As the sun sets on this day may we pray to remember the good that surrounds us, the good that can be.
Help us to find our way to a kinder world. May each of us contemplate sameness.
Our sameness. Our humanity. May leaders from all countries all religions, all ethnicities, strive for gentle caring.
May we look in the mirror eyes and hearts open, and find each other.
Written today for Open Link Night at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. In today’s world, with so much strife, division, and warring factions, I thought it important to offer this prayer.
dVerse will go live today from 3 to 4 PM EST. Folks from around the globe are invited to post a poem and read it aloud or simply to come and listen. A link will be provided at 3 PM EST HERE to join us on video and audio for one hour. We will do the same on Saturday morning from 10 to 11 AM EST. Would love to have you join us. The more the merrier!
Photo from sunset in San Diego some years ago. The photo feels peaceful and serene to me….and somehow the sun and the rolling hills in the background remind me of hope for a new day.
Suppose I spin summit rejuvenatement reverberate insanely peek into everland see paradise enlightenment stop spinning rest in peace irrevocably stop
Written for dVerse where Bjorn presents us with quite a challenge – to write a poem using the following rules: 1) Select a title of one word containing not more than 3 vowels and 3 consonants. 2) Try to find as many words that are using only the letters in the title. 3) Combine this into a poem of your own. 4) Do not use any punctuation in the poem. The rules comprise a poetic form created by Canadian poet Christian Bök known for his experimental work. “Rejuvenatement” is a word I created when I rejuvenated (never say re-tired). Image by Merlin Lightpainting from Pixabay
We are the baby-boomers, celebratory births conceived and born after World War II. We lived in our all white world, walked to elementary school in Mary Janes and white lacey ankle socks.
We were the oblivious ones riding from Chicago to Florida. Family vacations to grandma’s excited to buy Orange Blossom eau de cologne and praline candies at rest stops.
We had no idea Black families used The Green Book for the same trip. Dog-eared pages marked “friendly” towns. Listed cafes, motels, and gas stations where Negroes were welcome.
We didn’t know anybody named Jim Crow. As young kids, we blindly sipped from white-only fountains, sat where we wanted at diners along the route.
But we know now, or do we? – How many of us have seen or read the children’s book, Ruth and the Green Book by Calvin Alexander Ramsey?
How many of us have read The 1619 Project? Written by Nikole Hannah-Jones, winner of the Pulitzer Prize and a #1 New York Times bestseller.
What are we afraid of? We may not be Bible readers but we’ve all heard John 8: 31 and 32. “The truth will set you free.” Now is the time the truth be told.
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Bjorn is hosting from Stockholm, Sweden and asks us to write a poem in the “collective” voice — we, our. Given the movement so rampant in parts of the US to ban books, I thought it important to write this poem. If you’ve not read either of the books I mention, they are well worth the read.
Quoting from the Calvin Alexander Ramsey at the end of his book: “In 1936, an African American living in New York City named Victor Green wrote a book to help black travelers. He made a list of all the hotels, restaurants, gas stations and businesses that would serve African Americans in his city. There was such a high demand for his book that he decided his next edition would include other towns in other states, as well. The Green Book was sold for a quarter in 1940 at black-owned businesses and at Esso stations, which were among the only gas stations that sold to African Americans. Esso was owned by the Standard Oil Company, which eventually provided funding and offices for Victor Green. The Green Book quickly became very popular and helped many businessmen on the road, as well as the families who needed and wanted to travel by car. By 1949, the price of the Green Book had grown along with its size – it cost 75 cents and was 80 pages. It covered all the United States, Bermuda, Mexico, and Canada! In the 1950s and early 1960s, civil rights leaders like Martin Luther King Jr. brought national and international recognition to the injustices suffered by African Americans. Jim Crow’s days were numbered. On July 2, 1964, President Lyndon Johnson signed the Civil Rights Bill into law. Among other things, this act made it illegal for hotels, restaurants, and gas stations to discriminate against customers.
Victor Green published the final edition of the Green Book that same year – 1964.”
My kaleidoscope memories, colorful because they feature you and me. Time before you sepia toned, indistinct.
Like a deeply embedded sliver tender to the touch, fear festers as you sleep beside me.
I need longer days and many many more, to continue being us.
Written for dVerse where today it’s Quadrille Monday. Kim is hosting and asks us to include the word “sliver” in our poem of exactly 44 words, sans title.
Music, when soft voices die, Vibrates in the memory – Percy Bysshe Shelley, English Romantic Poet (1792 – 1822)
People say, watching someone transition from all knowing, to sporadic dementia, to full blown Alzheimer’s, is like watching someone disappear. It seems to me, there could be another perspective . . .
She saw our bodies, our faces. But in her eyes, we were shadows. In the beginning of the end the mist would eventually lift. She’d remember our names, laugh with us as we reminisced.
But the veil fell and we lost her, and she lost us. We no longer existed in her world. But the music . . . sweet notes, harmony, songs she loved. These she kept in her heart.
Some days, we’d find her singing. Her voice clear and strong. Her face animated. We dared not interrupt lest she stop and simply stare confused.
She’s gone now, gone from this earth. In her last days of lying still, eyes closed, lights dimmed, unaware of nurses nearby or family by her side, occasionally she’d smile.
I have no doubt angels were hovering nearby, humming a lullaby only she could hear.
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today is Tuesday Poetics and Merril asks us to write a poem about a transition in time we may have experienced or that we’ve thought about. She provides the poetry lines from Percy Bysshe Shelley at the top of my poem, as a bit of inspiration. They made me think about the lasting power of music for those who, for example, suffer from dementia and Alzheimer’s disease.
I was reminded of Tony Bennett’s last concert with Lady Gaga, when he was suffering from Alzheimer’s. He had trouble remembering many things but as soon as he heard the music of the standby songs he sang and loved for so many years, and was in front of the audience, all the music came back to him. The YouTube video is of him singing at that last concert.
On a more personal note, I learned several days ago that an old college friend of mine recently died. We were sorority sisters and she sang in our college choir and for all these years, in her church choir. Like Tony Bennett, I know from last year’s Christmas letter from her husband, that although her memory problems were increasing, she was still singing in her church choir. At her funeral, which I was able to watch in a recording, the pastor said her life was a song….and he had no doubt, God was singing a lullaby to her in her final days.
When I think of aging visions of nature appear poetically, ready to be written across the page. But my hand tremor sets script askew, not unlike a preschooler’s first attempt at printing their name.
——–
Bright pink ruffled peony once perkily perched, quite the showy thing gleaming amongst greenery. Now droops beneath residue of last night’s fierce thunderstorm, struggles to hold its bloom.
Newborn foal, gangly tries to gain its footing. Youthfully romps through fields colored riotously in wildflowers. Years later, put to pasture. Stands swaying slightly, head down, eyes clouded, wildflowers a dull blur.
And I myself, mark changes in my body. Steps slow and sometimes falter, veins protrude on hands. News comes of friends facing grave illness, friends who leave this earth. I reflect more and more on what was, and what is, and what is to come.
Perennials dance in spring’s fresh air, stand proudly through their season. Then wilting, lie down to disintegrate beneath winter’s winds and snow. But their seed is strong. The next generation takes their place, for they are perennials and their beauty continues.
Written for Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today, dear friend Sanaa is hosting. She asks us to write in the style of Amber Rose Tamblyn, an American actress, author, poet, and film director. Sanaa tells us Tamblyn’s “poetry is incredibly unique and descriptive. When asked where the power lies when it comes to writing, Amber Rose answered, ‘when it makes you feel every human emotion all at once.’” Sanaa asks us to create visuals in our poem and “aim to explore the human condition.”
Take my hand. Travel with me through starry starry nights to a new place not yet discovered. Not yet befouled by humanity, but still palpable in its existence.
Happiness, serenity, joy, jubilation, celebration, exuberance good works and caring, and most importantly, optimism shall color this world.
All peoples dwelling here shall live within the light. None shall be unseen, unheard, besmirched, assigned to the shadows. If I were to paint this place . . .
it would be spills of pastels and primary hues beginning at the bottom of the canvas and rising until they meld into a crescendo of love.
If you take my hand this day, this hour this moment to embark upon this journey, might others join our endeavor?
Can it only be achieved on a small scale, two people within a cocoon?
Or can we gather together creative spirits of master artists from centuries past? Might they join today’s artists and somehow . . .
paint our dreams into a reality . . . into a place of life and joy and hope for you and me . . . and for the many.
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe.
I’m hosting OLN LIVE at dVerse on Thursday from 3 to 4 PM EST and again on Saturday from 10 to 11 AM EST.
It’s an opportunity to join us via video and audio, to read a poem of your choice and listen as others do the same. OR, just come to sit in if you prefer.
Go to https://dversepoets.com beginning at 3 PM Thursday, EST, and you’ll find a link for Thursday’s LIVE session and one for Saturday – just click on the link and you’ll be with us LIVE!
Image is of course, Starry Starry Night by Vincent Van Gogh and is in public domain.
I was not there, the day everything changed. When was that? When World War II ended? When Einstein discovered relativity? When nine-eleven crashed into infamy?
Or when Harry really met Sally? Or when you simply ate a peach that summer day, juice deliciously dripping down your tanned wrist. Somewhere at that moment, I suppose a child was born.
Truth is, everything changes with every breath we take. Every pivot, every spin, every loping run, something new becomes.
Nothing stands still. Except perhaps sentinel mountains in the Norwegian fjords. Yet even they are marred by subtle granular shifts as we gaze up at their rugged rockface surface.
Like when we turned around and our children became adults. We noticed when their braces came off that summer, but we didn’t register the daily shifts.
I don’t understand my image in the mirror. I know it’s me. But how did it become . . . that? Wasn’t it just yesterday, I was a brunette and you introduced yourself to me?
Fifty-seven years later, we walk more slowly, still hand in hand more often than not. We’ve passed through so many seasons together, the path is now longer behind than in front.
And so my love, in this moment that shall also pass by all too quickly, I simply must tell you. I am thankful for every day. I am thankful for you.
Written to share with dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe.
Saturday, March 18, dVerse will go LIVE with audio and video from 10 to 11 AM EST.
Folks from across the globe will meet face-to-face via Google Meet to read a poem of their choosing, and to visit across the miles.
You’re skywriting now, in stardust and bright moonbeams. Still, we’ll miss you here.
Glenn Buttkus. Jun 14, 1944 – February 17, 2023.
Born in Seattle, Washington in 1944, he was a movie buff and an amateur thespian through high school, community theater, and college productions. He was accepted into the U of W’s BFA Professional Actor’s Training Program in 1970, then in its third year of existence. He worked in Regional Theatre in the Northwest for a few years, and then relocated to Los Angeles. In 1977, he took a job at an agency for the blind that was located near Hollywood, and he found a new love: special education. He returned to college, getting his MA in Education and worked with blind people for thirty years. (from m.imdb.com) Glenn was a frequent contributor to dVerse and other online venues. His was a powerful voice at our OLN LIVE sessions. He is already missed.
Image clipped from his last appearance at OLN LIVE.
lillian the home poet 