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Daily Verse
 

Week 1, October  2024
 

profusion of flowers in flower beds with an old man tending to them.jpg

Neighbourhood Revisited
bySonia Nicholson  2nd Oct 2024

old Margaret, wild white hair

flying as a veil as a flag

of another time

 

            /different or better/

 

behind her red walker

pushes on after-noon 

the street pushing daisies pushing                almost

 

Spring outside her bungalow (stucco)

1930s beauty

hidden behind the roses

 

and around the corner

the doddery man still plants

gnarled and stooped

 

against February

a row of daffodils

tulips alternating yellow and red

 

in his neat flower bed

a bloom for every season

a memory

 

tossed like seeds

 

(the flower bed, the bungalow

dug up now

 

all traces of red

under glass)

books on a table.jpg
Crayon

Poems on Nostalgia

by Maurizio Brancaleoni   3rd October  2024

abstract in gold.jpg

voices of yore —
their warm clarity
effulgent gold

abstract in gold & silver.jpg

moon in the daytime —

everything returns

yet different from before

abstract of black & translucent.jpg

rainy night —

the tic of the clock

digs a furrow

waning summer.jpg

Waning Summer

By Dan Hardison 4th October 2024

Shadows stretch longer
slanting across the landscape
as days grow shorter.

The evening sun
flaming in amazement
as it drops on the horizon.

Mornings awake
from longer nights
to a fine veil of pearly mist.

Garden blooms are fewer
as cornstalks and gourds
join rust-colored wreaths.

Nuts and burnished leaves
are covering the ground
as the air turns cooler.

A dazzling display
of elemental colors
as autumn beckons.

a quill & book.jpg

Haiku on Nostalgia

By Marguerite Doyle 8th October 2024

old photos flickering on the screen in black & white.jpg

flicking through

old photographs

home movie

a smiling baby girl during christening .jpg

christening lace

on the baby

her wedding dress

dew drops on white lilies.jpg

dewdrops

on white lilies

anniversary

Belinda B.png
Flower

Late summer Storm

By Belinda Behne  7th October  2024

Thunder cracks

            The sky opens

            We dance barefoot

            thru the wet grass

            Laughing

 

            Pelted with rain

            Our open mouths

            become fountains

 

            Mother whistles

            Calling us in

            with just two fingers

            between her lips

            Loud and shrill

 

            We don’t want to hear her

            but we do

            And we come

            Tracking mud and rain

            into her kitchen

 

            We are soaking wet

            and thrilled to the bone

            Still laughing, giggling, sliding

            across the slippery wet floor

 

            With mud squishing between our toes

            we are electrified

            Transformed

            by the storm

Biographies of Poets

A native of Tennessee, Dan Hardison now lives in Wilmington, North Carolina where he is a writer and artist. His artwork is inspired by Japanese woodblocks and ink painting (sumi-e). As an artist and writer, he is drawn to the Japanese haiga – a combination of image and poem. Dan Hardison’s writing has appeared at The Wise Owl, The Ravens Perch, Frogpond, Cattails, Contemporary Haibun Online, Chrysanthemum, and other print and online journals. His self-published book Quietude is available from Lulu Press. His work can also be found at his website Windscape Studio and blog Some Tomorrow’s Morning.

Week 2, October  2024
 

Image by Xuan Nguyen

Footsteps...
by Ketaki Mazumdar  9th Oct 2024

in a constant wandering

I flow with the clouds

in moments of realisation

am the lotus

in the moonlight

at your feet

am the peacock that dances

with the sound of the rain

and the strains of the Dark One's flute

I return to You over and over again

I burn in an ecstasy

waiting for that unity

we shared every lifetime

in my soul's journey

books on a table.jpg
Crayon

Poems

by Robert Witmer   10th October  2024

sun reflected through dew drops.jpg

dew on her grave

the many eyes

of the sun

raindrops on thorns of a yellow rosebush.jpg

rosebush

a raindrop

on every thorn

an old wooden pier.jpg

the old pier groans

so many come and go

syllables of salt

a boy sleeping in bed.jpg

A Mom's Note on the Counter

By Biswajit Mishra 11th Oct 2024

“Good morning little one,

Happy birthday,

live long, and

always be happy.

 

Your breakfast is on the kitchen table,

eat all, don’t leave anything,

your lunch box is in your backpack.

 

Dress properly, don’t forget the jacket,

wear your cap too, it’s getting cold,

ask Nani or wake up Papa if you need help.

 

Remember to eat the ginger juice with honey

in the little stainless steel bowl

on the counter,

your throat doesn’t sound good.

 

Go carefully my dear,

I will see you after I am back,

we will have your birthday special in the evening.

 

Be a good boy, love,

and stay blessed, always,

my treasure.

 

Mama”

 

The sun woke up.

a quill & book.jpg

Haiku on Nostalgia

By Marguerite Doyle 8th October 2024

old photos flickering on the screen in black & white.jpg

flicking through

old photographs

home movie

a smiling baby girl during christening .jpg

christening lace

on the baby

her wedding dress

dew drops on white lilies.jpg

dewdrops

on white lilies

anniversary

Belinda B.png
Flower

Late summer Storm

By Belinda Behne  7th October  2024

Thunder cracks

            The sky opens

            We dance barefoot

            thru the wet grass

            Laughing

 

            Pelted with rain

            Our open mouths

            become fountains

 

            Mother whistles

            Calling us in

            with just two fingers

            between her lips

            Loud and shrill

 

            We don’t want to hear her

            but we do

            And we come

            Tracking mud and rain

            into her kitchen

 

            We are soaking wet

            and thrilled to the bone

            Still laughing, giggling, sliding

            across the slippery wet floor

 

            With mud squishing between our toes

            we are electrified

            Transformed

            by the storm

Biographies of Poets

Week 3, October 2024

Image by Jonas Weckschmied

Fathers

Kavita Ezekiel Mendonca 14th October 2024

My father and my spouse’s father

Shared coincidences in stories we now tell about them

 

Both rose early in the Bombay mornings,

His father woke up at 5am,  tiptoed zigzag around the sleeping children

Had a shower, tea, contemplated the mango tree outside

Then immaculately groomed, he spoke no words

Left without breakfast, on the motorcycle

Parked at the bottom of the apartment building.

 

My father woke up early too

Dressed neatly, drank tea he made himself

“Seize the Day,” he said, his only words

And walked briskly to catch the 8:15 train.

He left the house without breakfast too.

 

In stories we remember both fathers

as we drink our chai on the patio outside.

I had never met my spouse’s father

He had met mine many times.

Poet's Note: My spouse and I often tell stories about our families. Many of my poems are written about both families, in order to to preserve our legacies and our memories. The poem “Fathers” is inspired by Robert Hayden's poem "Those Winter Sundays." Both my father and my spouse’s father were creatures of habit. Each had a distinctive personality but there were some striking similarities as well.

Image by Sincerely Media
Crayon

Poems on Nostalgia

by Tuyet van do  15th October  2024

Image by Gabriel

first spring walk 

an empty swing

in the park

Image by Vinit Vispute

faded photo

on the mantelpiece

sound of wind howling 

Screenshot 2024-12-12 at 3.59.27 PM.png

afternoon stroll

an elderly couple 

holding hands 

Image by Gayatri Pandkar

When Memories Refuse to Fade

By Sarojkanta Dash, 16th October, 2024

Dear Mukesh, every time I hear a song

We enjoyed on the radio long ago

I'm lost, deeply saddened, my heart racing

Against the wall of memories, washed clean with tears

 

The picture remains vivid, refusing to fade

You had no voice, yet sang to the tabla's beat

I had a voice, but never learned the rhythm's sway

That was me, and you knew it, in your own way

 

In your absence, life's rhythm is now a discord

I never wrote a good hand, yours was harder to read

But now, I cherish the letters you wrote from afar

The scribbles that once hurt my eyes are now softened with love

 

I wonder, were you born to be a rebel, wild and free?

Yet, you lacked the refinement of spirit, rough and carefree

You strayed too far, never to return, leaving me

To ponder, and remember, and yearn. 

Image by Aaron Burden

Micro Poems

By Belinda Behna 17th October 2024

Image by Matt Seymour

a child’s glazed eyes
sweets behind glass
just out of reach


one small coin
clutched in her fist
is it enough

Image by Ronan Furuta

a host of swallows
swirl beneath storm clouds
frenzied last supper

Image by Kelsey Farish

planted pink
my poppy blooms
bright red
a mind of her own

shards.png
Flower

I am in your new house

By Ronita Chattopadhyay, 18th October 2024

that is yet to fully become a home
and the word sliver comes to mind.

Sliver as in
a life like glass
smashed into slivers.

Sliver as in
slivers of glass
painfully embedded in the skin


Sliver as in
slivers of glass
that shine with light and hope
not from outside but within.

Biographies of Poets

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