Inspiration

Provincetown Aubade

lillian7 Comments

I stand at water’s edge
on the precipice of new day
as darkness surrounds me.
Cold damp salted air clings
and coats my upper lip.

Cinnamon colored strips
jut their way through ebony sky.
Monotone scrim begins to fluctuate
as dark clouds differentiate themselves,
shades of grey against paling black.

There, there in front of me
hints of red-orange light.
Shards of yellow tinted crimson
elongate, stretch, and slowly shift
until my chill is forgotten.

Glorious golden orb begins to rise.
Sole cormorant on jetty stone
shadowed now in rising dawn,
my only company as I smile.
Today is indeed, a new day.


Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets and for NAPOWRIMO, Day 8.

Laura is hosting dVerse and shares with us the background and meaning of aubade. It is a serenade to dawn. She asks us to write a melodious poem evoking day break and using either the word “morning” or “aubade” in our title.

Photo is from one of our annual two-week stays in Provincetown, at the very tip of Cape Cod, where dawn never ceases to amaze.

This I Promise

lillian3 Comments

nocturnal goddess I am
not of human form
shaped like sliver moon
my candle burns at both ends

headdress gleaned from stars
burning blazing they produce light
beauty etched in darkened scrim
it will not last the night

wars desecrate my vision
some of you defile my spirit
create hell in falling sky
but ah, my foes, and oh, my friends

acts of kindness, innocence of babes
good will shall overcome cruelty
and like the warmth of rising sun
it gives a lovely light

Image from Pixabay.com

Written for NAPOWRIMO Day 3 where the prompt is to write a Spanish form of poertry called a glosa – a form new to me. “Take a quatrain from a poem that you like, and then write a four-stanza poem that explains or responds to each line of the quatrain, with each of the quatrain’s four lines in turn forming the last line of each stanza.”

My glosa references Edna St. Vincent Millay’s poem, which is one quatrain in length, First Fig:
My candle burns at both ends;
it will not last the night;
but ah, my foes, and oh, my friends –
it gives a lovely light!

…in the darkness ye shall find…

lillian45 Comments

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.

IMG_0191

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?

lillian24 Comments

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. 

Wishful Thinking

lillian54 Comments

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

lillian59 Comments

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.

1450506950396

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).