Family Picnic

Family Picnic

We meet again after months have passed
Hugs of hello our plan is clear
Set autumn’s table, let the picnic start

With buoyant chatter catching up at last
Unpacking food boxes, the guys open beer
The teens eat chips, gab, and act smart

Twigs are gathered, charcoal heat is cast
Our burgers sizzle, lunch appears
Under summer’s late sun, no longer apart

With breaks in our past
What matters now is how we care
Families are larger than the sum of their parts

Taking a short hike before we depart
We skip rocks on the lake and make our own mark.

Ava Hypatia
October, 2019

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Spring Gardening

Spring Gardening

Bending on one knee
Looking at the weeds
I gasp.
Nasty green milkweeds
Line up as misdeeds
Aghast.
Spring hoe I’ll concede
Makes those foes recede
And fast.

The dirt is indeed
Upended, I sneeze
Harassed.
In joy as I lead
The time to sow seeds
At last.
I drop in each bead
With care I proceed
Steadfast.

Standing up nosebleed
I start my decree
A blast.
Let all men agree
No trampling impede
Outcast.
For this my great deed
I pray to succeed
Hands clasped.

-by Ava Hypatia

April 28, 2019
in Lai form

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Gifted Flowers in Winter

Mum pic to go with poemAABA BBCB CCDC DDDD

Gifted Flowers in Winter (I)

These mums in winter show so bright
Their furry balls puffed up in white
A single daisy gaily pink
In royal court to all’s delight.

A gift in icy winter’s rink
My love bestows a kiss and winks
He knows my joy will warm and grow
These flowers bring our lips in sync.

Fragrance from the petals flow
Embracing us our hearts to know
While snow outside to frozen earth
In January’s wake beats warm the cold.

Bouquet of sweetness to their worth
Crack open desolate winter’s mirth
All the world our household’s girth
Float daisy days till spring is birthed.
————————

(alternative ending choice)

AABA BBCB CCDC DD

Gifted Flowers in Winter (II)

These mums in winter show so bright
Their furry balls puffed up in white
A single daisy gaily pink
In royal court to all’s delight.

A gift in icy winter’s rink
My love bestows a kiss and winks
He knows my joy will warm and grow
These flowers bring our lips in sync.

Fragrance from the petals flow
Embracing us our hearts to know
While polar winds make houses creak
In January’s wake beats warm the cold.

Until the days grow long we sleep
My blossom flowers good company keep.

-by Ava Hypatia


Prompt: At d’Verse Poets, Frank asks us to write a ruba’i or rubaiyat.

I have written two versions.  Please tell me which you prefer.  Your feedback is very welcome.

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Return on Sunday

Return on Sunday

The rain has come to a stop.
The birds chirp outside the kitchen window again,
The dogs of the neighborhood bark here and there,
Yard bunnies appear, safely nibbling green shoots,
A child’s inquisitive sounds issue from a nearby yard,
The roar from a passing plane reminds me you are coming home,
All creatures are stirring to the day.

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My hair color

My hair color

My hair color is falling away, I see this as I pluck a fallen strand from my blouse.
It was once deep brown with red highlights.
Now it is dull tan as seen through cataract glass.
Sometimes, it is even——gasp!— white-ish,
So I pluck and cast it aside from my busy fingers.
I am in no way ready to show decline—not today, not tomorrow.
I am swimming quite fast through life’s current, thank you.
Instead, I wish to dye the whole conflicted lot a bright silver, and
Unleash its shine outward in a torrent of beckoning color,
Urging us to look, to move onward together boldly, to swim to new shores.

Dull hair is just a nuisance.

June 3, 2018

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Some Things Should Never Be Written Down (in the style of Nancy Willard)

Some Things Should Never Be Written Down (in the style of Nancy Willard)

Some things should never be written down,
the way my heart melts into your arm as I fall asleep
the heat from your body reaching out to mine
charged with ions or eons or both whispering, what you said
to me right before we let go for the evening before the trip to morning,
the comfort of a thousand mothers reaching out to grasp us
when one with lifted eyes in that last second of clarity
wished us well as laundry drying on the line.

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Birthday Wishes on the Living

Birthday Wishes on the Living

“Oh shoot.  What should we do to top this one?” say the younger sisters to their older sister who just sent a hand-drawn picture commemorating their deceased mom. “Darn it, this is too much.”

The love between us draws us in and is shining on us — highlighting the thoughts and feelings we have together yet wish to share apart.  Individually, we must maintain the distance, but through Mom we come together on this day of memory and realization that life is what we make it to be. While I sit in this bar with the love of my life, I am shameless in my desire to share my art, share my feelings, share my homage to Mom, on her birthday.  She would have been 87, but heck, that would have killed her, so it is best to raise our glasses from the bar, send our texts and pictures.

I remember Mom with the love of my sisters surrounding me from a distance and the comfort of the best man I know sitting on the sofa next to me in this bar tonight.

13 January 2018

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The End is Near

The End is Near

These flies provoke me
Crazy pestilence!
The end is near, I can feel it
Hatching all around me.

Buzzing past my face, in my hair, down my hall
They signal decay somewhere close
I am lost to find their source.

The infestation continues
I will kill them > kill them all
Before I allow my life to be so consumed
by these loathsome creatures on my walls.

One rogue pregnant fly brought this disaster
I swear on my grave I will kill them faster.

Red swatter, blue swatter, here this one’s for you swatter
Sticky tape, gooey drapes to end your days: the end is near.
One more time fly by my ear
I’ll squash you silly and drink my beers.

by Ava Hypatia


Paul Scribble at d’Verse Poet Pub challenge us to write about “The End”.

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Vietnamese Noodles

Vietnamese Noodles

Albino tapeworms curl around themselves
So many worms in such a big bowl
I am hungry and twist them around my fork
The amputee owner/waiter assures me they taste best with chili sauce
We bob to each other, in agreement, very good, very tasty, yes!
I add more sauce with a little spoon and peek under my hot noodles for more surprises,
Poke, poke, this time with chopsticks; I laugh to my partner loudly as we share our selections
An older couple looks our way, and I stare at their plates past their eyes to see what they ordered
Do they come here often, live nearby, their private, Saturday night haunt all these years?
The young Vietnamese American children at the first table don’t look up once from their screens
Boring, boring, boring, but their parents and friends seem relaxed and happy at their bowls.
On the way out, I notice the fake fire burning is really a heater for the first window seats
Warming those framed by the front windows this winter while we sit further inside.

 

-by Ava Hypatia, open mic night at D’Verse Poets.

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Her Teeth Live On

Mom's TeethHer Teeth Live On

She is gone but her false teeth live on. So do her stories and words of wisdom. Her butterfly pink lipsticks would lay on her mirror tray along with a matching bold fabric dahlia. They have become shadows, having lost their color but not their meaning. The dahlia bloom lives with me now, stuffed in a bag with her obituary and list of friends. Her teeth reside with my one younger sister. Mom was a lady, a funny woman, a good soul, and someone who tried to keep her natural teeth for as long as she could, but failed.

[Haiku option 1]

Pink mirage reflects
Drops in a pool of goodbyes
Breaking laughter wide

[Haiku option 2]

Morning wake up call
Teeth in a cereal bowl
Biting down on life

— by Ava Hypatia

__________________________________

Prompt: A Haibun prompt at d’Verse Poets today, with a requirement of using “shadow” made me dig up this poem I wrote and add the word appropriately.  Since I had to follow constraints, as you can see, I broke a few.  The pic is actually one my sister took for this true story. You all don’t know my Mom, but she was a riot — A teacher, a piano-player, a good friend to many.  She passed away recently, but continues to inspire me.  See this other poem about my Mom if you are interested: Mom’s Itchy Skin.

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