

(in your head with clouds)

you plump up your plumeria-

misted pillows

& settle down deep in your bed, ignoring

the knocking at your door-

the phone ringing with urgency-

you recall that you are just a visitor here

& must go back to your home

base later in the day-

your luggage & plane tickets are ready-

there are some doors that you

need not open-

there are some bridge planks

that you guesstimate is too short for you

to land firmly on shores-

you just prefer everyday life

to be boring

as a dissected frog-

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub- Poetics: A View of One's Own, hosted by Dora. Thank you for your comments and visit.

becoming

2025-05-29T08:00:00.007-04:00

you wanted lines to be perfect

yarning silk to flawless hues

yet your face is moody spring, unkempt

yearning for moon's kiss & blues

observe the shedding of olive skin

obtuse as words you scrawled on walls

offer sage leaves & feathers, & spin

oats & seeds, the wild voice calls

begin each day with tender hands

bathing in light, forgiving yourself

bedazzle with larks, jiggle run on sands

becoming is chaos, off-the-shelf

enter at-your-own risk show, you scrap

endurance with pride, & you also fall

endless times, until you fly without a map

edging lakes, you cup palms & call-

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetry form is Trolaan. Thanks for your comments and visits.

this room is under study

2025-05-08T07:46:00.002-04:00

the room is triptych

a distortion of the manifesto:

space, silos, substance

there is no roof

nor ceiling, only sky & clouds

are our constants

whatever lies beyond

the dark blue skyline is anyone's

guess

spin your story & see

where this takes you-

imagine: there is no wall

or cabinets to display photos

or keepsakes, yet

every absence holds shape

of what can be

every unopened door stirs & tears

of what may be

you are told

this room has two doors-

but what you see is not just two doors

the openings are everywhere

also the ground is unlevelled, moving

under your feet, folding & unfolding-

you roll over

get egg wash all over your face

& unroll again & again

this ground is not a vanishing point-

the room is under study

for you see so many possibilities

and in this moment, you are

both light & darkness

both ending & beginning

Kay Sage, entitled, My Room Has Two Doors (1939)

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight. The image is for the optional prompt but I also used some words from our Tuesday's Poetics, In Our Words, hosted by Melissa Lemay.

Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST. Thanks for your visits and comments.

spring

2025-04-29T12:00:00.005-04:00

mother arrives with a knife

cutting down the dead tree with swift blows-

pulling back dull curtains, bagging old

autumn leaves & winter bones with twisted bow

this is a season of hardiness as stubborn

bull, plunging into the open air with grit & breath

of a seasoned traveler, braving the rain & roller-

coaster wind, driving head first to sow seeds & spores

spring season arrives with false starts

much like a failing review of a premiere movie night-

or a disappointing first-look of famous landmark-

it is a short season as the cherry blossoms trees-

yet in every spring season, you marvel its art-

thick thistles of flowerets-

gnarly green fingers rising from mud-

red-veined leaves, delicate as old woman's hands-

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub- Poetics: Getting Hooked on Opening Lines, hosted by Kim Russell. Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST. Thank you.

Ten Ways of Looking at the Crossroad

2025-04-22T12:30:00.065-04:00

The sky is a glass

Of mourning blackbirds

I stand rooted, a weeping willow

At the crossroad

II.

A sign

Falls flat on grass

Knocked down by errant wind-

This ceased to be a cross-

road

III.

Two sisters stood at the crossroad

One chose the sun, west of the forest

The other chose the moon, east of the river

When they met again after a year,

Their faces were maps

Their hands were cups

Hued of their journeys

IV.

At midnight

Your reckless heart rips away

The bandages

And follow the unmarked road

From the distance

A crossroad

Strikes a shiver of excitement

Like choosing an ice cream flavor & toppings-

VI.

He walks with me

And the crossroad turns into

A boat ride in the canal

VII.

At the crossroad

I felt every pebble, gravel & slab

beneath my feet

VIII.

Death arrived

At this crossroad

Early Sunday morning

IX.

When she gave an ultimatum -

The crossroad

Became a street marked with dynamites

Your face is

A book

Stamped with crossroads

I have yet to figure out

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetics - Fated, hosted by Merril Smith. Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.

house [for sale]

2025-04-17T11:06:00.013-04:00

i grew a body

over the decades & seasons:

sturdy legs, giraffe high ceilings & brown

weathered arms during long winter nights

i found my stubborn voice

from the brick chimney, incessant howling

of a child on a strong

stormy day, black hair whiplashed by wind

i discovered my elephant's ears-

doors opening and footsteps are news -

jostling voices by dinner table and kitchen

are stories, as are goodbyes from the stoop and stairs

you talk to me as if i am more than bricks and stones

and painted white walls. you see, i stitched a tail

to swim with blue whale at the basement and green-

thumbed my fingers to forest neon pothos

and chatter with ferns & crotons & ivy -

-no we do not linger on chaos & turmoil of news-

we fill our heads with birdsongs & spring's arrival of lilacs-

& yes, i am scrubbed clean, ready for Sunday's open house-

the woman holding the box of for-sale placards wrestles

with her decision - keep my keys or give it to someone else -

i like to believe i am priceless burrow of maps

and irreplaceable nest of "memories"

but reality hits as sudden hail storm on a sunny day-

regardless of the price tag listed in the property deed

- to safe keep my keys -

my face grew a character, familiar as musk of pines-

because all this time, you see, we grew in/

out of each other

watching the dying sunlight by maple tree

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - MTB: Magical Realism. Join us when the virtual pub doors open at 3pm EST. Please see our exciting 2026 Anthology Project to celebrate the 15th anniversary of dVerse Poets Pub here.