Porthole

Dew Drop poems

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Dew Drop Inn  (18+) April poem-a-day poetry spot! #1370829 by Katya the Poet

Anticipation

And here I am, a peppermint stick
dissolving in hot water, waiting for
rich dark cocoa and your two lips —
do I dare wish? Oh no! It's brown,
but bitter, and tastes like — coffee.

KE DD#30 [177.278å] (30.november.2020)

Nightmares

Old wounds
that will not heal.
Night-gas that will not burp.
This toss and turn to rise and pee.
Love's hurts.

KE DD#29 [177.278ø] (29.november.2020)

Note: a cinquain, 2/4/6/8/2 = 22 syllables.

Frozen

Wan Sun begs me to greet him but I brood in my bed instead. He resides far to the South where I cannot venture. Here in the grip of Uncle Frost I must abide until his sister Spring-Flower frees me. What will remain once I thaw?

pale sky—
no warmth enters my room
to hug me

KE DD#28 [177.278æ] (28.november.2020)

Reprieve

Blue sky sends tendrils through the window
to tickle the pink geraniums
that thank me as I quench their thirst.
We who are family celebrate together.

KE DD#27 [177.278z] (27.november.2020)

tempo di minuetto

I wait for your call
as life carries you along.
I stand on the wrong platform
as the train rumbles by.
Looking the other way
you do not see me waving.

KE DD#26b [177.278y] (26.november.2020)

larghissimo

night gives way to day—but
if weak sun cannot part grey clouds
why should I cast away my blanket
to part my thinning hair

KE DD#26 [177.278x] (26.november.2020)

senza moto

My eyes close at dusk
as if this day of grey fading to black
is somehow over—it's not
as my bed invites me to give in—
give up. Will coffee give me the energy
to get up—or will the dash
to relieve myself finally wake me.
I stare at the ceiling light—and shrug.

KE DD#25 [177.278w] (25.novembar.2020)

calando

Weak sun warms weaker shoulders.
Winter shadows grip weakly too
as weakness creeps and conquers.

KE DD#24 [177.278v] (24.novembre.2020)

Passing through

The spider in its web,
the pig in its sty.
Is it tears I shed now
or an infection in my eye.

KE DD#23 [177.278u] (23.noviembre.2020)

Thinning hair

Snow blankets the living
and the dead, pulls back its covers
to reveal flesh or bone.

My mind, a vole, loses a well-stored
thought, pounces when it finds it.

KE DD#22 [177.278t] (22.noviembre.2020)

Runaway Tanka

Write, they said.
Write, I did.
Stop, they cried.

Once in motion,
that I cannot do.

KE DD#21 [177.278s] (21.noviembre.2020)

Thaw

Like a mole I stay hidden
beneath the sod
content to chew
on whatever the earth has to offer,
but today — today
I ventured out to a feeble sun,
just to make sure it knew
I was still here —
and watching.

KE DD#20 [177.278r] (20.november.2020)

A lost year

I could take my blood
pressure pill—or let myself
explode. Flip a coin?

KE DD#19 [177.278q] (19.november.2020)

[untitled]

Others will carve the turkey,
pretend they ate the cranberry sauce.
I'll sit at home with squash and potatoes,
peel onions all by myself.

KE DD#18 [177.278p] (18.november.2020)

Wreath

Bent ever so gently
how a twig becomes a circle
my life at both ends

KE DD#2 [177.278o] (17.november.2020)

Leftovers for lunch

macaroni and tuna fish
— and onions
my hair still uncombed

KE DD#17 [177.278n] (17.november.2020)

After the Election

brown leaves cling to trees
like limp flags — neither knowing
they are dead

KE DD#16 [177.278m] (16.noviembre.2020)

Trying not to ravel

Bonnie unravels cashmere sweaters,
reweaves them into multicolored shawls
while I guard this blue-green weave
softly encasing me with warmth.
I cherish this messy tangled life.
Even Bonnie knows.

KE DD#15 [177.278L] (15.noviembre.2020)

In wan moonlight

Am I alive
if only the new moon knows it?
I strive to wake up each noon,
try to sleep at some ungodly hour.
In between
I do mundane things:
eat, write — maybe shower.

I often think of others,
how that tiny hole in their life
that once belonged to me
has healed.

In wan moonlight my eyes dim
like a forgotten toy
in the back of a closet.

KE DD#14 [177.278k] (14.novembre.2020) written at noon...

Passage denied

That thin line between worlds,
so gossamer yet solid glass,
divides this land of struggle
and where I want to be.
The mirrored image
now speaks softly—in time,
in time, you're me.

KE DD#1 [177.278j] (13.noviembre.2020)

A chalice of rosebuds

These dead roses do not care what day it is today
or even what tomorrow may bring.
Their fragrance fades like the superstitions of yesterday,
like memories of last summer's hope
and autumn's splendor.

KE DD#13 [177.278i] (13.novembre.2020)

After November's storms

Brown leaves cling,
a resting place for yesterday's snow.
Icicles festoon the bushes
under the eaves.

My worry, coccooned
against the dappled fright of day,
still quakes and wobbles
as my existence sways
to the shake of branches
threatening to bury me
in an avalanche of fear.

KE DD#12 [177.278h] (12.novembre.2020)

Veterans

I arrange old spices,
cardamom and cinnamom,
a goblet of rose petals.

Snow deepens on a construction crane.
My hair barely covers my head.

KE DD#11 [177.278g] (11.november.2020)

One-eye

pop the lens
and do not notice
wonder why
you can't see clearly
take off glasses
poke the eye
at the sidewalk's end
find the lens
winking back at you

KE DD#10 [177.278f] (10.november.2020)

Yeah, I was lucky. Retraced my steps. There it was.

November rebirth

A red geranium
rescued from the brink of death
died back to nodes
as leaves withered.
Now sixteen new clusters
of green mew,
like newborn kittens,
for my attention.

KE DD#9 [177.278a] (9.november.2020)

Monday, Monday

Hours stretch to Ages
that like shadows
pass from west to east
in opposition to the Sun...
who unlike me,
with time enough to spare,
knows where He is going.

KE DD#8 [177.278b]

20 20 20 20 20 20

The ticker tape
crosses the screen
over and over again
the same-o same-o:
good, bad, good, bad.
When will this election end?

KE DD#7 [177.278c]

Impatiently

Ice severs the rock
that tumbles into the river
where water wears it away
to stone, to grit,
carries it to the sea...
where I sit impatient
for its arrival.

KE DD#6 [177.278d]

The plumber shows up after 4 years

Drip, drip, drip, drip.
Oh what a relief it ain't.
Turn off the damn faucet!

KE DD#5 [177.278e]

Under the Ginkgo

Golden showers rain
after the calm.
November's teardrops
glisten the leaves.
I listen for winter.

KE [177.277a] DD#3

[untitled]

White, white, white!
Begone the grey!
Time to hibernate
till the New Day flowers.
Four year forecast:
an end to fascism.

KE [177.277b] DD#4

October's end

Purple, black, and one lone peacock feather,
the mask awaits the fool moon's whether...
I'll wear it or not.

KE [177.278]

24 syllables... I write for the 24 syllable contest, but rarely does it come out right the first time!

And yes, 'fool' is on purpose.