Glorious Morning

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Morning bursts forth in all its radiant glory,

peering through the sheltered woods,

highlighting trees, dancing on flowers.

Steppingstones draw me to

the damp creek.

Frogs bury themselves in mud keeping cool

Morning breezes will soon shift

But, for now, the glorious morning shimmers.

Backyard Painting: Dwight L. Roth

Today, at d’Verse. Linda asked us to write a 44 word Quadrille using the word morning.

Join us at: https://dversepoets.com

Fireworks

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Nature’s Fireworks

Starting a few days early

Happy Fourth of July

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I saw the sun catching these day lilies just right last evening. I was able to get a shot before it moved on.

Photo: Dwight L. Roth

Reflection

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The stone-cold moon has no light of its own

Yet shines brightly in the night sky

A round chunk of rock and dust that never gives a moan

*

Some hear it humming, bright and full in the stary sky

Some think it calls lovers to swoon

As it returns night after night and days roll by

*

We know its strong forces pull the oceans’ tides

Invisible rubber band hangs onto earth for dear-life

Wanting to fly, to sail beyond, yet sometimes runs and hides

*

Love it seems, like the moon, is only a reflection

Of that warm smile (of the sun) making it glow

*

This poem is a spin-off of an audio poem by Merril Smith.

https://merrildsmith.wordpress.com/2022/02/06/poem-the-wobbling-moon-up-in-roi-faineant/#comment-52291

Photo: Dwight L. Roth

Fruit of the Vine (haiku)

Grapes ripen on vines

Turning blue in summer sun

Squirrels may get first taste

My first good harvest

Will I get a taste at all

Other mouths compete

Globes of green sunshine

Pure sweet transformation waits

To see who tastes first

Photos: Dwight L. Roth

Clauda at d’Verse, asked us to write a poem about our garden. I wrote this one last week about my grapes and competition with the squirrels for the fruit. I am now getting some sweet blue ones. They are wonderful. Since many of the d’verse group did not see this poem, I thought I would post it for our prompt this evening.

Join us at: https//dversepoets.com

Wind Blown

Laundry on the line

For all the world to see

Basking in sunlight

Fresh sheets blowing in the wind

A fresh smell like no other

*

Clothes from the washer

Suds squeezed out through the ringer

Woman’s work back then

Monday morning wash day

Life’s simple routine repeated

*

Wicker basket filled

Undies just hung on the line

Wooden clothes pins tight

No one then gave it a thought

Whether the neighbors saw them

*

Phosphate soap bubbles

Tide will always get them clean

Good fresh smells linger

Dry clothes pressed on ironing board

Folded put up by supper

Photo: Dwight L. Roth

At d’Verse this evening, De asked us to write a poem about laundry! I grew up in the days when clothes were washed in a ringer washer and washtubs, hung on the line outside with wooden clothes pins, and ironed on an ironing board in the kitchen! No need for fabric softener back then the clothes always smelled wonderful. I decided to do a series of tankas.

Join us at: https://dversepoets.com

From There to Here

How swiftly time flies from there to here

Ten lifetimes rolled into one sweet moment

Today I’ll sit, in cool warming sunshine

Watch hawks soaring overhead

Listen to wrens and cardinals sing

And watch my drying little creek

Slowly turn into curdled algae yogurt

Today at d’Verse we are to write a Quadrille of exactly 44 words, using the word swift or a form of the word. I was immediately drawn to how fast time has passed in my lifetime. These are my reflections.

Join us at: https://dversepoets.com …then click on Mr. Linkey and read more.

Photos: Dwight L. Roth

Meaning in the Meaningless

Old in age, I am young at heart

Seeing my way through an uncharted maze

I look for light in the winter dark of night

Racing slowly toward the finish line

*

Days creep by, as redundant weeks roll on

Attempting to find meaning in the meaningless

Believing in that unbelievable Spirit of all Creation

Experiencing grace and comfort in not knowing

*

In this winter of freezing joints and pushing buds

I defy the waiting cold earth with warm sunshine

I write my simple poems from inspired words unknown

As night closes in, each new day dawns

I am the bud and the blossom, I am the late-falling leaf” – from The Paradox by Paul Dunbar

Photo: Dwight L. Roth

Today at d’Verse, Laura asked us to consider writing from the perspective of paradox. She gave us some lines from different poems to choose from for inspiration. I chose the one from Paul Dunbar’s, The Paradox.

Join us at: https://dversepoets.com then click Mr. Linkey to read more.