Do not ruminate.
Savor the past but live now,
today has choices.
I remind myself today
and will tmorrow,
happiness is a choice.
Mish is hosting Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. She asks folks to write about lessons they are still learning in life. Photo from our time in Norway last year.
Lips pressed to lips
hips to hips divinely so,
curtains flung wide.
Clouds pressed to moon,
beams flicker upon their bed.
Passion illuminated,
bodies melding move
like strobe light scene.
Muddled love,
pressed thru paroxysm
finally splays itself.
Breathing deeply,
hands clasped,
they sleep.
It’s Quadrille Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. De is hosting and asks us to include the word “muddle” in our quadrille (poem of exactly 44 words, sans title). From the kitchen.com “Many warm weather cocktails us fresh ingredients such as herbs and fruit, and often muddling is reuired. To muddle means to press the ingredients agains the side of the glass. Muddling helps to release the flavors of the fresh ingredients so they bind with the alcohol.”
Travelers
in our speck of time.
Daily steps
in mnemonic state.
Treks by car
and plane
and train
to wander
in some different space.
The longest path
shadows behind us.
Still we seek the sun
match our steps
slower stride
hand clasping hand.
Lessons learned
span cities large
cities small.
One constant
across them all.
You have always been
my home.
Wild about . . .
words in abstentia.
Inspirationless,
thought bubble eludes.
Poet?
Rhymes with blow it.
Force it.
Write it.
Do it.
Not.
Written for Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Jilly’s prompt: “Write a poem that expresses how you respond to the Wild. The Wild within; the Wild that surrounds you; the Wild that beckons and bids you to embrace it.”
A fabulous prompt by Jilly. But for some reason, writer’s block has hit, which drives me . . . . . . absolutely wild!
petal-pink spring rain
cherry blossoms gently fall
washington dc
Arrived in Washington DC yesterday; staying until the end of May. Photos taken in backyard of our rental. Sitting outside, every breeze brought a gentle rain of pink blossoms from the large cherry tree that towers over one portion of the yard. Magical! Washington DC is beautiful this time of year.
Raw winds blow. Rusted lock bars entrance to dark, dank family crypt. Souls long forgotten. Generations ceased their lineage, lost in the dust of time. Undisturbed cobwebs ensnare no prey. Nothing lives here.
Steps away, a young mother’s tears salt the ground below open-toed shoes. Her gaze locks on the small white coffin. Follows it lower, lower, and lower still, until its sides are nestled by mother earth. Stunned mourners file by, gently releasing miniature white roses into fresh dug grave. Wind shifts. Breeze rifles through nearby trees. Magnolia blossoms, rift from spring green leaves, rain quietly on forlorn scene.
Rest little one, love shall follow you. Mother, father, sisters too. All will come in time. And more. And more. Until the dust of time consumes them all.
Used for Napowrimo day 28 where the prompt was to write prose poetry. Photo taken several months ago at the cemetery in Valparaiso, Chile. Shared with dVerse, the virtual pub for poets, on Thursday, May 3rds OLN.
Ole Man Winter retreats.
Cinder-smudged snow pile,
shrinks in April’s pushiness.
Skinny tree branches
open arms to warming sun,
anxious to leaf out and bloom.
Knees planted in moist soil
I gather and bag rotted leaves,
uncover sprouts of green.
Gleefully I smile,
tips of crocus tops peeking at me.
Eye spy spring!
Post is motivated by this painting recently seen in New York City’s MOMA: James Rosenquist’s Lady Dog Lizard, 1985. Off prompt, but still appropriated for day 27, Napowrimo.
In anger walked I by the roiling sea
the taste of salt, like she, embittered me.
Rough waves didst crash against volcanic rock
and spewed their shards of foam, thus dousing me.
Her words of yesterday, I thought were talk
and thus I waited by her door to stalk.
Bereft was I, like sharpened rocks so bruised,
the knife now purged of blood and hurled to sea in shock.
Written for dVerse, where today, Frank hosts, asking us to write a rubaiyat: a poem consisting of quatrains (stanzas of four lines) and, if using more than one stanza, employs a “nesting” rhyme pattern: AABA, BBCB — and each line is written in iambic pentameter. It’s a poetry sudoku! Also posted for Napowrimo, day 26 where the challenge is to write, appealing to the senses. Hopefully, without lookin at the photos, you can see, hear, taste and feel this poem! Photos are from our recent trip to Bermuda.
Be afraid,
I am Pterois Volitan.
Beautiful mane of dorsal fins,
lionfish in the reefs.
Venemous.
I eat as I please.
No predators have I,
save men no longer fooled.
I have crossed seas
multiplied,
wreaked havoc
and swim where I please.
Biodiversity be damned.
I am your nightmare
even as day dawns
gracing your shores.
Posted for Napowrimo Day 25. The challenge: to write a poem of warning. Photo taken at the Bermuda Aquarium/Zoo.
Lionfish are native to the Indo-Pacific, but have somehow invaded the U.S. southeast, the Caribbean, and parts of the Gulf of Mexico. Because they are not native to the Atlantic waters, they have very few predators. They feed on small crustaceans and fish, including the young of commercial species. They are dramatically and negatively affecting the fishing economy, native ecosystems and biodiversity.
I have
a morning mirror routine.
Mine for sandman’s deposits.
Eyes clear, smile appears.
There it is,
thick wavy hair.
Left side front
waving, brow-over.
Morning mirror bud,
dad’s reflection waves.
Cascading silver,
my inheritance.
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets, where it’s Poetics Tuesday. Kim hosts and challenges us to write a poem in the first person about a body part we’ve inherited. Yep, that’s me and my waves. My dad, affectionately called Bud by his friends and relatives, had a full head of hair – beautifully silver and always wavy, till the day he died. I miss him.
PS: did you read that last line aloud? It’s all about hair.
Also posted as off-prompt for Napowrimo Day 24.
