Film Noir, Take 38

Graveyard journey.
Ghosts whisper, dance,
twist, shimmer.
Breeze skips through leaves.
Clouds balloon, curl,
storm drizzles, bubbles open.
Lightning sparks, sounds echo.

Dawn spills, melts rose-red.
Peppered blood-shadows
scar green spring grass.
Fearful giggle jars grin,
breath flickers.
Cue still lull.
Dream sequence fades.

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[INCLUDES ALL THE WORDS THUS FAR]
A second quadrille (see below for explanation) Missing You also posted today, uses only today’s prompt word “dream.”  Hope you’ll click on the title and read it also!

De hosts Quadrille Monday today at dVerse,  Quadrille: a poem of exactly 44 words, sans title. Each time a word prompt is given: week #1 = Quadrille #1 and 1 word; Week #2 = Quadrille #2 and a new word; etc.  We build to Quadrille # 44 in week 44 with still another word. We’re on Week #38  and the prompt word is “dream.”  Past words this series have included fear, flicker, pepperdance, bubble, grin, lull, melt, shimmer, twist, skip, green, breeze, spill, rose, journey, jar, leaves, open, shadow, cloud, spark, cue, breath, scar, curl, whisper, dawn, ghost, giggle, drizzle, still, echo, sound, storm, spring, and balloon. Bar opens at 3 PM Boston time.  Come join us!

Missing You

Would that I could call you back
take up seeds and sow them deep
roots so strongly based on earth
even angels could not
would not
escape with you enfolded in their wings.
This is my dreamscape.
You, alive with hope,
for many tomorrows.

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For dVerse, the virtual pub for poets.  It’s Quadrille Monday and we’re asked to use the word “dream” or some form of it, in a 44 word poem.Also published today, Film Noir, Take 38 which uses all 38 words given as prompts thus far in our current quadrille cycle. Hope you’ll click on the title and read it too!  Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Photo: This is my dear friend, Louise. She died in February 2017, after battling ovarian cancer for two years.

Haibun of Bygones

In the neighborhood where we raised our children, there was a beautiful weeping willow in the front yard next door. Our children loved to have picnic lunches beneath its low bowing branches. Other times, all the children in the area gathered and played tag, running in and out of the green lacey-leafed cascading curtains, sometimes tripping on the roots that made the ground lumpy beneath its shade. Laughter abounded around the tree.

The only day it earned its name was the day the arborists came. They sawed it into pieces. Drilled out its heart-stump, and carted it all away. My children watched the scene in horror and cried their hurt that night as we sat at the dinner table. Mother nature wept her disappointment in a summer evening storm. Strands of weeping branches littered our street, until the street cleaner arrived early one morning and swept all evidence away.

birds sing sweet sorrow
weeping willow cracks in grief
earth disrobed by man

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Thursday is Open Link Night at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Gail is hosting and asks us to come imbibe some words and post one poem of our choice – no prompt given. We’re a friendly bunch. Come enjoy!

Inspired by a Visit to Matisse

Shadow lady,
from wherever-you-prefer
cash-only for hire,
she an artist’s muse.
Name-her-as-you-wish
pose her as you will.
Her rule, never touch,
sparks a masterful brush.

Face concealed,
enveloped in a penumbra of voile
anonymity always required.
Pastels, oil, charcoal, or clay
shades of black, white or grey.
Bright hues perhaps?
Your choice.
Clothing optional, save the veil.

Perched upon a chair,
garters hold stockings taut
bare breasts paint themselves.
Curses fall upon that masked face,
as she survives within the pale.

Fee collected, she hurries home.
Scarf thrown upon the chair
no mirrors with which to see
that face so hidden then,
now sipping cup of tea.

Years later,
accompanied by her spouse
she visits galleries,
genteel pastime of the upper class.

Smiling ever so slightly
she spies her former self,
framed in golden gilt
hanging upon the wall.

She, an artists’ muse,
their anonymous visage.
Paid a pittance then
worth a fortune now.

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Written for today’s Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. I’m delighted to be hosting so step right up to the bar. The prompt word for today is “shade.”  Use the word itself or any derivation of the word in the body of your poem. My poem today is inspired by a recent visit to Boston’s MFA to see the Matisse Studio exhibit. I was enamored with this painting, Seated Figure with Violet Stockings, oil on canvas, painted by Matisse in 1914. My imagination took a leap from the painting to this musing. Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Come join us in the shade!

Appreciating Differences

My mother and father were very different from each other. She was volatile and outgoing. He was quiet and non-demonstrative. A draftsman by trade, he had neat block printing. His basement workshop shelves contained Skippy jars of nails, nuts and bolts, each with its content duly noted on labels, printed in his steady hand. My mother was brought up in the Catholic Church in the days of “sister school.” I was told that at a young age, the nuns wrapped her knuckles with a ruler when she tried to write with her left hand. Consequently she became a right-hander with almost illegible script.

Our Christmas tree is a memory tree. On the bottom branches, I hang gift tags from years gone by. “To Lillian, Love Mom” written in her horrific handwriting. I also hang wooden ornaments made on my dad’s jigsaw, inscribed on the backs in perfect block letters, “Love Dad.” Nostalgic during the holidays, I occasionally peruse my 1947 baby book, not so much to look at the old black and white photos, but to see my mother’s script which fills the pages. The ramblings of a young harried woman, writing about daily life with me. It takes time to decipher, but I feel her presence more if I can make out the words.

My dad’s perfect printing. My mom’s wild scribbling. They fought, they loved, they played pinochle together. I treasure each for who they were and who together, made me. And I wonder, when I’m gone, will anyone keep these mementos? Or will the ink be so faded, they will be lost to time.

wildflowers constrained,
exhuberant colors vased
bonsai, controlled art

Written for dVerse Haibun Monday. Today Victoria is hosting and asks us to explore the Japanese art of Wabi Sabi – the art of revering authenticity, appreciating imperfections, slowing down to appreciate rather than perfect. The haibun form begins with non-fiction prose and concludes with a haiku. The haiku must deal with nature. 

Abdication By Your Design

I decree:
I am the Queen of Cooland.

See me shimmer and shine.
Bling me with stardust.
Bring me gold and silver sugar crystals
to savor upon my tongue.
Bring me dime store diamonds
glitter glue, sequins, and bangles too.

This bench, my throne.
This broken branch, my staff.
I fling riches upon my subjects,
kernals of golden corn their joy.
Why do you not share your riches with me?
No bows, no smiles, no understanding.

Can you not see me?
How can you pretend I do not exist?
My royalty wrapped in newsprint,
I wear the remains of your misdeeds.
Can you not feel shame
as I mutter my royal decree?

Pigeons shit on my command.
They coo at my feet,
jewel my crown.
I am the Queen of Cooland.
This is my decree.
The End.

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Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets, where Paul hosts today, asking us to write a poem that somehow deals with “the end.” Pub opens at 3 pm.  Come imbibe some words with us!

Film Noir, Take 37

Graveyard journey.
Ghosts whisper, dance,
twist, shimmer.
Breeze skips through leaves.
Clouds balloon, curl, drizzle,
storm bubbles open.
Lightning sparks, sounds echo.

Dawn spills, melts rose-red.
Peppered blood-shadows
scar green spring grass.
Nervous giggle jars grin,
breath flickers.
Cue still lull.
Death stokes fear. 

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[INCLUDES ALL THE WORDS THUS FAR]
A second quadrille (see below for explanation) Infestation, also posted today, uses only today’s prompt word “fear” – but in a unique way. Hope you’ll read it also!

Victoria hosts Quadrille Monday today at dVerse,  Quadrille: a poem of exactly 44 words, sans title. Each time a word prompt is given: week #1 = Quadrille #1 and 1 word; Week #2 = Quadrille #2 and a new word; etc.  We build to Quadrille # 44 in week 44 with still another word. We’re on Week #37  and the prompt word is “fear.”  Past words this series have included flicker, pepperdance, bubble, grin, lull, melt, shimmer, twist, skip, green, breeze, spill, rose, journey, jar, leaves, open, shadow, cloud, spark, cue, breath, scar, curl, whisper, dawn, ghost, giggle, drizzle, still, echo, sound, storm, spring, and balloon. Bar opens at 3 PM Boston time.  Come join us!

Infestation

Panders.
Off-loads guilt.
Loose lips abandon civility.
Instead spew
trite narcissistic patter.
Intimidates.
Cruel Machiavellian rule
steeps rot within.

Oh too similar to those
familiar with the

fruit fly who gloats over spoils
eviscerates solid cores
avariciously deteriorates the good,
reduces life to rot.

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An Acrostic Quadrille written for dVerse where Victoria asks us to write a quadrille (poem of exactly 44 words) using the word “fear.”  Acrostic: a poem in which the first letter of each line spells out a word or message. Note the first letter of each line from top to bottom in each stanza. You’ll find three words, including the prompt word for today. Apologies to those who do not care for poetry as commentary on the state of politics today. You might instead enjoy my second poem, also published today: Film Noir, Take 37