Debi's seasons of brief haiku

Circa 1988
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On a hook hangs
a gray sweater, on the elbow
hangs a yellow leaf

(Autumn in its glory)

I like that LT doesn't have a like button but I'd just like to like this. :)

Nice haiku, Debi.

ETA

I will share a short series of haiku I did recently in this group and on my 75ers thread later

September 29, 2025
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Cuttings in the ground
with small green leaves here and there—
one decides to bloom.

>5 DebiCates: You've been in the garden, were you surprised at the bloom? A late one? :)

>6 TonjaE: It was a big surprise, Tonja. Early not late. I planted these bare "sticks" in the ground (Mexican petunias, perennials) in August. They made me happy when they started getting leaves. They are still just sticks with a few leaves, lol. Then, out of nowhere, a lavender bloom! I didn't expect blooms until next summer.

@Tonja. How about you? Any thing fresh baked from the poetry oven?

I thought of an old song today, Eddie Rabbit's Driving My Life Away, 1980, very popular here. There's a line that made me think of you as you are driving, looking out the window, perhaps thinking up a poem...."Windshield wipers slapping out a tempo, keeping perfect rhythm with the song on the radio." It's a stretch, but still it made me think of you.

>7 DebiCates: How lovely! A too soon bloom hehe

>8 DebiCates: aaaww, I think I've heard the song. I was mucking around with something about a dog and a farmer who loved him by constantly cursing him. As weird as that sounds, it isn't an uncommon practice around here :)

It's called Blasted Dog at the moment - for want of a better title!
I'll message it to you, probably mighty rude to put it on your Haiku Thread! hehe

>10 TonjaE: LOL I wouldn't mind. But once you are done I hope you'll share it on TonjaE's Poem's on the Fly.

No doubt it will be another poem of yours I'm gonna love.

And, okay, this is weird. For a month or so I've been working on a short story (something I've recently begun doing when I can't sleep) about a dog that loves a boy who grows up not to be a good person, but the dog's love is unfailing.

October 2, 2025
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Suddenly it stops,
no electricity. Sound--
My sleeping dog's breath.

>11 DebiCates: That is an original idea for a dog story. I like the sound of it. Is it finished yet?
Dogs are the best! I have 3 at home, two little barky pants and a dingo. They love to go camping and sleep on the sofa. They also sing together, it's painful but cute!

>12 DebiCates: A favorite sound. Love it.

Haiku is really clever. Do you think it's the set number and pattern of syllables that always gives that peaceful feeling. It's so particular, something unique to Haiku. There isn't anything else like it.

October 2, 2025, revised
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Suddenly it stops,
electricity is cut--
My sleeping dog farts.

I wanted to capture the moment and dashed off the first version. But now I think the moment is captured a bit better.

>14 TonjaE: See what you think of the revised version, Tonja. I went to bed last night and was still thinking of that moment, then in bed came up with what feels like the better essence of it, although my precious fur ball never farts, no, nothing ever so crass as that. ha

I do think it's the limits of haiku that contribute to its peacefulness. Plus the traditional theme of a natural moment. Traditionally also there should be a statement (first two lines) then a subtle surprise or revelation in the last line. Basically it's a Zen mindset, which I find very peaceful myself.

>13 TonjaE: I knew you had dogs. Of course you do. It fits you.

No, the short story isn't finished but it's coming along. I'd love to have your opinion when I'm done (in a message). I think it's something you would enjoy even if I don't get it presented as well as I wish I could.

>16 DebiCates: Yep, it has to be the limits because it still has that peacefulness. ahahahaha x

>17 DebiCates: I will wait for it patiently...

is it ready yet?

>18 TonjaE: LOL! So true. So true.

>16 DebiCates: I do think it's the limits of haiku that contribute to its peacefulness

That made me smile.............even when sleeping dogs fart?

>21 PaulCranswick: Absolutely, Paul. Dog farts are peaceful, unexpected, and give you that jolt of nature. ha Perfect for haiku.

October 11, 2025
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Flanking my porch steps
two pink blooming four o'clocks--
scented gate open.

Friday Afternoon Haiku

Was remembering
spring rain on blossoms; failing
to dampen spirits.

This is for you, Debi, because it is Friday afternoon in Kuala Lumpur and I have no seasons to enjoy here but am still eagerly looking forward to my weekend.

>24 PaulCranswick: Aw, thank you Paul. It's lovely! I bet there is plenty of opportunity for haikuing there, in spite of a lack of dramatic seasons.

October 25, 2025
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Boom! Rattled windows,
a thunderstorm from nowhere--
hello desert rain.

>26 DebiCates: Love a good thunderstorm!

>26 DebiCates: Love a good bit of onomatopoeia. This haiku captures that thrilling emotion of the storm coming really well

November 8, 2025
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Up wee hours to pee,
there she is, fully awake,
ever ageless moon.

""Honey Im Home"" Yeah Found My first online Group. Unpublished author/ dhi* fi* Jhaiku .Magnetic Poetry 2009 Calendar was the springboard for Haiku Poetry Project. Monet's famous Water Lilies is a triptych of three wall size Canvas panels. Ever write a Haiku in similar format?? For Halloween wrote eight segments. Last one was Red Ryder Carbine/ Aunt Clara Pink Bunny/ Three Layers Snow Suits

>29 DebiCates: This reminds me of my time in New Zealand last year, when I was living in a tiny cabin. At night, the Moon would reflect off the river in the distance beneath the mountains, making it glow like a silver snake. I too was struck with awe when I was up to pee in the wee hours.

>30 haikuproject14: Thank you @haikuproject14 and @Interstellar_Octopus for your comments. I love those moments, usually private and brief moments, that are the perfect match for jotting down a haiku. I think of them as extending that moment, and of capturing it almost like a diary entry.

November 16, 2025
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Sun stripes dive through trees
landing on the pale dead grass--
A maple trembles.

Dusk ends toiling day
As constellations align;
Sun disappearing.

>33 DebiCates: >34 PaulCranswick: These go together really nicely. A pair of haiku pros you are!

>35 TonjaE: Glad you spotted the attempt at a companion piece, Tonja!

December 3, 2025
(after my trip to visit my daughter and her family in Colorado)

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Two squirrels chase their tails,
two granddaughters dance outside,
bless one winter sun.

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Silly movie plays,
the nine year old laughs, tinkling--
bursts of easy joy.

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If you take a wolf
and a kitten, that is me,
she says, age seven.

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What miracle is
this? With my hand, I reach out
and now touch your face.

If you take a wolf: yes!

>38 elenchus: Thank you for commenting that you enjoyed that. That amazing girl is full of random one-liners like that.

What a line! I might have said the same thing when I was her age. Sounds like you cherished the family time! It's so meaningful at that age.

>40 GraceCollection: I think that's fabulous that might have been something you would have said. It does say a lot about a certain kind of child spirit that embraces their own true self. It's good to hear you were--and are--one of those spirits.

December 20, 2025
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Stand quiet to hear
bright yellow leaves that fall, fall,
tinkling while falling.

December 23, 2025
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World's greatest riches
are here. I tromp and tread through
gold leaves. Every year.

December 25, 2025
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(A gift from my 10 year old grandson on a very mild Christmas day.)

Not wearing a shirt
a boy I love brings to me
An amaryllis.

January 3, 2025
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Two small sisters swing,
forgiving the morning's hurts--
flying ponytails.

>45 DebiCates: this one is funny, cause there are many ways to read the final line. Either the girls' ponytails fly behind them as the swing following the reconciliation, or the morning hurts involved flying ponytails.

I enjoy imagining the latter, which invokes an image of one sister swinging the other round and round by their pigtails before releasing them and sending them flying - like Mrs. Trunchball from Matilda.

>46 Interstellar_Octopus: LOL. I tried hard to make the ponytails fly without that possible implication. But I couldn't, so I just let them fly, like those poor students of Mrs. Trunchball's you thought of, although that is not what I would want for my granddaughters at all! ha

January 20, 2025
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(in memory of my grandmother who made homemade kites for us kids)

Kite string spools out, out--
out until we are giddy
with skyward pleasure.

January 23, 2026
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Chairs for the Dead

With just a little effort
I could find chairs for you all,
buy a roast, put it in the slow cooker,
if I can remember what ingredients I once used.

With only a little luck
the weather would be fine,
no ice, no snow, just beer and sunshine,
not this terrible winter storm we're in just now.
.
With a little planning
we could all bring photo albums,
write down the forgotten names underneath,
argue and laugh as we disagree about who's who.

With a little dreaming
you all could be here, at my table,
again, with plenty of chairs, to eat, laugh, drink,
and to tend to all the babies that are now grown.

>49 DebiCates: This is very beautiful. The last line especially speaks to me. I hope you stay safe and warm through your winter storm!!

>50 GraceCollection: Thank you, it was kind of you to remark. I'm glad it speaks to you. It came from a dream while I napped today. Folks dropped by unexpectedly and I was digging in the freezer for something to serve. It was lovely, just like the old days. After i woke, I realized half my guests are now dead. I know that sounds awful, and it did make me cry, but it was wonderful to see them at my table again.

I'm going to "ride and read" out this storm. Other places will be so much worse. Just praying hard the Texas grid doesn't croak again.

>51 DebiCates: I have certainly had similar dreams. In a way, I find them comforting, especially if it's been many years since I could have them at my table. Waking up and crying also happens sometimes. I guess it just goes to shows how much love you've had in your life.

You will be in my thoughts in the coming days. Have some cosy reading!

>52 GraceCollection: It is a comfort that you experience the same thing, with the same dual reaction. I appreciate your sharing.❤️

>49 DebiCates: This is gorgeous, you should write more.

January 24, 2026
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Just Checking

The protectors:
The President, the Vice President, the Director of Homeland Security, Homeland Security Advisor, Immigration and Customs Enforcement, Department of Justice, Federal Bureau of Investigation, the Supreme Court, the House of Representatives, the Senate.

The terrorists:
A VA nurse, a mom, a hair dresser, a child with cancer, a gardener, a cook, a day care worker, a teen working at Home Depot, a vegetable farm worker, an old man taking a nap in his underwear.

I have it right? Good. I was just double-checking.

January 26, 2026
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Dedicated to The Poetry Collective. Each line is derived from a member's selected poem so far.

Drunk Sisters Walking Home in April

I'm still thinking about that kiss. Remember?
What? That was years ago. I miss him but it isn’t a disaster.
You are unhappy still, about some other far off things?
I feel my years have run like rabbits.
Could have something to do with tonight's whiskey...and cigarettes.
(Cough) ha, I do like that bar. I get so lost in the music.
(pause)

My dear, are you alright?
That dude called us ugly sisters.
That was hours ago. Me, I won't lose any sleep.
You, you are always smiling, waving, as if it's all a lark!
Stop. Just look around. Cry hello to the spring.
Sorrow's springs are all the same.
(pause)

What's that sound, is it a train miles away?
It's the wind. I heard it coming, back inside the bar.
Remember as kids when we sang and sang?
I remember when you lost mother's watch.
Margaret, are you grieving still?
That was before I doubted...if I should ever come back...
(pause)

Well, you are quite a bright drinking cup.
My world's in a bad way, you know.
Those Woulda-Coulda-Shouldas!
Those were grains of golden sand...those years.
O my soul, where you do stand on things, sister.
(pause)
It's raining now. Here, get under my raincoat.

February 8, 2026
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She tells her story
complete with random details--
lichen on a branch.

>56 DebiCates: I Really Love stanzas 1 and 3 in this. They seem to tell a story together, a story interspersed with the sensations of the present and memories of the past, a train, the wind, the music, a watch. It's quite interesting trying to unpack what the characters are really grieving: that man, that kiss? The memories of when things were simple, before the years ran by... their mother? Is just a watch she grieves or her mother, dead, or gone. It all blurs together through a haze of whiskey and tobacco smoke.

>58 Interstellar_Octopus: Thank you. I'm so glad you loved those stanzas.

This poem was a surprisingly rewarding exercise--going through all the poems posted on The Poetry Collective up to that date and gathering lines or phrases from each. Until slowly, like a fog lifting, I could see a possible structure and the poem began to reveal itself, including things still unknown to me. So your thoughts on trying to untangle the sisters history and pain is exactly correct. We can only have an overheard partial understanding.

I considered it a "found" poem. Then, while thinking about responding to your comments, I remembered William S. Burroughs used the "cut-up" technique in his art and writings and I realized this poem is more that than a found one.

I plan to do another one in the future once we have a sufficient fresh batch of posted poems. I enjoyed the challenge and surprise of doing this.

February 10, 2026
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(My Neighbor and His Wife Reunited)

so much depends
upon

rows of yellow
sunflowers

glazed with her
water hose

beside the white
and black and red
chickens they both feed

I'm happy she's back. She makes him happy. Her quiet presence is one that soothes the neighborhood. I saw her and him today working outside with gloves and rakes. I also saw that the chickens were following them.

>11 DebiCates: Are you still working on this short story? Remembered you talking about it today, and look! I found where you mentioned it :) Would love to read it when you're done.

>62 TonjaE: How kind of you to ask. I was very happy with the story until I got to the part where things begin to go wrong for the dog, then I lost my heart about it. I still want to finish it but I need to be in the right space to do it. Or maybe I need a different ending.

>60 DebiCates: Oh!!!!!!

Red wheelbarrow!

This is brilliant

Really really brilliant

Concise and personal with an homage to the original poem.

--Matt

>64 hamlet61: LOL. Yes, sir. It was fun to write. I felt quite impish while doing it.

February 22, 2026
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The Potomac River

There once was a country of decent peeps
who were bamboozled by king of the creeps.
He built an army made of ice
that shoot even if you are nice.
And meanwhile D.C. shit still spews and leaps.

February 23, 2026
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On the Goodreads group, also The Poetry Collective, we are exchanging kinds of poetic knickknacks--both real items and tiny real descriptions--for poem possibilities. I traded a gynecologist with missing fingers for a pincushion of a bored lady.

The Pincushion

Your face,
beneath a jaunty hat with a tiny ribbon tied primly beneath your chin, is inscrutable with wide eyes and a thin small mouth.

You stare
without curiosity for ten decades now, as if no mere steel pin could ever penetrate your skirt, voluminous with old sawdust.

Your flaw
is a bit of broken nose, the only outward sign of an untold history; we've all made our guesses but we keep those to ourselves.

Your maker,
my great great grandmother, made you already done with weeping for the world, so we might never be tempted to cuddle you.

You serve
my female line, our bored voodoo doll where we store our sharp intellect, our past blunted dreams, until the day a generation

will not need you.

>67 DebiCates: A limerick?

New territory.

I struggle with form

>70 hamlet61: Yes, a limerick :) My first ever. Not usually my jam, but the state of things these days are absolutely begging for a limerick. I like that a limerick is also THE poetic form to be crass.

>70 hamlet61: P.S. I also struggle with poetic forms--among other poetic struggles. In fact, I made 2026 the year I try to remedy that shortcoming. See the topic "Learning Poetic Nuts and Bolts" where I'm slowly working on teaching myself. So far I've covered the Sonnet in January and the Ballad in February. Nothing terribly deep there but I'm enjoying establishing a foundation for my many gaps:

https://www.librarything.com/topic/377756

I would be taking a risk here, but should I find my experiment with the sestina form?

I would have to fidn it and digitize it.

Shall I do so?

>73 hamlet61: Matt, anything you'd care to do, I would support and encourage it. And holy cow, I just looked up the sestina form. Even more interested now!

>60 DebiCates: I love what you've done with this Debi, this is one of my favourite poems

>69 DebiCates: This is fantastic Debi. Very clever... the sharp pokes that draw out a response which I don't think are ever heard out loud, are they? Just like a pin cushion that silently takes the jabs inflicted on it. I've choked up with the final poke... will not need you. Ouch!

>76 TonjaE: Thank you, Tonja, for your comments and insight. As you noted, the pincushion is silent--she is only being spoken to or about, someone else noting mere superficial things. She never speaks for herself. I hadn't thought of that. It is sad.

>74 DebiCates:
I am putting myself out there, but I will post a sestina on my thread. And I violate my rule of no explanation.

The final word of each line was a race horse from the paper that day. not based in reality at all. just an experiment with a form and silly me trying to paint images with words

I hope that it moves you

>78 hamlet61: LOL well that's a bit cheeky, and clever. I'll have to go back and see how that changes things. At this point I'm still wondering about Ida's laughter though!

It was the use of a name to demostrate a relationship in which one is unravelling (but maybe they both are).

Don't go back. Stay with your impression. I hate forms but I used this one to create something real.

I do not do casual very well

March 12, 2026
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She Sings Always
For Audrey

She is just six
and sings always.

She sings in her bedroom.
She sings in her bath.
She sings in the yard.
She sings in the car.

In her bedroom, coloring, she sings,
"Green and pink are in love
Green and blue are best friends
Gray, what are you doing here
Poor old gray, poor poor gray"

In her bubble bath, she sings,
"I am a man with a beard
I comb it to make it long
Be my lovely wedding wife
I'll kiss you with my beard"

In the yard in Autumn, she sings,
"All the leaves are money
All the clouds are play dough
A weird bird is going North
His friend wants to go too"

In the car going to school, she sings,
"The wind is in my mouth
Let's go to Taco Villa
I'm so so so hungry
Egg and cheese burrito"

She grew up
and sings always.

Now in her home.
Now in her car.
Now to her husband.
Now to her children.

Now far away,
I still hear her singing.

>56 DebiCates:
>59 DebiCates:

Love the cut-up technique applied to the poems selected for the group reads! There's an element of exquisite corpse, as well. It really comes over well.

>82 elenchus: Thank you, E. It's a fun and interesting thing, to set some poetic restriction, confinement, and see how it goes.

March 21, 2026
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Just who's in charge here?
Those tree pollen allergens!
Firm answer--Nature.

April 4, 2026
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(My first ekphrastic poem, cross posted on National Poetry Month, Day 3 Laureates)

Double Frame

Ah, those were the days, when men wore suits
with silk pochettes and donned leather wrist watches.
They smoked a pipe, eyes set in a serious gaze,
sported highly groomed little mustaches.
In photographs back then nothing said "poet"
more than a fuzzy halo behind a receding hairllned head.
Long before that photo shoot, though,
this wise poet married a fellow poet.
It's right handy to have a talented Muse
who can also type your manuscript.

Ah, but time does march on, even men's fashions
to a small degree, eyes now can twinkle,
dress shirts can be bright colors. No need for a pochette
and no need or shame in donning an overdue haircut.
Still best, as "poet," to have that implied
halo behind one's sweet receding hairlined head.
Long before the photo shoot, again we see,
this wise poet married a fellow poet.
It's right handy to have an independent Muse
who can also drive you to the airport.

U.S. Poet Laureates Joseph Auslander (first) and Arthur Sze (current)

Cool! THis is interesting and well written . I am not familiar with this form, but I now have a project for the week. I am meeting former work friends at the Museum of Modern Art (MoMA) in Manhattan this coming week. I now have a secondary purpose and will attempt this form.

Thank you.

--Matt

>86 hamlet61: Meeting friends at MoMA? You say that so casually!

Hope it is fun, Matt. I hope to maybe one day read the poem that comes of it.

April 6, 2026
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One Poet
--After Elizabeth Bishop

I said what I said and that's it,
I refuse to explain it.
You can like it or not,
it's all the same to me.

You might care, or maybe you don't
how much of me is there
how many years I sacrificed.
I said what I said and that's it.

Who are you anyway? An academic?
A Joe Blow on the street?
A woman in a poetry club?
It's all the same to me.

I don't mean to sound sour
but I am, if truth be told.
You there judging me on the page.
I said what I said and that's it.

I wanted immortality
I admit it. In a way I have it
though it means far less than expected.
I am dead and you read my poem.
I said what I said and that's it,
It's all the same to me.

>87 DebiCates: The only reason that it is casual is that I live a 35 minute railroad/subway ride away. If I lived in Idaho, it would be an event :-)

Although, when I was in Idaho,

I took a tour of a silver mine. Half a mile down, and the total absence if light, THAT was an event! I have a poem that I wrote about that so I will find it and post it next.

A poem will result from this visit. I assure you

>88 DebiCates: Did you write this???????

Please say yes.

I wanted immortality
I admit it. In a way I have it

And I love the total finality.

>90 hamlet61: I did. I was thinking about the gratitude I feel toward poets, odd as that may sound. We should be telling them what they mean to us and asking them questions while they are alive.

Like we are able to do with your art, Matt!

>88 DebiCates: Brava! Fantastique! Bloody brilliant!
I think this one poet might be touched by your defence of their words.
There's no way I'm trying to put my spin on them!

Loved it, and will read it again and again. Thank you for sharing your work.

>92 TonjaE: Thank you Tonja. I'm so glad you enjoyed it. It's super weird how easy this one was to write. Wonder if that one poet's ghost got into me.

>93 DebiCates: Yes! A channeling maybe? :)

April 29, 2026
Besides researching and sharing daily poetry tidbits, I wrote original poems as well to celebrate National Poetry Month 2026. I wrote 14! I've reposted them below...mostly just so I could find them again.

There have been recent studies that indicate we live mentally healthier lives if we connect to Art on a regular basis. That can be either consuming it or creating it. Not that I need scientific prodding to urge me in that direction. Even when I'm not dabbling, I can't imagine not seeking out Art, be it poetry, visual arts, music, books, or whatever creativity humans get up to. I have always done that, thanks to my grandmother and mother for their examples.

It exercised a part of my brain that likes being given a work out. It let me express, maybe expel might be a better word, some things that needed distilling. The result surprised me, and like the gist of my thread here, they intensified a season, the month of April, a particular April that will never come again.

April 29, 2026
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Double Frame

Ah, those were the days, when men wore suits
with silk pochettes and donned leather wrist watches.
They smoked a pipe, eyes set in a serious gaze,
sported highly groomed little mustaches.
In photographs back then nothing said "poet"
more than a fuzzy halo behind a receding hairllned head.
Long before that photo shoot, though,
this wise poet married a fellow poet.
It's right handy to have a talented Muse
who can also type your manuscript.

Ah, but time does march on, even men's fashions
to a small degree, eyes now can twinkle,
dress shirts can be bright colors. No need for a pochette
and no need or shame in donning an overdue haircut.
Still best, as "poet," to have that implied
halo behind one's sweet receding hairlined head.
Long before the photo shoot, again we see,
this wise poet married a fellow poet.
It's right handy to have an independent Muse
who can also drive you to the airport.

U.S. Poet Laureates Joseph Auslander (first) and Arthur Sze (current)


--Debi Cates
April 4, 2026
Inspired by and first shared on the topic
2026 National Poetry Month, Day 3 Laureates
https://www.librarything.com/topic/383359

April 29, 2026
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9 p.m. April rain
down in the earth, in the dark--
wildflower seeds wake

--Debi Cates
April 4, 2026
Inspired by and first shared on the topic
2026 National Poetry Month, Day 15 "Skies"
https://www.librarything.com/topic/383667

April 29, 2026
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Romance with Food

In my childhood, it was corn
that I loved with its fresh sweetness
of life, not unlike my own.

In my twenties, I strove to create
a meal of perfect primal balance
thinking I was a worthy master.

In my forties, I saw, for the first time
the beauty of a bell pepper cut in half,
as if secrets were revealed to me.

In my sixties, gratitude to a lemon,
tender oregano, or the miracle of a bean,
can make me unexpectedly weep.

--Debi Cates
April 16, 2026
Inspired by and first shared on the topic
2026 National Poetry Month, Day 16 "Food"
https://www.librarything.com/topic/383709

April 29, 2026
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Frightening

It's tragic
you can't tell by the face
who is murderous, corrupt, calculating.

It's only after we know
the wicked deeds
we see it in their face,
in the eyes mostly,
in a satisfied smile.
It then becomes obvious,
iconic
and
frightening.

But the same is true that
you can't tell by a face
who
is good,
who
will be victimized,
who
will lose something.

It is frightening
to meet someone
new.

What,
what
shall we assume?

--Debi Cates
April 18, 2026
Inspired by and first shared on the topic
2026 National Poetry Month, Day 17 "Frightened"
https://www.librarything.com/topic/383734

April 29, 2026
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We Couldn't Swim, a Sestina

Lonesome in my closet hangs a light green
sweater, a cardigan once worn by a slip of a girl
who meant the world to me, Amber.
She still lives fresh and golden
dancing in a certain field of wild
dandelions near a pond, just like love.

Though we didn't call it love.
We were only growing, tender green.
How often our mothers warned us against being wild,
going near the pond, each forbade her girl.
We two knew only it was a world of summer and golden.
So we planned a ruse, me and Amber.

Oh wait, let me tell you about freckled Amber.
She was untamable, a fox, clever paired with love.
Unkempt hair, frizzy, reddish golden,
Laughing eyes in speckly green.
Disguised as an 11 year old girl,
a master liar she garnered our freedom to the pond's wild.

Who was I? A worshipper of that unfettered wild,
a bug buzzing in the scented hair of Amber.
I was the awkward twin, a girl
only made beautiful near her rampant love,
she, the fair one in variegated green.
One night together we stole through lies, perfectly golden.

At the pond, the sun, like a ball, dropped its golden
weight into black. Amber stripping, dared me, "Let's go wild!"
Her pale silhouette slid into sickly water, darker than darkest green.
Exactly three splashes heard. I could see nothing. I wailed "Amber! Amber!"
Pond, trees, stars all dumb, silent to screams of love.
My legs immovable, shook by the dry sweater of the gone girl.

Afternoon's headline was Found Dead Drowned Nude Girl
with a black and white photo, no, her hair should be red and golden!
Nothing good written or said except the mother's love,
Lamenting how today's freedoms made girls unnatural, wild.
Disobedient girl will always stay home now, precious Amber.
Disobedient girl, I would never let go the sweater ever green.

In deepest folds, scents of my first love,
though I didn't know love, being just a girl.

My heart, now grown slimy moss green
still tangles in waves of crests once golden.

The two still wild
girls, unbeautifully hardened in amber.

--Debi Cates
written in earlier revised April 19, 2026
Inspired by and first shared on the topic
2026 National Poetry Month, Day 19 "Swim"
https://www.librarything.com/topic/383771

April 29, 2026
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Sweet House

The doorknob must smell of me
The curtains I made, too.

Tiny kitchen needs fresh paint
And the tiny bedroom, too.

Wood floor creaks in that one spot
A new one's in the making, too.

I don't know if the TV still works
Or even that good camera, too.

Bookshelves are stuffed to the gills
With books I've read, plenty I haven't, too.

The lampshades are covered by dust
The knickknacks and window sills, too.

There's a sweet spot to lock the door
Have to jiggle the toilet handle, too.

The backroom is for junk now
Drawers and closets are full, too.

Somewhere must be that photo of Grandma
on the farm, with Dixie dog, too.

Like everything I've known,
You are getting old, sweet house.
I am, too.

--Debi Cates
April 21, 2026
Inspired by and first shared on the topic
2026 National Poetry Month, Day 20 "Shelter"
https://www.librarything.com/topic/383791

April 29, 2026
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A Thousand Dandelions

Oh Dandelion, how does it feel
when your thousand children launch
And you stand naked, left behind?

Do you think, as you droop,
how you once flew the air too
then rooted, waved beautifully in yellow?

Are you counting clouds again
remembering a certain courting bee
who flew to you and now must also be gone?

The field is full of such questions.
Oh Dandelion, did you ever once feel
you were as ordinary as a dandelion?

--Debi Cates
April 21, 2026
Inspired by and first shared on the topic
2026 National Poetry Month, Day 21 "Yellow"
https://www.librarything.com/topic/383817

April 29, 2026
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God's Body

If I could conceive of the Universe
as I conceive my hand on this table
where it feels as though my hand is solid
with no space between my atoms (though there is!)
and that I actually am touching the table (though I am not!)
would that be God's perception?

And would Earth's humans then be
a rumbling in my tummy,
a vague bellyache, a lamentation
after dining too richly,
a small mar
in an otherwise perfect starry evening?

--Debi Cates
April 22, 2026
Inspired by and first shared on the topic
2026 National Poetry Month, Day 22 Science-poetry
https://www.librarything.com/topic/383848

April 29, 2026
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Machine Chatter

Fridge has a smooth light hum,
a gentle giant
lets me know it's keeping
my cilantro bundle safe.

AC clicks on and off,
a braggart, attention-seeker
telling me often it has
expensive tastes.

Cell phone dings this way,
that way, all day, no matter
how much I hold it, coddle it.
The youngest and spoiled child.

Box fan is homely,
but steady, loyal,
my dearest night time friend
drones its lullaby.

My dog and I, we hear the machines.
But listen most to our footsteps around,
to the little verbal endearments
we chatter, between the living.

--Debi Cates
April 23, 2026
Inspired by and first shared on the topic
2026 National Poetry Month, Day 23 Sound-Poetry
https://www.librarything.com/topic/383866

April 29, 2026
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Bah!

bah bah humbug
poo-poo and poppycock
oh me, oh my, oh brother
sis boom....bah!

--Debi Cates
April 23, 2026
Inspired by and first shared on the topic
2026 National Poetry Month, Day 23 Sound-Poetry
https://www.librarything.com/topic/383866

April 29, 2026
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Tarot Daily Cards, a Google Centos

This is a time of deep rest,
begin to address your own unjust actions
things are moving too slowly
from the demands of the world.

--Debi Cates
April 27, 2026
Inspired by and first shared on the topic
2026 National Poetry Month, Day 26 Constraint-Poetry
https://www.librarything.com/topic/383943#

April 29, 2026
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"Dreams of a new country" 4' X 6' painting by Lahib Jaddo, Lubbock, Texas 1992

Staring fearlessly, she awakes on a desert floor
dressed in a shroud.
Dreams have overtaken her, for there are no such
rich purple flowers here.
Maybe in Iraq.
Maybe in Lebanon.

The carpet under her ripples, a flying one. No,
not Persian. Geometric. Native American,
a gray history of women's work.
She has landed in the Staked Plains,
so gently,
to us and alone.

She remains calm, so calm.
The painting is big, so big
those purple flowers go on and on
until they rise up as mountains.

--Debi Cates
April 27, 2026
Inspired by and first shared on the topic
2026 National Poetry Month, Day 26 Constraint-Poetry
https://www.librarything.com/topic/383943

April 29, 2026
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For God's Sake Don't Visit the Zoo!

Someone opened the tiger cages.

First, the tigers ate the game keepers,
as they scrambled like mad to put
the man-eaters back in their cages, but
they would not go.

Then, tigers ate ones who tried to hide,
while visitors pointed and laughed
at ridding the zoo of brown heads,
and black ones too.

Then, tigers chased the tiger-loving ones,
who didn't run, not even alarmed,
believed a red hat would save them
from the carnage.

Then, tigers picked off the grannies who made
sweet apple pies, and the granddads
who fought in all our wars, knocked 'em
off their walkers.

Then, the well-fed tigers were really having fun,
left the zoo to consume all manner of humanity,
dollars flew out of their pockets but
that did no good.

Then, the alligators escaped.

--Debi Cates
April 28, 2026
Inspired by and first shared on the topic
2026 National Poetry Month, Day 28 Protest-Poetry
https://www.librarything.com/topic/383975

April 29, 2026
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ABC Primer of the Trumpstein Files
(for the young)

All see, all know they were
best buddies, blackmailer and blackmailed
cavalier cutthroat criminal cousins in a
decades-long dance, drumming business
exotic explosions of email, building a
factory of the famous, making filth of a
grieving gang of raped girls, gathered for
horn dogs in high places, high flyers off to an
isolated island of ick, entitled rich
jutting johnson jollies,
keenly knowing that killing
language of leering, of lying, laughing,
moans in mushroom-shaped
nasty nethers in the
orgasmic secret order of the
putrefied predators of pink
quivering, crying, quiet under
real threats of retribution
suffered the stench of sex sweat of the
traffickers, those thousand
unjust, undead
vampires of vitality.

We wait, are waiting,
expectantly expect, even pray
you both, you all rot in absolute
zero, cold ashes not forgiven by Giuffre, floating angel above Zorro's dead.

--Debi Cates
April 28,2026
Inspired by and first shared on the topic
2026 National Poetry Month, Day 28 Protest-Poetry
https://www.librarything.com/topic/383975

>98 DebiCates: Wow! Passage of time with food. Oddly, my experience is a bit reversed. My earliest memory of food is a green pepper cut in half with table salt.

I really like this poem

May 23, 2026
I miss poetry. I miss the people I know who love poetry.
My brother had a massive stroke, effecting both sides of his brain. He is in limbo. We are in limbo. Our choices are nothing like what he would want. He wanted to live forever.
●○●○●○●○●

The names they give for awful things are awful.
And yet the word "sorrow" is perfect.

>111 DebiCates: Gigantic hugs to you and your brother. And those verses are perfect too

>111 DebiCates: Yes, these words do wonders for me, hoping they do so for you, as well.

It must be so so difficult being there with / for / on behalf of your brother. It is also beautiful you are there.

>111 DebiCates: Best wishes and much love for you Debi and for your brother. I have no words on the subject more fitting than yours.

Thank you for your kindnesses and gentle thoughts, everyone.

My brother had a massive stroke, then died a week ago while in Hospice care. We are having a family service for him this evening. He would have loved seeing everyone together. I'm seeing and loving everything through my eyes for the both of us.

My oldest daughter will read this poem aloud for me.

●○●○●○●○●
To Little Brother from Big Sister

In war, funerals, and fleeing,
and in long life's peaceful adventures
we were in tandem like entangled particles.
Even when you moved away and I stayed.

You raced, built and invented a masculine world.
I made portraits, wrote, and created a feminine one.
Yet, we loved the same world together, made in Time and DNA,
People and places, rivers and seas, food and flowers.

You were whiny. I was bossy.
You were honey. I was balm.
You cooked for me. I cooked for you.
We trespassed open fields together.

You listened fully while I wept.
I held you when you trembled.
You protected me. I rescued you.
For 60 years, we looked out for one another.

You've moved away
too far this time, Little Brother!
Be at peace, roam the Universe.
I'll stay here
for a while longer,
an entangled particle.

Oh Debi I’m so sorry. Your poem is lovely and moving. May his memory be a blessing.

Lovely words, @DebiCates, and lovely that everyone was able to gather in his name.

Oh, wow!

A wonderful eulogy.

I am sorry for your loss

Sentiment, tribute, art.

--Matt

>115 DebiCates: This is beautiful Debi. I'm sorry for your loss and sending big hugs. Come back now?

>115 DebiCates: Oh, my condolences Debi. That is a beautiful tribute/eulogy