Fruitful colours

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Sometimes sour lemon

squeezes my veins and tight

circus ropes cramp my smile—

but only for a while.

.

Some days orange moments

come, a safer zest—then

I wear an orange vest

 and blow a saxophone.

.

Some nights sweet mango juice

runs moist rivulets to

strawberry fields where red

electric dance pulses.

.

Some mornings a grape-red

kaleidoscope of blue—

dark-eyed pips pop from flesh

pushing my pen to write.

©2017 Ontheland

One kind of love

Her love was rarely said

Tender hearts are buried deep

Strong love propelled each step she tread.

.

A quiet way that some misread,

A lonely path is always steep

Her love was rarely said.

.

Homemade loaves of wholegrain bread

and chores of dreary household keep

Strong love propelled each step she tread.

.

Many books at night she read,

her children tucked and fast asleep

Her love was rarely said.

.

A winter widow, her brood had fled

She volunteered her time to weep

Strong love propelled each step she tread.

.

This tired earth she no longer treads

but of her gifts I still do reap

Her love was rarely said—

strong love propelled each step she tread.

©2017 Ontheland.wordpress.com

Winter’s reign

Halfway through winter

days of frozen reign

tossed snow flakes floating

up, down, and sideways

chickadees flitter

rabbits huddle as

sunlight shuffles a

sky flashed by starlings.

Quiet winter rests,

spring always follows.

©2017 Ontheland

I’m trying to connect to reality here in Ontario, Canada.  The first day of spring arrives on March 20.  Last year I started feeling anxious for spring way too early so this year I looked at the calendar and counted the days.  Each season is roughly three months long and we’ve had a month and a half of winter so far.  We’re just past halfway–why not enjoy it for what it is? (I just persuaded myself–how about you?)

Metered thoughts

Contemplating life and all the pain on Earth I see,

I feel my birth was charmed, as if I won a lottery.

I had a home and parents who had goodness to their core,

Much food and plenty filled our lives–we had no fear of war

while many struggle with no joy, no ease to fill their lives,

a constant storm of war and dread each day to abide—

.

Some choose a life of service so victims may survive

while others cry: ‘me first’ and shout: ‘for profits we must strive!’

A selfish stance!

Let’s stand and face all human pain,

with open hearts extend our hands again and again.

©2017 Ontheland

Metered verse is not my usual modality, but I can be persuaded to give it a try every now and again.  This time I tried to get a rhythm going in response to dVerse Poet’s Pub Thursday prompt:  Meeting the bar: common meter, hosted by Frank Hubeny.  If you are interested in finding out more about meter, his post is an interesting read.  (My example isn’t a  ‘perfect’ example of what he proposed, but this is the best I could come up with in the time I had.)