Nature Boy

Little nature boy;
Impossible to stay cleansed;
Mud is your grindstone.

A ‘Senryu’ written in response to W3 Prompt #50: Wea’ve Written Weekly’s poet of the week, Jane Aguiar. The poem must include the word impossible.

Yellow Eyes

Yellow eyes watching,
Observing the observer,
Lost in their beauty.

Written in response to dVerse author Sarah’s poetry prompt: Everything yellow.

No Control

I know it appears I’m staring incoherently as I process the meaning of those jarring words. I understand what is happening; likely better than the specialists surrounding my bed, uttering conciliatory sentiments. These well-intentioned practitioners are determined to make me complacent. It is not an issue of coming to terms with my predicament. It’s a matter of losing control. Behind my stupor is a type of awakening – being in control is a farce.

Oh, we certainly have our in-control moments. We pat ourselves on the back when we curb an urge to engage in harmful behaviors or make decisions that result in positive outcomes. When life’s going well, we believe it’s to our credit. When things truly fall apart, our lack of control becomes evident. Within this harsh reality, “[t]he seed of a poem lay dormant in my heart.” It’s called resignation.

This is a rewrite in response to dVerse author Mish’s prose prompt, incorporating the line: “The seed of a poem lay dormant in my heart.” A line taken from Winged Words by Valsa George.

I wrote the original piece of prose after learning my mother’s last cancer treatment option was not working. While looking at my mother’s face as she took in the news, I felt the seed planted in my heart, waiting to bloom through written words.


She begs the predator moves along;
For the protection of her young.
Her mate often by her side;
But he is searching for food.
Gone! Will the hunt be successful?
When he returns, her young shall beg for nourishment.
Will it be too late? The predator approaches the ground-built nest,
The killdeer has but one option, offering herself,
She abandons the nest and appears to be an easy meal.
Flailing around with a broken wing, the predator follows the injured bird.
She offers the predator an opportunity to pounce,
A bit of excitement, as she leads the predator away from the nest; the Killdeer fluttering helplessly toward the edge of the meadow.
The moment the predator leaps upon her prey;
The bird takes flight, landing in an empty clearing;
Her nest is in view, the predator retreats;
Her chicks beg for her return as she offers a promise of sustenance to her young.

Written in response to dVerse’s MTB: Cleaving to Antonyms in Contrapuntal Lines. I have chosen to incorporate the antonyms (or forms thereof): beg – offer. The portions in bold are written from the perspective of the Killdeer and the unbolded portions are written from the perspective of the predator.


A beautyberry is on the tree,
A snake below is glaring at me,
I dare reach out my hand,
On the berry I land,
As the snake wraps its coils around me.

W3 Prompt #49: Wea’ve Written Weekly poet of the week, Aishwarya, prompts us to write an American Sentence or a Limerick on the theme of beauty. I’m not certain the limerick actually qualifies as beauty themed, so I have included an American sentence as well.

Inner Beauty

Beauty may endure from within, but no doubt will wither from without.

Focal Point

Have I lost focus?
Or, is it the lens through which I peer?
It seems the closer I look,
the more distorted my perception becomes.
The zoom is of no benefit.
Perhaps I should take a step back;
And refocus on the whole picture.

Written in response to dVerse’s Quadrille prompt: “Grab your plume, and let your words zoom across the page to form a poem of just 44 words (not counting the title), and including some form of the word zoom.”

Elusive Bird

Elusive little bird,
Why must you taunt me so.
Not very colorful are you,
Nor of a rare or unique variety.
But your cute little antics,
Are difficult to ignore;
And the challenge you provide,
Makes you all the more intriguing.

I am relatively new to photography and have had the pleasure of spending several weeks in a subtropical environment photographing shore birds. I did not realize how cooperative those birds were until I returned home and attempted to photograph the little songbirds in my own backyard. These have proven quite the challenge, incessantly flittering amongst the trees.

Some cooperative shore birds:

Green Heron
Little Blue Heron
Snowy Egret
Brown Pelican

A Little Innocence

Hope is that curiosity leads to adventure;
That discovery results in wonderment;
That joy is found in the little things;
That love is all encompassing;
That the exigencies of life promote strength;
That, through it all, a little innocence remains.

Written in response to “W3 Prompt #48: Wea’ve Written Weekly,” hosted by poet of the week, Kerfe Roig. “Begin your own poem with the words ‘Hope is…’ and see where it takes you.”

Common Violet

How can you be called a weed?
Beautiful and fragrant are you;
A wildflower to be true.
I have waited all season to touch your soft petals;
Caress your lovely stem;
I flutter around your leaves;
Admire their prominent veins;
Finally, I alight on a violet petal;
And drink from your nectary.

Written in response to dVerse poetry prompt hosted by SarahSouthwest – “Weeds Rule OK?

Wordless Wednesday

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