sunflowers
instinctively gaze toward warmth
nature’s weather vanes
Author: lillian
Calamity
She leaned against the wall
sun beating down
sweat on her brow,
legs aquiver.
No doubt about it
a long hard fall
a catastrophe ’tis true,
but she’d landed on her feet.
She counted in her head
one . . .
two . . .
ah. . . . just three.
She arched her back
preened a bit
and catwalked down the lane.
Six more to go.
Includes July’s word prompt from my granddaughter, “catastrophe.”
Perpetuity
Come roundabout with me.
Twelve months
January then January,
again and again.
Hours one to twelve repeat
add A to M or change to P.
Teeter up must teeter down
hinged to teeter up again.
Perennials are as annuals will.
Your hands are theirs and ours
to fold, to point, to plant and pray.
Stones cast upon the waters
ripple out toward the morrow.
Time copulates where we are
and when we’re not.
I am. You are. We are will be
small arcs within the world
go roundabout with thee.
Enough!
Visual Verse. You add the words.
Race Horse
Another poem by my 10 year old granddaughter, Stella Hallberg.
Led roughly to the gates
forced in by my jockey,
I’m pawing moist earth
waiting for an opening
in this prison.
Photo in public domain at Pixabay.com
The Process
Mindful verbosity
irridescent gems within my mind,
words shiver flutter, push for prominence.
Ideas flow through synapses
sometimes like scattered leaves
rearranged by sudden gusts.
Poetic musing wrestles reality.
Cacophonous silent noise
atonal at times,
until the coda appears.
Moonbeam
Introduction first: this poem is written by my 10 year old granddaughter, Stella Hallberg. She and I share monthly prompts. For May, I sent her the word “percolate.” There are no edits here and no one helped her. This is what she wrote.
Love
Like a moonbeam
Starting just as dark
Both percolate into light
Both something more than life
Bright
Beautiful
Precious
A gem in a sea of rocks
A light in an ocean of shadows
Blessings
When the cacophony of news blares deafening dreadful,
‘tis time to still one’s feet, one’s hands, one’s mind.
Seek the beautiful, but for a moment.
Listen to stillness and you will hear the quiet.
Contemplate the beside you ~
the chair upon which you sit
the cold-hot water you may choose to drink, to draw
the texture of cloth which warms your skin
the view through glass panes that alternates,
day to night to day again
the love you carry within your heart,
from those who have held your hands.
Inhale. Exhale. Breathe.
Then slowly rise and move deliberately,
into the good.
It’s Tuesday and that means Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Paul is hosting and tells us about a book, Anam Cara, by Irish poet/philosopher John O’Donahue, which includes a number of “Blessings” poems. Paul asks us to write a blessing, adding “and may our words create ripples in the pond of the world.” Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Come soar with us! Photo taken a number of years ago on our Baltic cruise.
Transient Beauty
It was the first summer after we bought our Iowa farm house. City transplants, we planted a huge garden. Tomatos, sweet corn, carrots, beets, cucumbers, radishes, green and yellow beans, peas, zucchini, squash and pumpkin, all kinds of peppers, and oak leaf and ruby red lettuce. I planned to can and freeze vegetables. Enjoy our harvest through the winter.
On this particular hot and humid day, I was seven months pregnant and exhausted, but very proud of my first attempt at canning stewed tomatoes. I’d picked and washed the tomatoes. Dipped them in boiling water to loosen the skins. Chopped them with celery and peppers. Cooked the mixture and poured them into sterilized glass jars. And finally processed them in the pressure canner. Deliciously, gloriously red, the mixture was now displayed in mason jars, standing tall on my cupboard.
And then I heard our German Shepherd barking — a lot. I took two steps into the back yard and stopped dead in my tracks. The smell was unbelievable. Skunk. And all those beautiful stewed tomatoes, gone in a flash. Rubbed into the coat of Toby. At least he had the grace to lick his chops.
nature thunders rain
magnolia blooms fall to ground
magnificence gone
It’s Haibun Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Today Grace asks us to write a haibun related to summer. This summer memory is from many many years ago. Haibun: prose (cannot be fiction) followed by a haiku (should be related to nature). Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Come on over and join the fun! Photo in public domain – from Pixabay.
The Request
Sweet darling, accompany me I pray.
Our hearts and souls aligned, yet still we spar.
I promise to lead thee nowhere astray.
Your eyes whisper words, seem softly to say
whither we goest? And the door’s left ajar.
Sweet darling, accompany me I pray.
As the moonlight glistens, gifts our soiree,
I shall protect thee as a fragile star.
I promise to lead thee nowhere astray.
Your scent my dear, an enticing bouquet
beguiles my mind, my loins, I lust too far.
Sweet darling, accompany me I pray.
To kiss, to hold. How this resolve doth sway,
struggles to recall who and what we are.
I promise to lead thee, nowhere astray.
Do think of me as in Romeo’s day,
’tis painful unrequited love to bar.
Sweet darling, accompany me I pray.
I promise to lead thee nowhere astray.
It’s Thursday at dVerse and Frank asks us to write a Villanell, a 19 line poem: 5 tercets followed by 1 quatrain. Within the first tercet, the key lines are 1 and 3. They’re repeated in a prescribed order. Also, the rhyme scheme is quite strict: only an “a” (IE pray, astray, say, soiree etc) and “b” (IE spar, ajar, star, far, etc). So it should look like this:
1a, 2b, 3a (numbers = lines; a and b = rhyme scheme)
4a, 5b, 1a (line 1 repeated)
6a, 7b, 3a (line 3 repeated)
8a, 9b, 1a (line 1 repeated)
10a, 11b, 3a (line 3 repeated)
and finally the quatrain:
12a, 13b, 1a again, 3a again
It’s a poetic sudoku!! Frank does indicate that we do not have to follow iambic pentameter — thank goodness! 🙂 The challenge is to have some kind of meaningful flow and sense to the piece. Needless to say, I find this extremely difficult….but at dVerse, I’m always willing to give it a shot 🙂
Pub opens at 3 PM. Stop by and see what others have done with this unique form!
lillian the home poet 