Drizzle stardust
sunflower seed
toddler kisses
crimson leaves
and hummingbird wings.
Deluge of delights.
Photo taken in Provincetown some years ago.
Author: lillian
The Old Lamp Lighter
Lamplighter of yesteryear
resides light years away.
Nightly strolls relocated,
he illuminates the stars.
Written for dVerse where I’m hosting today, asking folks to write a poem that contains the title of a Billboard Magazine #1 hit recording from the year they were born, or their early years of growing up. The Old Lamp Lighter, recorded by Sammy Kaye and His Orchestra, 1947. Below is a drawing my 10 year old grandson did for this post.
Glorious!
Sunshine on my Sunday.
Prayers of thanksgiving
for this and every day.
Those Words
occasional words
occasionally said
like unexpected visitors
they just appear
at your doorstep
in your mind
or in your throat
until that day
that October 14th
that 10:40 AM
since then
same words
every morning
every night
many inbetweens
you beside me
walking, in our bed
sitting near, standing there
same words always said
in my heart and in my head
thankful for every day
What Is Shall Be Was
Shadows tread in life’s past.
Embers gleam red passion,
pale to ashen grey.
Ship wakes sink into oblivion.
Sand dollars, once much more.
Daguerrotypes.
Faces unknown
posed in serious countenance,
fade frozen in corroded frames.
Vestigial pock marks upon the earth.
Life marches forward
directionally unaware,
into the past.
Written for Open Link Night at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. April is national poetry month so drop by to imbibe some words with us – or better yet, step up to the bar, no prompt on OLN. It’s an opportunity to share as you wish! Bar opens at 3:00 PM Boston time. Photo in public domain.
Missing
Measured as the crow flies,
she sat across the room.
In synapses and cognition,
she was light years away.
Conundrum
My hands caress
use opposable thumbs.
Yours do that,
and also shoot guns.
I bask in the sun
nurture my young.
You do that,
and stockpile guns.
I sit in here
looking out at you.
You stand out there
looking in at me.
I see your face
your hands
your feet,
so like me.
So why am I the one
locked in here,
you out there
staring at me.
Photos taken at the San Diego Zoo. I can stand for hours looking at the gorillas – they mesmerize me. I’m hosting dVerse today, the virtual pub for poets, asking folks to anthropomorphize within today’s poem. Give an animal or object human characteristics such that it behaves like a human. Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time — come on over and anthropomorphize with us!
The Shadow Knows
There are places and times for pure childlike delight.
We’d been through a stressful year. Death hovered too close to our family. Through the miracles of modern medicine, assisted by angels along the way, we survived. And so we ferried in September to our beloved Provincetown at the very tip of Cape Cod. We walked for miles at water’s edge, marveling at the vast ocean. Our mortal footprints disappeared as the tide returned to shore. We witnessed new dawns. Gazed at a glistening moon path on darkest nights. It was a time of contemplation and somber thankful prayers.
Until that early morn. Standing in the cool sand, my shadow elongated before me. Cast like a circus lady on stilts. Like mirrors where clowns stretch tall or wide. Magnified to the absurd. And it birthed a smile. And then a chuckle. And then a laugh. Pure childlike delight far beyond my years. And it felt good.
owls perch and observe
cows chew their cud in solemnity
spring lambs frolic free
It’s Haibun Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets, and Toni asks us to write about shadows. Any kind of shadows. A Haibun includes one or two paragraphs of prose and it cannot be fiction. The prose is followed by a haiku (3 lines with syllable counts of approximately 5, 7, 5). Haikus are about nature and include a seasonal word. Photo is my shadow in Provincetown.
Seasonal Haiku
spring upstaged again
winter has its last hurrah –
robin dreams in snow
Winter storm came to the New England states yesterday. Mother Nature’s April Fools’ Day prank!
Fairy Tale Blues
Farm girl drama queen
with big time dreams,
snared the son of a preacher
with her homey flirtin’ ways.
Singin’ the fairy tale blues.
Son of a preacher
turned big time doc,
maneuvered through the courtin’ tiffs
into a sometimes wedded bliss.
Mansion mama, party queen
livin’ the wonder life,
raisin’ two perfect girls
puttin’ on the ritz.
Spotlight stealer, cravin’ fame
ignored her co-star’s role,
didn’t see him exit left
singin’ the fairy tale blues.
Always the diva drama queen
she stabbed him in their final scene.
She’s doin’ five to ten now,
singin’ the fairy tale blues.
Image in public domain, from Pixabay.com. Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets, where today Frank is “tending bar” and asks us to write a poem with irony in it. Irony can be defined as a story with a surprise ending.
lillian the home poet 