Precedence is chance The roll is a fast chaotic dance
The die is cast numbers spin Will luck outlast the spin I’m in?
The dotted faces turn and prop bounce and hop My future turns on fortune’s stop
Excitement Anticipation Fulfilment or suffocation
Desperation Indecision High risk taking recidivism
Bound for glory is my folly Wracked and ruined that’s my story
Highs feed lows on pure vainglory
Today’s dVerse prompt from Ingrid was for a subject of each poet’s choosing. This one came from a draft I had on gambling, a subject I have been trying to get my head around.
When you go out of your way to pay a special visit to a reputedly special place to await what is reputedly the best sunset atop the best vantage point in the country to watch What do you expect to see? The first true signs of the end of days the man with the straggly long hair and dropping moustache stated categorically Glory in all its vividly obscene dissipating layers said one A solid shaft of pure golden light representing the pathway to heaven said another The small group sitting in the rock beside said it was the last sunset they always came to see, but they hadn’t seen it yet A couple on the other side of the hill crest said they came for the purity of love they experienced every evening together under the setting sun A man and his dog told me they found in the descent of lonely Sol a parallel with their own existence dying each day and reborn alone each morning no matter how splendid each even looked to others There was a small girl in rags come up from the squalid town below. She saw hope in the sunset of an escape into a world of bright light and enchantment away from her stolid grey existence There was an off duty policeman present. He came to wish all the bad things he saw done every day depart below the horizon before he could sleep at night A woman all dressed in white told me her life was colourless and joyless except for this moment every day where she could finally grasp the meaning of true beauty before she forgot what it was in the black of night A priest in his hot black tunic and white collar was saying a prayer as I passed. Bless this world with the light of another day An aged pensioner said he came to pay his respects to the newly dead as they left this life for the darkness and left him one day more alone A trail runner had run all the way to the top because it was there, but he had to get back before nightfall lest he stumble or lose his way A groups of drug affected alts were there to optimise the effect of their high in natural harmony with the earth the sun the solar system and the universe as their synthesised meds could take them An artist was there to capture the waning beauty of Ra’s life giving fireball on a canvas 2m square An astronomer and a night watchman came together not for the sunset, but for the starlight to follow. Their interest was in the understanding and security of the afterglow. A marketing businessman came to follow the money wherever opportunities for advantage might be found, he was always up for a look at a business opportunity wondering how he could leverage the sunset to his financial advantage. I found a spot of my own right beside the stony summit and looked with the other people sitting there across the broad brown plain below, the towns with their lights blinking on one by one, the smoke rising from eternal hearth fires, stubble fires, waste fires, methane columns and coal pits I saw the permanent haze along the curvature of the earth, the grey brown band of smog climbing into the atmosphere the sooty stain on the sun and I realised there was no magnificent sunset here every evening. It was a man made illusion comprised of the load of filth pumped incessantly into the air I knew then I had come to view the sunset and witness the tangible manifestation of sinking decline. So I left that summit for cleaner clearer view summits and my journey took me around the world. I saw the sunset on other plains hills mountains lakes oceans and ice caps I met talked and planned with others who with me wanted to rediscover the first pristine sunset and resurrect it forever At the last summit I attended I met just one man and one woman who had been at that place sitting walking watching and talking about the same sunset together forever I asked them what they had learned? They said it will come.
The lock stops access
The clock stops time
The drug stops abscess
The organ stops rhyme
The boot stops turning
The period stops lines
The water stops burning
The cleaner stops grime
The valve stops pressure
The jar stops brine
The ruler stops measure
The law stops crime
The plug stops water
The wave stops sine
The truth stops laughter
The pump stops prime
The grass stops growing
The bottle stops wine
The gardner stops mowing
The devil stops divine
The food stops hunger
The hunger that is mine
This stop goes no longer
Than this very last line
Rum tum tum Rum tum tum
I succumbed
Rum tum tum
When the words were flung
Saw the bait Saw the bait
Thrown to peers alust with hate
Saw the bait
Do its work to humiliate
Watched his face Watched his face
Cloud to the many shades of disgrace
Watched his face
Laid waste by such bitter taste
Witnessed the scorn Witnessed the scorn
For one different and elsewhere born
Witnessed the scorn
As with thorny crown he was adorned
Turned my head Turned my head
When more weaponised words were said
Turned my head
Away from watching as his heart bled
Felt my shame Felt my shame
As passive part of this vicious game
Felt my shame
My deathly silence my silence to blame
I still regret I still regret
No one’s eyes to have met
I still regret
Complicit inaction I can’t forget
Where is he now Where is he now
Is he high or is he low?
Where is he now
Does anger in him burn aglow?
Santa asked we poets to explore the issue of peer pressure for this week’s dVerse prompt. I expect there are few people anywhere who can claim complete innocence. Have you got anything to say for yourself?
Someone dies a death a death that was not meant to be How can the loss be understood?
There has never been a death that was meant or not meant to be Death has no timing no caring no reason Death is nothing more than the end of living Looking deeper into death is looking deeper into loss alone For the dying itself there is no further explanation We are flawed mortal and as such we die It is how the living feel about it where the issue lies
The words I have always heard about the silence of the forest have never rung true There is no silence in the forest No matter how much you romanticise or wish there to be
The forest is noisy relative only to just how hard you choose to listen
Bright is the light that shines on me as I dwell finally in deathbed reverie the doctor he talks and talks and he talks
my wife she weeps and weeps and she weeps and time it creeps and creeps and it creeps
what is this light that shines above lights pallid face of death to my love the darkness it resists and resists and it resists
in brilliance it glows and glows and it glows in radius it grows and grows and it grows
this light that calls me as my light fades this light that draws me to the night of shades with death it walks and walks and it walks
my feeble hand I raise and wave I waver and it waves faces watch uncertain so grave grave and so grave
I see my hand stir dust in the air second last thing I will see anywhere the dust it wafts and wafts and it wafts
my brow is mopped and mopped and is mopped my hand drops I drop and it drops
as dust I settle back onto deaths bed into the pillow sinks my head life’s weight I shed I shed and I shed
looking down into the room I am surprised it is lit by only gloom the husk has collapsed collapsed collapsed
hollowed of life of life and of life beside my wife my wife my beloved wife
the dust dispersed draws my spirit in and back to dust I go again the gift I leave is small but complete I was loved and I loved I am replete
Today’s dverse prompt is from Laura, to write words of departure based on your choice from a set of quotes. I chose the quote from a favourite and most remarkable movie – “All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain.” Roy Batty, Blade Runner.
Ah, my chimeric and fanciful place A world to inhabit when I displace Where food is abundant and water is clear Where choices are free I’ll ne’er shed a tear Where sharing is normal no money spent Home is a shelter without mortgage or rent Ideas are born to be actioned for pleasure Actions occur for outcomes or leisure Thinking is respected intellectual pursuit Everyone loves and all follow suit Where judging is absent because no one judges Where grudges are absent because no one grudges Where religion only follows the Gaia led path To planetary health such joy makes me laugh My friends are my friends conflict unknown We simply marvel at how friendship keeps growing
What Prospero said should not be decried Give death a rightful standing in our lives As a lens through which to view the good for which we strive To ponder temporal versus eternal that is always nigh To elevate appreciation and despondency defy
And so, when vibrant youth immortality implies When healthy vigour makes the future glisten in our eyes When happiness is at its peak with all that it supplies When prosperity creates opportunity many are denied When security is such that all our fears it belies Take a moment to remember it is only life that dies
Value life through death as on times fleeting wings it flies The mind that honours death values life on high
pick
I will
go collect a bucket
of plums
see
purple plums
outside
red plums
inside
bite
taut elastic skin
snaps and recoils
under pressure of
sharp incisors
burst
taste
exploding plum
tartly sweet
firmly juicy
with sticky feet
feel
the texture
anticipated
chewy soft
an eating
sensation
never
lost
wet
with flavour
deep and true
dribbles assured
all the way
to the
end
of
it
swallow
the energy
immediate
hit
spit
pit
ah plums
Today we https://dversepoets.com poets are playing with food. Thanks Misky for a prompt that has me re-savouring my favourite fruit.
Juliet
is all slick and wet
her long hair in her eyes
she has been hit
by an idiot
drunk driving by
bye bye
Romeo
roams idly by
sees the girl on the ground
He looks at her
quizzically
then realises what he has found
Juliet
breathes in gasps
as blood pools under her back
She looks up sees Romeo
last look last love
as limbs go slack
Romeo’s
not much you know
but this time
things are different
He wipes the hair from glazed eyes
and wonders where
her life went
Juliet
rises above the scene
She watches Romeo
He cradles her head
gently in his lap
He whimpers out a moan
Romeo
struck by love’s full fist
his only love has gone
He whines he weeps
at his loss
Death into his soul creeps
Juliet
bears final witness to
Romeo’s last testament
“Did my heart truly love till now?”
he whispers
For the first time
he knows what love meant
“Good night Good night”
“Thus with a kiss I too die”
He declares to her
death pale face
Romeo
bends his head down
tenderly brushes her cold lips
with his own
he lets her head down
lightly beside him
as he lies quietly beside her
takes her right hand
with his left
Romeo
from his pocket
retrieves a knife
meant for other men
he eases the blade
between his ribs
it finds his broken heart
As blood pools under his back
his life is also gone
Juliet
utters one last cry of grief
before she disappears
or was that one last cry of relief
in hope he reappears
for never was there a story of more woe
than this of Juliet and her Romeo
Two women sit under a thatched roof supported by rafters coarse wood brown smiling and chatting together Chickens scratch at the edge of their shelter a bold shiny colourful rooster a big shiny black hen
Their surroundings are a circular patch dry dusty earth red small mud brick dwellings define a perimeter orange The late autumn day is lit by a cold sun of clean blue light
One woman sits above the other higher she is perched Her long thin legs hang over a shallow edge a rug covered platform She is the older in a thick faded purple dress a pullover yellow is topped with a scarf white around her neck Her head is swaddled in a woollen wrap crimson it frames a face sun lit, weathered and aged by decades of labour
Spaces such as this fields such as she can choose to see at anytime will forever be green and brown She gazes pensively across open communal space She ponders her past with pleasure and regret she speaks of things new old, deep and trivial Her arthritic hands clasped in a lap of gratitude flesh Her battered Nike sneakers peek out from the long layers of fabric above grey and yellow her face is calm Her future as it will be
The younger sits cross legged a woven mat under her strung tan Together cultivating lines of okra drying under sheltering eaves ragged shadows of indigo host hangings vertically in bright green coloured lengths unclasped necklaces ornaments of metres adorn the space with a decorative interior that creates a sense coming festivity The drying shed colours the day, the place it’s people making according to the crop a pride of place for transient prettiness and implications security, work well done
Here for generations other younger women have sat for hours days post harvest preparing sustaining products of manual fieldwork multi hued for deep grey winter consumption Her dress is brighter golds magentas her hands are as yet unaffected by the gnarly growths destined by labour She repeats centuries old weaving patterns confidently efficiently unhurried listening quietly thoughtfully respectfully
Tales of the past wash over her black and white through her as water of life in delicate pastels as hope as comfort She knows here there are will be still lessons to be gleaned conversation the reflections of her elder The younger a willing learner of a quasi meditative state borne soft pink by the methodical repetitious nature of her work it is was as surely known the best way for learning lessons by the word of her people successes and failures myth legend retelling that never ceases to inform warm warn entertain and delight
There is comfort in the learning a knowing that all the natural obstacles over which there is little control life will continue on on on There is no question about how time is to be spent day by day this is dictated by seasons culture necessity green yellow brown grey
There is no concept of time ticking away each day is known-quantity where choice is limited but colour rich life is sometimes unpredictable dangerous set fluid simple giving and taking with impunity Time has no measure life itself opaque
Two women commune as did two before them back it goes into the dark blue of distance where many women become every one sitting together, stringing up green okra another part of every year’s never ending rainbow
They told me about her hair before I met her. It was green. I thought it the best hair I’d ever seen. The fall of her locks topped long flowing frocks that ran neck to toe as they swept the ground clean.
In bare feet so she walked or sashayed I should say her hair bounced away like gentle waves of the sea.
In long flowing robes from her head to her toes luminous bright green and shimmering a sheen, she moved as one supple, undulating dream.
Her hips that were square rolled sensually there under rippling fabric I deemed. Her shoulders carried smoothly. Her pose held beautifully. Her skin smooth as polished gold. Her head held proud, and defiantly bold.
Her face was of grace framed in fine green lace at the edges of the green hood folded around her neck. From the dripping sleeves of her gown, where long hands emerged brown, slender fingers completed the scene.
Bright brown eyes looked curiously around, ‘til she stopped, tall and sure image of a noble queen. She had turned toward me. I, the watcher was seen, and I found myself bound to the tall brown woman in green.
In the darkness there is fear of
what we do not know where
moonlit silhouettes change
frequented pathways through
accustomed landscapes
to unfamiliar tunnels hooded
by shadows obscured
by gloom alive
with the colourless and hidden
In black night confusion
and disorientation assert
themselves by seeding doubt
Insubstantial surroundings draw an
inky deception across the known
world where that latent but
ever present dread of
losing our way will always prevail
Today, the dVerse challenge was from Linda to pick one line from a Jim Harrison poem and use it as an epigraph for a poem inspired by that line. I chose, “Yes, in the predawn black the slim slip of the waning moon.”- Remote Friends, Jim Harrison. https://dversepoets.com/2022/01/25/poetics-songs-of-unreason/
I seek to find the tree
where and when I find it
I will know it for its role in my life
spirit connecting totem
white fella dreaming me
my original culture kit
equipped for consumption and strife
for directionless floating
missing address of life’s mystery
missing where I fit
cut from “other” as with a knife
finished as animate factotum
I seek the key
in nature’s remit
to open the door of relief
to release my soul forgotten
I walk the bush incessantly
search nature’s bridge exquisite
in enduring mortal grief
to reveal immortal heart re-woken
where entity is true and free
where body and soul will sit
with cup and bowl I turn new leaf
full of love and hoping
Sustenance, sustenance The needs of my family, the very future depend on my Hunter’s skill Tracking is the game ignoring the baubles for the meat persevering when hope is lost When perseverance is the only hope to find
As I cross the threshold between sunshine and artificial light where my flaming torch of knowledge and experience must keep me lit alert to fallacy and trickery Nevertheless it dulls against intensely bright competition These high ceilinged vaults as if starlit with halogen and diode I find it hard to distinguish whether inflamed or extinguished my very own light flares or fades As does the light of knowledge or critical elements of judgement
This is a brilliantly ominous hole in real space This dead centre of comsupmtion Of glow worms on mirrored walls of perverted fairy lights created by evil spirit I cross a sinister boundary into a world of corruption temptation and reduction The world is rendered thus
The cavernous halls of this space daunt Its glittering stalactites drip luminously sweet waters impure as added sweeteners can illicit over gem encrusted subterranean alcoves and niches Where false gods are worshipped Where diamonds turn to glass Where purchase is neither with foot nor by hand But by extraction and brand Burning into pockets through means of exchange where the purpose of this cave becomes revealed Although, still not to the naive, the gullible and the willing
Yet I stand strong Resolute by my informed knowing I conquer foreboding fear held at bay by the most fragile resilience and I buy in
I buy big I buy small I buy all the things I want at the Mall Until I can but no longer As these halls previously mapped have seen the bounds of my credit card zapped Gotta get out before ruin befalls My Christmas spree buying One day for it all
Today’s prompt comes from Dora. In the context of the Crazy Christmas season she suggests, ….. “imagine a moment of pausing, a still point of epiphany.” dVerse
We first lived together below Tawonga Gap beneath mountains capped with snow
In a Happy Valley cottage by a valley threading creek, the Happy Valley flow
Where trout could be watched hunting or basking below the surface
And rocks were smoothed and sandy beds were lit by sunny luminance
It met the Ovens River at the bottom of our hills
Joining other tributary waters of mountain rivers, creeks and rills
Where the crystal waters ran clean, clear and bright
Where the snow melt chilled the river deep to summer’s great delight
We shared an abandoned cottage dusted off for our loving residence
After approaching the farmer about its rental and to make his acquaintance
That small cottage at the bottom of a gully became our first home
With surrounding hills and mountains our romantic place to roam
Where the land about us and its occupants were both so ancient and so old
And the farmer who was born there had so many stories to be told
The days were long our backs were strong as we stepped outside the door
And the fruits of our labour on the block fed us more and more
We took the offered chook manure from the empty runs out back
Enriched the soil, dug the beds, sowed farmer’s seeds, we did not lack
The planted seedlings turned to vegetables as if by magic overnight
Their abundance when we harvested fed us and friends heartily every night
The dairy herd had long since gone and beef were the local stock
But one house cow remained for butter and milk beside the dairy block
Daily hand squeezed from her teats was milk so creamy and rich
It was hard to drink, and harder to say we thought we couldn’t stomach it
We had to tell the farmer not to deliver each and every morn
But he was good he understood stopped delivering without scorn
At days end an historic long tin bath bathed us once water was heated hot
Soothing us and cleaning us of grime and sweat gathered on the plot
The back step was the place to sit for weaving, sewing and repair
The hammock was the place to hang and relax either alone or as a pair
To hear the wind, to feel the still, to think and to contemplate
To reflect on the newness of life together, the pleasures to appreciate
And now forty years on I still think back gratefully to that time
With certainty of knowing here were the foundations of a life together
This life of yours and mine
Yakking yakking
on the phone they’re lacking
basic social grace
they are in your face
if wanted or not
their conversation is everywhere
like a worm that twists deep inside your ear
Yakking yakking
shared across public space
on public transport
in public parkland
throughout Halloween
with not a thought to public courtesy
private calls aired I do not care to share
Today’s dVerse prompt is from Lisa. She asks us to present a Quatorzain poem (a 14 line poem not necessarily a sonnet) in Duodora form as follows: 2 septets for which Line 1 repeats. Syllable counts per line are 4, 6, 5, 5, 5, 10, 10. Quite tricky! The subject is to speak to a human attribute that is particularly irritating to you with a Halloween or Samhain theme.
It’s done
It’s over
The matter is closed
The issue resolved
Before it arose
No more talk about it
Because there’s no more to say
I’ll bid you good bye
I’ll be on my way
wounded I crawl
to drag my wounds further through the dirt
dragging my belly along the ground
is none to low for me
in my hurt
I will scavenge to survive
but surviving will not a worthy life be
more eking out an existence
in the shadow of you
to pay my due
just to live in the shadow of you
as close as I can be
to skulk in a shadow world
as of the light
I am unworthy
for the harm that I was to cause
I regret and pay my price
but there is not enough in remorse
that I can forgive
my owned and destructive vice
there is no doubt in my mind
I will always be
the addict cripple
you tried to save when married
who left you ruined and harried
at least my surreptitious watching
over you
gives me purpose with which to see
I may prevent further harm
to you
as self destruction
gnaws away
at me
For this week’s dVerse challenge Ingrid has asked us to revisit a time in our lives when we have felt pain and come out of it on the other side.
This poem is a combination of close, shared personal stories. Feeling pain is as real as the sufferer perceives it to be. How someone comes out on the other side is relative and may not be consistent or sustainable.
My all time, super dipper, automatic choice for headwear.
1. Many years ago – about 15? I bought a full brimmed hat at Salamanca Market in Hobart. I had been on the lookout for the right hat for some time. With the hair on the top of my head rapidly thinning, a hat became important in a way it had never been before. However, I just couldn’t find the right hat. All the hats I had tried either didn’t sit well, were to loose and blew off easily or had to be so tight to avoid this they created a feeling of stricture. Often the brims blew up flat against my forehead or flat over my eyes in a light breeze. Some made my head too hot, others simply made me look very uncool.
When I put on this particular hat I immediately knew its rightness. No, not quite. I thought it looked uncool, but then it felt so comfortable that uncool ceased to matter. With an Hibiscus motif on the stitched in band and also into the underside of the brim, it did look odd on me. On the other hand, the denim and cotton fabric meant it didn’t automatically make me sweat. The brim was reinforced without being rigid, it didn’t blow about. The seal the deal factor was the elasticised cotton band on the inside. The soft yet firm grip on my crown was secure without being tight, not cold to the skin to touch, temperate as a sweat band for a hot day as well.
I have appreciated this hat ever since. It has been my pleasure to wear it. Through all weather and work demands it has stood the test of time. It has faded, it has been patched, it has frayed or worn through at all the regular touch points, particularly the edges and peak. The Hibiscus band has shredded and the sweat stains embedded. Yet it endures as a perfect fit, with a perfectly functional cotton elasticised grip and the brim at the front has angled with use for the ideally acceptable level of eye shading and when I dips me lid.
2. Today I received a present of home baked biscuits. What a lovely and enjoyable surprise. I am grateful for such a good thing to come from such a thoughtful friend.
3. Vegemite.
No day feels right without Vegemite.
It’s in my head until it’s eaten
That salty flavour that can’t be beaten
I love it on Vita Weet I love it on bread
A Vegemite roll, I’ve often said
Is the very best thing to ensure my day
Is going along in the very best way
masters of lyric
masters of music
masters of harmony
master songsmiths
you raised us
as
you raised yourselves
from notation illiterate
to craftsmen majestic
the birds
when they hear your melodies listen
hushed in admiration
and learn
you connected us
across lands of difference, waters vast and cultures divergent
universal emotions spilled when we heard your work
in your lives you have sung our lives
our joys and sorrows
our hopes and aspirations
our loves and losses
our frivolities and consequence
and still
our hearts open to your words
as if our own we know them
part of the human life song
playful, raaucous, challenging, beautiful
full of pleasures and sadness
as you endure beyond all before you
you mark the significance of your generation
you inspire generations to come
your song has lived long
and will not fade while we can listen
because we hear with hearts and minds
that will always quicken or quieten
in tune with your words and music
Today’s dVerse prompt is from Sannaa. She asked us to write in a form of traditional poetry called “panegyric” poetry. Poetry of effusive praise.
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