Rocky shoals
carved by wind and sea,
lessons in patience
to the passage of time.
Photos from a recent walk to Tobacco Bay near St George’s, Bermuda. No photoshopping. It truly is this beautiful.
Author: lillian
Haibun from Bermuda
In 1609, a British ship ran aground on an uninhabited island. No conversions. No wars with indigenous peoples. Bermuda is the epitome of a melting pot: British, American Indian, Portuguese, African. All came to her shores, whether willing or not.
Yesterday, I enjoyed a skirling ceremony on the parade grounds of a 19th century fort. Kilt clad drummers and bagpipers with those haunting droning tones, moved resolutely, sonorously. Today I sit, eyes and ears accosted by a Gombey Revue. One whistle, so loud it seems like twenty. And two frenetic drums reverberating through the room. A cacophony of color leaps, runs, and moves. All in seeming abandon. Every inch of every troupe member covered in cloth, sequins, feathers, gloves, masks and towering hats. Their movements tell their history. I am mesmerized.
It’s as if a coin’s been tossed. Yesterday I saw heads and today I see tails.
elegant heron
yellow raucous kiskadee
nature’s kaleidoscope
Toni hosts Haibun Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Theme today is “the best things in life are free.” A haibun is prose (nonfiction) followed by a haiku. Bermuda’s Uncover the Arts Program runs November through March, with many free and wonderful things to see and do that give you glimpses into the country’s culture, history, and scenery. Our rented apartment in St. George’s, a UNESCO World Heritage site, has a deck that overlooks the harbor. I often see a beautiful heron in the early morning. And we always see and hear the yellow kiskadee, a very loud, bright yellow bird – its “song” sounds like its name, kiss-ka-dee, kiss-ka-dee.
Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Come join us!
Whirligig me . . .
spin me round to giddiness.
Sunshine your smile til clouds disappear,
seal trouble-slips in opaque jars.
Take hold the maypole ribbon
and dance with me,
across the day, months and years.
Come whirligig with me.
Sea Life
She lives her life as a barnacle would,
clinging tenaciously to faith
in an eroding world.
Dysfunctional
He tied her in knots with a string of tales.
Flew her like a kite, jerking the lead,
back and forth in tormenting winds.
Strung her along, tethered to rocky shoals,
until his nots became a strangle hold.
Every Tuesday, Misky posts a Twiglet: a short phrase, a word; to prompt a thought, a flow, a memory. Twiglet #11 is the phrase “with a string.” Art from Wikiart: Nude Young Woman by Giorgione, 1508.
I’ve decided . . .
to thrive in this topsy turvey world.
I shall walk upside down, toes in the stars,
leave diamond shaped footsteps in the sky.
When down is up and in is out,
I shall touch the soil with outstretched arms
fingers wriggling in earthworm rings.
I will be a handstand acrobat
padding through sunflower fields,
pollen dust knees attracting bees.
When the sun sets, I shall ride the moon,
kicking stars into nova showers
and I shall never wane.
Bjorn is tending bar at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. He challenges us to make our words into the equivalent of expressionistic art. “The simplest and most effective way to define expressionism is that you present the world in a totally subjective perspective.” He also asks us to write in the first person. Bar opens at 3:on PM Boston time. Come join us! Artwork: The Starry Night by Van Gogh.
Soar O’er Us in Painless Flight
Warrior, intrepid spirit
woman of heartfelt substance.
For two years
you wore a mantle of prayers,
held fast to hope and faith.
Rest now, dear friend,
your spirit on angel’s wings.
For surely your downright obstinacy
in the face of overwhelming odds
has earned you the right to soar.
My friend, Louise, lost her two year battle with ovarian cancer Sunday night. She fought so hard to live. She will be missed by so many.
Valentine Me
Let’s make sweetables.
Shape red licorice twists into infinity.
Toss heart-candies onto a scrabble board,
ouija them into Always Mine, Valentine.
Ganache our love and sip bubblicious.
Let’s spoon the night away.
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets, where today I’m tending bar and asking everyone to “have a heart.”
Whose Child?
I am your global child.
Barefoot puddle splasher
hand outstretched, ghostly smile,
sunken-eyed innocence.
I live in your cities.
Under bridges, in alleyways
on your streets.
Blessed are those . . .
which those?
See me. Hear me.
Offer me
a morsel of hope.
Quadrille (44 words, not including title) for dVerse where Kim asks us to use the word or a form of the word “ghost.” DVerse, (the virtual pub for poets) opens with today’s prompt at 3 PM Boston time. Come join us!
Sea Glass Beatitude
Shards tumbled, churned.
Misshapened shapes
amber, green, clear.
Once broken, glint in sun
smoothed by roiling seas.
Are these but reminders
of those who washed ashore?
See me. Know me.
Value lies
in that which is made anew.
Bermuda sea glass. Bermuda was originally an uninhabited island. All Bermudians are either immigrants or descendants of immigrants. There are no indigenous peoples.
lillian the home poet 