Friendly foursome of youth
we lived near Mississippi shores
dancing with fire flies,
oblivious to time.
Fifty years of days gone by
we meet again,
laughter etched in faces lined,
steps slowed by trials of time.
Remember-when stories shared
told and retold louder now.
Sitting young in wizened frames,
we laugh and love in cherished time.
Old friends. Young hearts. Augustana College is located in Rock Island, Illinois — along the shores of the mighty Mississippi – our alma mater.
Father to five, beloved son,
you left far too suddenly.
Unable to escape or run,
knees buckled at Death’s glee.
And we were left behind in shock,
screams and rampant grief.
Angry words turned empty talk,
echoed wails with no relief.
Standing graveside, stooped in loss,
tears drenched with memories
fell upon your coffin etched with cross,
placed ‘neath quaking Aspen trees.
Rest now, my brother dear
and know that we are well.
Your children’s children keep you near,
and their children shall as well.
For all their hopes in future years
their smiles, their deeds in numbers swell,
all of these my brother dear
your legacy do tell.
Written for dVerse — asking us to do an elegy today.
Photo is my brother, nine years older than me, died far too young at 51. Gone more than twenty years, I still miss him.
Stars and stripes ripple in the breeze,
spirits from thousands past
breathing life into those folds of cloth.
The lone sound of Taps cuts through crisp air
bearing witness to their sacrifice,
the price they willingly paid
that we might live in freedom’s path.
Bjorn is tending the bar today at dVerse Poets’ Pub and asks us to write a quadrille (44 words) using the word “breeze.” Taps is a slow haunting melody, traditionally performed by a lone bugler, at military funerals and ceremonies. Today, May 30, 2016 is Memorial Day in the USA – a day on which we honor those patriots who died serving our country; and give thanks to all veterans who have served or are serving today.
Ah youth
tis so hard to say goodbye.
Twirl the rope instead of jump
avoid the puddles instead of stomp.
Piggy bank replaced by credit card,
stiff joints and aging spots.
The antidote is children’s laughter,
hugs and kisses, daring do,
dragons, dollies and make-believe.
Clocks turn magically backwards,
surround sounds of silliness
in gramma’s visits to Neverland .
Written for dVerse Poets’ Pub: Abhra tending bar asks us to write a poem about a temporary goodbye. Just back from a family visit — and a return to my writing — I thought this appropriate! Various photos of me and grandkids — they do keep me young! 🙂
Passionate quilter,
tiny stitches galore
cacophony of color.
Love migrates
from fingers to cloth.
Character sketch written for dVerse Poets’ Pub. Photo credit: Jonathan M
Unpredictable.
Lightning flashes,
hot licks that seared your soul.
Rosary beads tucked in drawer
near lace-edged handkerchiefs
and candy wrappers.
Pinochle, canasta
she held the deck,
played war occasionally.
A one-man woman she
danced to big band sounds.
Buried sister, son
two birthdays apart,
hers not theirs.
Gone these many years,
she still pops in and out
unpredictably.
Walt is hosting dVerse Poets’ Pub today, asking us to write about a character.
She was indeed.
i remember
skip-to-my-lou
kukla, fran and ollie
days of the week underpants
and uncle howie’s store
the wisconsin dells’ wooden indian
my lone ranger lunch box
howdy doody’s freckles
miss tews’ ballet school
and kindergarten with junie z
any one out there
remember me?
A quadrille (44 words) written for dVerse using the word “skip.” Skip to My Lou is a popular children’s song – begun in 1826 as a lyrical game in Abraham Lincoln’s youth in southern Indiana and Kentucky, it became a partner-stealing dance in the 1840s. In my childhood, we literally skipped along the sidewalk singing this song. Photos: The Lone Ranger; Kukla, Fran and Ollie; and Howdy Doody – tv shows popular in the 1950s. Me playing dress-up with Junie Z, on a Wisconsin Dells vacation, and ready for a Miss Tews dancing recital.
the circle of love
family
Morning elixirs
hot steaming coffee
light spring rain
sweet baby at the breast
mornings measured in sighs.
Day 17 NaPoWriMo 30 poems in 30 days. Image of Gustav Klimt’s mother with child.
Family, famil, familiar
two then three, then four.
Front stoop chalk, campfire tales
I Spy and mountain trails.
Telephone talks on and on
car key nerves to cap and gown.
Roots and wings, goal achieved
two again, relax, lean in.
Hands and hearts entwined
in all the old familiar places.
Rekindle the constant,
you and me and love.
NaPoWriMo Day 2: write about family.
lillian the home poet 