He scent her,
over a cup of tea and slice of sole.
His moistened fingertips touched her lips,
lemon balmed her into paroxysms of love.
Twiglet #10: scent of lemon. Misky posts a twiglet every Tuesday: a short phrase, a word, to prompt a thought, a flow or a memory. Artist credit: Girl Holding Lemons by William-Adolph Bouguereau, 1899 -found in wiki art.
First grader. Never mulled
no twists, just straight up.
Shaken on the playground,
meets bully spirits with bravado.
Some day, she’ll pass the bar.
And she’ll be the one.
We’ll toast her as she takes the oath.
Hail to the Chief.
Posted for dVerse Tuesday Poetics where De asks us to “mix it up a bit” by using terms having to do with the bar / pub scene, drinking terms. IE in Predilection’s case: mulled, twist, straight up, shaken (not stirred), spirits, bar, and toast. The trick is, the poem cannot be about the drinking scene! A fun prompt. Hail to the Chief is the music played at the inauguration after the presidential oath is taken, and thereafter when the President of the United States is introduced. Bar opens at 3 PM Boston time. Stop on over and imbibe some words!
Surrounding reality melts as I seek the comfort of sleep. In that half-aura, lying with eyes closed, weight of quilt on chest, I work to release tense shoulders, facial muscles. Within my mind’s eye, weightless arms rise, outstretched. I float above my body, cares released, and soar into the night.
heron, tense, alert
dives hungry into dark sea
soars with silver fish
Björn hosts haibun Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Photo credit: Bird Sirin by artist Sergey Solomko. We’re asked today to find artwork that does not illustrate our haibun, rather compliments its meaning. Haibun: short prose, not fiction, followed by haiku. Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time.
Simplicity is a roomy closet, an empty drawer,
stars overhead and terra firma souls.
Memories and dreams conjured
from maps, photo albums, paper and pen.
Long walks in whatever weather,
wherever place, your arms round me.
Thankful for everyday.
Tobacco Bay. Ten minute walk from our rental in St George’s, Bermuda.
toss it up for grabs
till it falls foul
dance it quick-step
fast as you can
beach it
with head buried in sand
wad it
tear soaked tissues in hand
or
just get some!
Written for Misky’s Twiglets using the words “It’s a ball.”
Bermudean seas
aquamarine ripples glow
sun kiss dappled waves.
My Namrah, fantastical beast,
is always waiting near.
When fear accompanies darkness,
I know he will be here.
He flies me to the shining stars,
appears within my dreams.
Lifts me up on widespread wings
and soars through sequined streams.
Frank is our guest host at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets, and asks us to write a poem in common meter. This is one of the most difficult types of poetry for me to master. Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time.
Unfinished church
home to homeless souls.
Emptiness
infests porous stone.
Spirits drift through arches,
windowless frames
seek solace in open spaces,
await blessing’s incantation
drifting . . .
caught in man’s indeterminate pause.
Photos of the Unfinished Church on a hill top in St. George’s, Bermuda. Gothic architecture, started in 1874. Funding problems and disagreement in the parish suspended construction in 1897. A 1926 hurricane destroyed the roof and much of the construction. The ruins are a protected site in St George’s, a UNESCO world Heritage Site.
We’ve travelled together
through all these years
hand in hand, even apart,
exploring each twist and turn.
So much of our story behind us now,
turned down corners on favorite pages.
Still, we walk on, more slowly perhaps,
wizened bodies and fuller hearts.
Listen my love
as we choose our next path,
to these words I quietly say.
Thank you time, thank you you,
for this and every day.
Today Mish hosts dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. She interviews Ally R Saunders, a talented artist who spent most of her life in Nanaimo, includes some of her paintings and leads us to her website. I chose her painting Many Paths as the muse for today’s post. (My 47th anniversary is February 7 and Kim at dVerse just celebrated her anniversary) dVerse opens with this prompt at 3 PM Boston time.
We are immersed.
Polar night
darkness unseamed.
Evil dawns as sun does not.
Erodes hope,
essence of democracy.
Revels in abysmal decrees
hurled again and again,
narcissistic plague.
Scepter spews clues
to personality disorder,
alternative reality.
We know however,
the midnight sun
shall rise.
Quadrille (poem consisting of exactly 44 words – not including title) posted for dVerse, virtual pub for poets. Today Björn asks us to use the word “dawn.” Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Come join us! Photo from 2015 Alaska cruise.
lillian the home poet 