Slumbering Summer

Slumbering Summer

Red geraniums grow tall.

Their leaves, like hands,

tap softly against my window

~ in the somnolent mid-afternoon ~

when the sun gets warmer,

I start to drowse, and

my tall geraniums also nod.


A puente for 'imaginary garden with real toads'.

The Way Opened

The Way Opened

Below a pelt of thick, peaty soil

the smells of aromatic spices

mingle with oriental floral,

trees straining under the weight

of red and golden apples.

Nine mountains to the north, nine dragons

protect the island and vibrant harbour.
With the arrival of this thought
in the orange glow of the morning sun,

the departure of a hunger.

An erasure poem using lines from two pieces of fiction, The Chinese Way by Irene Tai and She Opened the Box by Rab Swannock Fulton, rearranged and intermingled.

Shared with Poets United's Poetry Pantry #432

So Long

So Long

So long now

since you jumped into death –

36 years, bright lad –

embracing the darkness

of the unknown,

rather than

the surrounding, encroaching

pain …

but my loyalty

is to your laughter,

your forthright gaze,

your arms around me briefly,

the words you inscribed on paper,

the flush on your freckled cheeks

and how resolutely

you straightened your shoulders

after that last time,

turning away.

At 'imaginary garden with real toads' Toni challenges us to write in the mood of Mono no Aware, the Japanese term for wistful sadness about loss or change. Well-timed for me, just as I've been having some nostalgic thoughts on the subject of this poem.

Just Do It

Just Do It

You just open

some sort of

inspace that connects

to the outspace

and both are

vast dark / light

from which, or

through, there pours

this thing, poetry,

made of words

you didn’t know

you knew how

to put together

and it’s true

you didn’t know:

oh vibrating instrument.

Kim, for the Weekend Mini Challenge at 'imaginary garden with real toads', invites us to write about 'just doing it'.

If You Forget Me

If You Forget Me

If you forget me, the Universe will come to a close.

It is not possible that you would forget me.

Through three lifetimes (and those only 

the ones we got in touch with) you did not forget me.

When you had Alzheimer’s, you still remembered me – 

though sometimes you got a bit muddled.

You knew always there was a Rosemary you loved.

You knew this woman with you as your dear wife.

Occasionally you didn’t connect them exactly, but

either way you loved me and never forgot me.

You are busy now, up there with the angels,

enjoying the work you do for the good, I know.

But you don’t forget me, you are just on the end

of a thought; when I think you, you are there.

And you look in without being summoned, often.

I see your face, hear your voice, feel your touch.

It could never be that you would forget me.

But if, impossibly, you did forget me –

I would haunt you in reverse, from earth,

chase after you into the stars, through all Heaven,

shake you by your incorporeal shoulders

with my dense, warm, fierce hands

thrusting my face into yours, and yell: 

This is me, Rosemary, your true love, your wife.

I refuse to forget you! And if you forget me, 

I promise, the Universe will already have stopped.

I decided I wouldn't write to prompts any more, but then I saw this one at 'imaginary garden with real toads': to use the title of a Neruda poem as a starting-point. Who can resist Neruda? Not me!

Missing the Boat

Missing the Boat

It was only

a momentary, passing

flicker of regret 

for an absence

from a place

I might have.…

After all, if

I had not …

or if I …

It’s just – I 

imagined a glimpse

of golden apples,

hints of sunlight

on sparkling water.

For a moment.

Linking to Poets United's Poetry Pantry #431