Wisteria in silence and sound

A scent of Wisteria
if real or fake
borne by warm breezes
over rippling tidewaters.

A ship’s sharp whistle
from deep in the gut,
as sweet music echoes
through silent halls

… a faceless, mute bibliotaph,
who treasures… within his soul…
sounds he cannot experience
except in his penetralia.

© Sometimes, 2017


This WORDLE #129, has languished in my notebook for months.    I do love these exercises offered frequently by MINDLOVEMISERY, and enjoy the challenge of making a poem or other form of writing, using at least ten specific words from a list of 12.  This Wordle words are: Wisteria, faceless, penetralia*, sharp, tidewater, fake, breeze, occur, mute, bibliotaph*, step, and guts.

penetralia: held in interior, core, deep, innards, etc… as in deep sometimes private thoughts or memories

bibliotaph: someone who hoards books, a book collector

The News

Every day–as if by magic
there’s a new crisis to cover
each worse and more tragic;
The Angel of Death faithfully will hover
over events which appear strategic,
choreographed, and artistic maneuvers
directed by an invisible hand–
that is not necessarily beneficial.

Breathless reporters thrilled with new news,
of open skies storming–ice defying global warming:
topics discussed and promoted in a myriad
of views…put forth by the ignorant
who deny their own tunnel vision.
Rivers run dry and farm land floods…
as camels and llamas in opposite hemispheres
suffer cooling of heat zones, and warming the cold.

Pollution and holes in the ozone  layer
threaten the livability of our sustainable atmosphere. Hunger and thirst belies the goodness of Mankind. Terrible catastrophes around the world’s surface bring heartbreak  to the homeless,
compounded by death, and hopeless despair.

All of this bad news is presented by enthusiastic
announcers, who report the daily Big Story.  And if THAT doesn’t provide the viewers with news
worthy of  consumptive tongue-clucking–
there is always news of the antics of the –bejewelled, bewitched, and beautiful–
rich and famous of the world.

© Sometimes, 2016

Talking too much?

At times I like to talk in rhyme
but I don’t do that all the time.
It is usually better to modulate the voice
to speak in dulcet tones and airs of choice,
crooning tremulous or chortling mellow esteem,
rather than utter harsh or bitter raucus noise.

At times I chatter on and on in circles,
filling the air waves with clever syllables;
other times it makes no sense
to be anything but candid and specific
and speak the truth as I see it–
in common talk without terse rhetoric.

They hate it when I enter into lecture mode,
with details boring and useless conjecture,
with no practical purpose than to bode
ominous warnings of dangerous textures…
forming like storm clouds just out of sight,
but they heed not well-meant casts of light.

“We don’t want to hear it–we’ve heard it before
and by now we can stand no more!”
Far better it is, they think, to pay more attention
to demigods with nebulous, half-baked intentions–
who purport to make new and promising mention
of innovative ways to improve the nation.

So, at times I like to talk in rhyme,
but I don’t do that all the time…
even though that rhythmic  cadence
tends to bring more nods from an audience.
They like their facts much better when couched as a joke…
or resembling a limerick–or maybe Karaoke.

© Sometimes, 2016

Time of Day…a Triolet


Time of day rules all we might do
from First Light to the End of Night.
The morning birds bid us rise up…
Time of day rules all we might do–
sleep, eat, play, go here, do it now
just follow the clock round in time.
Time of day rules all we might do
from First Light to the End of Night.

© Sometimes, 2016

Sound of Fear

Sound of Fear

muffled but of notice
gives pause when heard
on a quiet afternoon.

would I be so complacent
if I were on the other
side of the world?

Would I calmly, momentarily
look up from my page in wonder
and contemplate the source of the BOOM!
“a backfire?  Or distant thunder?”

Or would the BOOM! resounding
warn of something more sinister…
stirring a shiver of fear
or a clutch at my heart?

Would I dash to the window
to pull down the shade
and make sure all the cats
were safely under the bed?

Would I be as sure and content
that the BOOM! was innocuous
and merely a sound–instead of
a terror quaking the ground?

© Sometimes, 2015

Follow where life leads

Follow where life leads

Never be afraid to alter the course of life’s road.
There is no limit, no closed doors…
Sleep refreshes, a pause to rest
and plan to choose which bend to follow
when the morning begins, and the Sun rises
and shines on an original plateau.

Marking a line to North or to West implies no pact
to heed to the path of yesterday’s heading
to South or to East.  Each life moment is unique,
and subject to reversal or alteration.
Never be afraid to turn around the itinerary
to embark on an entirely fresh way to go.