You blew into town,
slicked back hair, muscle shirt.
Swaggered in with a cocksure grin,
ordered whiskey shots.
Tom Jones dropped in the jukebox,
pulsed heart throb beats.
Women groveled, blushed and fawned
Me? I dropped the cue,
clicked my heels and sashayed out.
A quadrille (44 words) written for dVerse Poet’s Pub. Grace is tending bar and asks us to think about the word twister. Also applying for day 18 in NaPoWriMo. Photos are two free images fused together.
Morning elixirs
hot steaming coffee
light spring rain
sweet baby at the breast
mornings measured in sighs.
Day 17 NaPoWriMo 30 poems in 30 days. Image of Gustav Klimt’s mother with child.
We didn’t notice at first. She’d misplace keys. Or forget to call.
Once the diagnosis came, I used to take her in the back yard with a coloring book and a box of sixty-four crayons emptied into a bowl. She used the crayons gaily. To color and for digging in the dirt. Always the brightest colors. Lines were immaterial. She colored with sheer exhuberance.
Slowly, the colors changed. Two-fisted brown sharp edged lines filled page after page. And then I found her, staring straight ahead. Coloring book upon a rock, no sign of her upon its pages. And I knew.
Flash Fiction (100 words) written for Rochelle Wisoff-Fields’ Friday Fictioneers. Photo prompt from Kent Bonham. For a recent poem I’ve written on the subject, read Dementia.
Sing
out
this psalm.
Faith is bold
in voiced melody,
a joyful noise unto the Lord.
For we are humble in means and raucous in belief,
sing praises now and forever.
We are one in prayer
one in voice.
We hope
trust
love.
We
believe
in power,
the healing divine.
In our hands the tools, the science
in yours the guidance, the wisdom, all spirit and love.
Your miracles walk among us
and we are grateful.
Sing boldly
unto
the
Lord.
This is a Fibonacci Spiral Poem. Both the number of lines and the number of syllables for each line are dictated by the form. The poem is meant to be centered in presentation. Written for day 16 NaPoWriMo. Dedicated to Louise, Tom and Carol; and in thanksgiving for every day. The photo is from a beautiful church in Tallin – taken on our Baltic Cruise several years ago.
Double bed
two crowded,
they shifted to a king.
Never to touch again.
She said double or nothing,
hoping to return
to their double standard
sheets and colorful duvet.
He walked out the door,
double helix done.
One line veered off the path
unraveled, broken, gone.
Double-paned glass installed
shut out shout outs.
Final jeopardy achieved
immunity from pain.
Doubles life, double downed.
Left alone she was.
No one else.
None, no one but one.
NaPoWriMo Day 15: a poem that incorporates the idea of doubles.
Can the rough stuff on the wall.
Spray it rough, slingin’ words. Crap tough graffiti.
It’s me sprawled here. My stuff. My hustle.
Sling the crap y’all. This ain’t no conference call.
Life sucks, no shit. And you’re no prize, sweetie.
That paint’s my soul. Hands rough from slingin’ shit.
Are ya listnin’? I can scrap the words and shift to muscle.
Shit happens and guess what? I’m still here takin’ the hit.
Photo Credit: Audrey Johnson. A San San (means three three in Chinese) written for Day 14, NaPoWriMo. A San San is a seven line poem, ABCABDCD rhyme scheme with three “terms” repeated three times. Also written for dVerse Open Link Night!
Ask your mom.
Life is not a struggle. It’s a wiggle.
It could be better, but it’s good enough
Sometimes you just need to lay on the floor.
Ask your mom.
Day 13’s NaPoWriMo prompt is to write a poem from those little slips we find in fortune cookies . Loved this prompt! Each line here is from a fortune cookie image search 🙂
It was the big band era, lots of brass
Billy whalin’ on the drums
while Johnny waited for his riff
makin’ the keyboard swing.
And me, standin’ on the riser
my long arms waitin’ too.
“Wing span of a hawk” mama said,
just the ticket for a trombone man.
Yeah, I could slide that brass
hear the notes clear and smooth
no strings or keys,
just that long sleek glide.
And Mabel at the mic,
feathers clipped in henna dyed hair
sultry voice in the sweet spots
hips, always swingin’ to the beat.
Never made it big like the Duke
but we had our gigs.
A glass of gin between sets
and smoke swirlin’ round our heads.
They’re all gone now.
Pawned my ‘bone long time ago.
But sometimes, while I’m sittin’ here
I can put myself there.
I close my eyes and start to sway
Mabel leanin’ real close like she did.
I wheel this chair around a bit
and I can feel us back there again,
swingin’ to that big band sound.
Rescored for dVerse Poetics Fantasia. This was originally posted in 2015, inspired by Carl Sandburg’s Jazz Fantasia. I’ve reworked it a bit — thinking it a good one for today’s prompt. I am hosting dVerse today — wonderful experience. In the words of Carl Sandburg, Go to it oh jazzmen!
I awake at dawn to sit outside,
watch darkness turn to light,
listen to the fantasia
composed by friends of flight.
Gulls screech, black birds caw,
blend in loud cacophony.
Yellow kiskadees sing their name
kiss-kah-dee atop palmetto tree.
Whistle woo, ee-ooh ee-oohs,
stutter sounds that stop and start.
Nature’s composition,
her ode to sunrise joy.
Sparrows peep and chirp beside me,
ruffle flutter wings then flee
startled by my scratching pen
scoring sounds of brightness in the morn.
Sun warms as notes begin to simmer
overture slowly ends.
Curtain rises on blue skies,
a new Bermuda day.
Thrilled to be guest-hosting dVerse Poetics today! Loving all things fantastical, my poem today uses “fantasia” as it relates to a musical free flow composition. Video from our deck in Bermuda, listening to the dawn. You’ll hear the Kiskadee (yellow bird) quite plainly. And this is one of my many feathered friends who came often to sit with me. Also applying to NaPoWriMo Day 12.
Alaska weeps daily. Generations of ice, layer upon layer, receding.
Our hush, accompanied by the incessant slow drip of her melting tears.
Like a primal scream from self-inflicted wound, the crack of calving
sends shock waves through our cold.
We turn gingerly, hiking sticks in hand, clamp-ons strapped to boots.
Our quiet retreat is nudged by descending mist. A veil to cover her shards.
Earth dies every day.
We stand on the precipice
blind to her needs.
Written for Haibun Monday at dVerse. Prompt is to reach out, write somehow about a silence among us. Photos from our 2015 trip to Alaska. Chunks of ice as the cruise ship approaches Hubbard Glacier; its shelf looks so small here — in reality it is hugely tall and in the sun, appears as this beautiful color. Other two photos from our 5 mile hike to the toe of Laughton Glacier. The close-up is on the toe, rock debris carried as the glacier slowly moves. Look closely, about in the middle of the photo, you’ll see the melting. Incessant melting creating glacier streams. We are all too silent, watching the effects of global warming.
lillian the home poet 