A new day,
sun shining spreads its warmth.
Rays of hope still glisten
on foam capped waves.
Steady tide
still rhythmically constant
beneath visible turbulent churning.
Autumnal brilliance shed.
Trees bared to skeletal frames
understand new seasons will arrive.
Therefore, I choose
to model hope, love and civility.
Our next generations
need us to believe.
Written on this day, after the 2024 election. Image from Pixabay.com
Promises glibly made.-
Lies repeated so many times,
swallowed by the gullible.
Round up the vermin,
ship ‘em all out!
January 6th insurrectionists?
Patriots all.
Guard rails gone,
Project 2025 ready to go.
Convicted felon,
self-described pussy grabber.
If elected,
God help us all.
Quadrille (poem of exactly 44 words sans title) that includes a form of the word “promise” – today’s prompt at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe.
I promise, she shyly whispered,
to only stomp in mud puddles
when the grumbles grab me.
To weave daisy chains
when the nervous-nellies strike.
To concentrate on blessings
like tulips, birch trees,
snow flakes, puppies,
and sweet juicy peaches.
And her guardian angel smiled.
It’s Quadrille Monday at dVerse today, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. As pubtender for the day, I’m asking folks to include the word “promise” in the body of their poem of exactly 44 words, sans title. They may use a form of the word “promise” but a synonym will not suffice. Stop by and see what folks are writing about – I promise you’ll enjoy! Image by ymyphoto from Pixabay
Celebrating
eleven bonus years.
This day, back then,
frightening.
Light and love of my life,
your heart stopped
for six interminable minutes.
Doctors, family, friends,
all tethered you to this earth.
I celebrate
every day we have together.
Thankful
to share life with you.
Written for Quadrille Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today we’re to write a poem of exactly 44 words, sans title, that includes the word “light”.
Eleven years ago this morning, George suffered a six-minute cardiac arrest. Because of what I call angels along the way, he is still with us, cognitively 100% okay, healthy and as fun-loving, kind, and wonderful as ever. I am forever grateful – thankful for every day.
Photo: George and I in Provincetown last month.
Our road, rain slicked by spring storms,
slippery driving through rivulets.
Garden store trips for flower flats
bring beautiful garden blooms.
Summer haze simmers above its asphalt.
Seashore drives with our kids
from toddler through teenage years.
Back seat songsters to quiet texters.
Our road, dressed in autumn’s finest.
Bright yellows to burnt oranges,
like bouncing shimmering can-can skirts.
Costume changes in passing seasons.
Difficult on many winter days,
snow covered, sometimes impassable.
Homebound, cocooned by drifts,
content to savor relaxing by the fire.
Our road,
our passage to and from.
Just the two of us. Then three, then four.
Now as two again.
The straightaways
always faster than any other part,
made distance and time fly by.
Used to be our favorite parts.
Our road, these days?
We prefer the meandering parts.
The curves and bends that slow us down,
taking longer to reach the end of the road.
It’s Open Link Night at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today, Sanaa asks us to post any poem of our choosing, or an ekphrastic poem related to the image she provided above.
NOTE: Sanaa will also host dVerse LIVE on Saturday, from 10 to 11 AM New York time. Look HERE for an embedded link that will take you with audio and video to a LIVE meeting where folks from around the globe will read a poem of their choosing aloud to the group – OR just drop in to watch and listen. The more the merrier!
He sits. Drained. Alone.
Above his head, a framed drawing
of straight parallel lines
that never meet, meld, or blend.
Like no one cares.
To his left, folded jeans
stacked on a three-legged stool.
Three-legged for stability, balance.
A cairn he has created to say
I was here. I lived here. I worked here.
They turned their backs on me.
No one sees me.
Instead they listen to his lies.
I try to hold my head up.
But I’m tired. I’m so tired.
I see their belief in his lies,
the belief in their eyes.
The mistrust. The fear.
I sit numbed by hate.
I can no longer take deep breaths.
I felt hope in this country
I worked hard. I tried to ignore his lies.
But others believed.
Lies eroded trust until all around me,
hope turned to dust.
He sits. Drained. Alone.
Waiting.
For who? For what?
For you to make a difference.
It’s your choice.
It’s Poetics Tuesday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Mish is hosting with a fun prompt! We’re asked to go to one of two websites she provides that feature record album covers. We’re then to choose one cover to inspire our poetry writing for today. I’ve selected the album cover for RM, ‘Indigo’ 2022. The poem is inspired by the photo album cover, and sadly, by the lies about immigrants told by Donald Trump and JD Vance – most recently, the lies told about Haitian immigrants in Springfield, Ohio.
“Look at the image there. You can see a very small patch of dark blue, framed by a little branch. Pinned up by a naughty starlet, our dead Ms. Ruby Lipps here. Looks like she was stabbed, then managed to turn around to face the call board. She reached up to touch that photo for some reason? That’s gotta be her blood trail down the board, down the wall, until she collapses here on the floor. By her hand, is that a bloody word? Maybe three letters? Looks like M, O or D? Then a T? Who keeps the schedule here? How many clients did she have tonight? Any employment records at this dump? What’s her real name? Next of kin? Let’s go, people. This is the third case like this in a week. Someone’s got it out for sex workers in this town.”
Image by Nicholas Panek from Pixabay
Written for Prosery Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for writers around the globe.
Today Kim is our host. She asks us to insert the following lines from French Poet Jean Nicolas Arthur Rimbaud’s poem Novel, into the body of our piece of flash fiction of 144 words or less, sans title.
“There you can see a very small patch
of dark blue, framed by a little branch,
pinned up by a naughty star.”
We may change the punctuation in the lines, but the exact words and word order must be kept intact.
String of Black Pearls.
Ida B. Wells, Daisy Bates
Maya Angelou, Amanda Gorman
Toni Morrison, Lorraine Hansberry
Rosa Parks, Angela Davis
Shirley Chisholm, Barbara Jordan
Misty Copeland, Aretha, Ella,
Etta, Billie, Viola Davis
Oprah, Simone Biles
Jessica Watkins
Dr. Kizzmekia Corbet
and Kamala Harris
Written for Quadrille Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today, Lisa asks us to include the word “string” or a form of the word (not a synonym) in our poem of exactly 44 words, sans title.
Image of Kamala Harris painted by artist Jo Hay.
I sit gazing.
The world around me asleep
except for occasional gulls flying overhead.
Stillness surrounds me
waiting for the sun to rise.
This ocean, the morning before,
roiled in protest to darkness disappearing.
Today it lies calm, smooth as glass.
Two sailboats sit atop the water
their hulls mirrored reflections,
motionless, tranquil,
silent in the absence of wind.
Skies stained
with thin veneer of pastel pink
await the dawn.
As sun’s sliver stealthily appears,
skies rouge in excited anticipation.
Sliver grows to arc, to half-circle, to orb,
and I sigh.
Thankful for another day.
Photos taken yesterday morning from our deck in Provincetown on Massachusetts’ Cape Cod.
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today is Open Link Night and writers are invited to post any poem of their choosing. Bjorn, our pub tender today, also provides an optional prompt you may choose to use.
ALL are invited to dVerse LIVE on Saturday, September September 14th from 10 to 11 AM New York Time. The link to join with audio and video is embedded here. Come and read one of your poems aloud OR come to just sit in and enjoy! The more the merrier!
Star sparkled night sky,
overhead silent scrim.
Ocean’s dark calm
lies before me,
laps shore
to sleep.
Daylight
dawns bright.
Gulls call to light,
scene transposed.
Water sparkle glistens,
sun’s fairy dust upon the waves.
Photo: glistening water from our deck in Provincetown this morning. We are in the beginning of our annual two weeks in this beautiful place. Thankful for every day.
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for writers across the globe. I’m hosting Tuesday Poetics today, asking people to write a poem somehow related to the sea or the ocean. Any form; any length. Simply on the topic of the ocean/sea.
lillian the home poet 