he of geology
she of high kick dreams.
Rocked
dance floors
canyon walls
little ones
and little one’s little ones.
Unfinished, aged patina,
we rock on.
Author: lillian
Dawning
Sun struggles behind shrouded sky.
Three rays burst through darkness,
beacons that proclaim
there shall be hope this day.
Photo taken at dawn from deck of our rented apartment in Bermuda. No filters – no photoshopping. It was truly glorious.
This I’ve Learned
When two become one, the base remains two.
When two multiplies to four, the base remains two.
Time invested.
Birthing and unconditional love.
Your child’s everything
until independence blooms.
Time apart increases.
They see more, learn more.
And you step in and out,
never fully immersed again.
And they leave.
You are the beginning two again.
Memories, age spots,
and more love.
Knowing as they become two and multiply,
it is a cycle born to repeat itself.
And the most important arc is the base of two.
That is the constant.
Sharing with Open Link Night at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets, where today there is no prompt. We’re free to post one poem of our choosing, Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Come join us!
I see a suburb . . .
one street after another
plat map symmetrical.
Slide rule log-a-rhythm’s
syncopated beat.
Red-amber-green lights
directing the inane.
Where are the pick-up trucks,
dust-kicking rolling roads,
clothesline flapping shirts,
and front porch swings?
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets, where we’re asked to write suburban poetry today! Looking at my Seascape photos and post, also done today, I think I prefer the sea side to the suburbs!
Seascape
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.
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.
lillian the home poet 