She always yelled at him before her grand entrance. “Harry, crank up that wind machine!” Then she’d wind up those hips get the feathers quiverin’ and strut out on stage, fans strategically placed. She wanted to entrance the blokes, not wound their swoonin’ heart.
Sally Rand, born Helen Gould Beck, was an American burlesque dancer most noted for her ostrich fan dances and her balloon bubble dances. She was mot active from 1925 to 1979.
Diapers, bedtime stories, Christmas stockings. Driving them to lessons, reading report cards. Wound up like a top I whizzed through the arcane. Now in my golden years I think back and realize. I should have paid more mind. The arcane was indeed the miraculous.
Written for Quadrille Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today I’m hosting and ask people to include the word “wound” or a form of the word in a poem of exactly 44 words, sans title. Notice that “wound” is a homograph. There are two pronunciations and each has a different meaning: He suffered a wound in battle. VS She is wound up like a top. Folks are free to use either pronunciation/meaning or both! If using both, their poem must still consist of exactly 44 words, not including the title.
Photos are of our children who are now 45 and 46! And yes that’s me, about forty years ago!
I’m thrilled to turn seventy-four, let me give that an underscore. Some decry growing old, equate grey hair and wrinkles with creeping mold, and simply cannot be consoled.
Not as nimble with a few pains? Hands mapped in purple veins? Come on people, grab the reins! What more could you ask for than to celebrate one year more with your family and people you adore?
So I’ll put on my tap shoes for a loud dance, blow out the candles at the very first chance. Then I’ll give my husband a meaningful glance and celebrate seventy four with a night of romance!
Written for OLN – Open Link Night – at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. OLN means we can choose any one poem to post today – no specific prompt, form, rhyme scheme, or length. And since today is indeed my birthday, I wrote this little ditty. I do believe it is a privilege to grow old. I continue to be thankful for every day.
Seascape rhythmic swells, sonata in blue. Harmonic melody carried by balmy breeze. Percussion added as sea foamed waves lap shore. Time signature ever changing, sand grains shift and ripple too. I sit mesmerized, all this balm to my soul. Smile serenely, softly, as unconscious movement of tongue reveals salty upper lip. Apt coda to this masterpiece ~ nature’s wondrous symphony.
Written for Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Sarah asks us to consider “blue” in our poetry. Photo is from our time in Bermuda a number of years ago.
She crossed a bridge with the utmost faith knowing her husband, gone so long, and her Lord would be on the other side. We who wait in this waystation bid her farewell and rest and we move on as we must.
Sometimes a bridge is like a catapult, a sudden bolt from here to there. Others seem miles long as we cross treacherous waters, painful steps, unsure of where they lead, straining to make the span longer still.
I stand outside tonight, staring at the stars above our universe. I wonder and I hope. Peace and unconditional love must surely have met you as you knew it would, when you crossed over to the other side.
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Today, Merril talks about bridges and asks us to either write a poem in a particular form, or to somehow write about bridges. This poem is dedicated to my sister-in-law Starr. We lost her on April 10th. She and I were planning on my visiting in July….it was not to be. I shall miss her. I do miss her.
Sun melted snow trickles down, enlivens creek, soon to expand to winding river’s width. Once a harbinger of spring, displaced cherry blossoms float downward in breeze. I grieve the season’s loss and the loss of you, as pink petaled rain gently falls. Blossoms cling to gurgling stream, like sweet rosé lingering upon nature’s savoring lips. Kingfishers nest in branches looking down upon headstones, all ornate save one. Your simply etched name and the grandiose sculptures, all indiscriminately covered. What more wealth do you or I or any of these dead souls need than nature’s unconditional kindness? This reminder of her accepting love. This exquisitely serene pink rain.
Written for last Tuesday’s Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Laura is hosting and reminds us that today is UN Chinese Language Day.
She asked us to choose one of four poems she provided, and with as many re-reads as we needed, to imagine what the poet painted and what impressions were conveyed…and then reinterpret the poem in our own style. We must use the title of the poem we choose and of course, credit the author. We may only use a few words from the poem itself. The poem I chose to reinterpret is below:
Winding River ~ Du Fu Each piece of flying blossom leaves spring the less, I grieve as myriad points float in the wind. I watch the last ones move before my eyes, And cannot have enough wine pass my lips. Kingfishers nest by the little hall on the river, Unicorns lie at the high tomb’s enclosure. Having studied the world, one must seek joy, For what use is the trap of passing honour?
bother me with sunlight today, streaming through windows this crisp cool day. Bother me with good news, happiness smiles and a baby’s grin. Bother me with a romantic tale full of daffodil cups, a good merlot and love tendered kisses. Please, do bother me!
Written for Quadrille Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today De hosts, asking us to use the word “bother” or a form of the word in our poem of exactly 44 words, sans title. Pub opens at 3:00 PM Boston time – come imbibe some words with us! Also posted at Day 19 NaPoWriMo.April is National Poetry Writing Month and the challenge is to write a poem every day of the month.
Just before the world ends cockroaches, horseshoe crabs, velvet worms and millipedes shall gather in one place. Perhaps atop a tower of rubble, or a desecrated piece of earth where once redwoods stood. They are the superior ones.
Earth’s five remaining humans grovel nearby, scarred by cancers, and unspeakable genetic defects. Expected, given their disregard for the natural good. They drool pathetically. Neon spittle sans words, drips from radioactive tinged lips.
The superiors, once considered the vilest, issue only three words: You were warned.
Sincere apologies to Maya Angelou. Day 18 NaPoWriMo’s prompt was to take a chapter name from a book of poetry and respond to it in a poem. One chapter in Maya Angelou: The Complete Poetry is titled “Just Before the World Ends” which I used as the first line of this poem. For whatever reason, my mind went to the other side today. The creatures names are some that have existed for millions of years. Apologies. I promise, tomorrow will be sunny again!
Moon sliver slice of shimmer always brings a promise. Full moon’s glory will come then shall begin to ebb but never be lost. Moon sliver slice of shimmer always brings a promise. Full moon’s glory will come and so it shall continue as we’ve seen and and those will see after us.
Written for NaPoWriMo Day 17 where the prompt is to write a poem about or related to the moon. April is National Poetry Month and NaPoWriMo challenges us to write a poem every day of the month.