for putting in.
Rarely
taking out.
Three corroded pennies.
One pale yellow
Tupperware bottle cap.
One hair comb.
Strands
stuck in teeth.
One black and white
cracking
turned grays
dime store photostrip.
Sachet
absent scent.
Seven holy cards.
Lipstick bottom
almost empty
vibrant
red.
Tumbled
left behinds.
Bits
of
her.
Written for day 3 of my poetry mentor’s March 21 Day Challenge online poetry class. We are to write a poem of short lines with many stanzas.
Dried roses,
brittle as beleagured time.
This yellow, paler now,
graced a funeral spray.
Dew kissed by tears,
gathers patina of dulling dust.
This blood red, from wedding bliss.
This soft blushing pink,
remembrance lost.
Dimentia by decay.
Dried roses,
crumbling petals.
Fading synapses
midst prickly thorns.
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. It’s time for Tuesday’s Poetics with Mish tending bar. She asks us to write about a memento. Bar opens at 3 PM Boston time. Come post a poem or just enjoy imbibing the poetic words of others. Remember, dVerse exists in cyberspace — a virtual pub — so we have poets from around the world post with us! It’s a meeting of poetic spirits – and we call it our virtual pub! Come visit! New prompts on Mondays, Tuesdays and Thursdays — although I try to post here every day.
When two become one, the base remains two.
When two multiplies to four, the base remains two.
Time invested.
Birthing and unconditional love.
Your child’s everything
until independence blooms.
Time apart increases.
They see more, learn more.
And you step in and out,
never fully immersed again.
And they leave.
You are the beginning two again.
Memories, age spots,
and more love.
Knowing as they become two and multiply,
it is a cycle born to repeat itself.
And the most important arc is the base of two.
That is the constant.
Sharing with Open Link Night at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets, where today there is no prompt. We’re free to post one poem of our choosing, Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Come join us!
Warrior, intrepid spirit
woman of heartfelt substance.
For two years
you wore a mantle of prayers,
held fast to hope and faith.
Rest now, dear friend,
your spirit on angel’s wings.
For surely your downright obstinacy
in the face of overwhelming odds
has earned you the right to soar.
My friend, Louise, lost her two year battle with ovarian cancer Sunday night. She fought so hard to live. She will be missed by so many.
She stands on the precipice
life before, a memory
life after, a question
life now, a quest.
In the shadows,
she seeks hope.
Photo taken some years ago in a beautiful church in Tallin, Estonia. Update: My dear friend Louise lost her two year battle with ovarian cancer on Sunday, February 12, 2017. She was a woman of incomparable spirit.
unfurl hope
march, sing
stand resolute and tall.
Answer the call
to freedom this world,
compassion for all.
A second verbification poem for http://dversepoets.com dVerse today. Using nouns as verbs — sunshine and freedom. Saturday, January 21, 2017. First day of a global movement that has the potential for immense power. Photos from Boston’s Women’ Walk for America which included 100,000+ women, men and children. dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Come join us!
like tears gathered in veiled mist.
No loud incendiary words
nor rattling of chains.
Whisper soft,
they cling to mountains
obscure city views,
tall buildings topless
windows moist with deeds past.
They await a new awakening
renewed warmth of will,
a dawn of hope.
Quadrille (44 words) written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Today’s word is “whisper.” Photos: left, taken on our trip to Alaska; right by Jesse Miksic.
May the spirit and hope of Martin Luther King, Bobby Kennedy, Barrack Obama, and John Lewis infuse our land.
Littered path
fallen leaves like trodden dreams.
Though the way be narrow
quaking aspen still shimmer gold.
Sun shines through tallest trees
as faith dissipates clouds of doubt.
Lean. Push. Persevere.
March through unmarked trail.
Steps may stumble, pace may slow.
Hope shall light your way.
Poem dedicated to my dear friend. Her two year battle with ovarian cancer inspires so many. She reminds us that every day is a new beginning.
It’s Poetics Tuesday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Today Mish reminds us the New Year means new beginnings. She provides paintings of 8 gifted artists and asks us to choose one or more “and let the words flow.” The pub opens at 3 PM Boston time….stop in and add your thoughts or just enjoy the words of so many.
Painting credit: New Beginnings. “Jennifer Vranes is best know for her large and vibrant paintings of Aspen Forests and European Landscapes. Her trademarked technique of using a pallete knife to ‘sculpt’ in thick textures has become a favorite among collectors and Art Galleries world-wide.” ~ About the Artist-Jennifer Vranes~ jensart.com
Sweet fawn, framed by forest clearing
breath vapor hangs in air,
eyes wide alert, stare through snow.
Crystal flakes cling to coat,
velvet brown ears quiver
hear soft cries and crooning sounds.
Hooves muted by drifted snow
young woman and man oblivious
as wet nose pushes stable door ajar.
Innocent deer stands quietly,
sees calves lying in tussled straw
lambs nearby, quietly sleep.
And there, wrapped in woolen shawl,
a small babe with contented smile
held close to mother’s breast.
A simple pastoral scene,
Love and Light born this morn.
Photo credit: Benjamin Earwicker. Title from Isaiah 9:6
Poetic license taken (creativity beyond the traditional story).
White crystalline flakes
cascade from dark skies
falling, drifting quietly,
upon the rural scene.
A lowly ass plods slowly
pulled forward by a bearded man.
They lean forward,
tandem force against the wind.
The young woman huddles, sways,
shifted side to side by the animal’s gait.
Feeling movement from within,
she burrows into her woolen shawl.
Talons sunk in frozen bark
feathered body blending into frigid tree,
the snowy owl stares steadily
at the slow motion scene,
watches the couple disappear
over the hill beyond,
unaware, in the darkness,
of the Light that is to come.
Photo in public domain. Poetic license taken (beyond the traditional story).
lillian the home poet 