140 Characters to Leave Your Lover

How many characters
do I need to say
good bye?
There aren't enough

in any language,
any number of words.
You're there begging me
stay.

In response to Mama Zen's Words Count over at Imaginary Gardens with Real Toads who challenged us to write a poem in Twitter's 140 characters. It's not easy.

Lamppost # 12

Orange wing parrots occupy the golden apple trees in flocks,

clock the time as late afternoon.

Soon Carl returns from his garden,

warden of recalcitrant cush cush, dasheen and yams.

I am in my daughter's yard watching the evening unfold.

Bold fruit bats swoop for ripe bananas and mangoes.

Tangles of sweet leaf vine with fuscia blooms climb the avocado tree,

peewah spills red fruit, adds to the rush of colors amid the green

seen by all who pass: calathea, anthurium, bougainvillea, 

heliconia, orchid, croton and rose.

Close by, tanagers, thrushes, bananaquits and bell bird

spread evening song along with toucans' one- note chant.

Lanterns shine the pink and red of tall Hawaiian torches,

catch last vestiges of light as sun drops behind Morne Bleu Range.

Change descends quickly from day to night in the tropics,

marks the tallest trees to stand as sentinel protectors in the dark:

pommerac, rambutan, papaya and jamoon.

Moon's sliver sets, this month's second new moon,

attunes me to the yard's unambiguous heliograph of diversity, rich,

which sustains all life within its bounds and gives me strict instruction.

Written in the rain forest of Trinidad in my daughter's yard for open link Monday on Imaginary Gardens with Real Toads. Her address is Lamppost # 12 in her village. The format of linked rhyme was suggested by Hedgewitch and brought back by Margaret on Jan. 20. It rhymes the first word of each line with the last word of the previous line.

Month of Two New Moons

Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands,
And walk among long dangled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.

                             William Butler Yeats
                             From: The Song of the Wandering Angus


Month of Two New Moons

This month
in the midst of winter,
first day brings first

of two new moons, splinters
light into fractional shine,
barest glints

of moonglow can't blind
to starlight that fills
sky and mind

as I gaze until
I know at last
I am stardust billed

as first among castes,
but one instead with all that lasts.

                            January, 2014


What is my verse? We are one. We are the environment and care for it is care for ourselves. We are the world and care for one another is care for ourselves. We will languish or thrive together.

We have food enough now to feed us all if we devise the way. We have the knowledge to provide safe water for us all. We have wealth enough for all if we craft a more equitable system. We have resources and creativity enough to house everyone.

And my verse sings of women and elders coming forward at last to dream the visions for this kind of world, to take the leadership to build this kind of world, to notice and celebrate each step toward it.


Written in response to the question, what is your verse?, posed by Robin Williams in The Dead Poets Society and posted  by Brian in dVerse Poets Pub on January 20 for our inspiration. I've sat with it since and formulated my response while on my yearly birthday retreat up the hill from my daughter's home in the rain forest of Trinidad. Surrounded by nature I was reminded of my place in the scheme of things.