Obsessed with her oils
and the patina of still life,
she spent her later years
living in a shadow world,
feasting on edibles
from her studio walls.
Image credit: AnnMarie at anntogether.com. Artist with words and brush. Creative woman extraordinaire. Thank you AnnMarie for allowing me to put my words to your amazing pear-fingers. Meander over to her site and see beautiful portraits, amazing creatures, and poetry that unites her images to words.
They carried purple sateen ribbons
furling and unfurling them into rays of sun,
dancing their way to the shimmering river.
Rivulets gurgled and tamed themselves
lily pads with pale green tendrils appeared,
pillows afloat in soothing cool waters.
Twirling through an iridescent aura,
stars dipped from darkening sky
entwined and crowned their flowing hair.
Bodies sprouted translucent wings
where once streams of violet furled
and their spirits soared.
Written for the final day of NaPoWriMo 2016. April is national poetry month.
Photo is in public domain.
the circle of love
family
The house,
filled with yesterdays.
Sirens in the night
its newest memory.
Frayed rug askew
on cold oak floor.
Empty mirror
waits for her return.
I am not Sarah Elizabeth!
Call me Izzie, please.
I hate these tedious tatting lessons.
My dresses always have dark dots in the lace
and my finger tips feel like pin cushions.
Thimbles are the silliest things
impossible to maneuver.
I’d rather be a Samuel.
Sammy in knickers and suspenders
rolling a hoop and playing catch.
And my chest.
I’m soon to be found out.
And mother shall issue those dreaded words,
“It’s corset time.”
I’d rather hang from the rafters,
ride bareback and swig spirits
than be straight laced
wearing one of those things.
I hate being a girl!
Word Count: 100 Written for Rochelle Wisoff- Fields’ Friday Fictioneers — prompt photo appears on Wednesday and posts can be early. Apologies to the purists as I “arranged” my lines in more poetic form today. It is after all, NaPoWriMo (national poetry writing month). Photo Credit: Mary Shipman
extinction has become
a way of life
push ‘em back, push ‘em back
way back
thieves in the night
spread into the world
Serengetti, oceans blue
chrysalis and hives
letter writing, long white gloves
walking unplugged and fountain pens
family dinners, darning socks
rotary dial and porch talk
push ’em back, push ’em back
way back
civility disappears in spews
listening usurped abducted
mouths agape without ears
warnings ignored
das Ende, el fin
fine, mwisho
push ’em back, push ’em back
way back, yeah team
NaPoWriMo Day 27 — using day 26’s prompt to write a poem with a refrain. Confession: I was a high school cheerleader. “Push ’em back, push ’em back, way back” was used when the other football team was getting too close to the goal line. That “refrain” popped into my head and then I started thinking about all the things that have disappeared in my lifetime — far too many to mention here. And I realized, extinction has become a way of life — how strange to put those two words together! “the end” is offered in different languages. It is after all, a worldwide problem. Thought the Japanese word for “the end” was quite interesting, containing the English word “wish.”
most of the world is time
when we’re not here,
not born yet, or died –
I am infinitesimally small.
Those who knew me at birth
cared for me, walked with me,
left this earth too soon by my count,
melded into the universe.
The sun however,
still shines upon me
although days are shorter
and final miles fewer.
At my back,
the sun projects my future,
step by step in front of me
a syncopated seer.
Shadowed possibilities
become realities,
one foot forward
into the new.
In front of me
she warms my face
till glances backward
see my past,
following me,
stepping where I was
but a moment before,
a speck of time
a dab of humanistic paint
upon a pointillist canvas,
soon to intersect
with those before my time.
Written for dVerse Tuesday Poetics. We are to respond to a poet in dVerse, or a poet of our choice. We may or may not use an actual line from their poem. The first line here is from Hummingbird Pauses at the Trumpet Vine by Mary Oliver. In Response to Mary Oliver [2] is two because when I started writing poetry in February 2015, my first attempt was a response to another poem by Mary Oliver — rewritten in January 2016. I enjoy her writing — and she is a kindred spirit in terms of being a Massachusetts resident from Provincetown, where we spend two glorious weeks each fall. Today is also used for NaPowWriMo Day 26.
Her garden suffers from end-of-season neglect. Nutrients wane as days shorten. Young trees, now mature, cast their presence in shadows. Flower petals and fronds wither to veined brittle frames of their former beauty. They bend closer day by day, to the earth from which they came. Winter’s cold reality approaches, as sure as the moon changes face. Life hovers on a thread.
She sits patiently
window blurred with veins of frost
waits for children gone.
Susan Judd is hosting dVerse for Haibun Monday and provides us with her beautiful photography and the descriptive phrase “beauty in decay” as a prompt for writing today. If you’re not familiar with dVerse, stop in for a visit. It’s a great gathering place for those who enjoy poetry! Also using for NaPoWriMo day 25. 30 poems in 30 days, that’s April – National Poetry Writing Month.
Tomorrow, I shall be loquacious
an incandescent individual
not taciturn or bellicose.
One who is the debutante
dressed in white tulle
written up on the society page.
Today and tomorrow’s morrow
I will be me.
Written for NaPoWriMo Day 24. We are to write a “mix and match” poem. List fancy and unfancy words and then let your imagination take you from there.
Born into a mystical place of she-wolves, Tohi was granted one wish from her sungod.
And so it was that she arrived in a New World. She watched humanoids thrash in cold waters, struggling to reach land. Found walls with no doors. Saw fences and miles of barbed wire, shredding dreams to shards of despair.
Tohi wept, tears that grew from soft rains to rivers of grief. Graveyard plots grew in numbers and the ground was sodden until it could hold no more. And she became the final witness, as this New World became the Last.
Weep for your children
for they see the hatred sown
and will reap its fruit.
The first three paragraphs are written for Friday Fictioneers, hosted each week by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. She provides a photo prompt and asks that folks create a story, flash fiction, in 100 words or less (word count: 96). The haiku that concludes the post is written for NaPoWriMo day 23. Taken together, prose + haiku, they become a haibun. Tohi is the Cherokee word for peace. Photo Credit: Madison Woods.
