Goodness blooms this time of year. Pushy crocus show off first then tulips admire daffodil ruffles and hyacinths invoke delicious inhales. Trees begin to dress for the occasion. Don magnolia flowers, cherry blossoms, and crab apple trees defy their name. We shed coats, walk more sure-footed on warming sidewalks and greening lawns. Infants’ arms wave more freely, cumbersome snowsuit padding gone. Robins appear, geese begin to nest. Mountains’ winter toppings melt, cascade in waterfalls to brooks below. Streams rush over rocks, gurgling their spring symphony. And I, I smile as I step outdoors reveling in another year of life.
We have an Uncle Fester, almost eighty, his behaviors are causing concern. Sends out weird pictures of himself. One day he’s a fighter pilot dropping feces bombs, the next day he’s Jesus Christ.
Someone made a whopper mistake, gifted Uncle Fester a label-maker. He slapped his name everywhere. We’re talking street corner signs, the neighborhood center, and the cemetery too.
Shocked my aunt by gilding his den then bull-dozers suddenly appeared, tore down their living room! Shocked beyond words she asked him why. “We need a ballroom” he said. “For what?” she screamed, “You don’t even dance!”
Sits up all hours of the night posting, posting, posting. Posted eleven times in forty-two minutes, then fell asleep at inopportune times. Brings up a contest he lost six years ago. Claims he won though facts say he lost. Brings it up over and over and over again.
Hoists f-bombs at neighbors and friends. Can’t stay on topic when he talks, wanders off with grandiose lies. According to him, he’s the absolute best at everything there ever was. We hear it over and over and over again. So what do you think? Is there cause for concern?
Hmmmmm……do you think Uncle Fester sounds like Donald Trump? My apologies to the “real” Uncle Fester! He’s a character in the fictional Addams Family. Image is of Jackie Coogan playing the role. Image is in public domain.
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Sanaa is hosting Open Link Night AND will host a LIVE session with audio and video on Satuday, May 9th from 10 to 11 AM EST. All are welcome to join. A link is provided on Thursday’s OLN page here.
Sipping bordeaux, afternoon delight. She, the queen of hearts, oblivious. He, her soul’s sustenance, sits restless in the tangles of foment. His love, her peace and windrush. His lust, her quicksilver.
Poetry is a testament to noticing. Journal upon the table, pen hesitates, writing stammers, then suddenly stops. Eyes look up, gaze high. SentinelEiffel Tower looms overlooking this changing scene.
Her hands shake, tears form. Looking at him, she knows. This seasonal song has no coda, final movement complete. He nods slowly, touches her hand, whispers I’m sorry and leaves. For her, the summer is done.
Written for Tuesay Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Merril gives us a list of names given to roses and asks us to write a poem including at least five of the names. We cannot use the word “rose” wtihin our poem. The rose names are Afternoon Delight, Bordeaux, Brass Band, Cayenne, Desdemona, Ebb Tide, Eiffel Tower, Golden Gate, Mermaid, No Surrender, Peace, Penny Lane, Queen of Hearts, Quick Silver, Restless, Sea Foam, Summer Song, Tangles, White Wings, and Windrush. I’ve included the ten that are in bold print.
Image AI generated on Bing Create.
“Poetry is a testament to noticing” quoted from Poetry Unbound, 50 Poems to Open Your World, by Padraig O Tuama, Irish poet and theologian.
She bloomed in every setting. Rose patterned everyday dresses, cherry cheerful flannel pajamas, fruit speckled summer skirts. Wisteriaed wall paper wooed her to sleep each night. Bougainvillea borders bedecked her breakfast nook. She lived up to her name, Lily lived a lovely cheerful life.
Written for Quadrille Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today I’m hosting at the pub and asking folks to write a Quadrille (a poem of exactly 44 words, sans title) that includes the word “bloom” or a form of the word.
Image: Hopie in the Garden, painted in 2021 by Hilary Pecis, on display at Boston’s Museum of Fine art in their Framing Nature: Gardens and Imagination exhibit.
Explanation of Tussie Mussie: During Queen Victoria’s reign (1837 – 1901) a small bouquet of flowers called a tussie mussie was a common accessory. Flowers were considered more modest adornment than jewelry for young women.
I meander the riverside. Meanwhile the globe spins frenetically, as much of the world is amok in violent rhetoric. Walking offers views of spring. Geese nesting, itself testament to the season’s rebirth. To see the female sit patiently upon her nest, your reminder. Hope lives within the imagination.
Written for Meet The Bar Thursday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets across the globe. Today we’re asked to write a Golden Shovel Poem.
What is a Golden Shovel Poem? It’s a poetic form where the last word of each line in a new poem, when read vertically from top to bottom, creates a line from another poet.
What line from another poet have I used in my Golden Shovel Poem? “The world offers itself to your imagination” from Mary Oliver’s poem Wild Geese.
Photo taken on my walk yesterday, along the banks of the Charles River here in Boston.
Translucent diaphanous wings. Only one of her not like hummingbirds who flit.
Collector of juvenile items pulled or shed. Never antiques.
Never the payer, she collects payments for the collectibles she collects. . Fair in her fee structure adjusted to inflation. Remnants of my youth, worth a dime.
Collectibles from my son? Fifty cents. Today? One dollar or more.
Children grin, proudly display gaps in their mouths. Proof of her existence.
I wonder, is she swayed by wealth? Or is she kind-hearted enough to make pro-bono flights?
NAPOWRIMO 2026. Day 30!Last day of National Poetry Writing Month. Prompt:Write a poem about a real or mythical being or profession with a musing yet dispassionate tone. AI image generated on Bing Create.
Our first home in Illinois had no front yard. Stepped off the front porch at your own peril, into the dug-out pit for a new college gym. Construction equipment clanged and buzzed constantly digging, laying pipes and beams. Inside, we served visitors spaghetti suppers on our auction bought wiggly table top screwed into four tall two-by-fours. Rotary telephone hung on peeling plastered wall, rarely used for expensive long distance calls. We watched Johnny Carson’s Tonight Show on our nine-inch black and white television. As the old song goes, “Those were the days my friends.”
Fifty-six years later, it’s high-rise condo life. Outside our windows, Boston’s city scape includes trees, few green areas, buildings in every direction. When guests or family arrive, we serve delicious meals with wine at our lovely oak claw-foot dining table. Large screen television streams movies, 24/7 news, sitcoms of every genre. Our handheld “telephone” is a clock, calendar, address book and weather man. It streams music on Spotify. Reaches friends nearby and across the globe with audio and video calls.
Gratefully happy then. Thankfully happy now. So is the old adage true? Things are not better, they’re not worse, they’re just different. What say you?
NAPOWRIMO Day 29. Prompt: In your poem today, compare your everyday present life with your past self, using specific details to conjure aspects of your past and present in the reader’s mind.
Lessons from ancient cultures, wisdom in Native Americans’ ways. Guiding principles to live in harmony passed down from generation to generation.
Debwewin is Truth. Represented by the turtle. The tortoise carries lessons of life on its back. Years piled upon years.
It walks slowly, sometimes laboriously, feet firmly planted in earth’s reality. Its purpose was, still is, forward movement.
Honest plodding, slogging, traipsing at times. Memories, achievements, failures, goals. All stored and carried through life’s journey. No regrets. This is me. In this place. Now.
Everything past, a part of my weight, my girth, my being, my soul.
Written for Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Mish is hosting, providing us with a very special prompt that explains The Seven Grandfather Teachings, a set of Anishinaabe guiding principals for living a good life in harmony with nature and others . . . all of creation.
Mish explains: “These ancient teachings have been passed down for generations through stories and ceremonies. Many Native American organizations have adopted these sacred laws as a foundation. Because they are the basis for a worldview rooted in respecting each other and the natural world, these values are often represented by a specific animal. We’re asked to write a poem influenced by the Seven Grandfather Teachings in any way that we would like. We may choose to focus on one or embody them all.“
I’ve chosen to write about Debwewin, Truth, represented by the turtle. “The turtle carries the teachings of life on his back. Slow and meticulous. Understand the importance of the journey. Be true to yourself. Speak your truth.“
fire suddenly flares up in our new frying pan. Must everything in this country be so combustible? Just put a lid on the rhetoric and smother the heat.
NAPOWRIMO Day 28. Prompt: write a poem that follows this pattern: three sentences, six lines: statement, question, conclusion. AI image made on Bing Create.
lillian the home poet 