Amputated Moon

thunder opens the sky

petals of puce and ochre

fall among the trees

and into the wind-bound waves

petals gathering together

like color to like color

drift like sea foam

or algae bloom

across the sky and sea

storm clouds border

like a garden fence

thunder petals fall

listen

Pamela Olson, 7/5/08

This poem was inspired

by an early morning thunder storm

and Rick Mobbs’ painting, “Harbor-Lights”.

July lies ahead

poured out like

shadows at dusk

the sun’s beams

are broad and indifferent

searing the air

into white hot

rather than blue

bound in humidity

the grass dries

the herb garden wilts

reasoned thoughts stray

only three more months

until autumn arrives

and the sky turns blue again

Pamela Olson, 7/3/08

This poem was written for

Three Word Wednesday

the doorway beckons

dawn pauses

as I walk through

crickets call for day

as shadows retreat

slumbering summer

awakes

Pamela Olson, 6/29/08

This tanka was written

for the prompt “doorways”

at One Single Impression

the doorway lies before us

we wait at the threshold of silence

between past and future

to dwell in this threshold

holding silence close and dear

neither here nor there

wait as the seconds become minutes

moving on to months and years

silence surrounds silence

take it in and wait

until the time comes

then– just breathe and take a step

Pamela Olson

This poem kicks off the new

prompt “doorway” at

One Single Impression

the light becomes golden

no breeze stirs

the oak leaves or pine needles

we wait

the thunder rumbles

closer

the dog remains alert

panting by my side

no rain falls—yet

the shadows lengthen

beneath the trees

along the fence line

we wait

listening for the thunder

waiting for the storm

Pamela Olson, 6/27/08

thin-stripped flat land

mountains above

waves below

always on edge

the ocean digests

each rock and pebble

shaken loose

by wind and rain

fatal erosions

rumors of end times

war against nature

war against man

before the apocalypse

spontaneous visions

dark dreams

then comes the final quake

Pamela Olson, 6/25/08

Written for the prompt

at Three Word Wednesday

she dreams each night

of the newest finds

in her daily haunts

of the up-and-coming boutiques

she feels the heft of the chains

around her neck

aslant on her hip

all uncommon rattle

the fabric drapes itself

over her slim shoulders

and her breastless torso

no curves to pull at the lines

will she find the perfect look

when she wakes

or will she only

wander the streets and dream

Pamela Olson, 6/23/08

This poem is in response to

Monday Mural at Poefusion

Art is by Hilm Daniele

sun obscured

clouds gather

sky torn between gray

and blue

wind blows

temperature drops

seasons change

still—

the shadowy summer

rises from earth

she flirts with the blushing sun

the temperature rises

the young lovers embrace

life and love are born

Pamela Olson, 6/22/08

This poem was written for

Rick Mobbs’ painting, “The Kiss”

at Mine Enemy Grows Older.

After teal has faded into purple,

            after stars begin their journey;

            the first step is taken simply— adagio sostenuto.

The light is simple and open as the moon rises.

Softly, softly moon lifts her voice;

            melody rising and falling on the breeze.

            Above the hills she sings her crescendo,

falling lower as clouds pass over her.

At evening’s apex her aria builds,

            a strength of light borrowed by the sun;

            then, diminished, she begins her westward fall.

Slowly, slowly she dawdles in her descent.

She resists the end of her song

            striking notes out of key.

            Then, resigned to the end, she slides and slides;

slipping across the horizon with a whisper.

The music fades away.

Pamela Olson, 6/22/08

This poem is posted in response to the prompt

“melody” at One Single Impression

The sun flings wide its arms

‘til dusk and dawn almost kiss.

Day stretches out long past its due

binding night in Sol’s bright chains.

Night beasts curl in warm hibernation;

no time left for the things of life.

Sleep the long day away;

wait for the waxing night.

Pamela Olson, 6/21/08