White foam trailing path before me
eyes gaze beyond horizon line,
mind wanders with the sea.
This wake marks our past.
Silent, alone, I rest,
succumb to waves of calm.
Inspiration
…in the darkness ye shall find…
Namrah, my mythical creature.
Born of another time, not of humans.
Birthed from energy of Sun and Lightning’s bolt,
dust of Canyon swirled in Wind’s strong breath.
Eyes that see all, informed by Truth.
Wings that enfold to protect, and when unfurled
span the land of many, emboldened to soar.
Gentle in touch and love,
strong in girth and resolve.
Oh Namrah, through darkest nights of fear
I close my eyes to find your soul.
Seek comfort within your folds,
climb to rest upon your back,
face nuzzled in the curve of your spine.
Take me above this temporal place
where words can be bereft of hope.
Let me feel your simple grace and flow
as we seek new heights and soar above this earth.
I shall feel your strength and gain your confidence.
I shall be enabled
and I shall live.
Shared with dVerse for Open Link Night. Somehow, Namrah has become a fixture in my mind. I first wrote of him some time ago for Friday Fictioneers. Is this the equivalent of a young child’s imaginary friend — a shape-shifter that has become more real in old age? It remains a mystery to me…but the name Namrah has become a mystical presence. Photo from Mount Rainer National Park.
And What Shall Ye Say?
Yes, and how many times can a man turn his head
And pretend that he just doesn’t see?
The answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind
The answer is blowin’ in the wind.
Words from Bob Dylan’s iconic song, Blowin’ in the Wind
The airways reverberate
vitriolic hatred, spewed humiliation
despicable, visceral crudity.
Not crudité as in aperitif.
Main entré of spoils.
The wildfire is aflame
catching drafts of ignorance.
No longer can we pretend.
These are not embers
quietly waning in desert sand.
We must be the douser,
each by declaring no.
It must not be this way.
It cannot be this way.
It is not this way.
The answer is not blowin’ in the wind.
The answer is us.
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets, where Bjorn is hosting and celebrating announcement of the Nobel Prize for Literature to Bob Dylan. Whether you agree with the selection or not, there is no denying the power his words had for so many during difficult times in America’s history. It seems to me, we are in the midst of trying, frightening times again. This poem is dedicated to Bob Dylan’s genius talent, and to Michelle Obama for having the courage yesterday, to stand up and speak out.
This Sunday Morn
We pray, oh Lord, send your sun,
rays of warmth in the midst of cold.
May we awaken to beams of light,
aperture streaks in these darkest times.
Fill our hearts with compassion
that we may genuflect in hope.
Photo taken a number of years ago at a beautiful church in Tallin, Estonia.
Dawn on Provincetown Shores
Joined by a solitary heron,
I watch silently
as light begins to streak the sky.
Dawn breaks and simultaneously
this magnificent creature rises,
tucks its spindle legs
and spreads its wings to soar,
assured a new day has begun.
Photos taken this morning at dawn.
Morning Prayer
Light me a new day, oh Lord.
Your beauty abounds
in the firmaments above
and the ebb and flow of your seas.
We give thanks for the birth of this morn,
a time to live and love.
This morning’s dawn in Provincetown, MA.
Wishful Thinking
There are grey days
cloud descendant misty days
loud angry thunder days
torturously grueling tortoise days
furiously frenetic days
and there are flowers.
Petals for the gathering.
Sunflower fields
heady lilacs, sweet moss rose
shasta daisies, brown-eyed susans
and anytime-of-day four o’clocks.
All ye readers, come flower with me.
Close your eyes and just imagine
a world in bloom, not aflame,
an every hour morning glory.
Written for dVerse Tuesday Poetics where Mish asks us to make a wish today. All photos taken from various vacations, walks around Boston and Provincetown.
Be Ye Not Desolate
White curtains flutter.
Breeze billows through fabric,
createing long cloth ripples
filled and unfilled by unseen wind.
Door left ajar.
The void space within its frame,
a vacancy that waits
filled with hope.
The null set.
Emptiness that knows,
change by one
changes everything.
Written for dVerse, a virtual poets’ pub, where Bjorn is tending bar today and asks us to write a quadrille (44 words, not including title) that makes use of the word jar. A bit of poetic license: did include a jar (ajar).
Joie de Vivre
Effervescent, she shook up life
until it bubbled delicious.
Wore glitter star barrettes
high-kicking through life
like a sequined Rockette.
Bjorn is tending the bar today at dVerse and asks us to write a Twitter poem:
exactly 140 characters. A character is defined as a letter, space, hyphen, or punctuation mark.
Yep, that’s me. About 10 years ago, celebrating with the Boston Pops on the 4th of July on the esplanade. This shot made the jumbotron that night! I always wanted to be a Rockette! 🙂
Passage
Slivers of stardust
xxlie
xxxin
xxxxhis
xxxxxpath.
Stairway to heaven
lightens the way.
lillian the home poet 