dandelion puffs
balloon wishes to the sky
breeze blows hope for life
Author: lillian
And the Waters Live
Ghost riders no longer hover.
Train tracks dismantled long ago
phantom posts reveal their route.
I did not mind their crossing,
if they could have glided silently
like parrot fish within my realms
or shape shifter clouds above.
It was the daily clatter,
metal wheels on transom
wide-open window chatter
reverberating rumbles.
I much prefer the quiet.
Hikers who gaze,
mesmerized by lapping waters,
sun glisten upon my face.
Occasional thunderstorms
pelt rain upon my scenic demeanor.
Rarer still, they apologize
reflecting rainbow arcs in smiles.
Posted for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets where today Mish asks us to “give nature a voice.” Photo from Bermuda — along the Old Railway Trail. The Bermuda Railway operated from October 1931 until May, 1948. The hiking trail stops and starts on various parts of the islands that make up Bermuda — with ruins of stations, trestles, and roadcuts. Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Stop on by!
Sentinels of Time
We gaze, mesmerized.
Porous limestone,
misshaped craggy towers
wind and brine carved.
Seas rise and fall
pulsate with teeming life.
We embrace, knowing.
Stainless steel lies within,
raises stitchmarked skin.
Tethered by wires
your heart rises and falls,
life beneath the seam.
Photo from February, at Tobacco Bay in St George, Bermuda.
Hindsight
It was only a tree
in Mrs. Jester’s yard.
Can’t recall her,
just the skinned knees
and Lily the Spy.
I peered through apple blossoms
deciphered shape shifter clouds
ate raisins from a little box
and colored crayon clues,
until she hollered
Supper Time!
Makin’ Noise
I have these dance shoes
full size, my size now
taps on soles like woodpecker nose
silenced in a drawer.
Could make loud flaps
not with wings but toes
not on trees but floors
shuffle off to buffalo
make myself be known.
Had smaller ones years ago
noisy kid on taps on tap
poured out energy bar none
little girl was big out there
brave feet shushed by none.
Maybe I should tap again.
Written for Holly Wren Spaulding’s class. Prompt: “free yourself from the standard rules of English syntax” and perhaps also write about something that could have another meaning. Two ways to read to my post today: 1) read only the lines that are not indented to find the poem within the poem; and 2) read the entire thing. As the phrase goes, popularized when Senator Elizabeth Warren was silenced in a congressional hearing not so long ago, “She persisted.” (We shall not be shushed.) For the non-tap dancers: a flap is a tap step, as is the shuffle-off-to-buffalo. And yes, those are my shoes in my drawer and yes, that’s me many many many years ago! Shared with dVerse where today is open link time – meaning anyone can share one poem with dVerse readers – the virtual pub for poets across the globe. Come post your own or imbibe some words! Bar opens at 3 PM Boston time.
Hawaiian Tanka
Strands of golden hair
blown by wind, laces tree tops.
Gossamer but sharp,
molten basalt spun to glass.
Pele, your beauty abounds.
Pele is the goddess of volcanoes. Years ago, we toured Hawaii’s Volcano National Park with a volcanologist on the Big Island.
Mountain Haiku
earth sheds detritus
clutter clutched in melting snow –
rivers cascade spring
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets from across the globe where today, Paul is tending bar and asks us to write about rivers. Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Come river dance with us!
Haibun Feast
We sat beside our daughter at a rough, hand-hewn table that stood on two-by-four legs. At the time, she was studying at the Hochshule fur Musik in Freiburg, Germany. We’d been invited to dinner by her fellow student, Christiana, who’d grown up in what was then East Germany. Christiana’s parents and brother were visiting. And so we joined them in her rural one-room rental, with access to bathroom and kitchen. We brought the wine.
The family served a simple meal on mismatched chipped plates. Wildflowers sat in a glass jug. No napkins. No English. And yet we laughed and spoke with our hands and eyes. At times, our daughter translated. I do not remember what was served, nor the aromas. I do remember the simplicity. The open and freely offered friendship across cultures. The sharing of so much more than food.
amidst weeping glaciers
debris fields give way to streams
wildlife quenches thirst
Written for Haibun Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Today Toni asks us to write about one of the best meals we’ve ever had. Photo is of us during a glacier hike in Alaska. We eventually got to the foot of the glacier that, through its melting, creates this stream. Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Come share a meal with us!
Alaska’s Crown
Traveling across the tundra, prayers of thanksgiving hover on my lips. You tower above glacial streams, fiddle heads, cranberry bogs, and mountain peaks. Athabaskans understand. You are the High One. Within your gaze, grizzlies roam. Caribou, Dall sheep, moose and marmots too. Gleaming sun and star scrim skies light your view. Oh Denali, you stand tall. Guardian of this hallowed land.
Written for Day 1 of a 21 day challenge online course with my poetry mentor, Holly Wren Spaulding. Prompt: write a prose poem that includes an animal. Photo from our trip to Alaska that included the Denali National Park’s 12 hour Kantishna tour. At the time, this was officially Mount McKinley, but was always called Denali by Alaskans. One month after we returned home, by executive order, President Obama officially renamed Mount McKinley, Denali.
Iowa Winter Scene
Cornstalk remnant icy spikes
pierce snow crusted land.
Rare snowy owl, alert
watches for prey.
Written for day 15 of Holly Wren Spaulding’s online 21-day Vernal Equinox course. A four line poem that includes snow.
lillian the home poet 