Sun shimmers through forest’s canopy. Moon cuts path across ocean’s abyss. Infant’s mouth opens to circle small, pink tongue slides in and out and in again.
Girl grins, pumping swing as pigtails fly. Puddles appear inviting all to splash. Child’s momentary shock as bat hits ball, then small feet fly to first.
Thick carpet of pristine snow invites children of all ages to lie down, swooping arms. Create guardian angels among us.
Folks sway in jazz club, hear saxophones mellow out. Watch nimble fingers create piano riffs, brushes rhythmically swish on snares.
In the midst of ever present news, cacophonies of catastrophes. Find space to feel lightness, safe harbors for hope.
Hope for the wrongly convicted. False confessions coerced confessions eyewitness misidentifications forensic science errors public defenders inexperience.
Cell doors clang shut futures stunted tears long since evaporated possibilities suffocated except the Innocence Project has my name.
Written for Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Melissa asks us to consider the song, “Folsum Prison Blues”, written and performed by Johnny Cash. The first four lines of the song are “I hear the train a-comin’, it’s rolling ’round the bend And I ain’t seen the sunshine since I don’t know when.” Melissa asks us to write a poem inspired by the song….and by Johnny Cash actually going to Folsum Prison and singing to the inmates. The Innocence Project is an organization that works toward the release of prisoners who are wrongly accused and imprisoned for crimes. To date, their organization has succeeded in the release of 250 innocent prisoners. The Exonerated Five (formerly the Central Park Five) are some of the more famous individuals who benefited from their work. Image by Daniel Vanderkin from Pixabay
Abracadabra because I want a magician’s wand to change what was into what was not and what could be. Defy divisiveness, effects of hatred, and speaking of the “us” versus the “other”. Forge ahead to find new paths. Gather those who want positive change. Hand in hand with hope, honesty and just intentions, may we begin to just listen. Truly listen knowing we are all located within the same sea of humanity. Listen and listen more. Open our ears and hearts. Make a concerted effort, not numbing the pain of others into oblivion. Prayer is not enough. In the quest for healing, we must reflect on what could be and make it so. It may seem tenuous until we verbally and actively validate the worth of all God’s people. Xenophobia is not an option. You and I, if we’re honest, also have roots in other places. Zest and good will toward all humanity: may it be our Resolution for 2026.
Written for Meet The Bar night at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. We’re asked to become Abecarians: Create a poem of 26 lines where each line begins with a letter of the alphabet and the letters are sequential. I’ve written from A to Z. Not the first letter of the first word in each line. Image from Pixabay.com
People are different. Color, ethnicity, gender, religious beliefs, language, citizenship, culture.
Gather them all in one place, in concentric circles facing each other, holding hands. Each circle defined by a trait.
Note: circles have no beginning or end. He who joined first disappears. She who joined last disappears. All are integral to their circle.
Herein lies a truth of geometric principle. Concentric circles differ in radii but have the same center point. And what is that same center point?
As Maya Angelou famously wrote, “We are more alike, my friends, than we are unalike.” The center point is our humanity.
Sadly however, truth is not constructed reality when the builder is a demolitionist.
Written for Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets across the globe. Today I am hosting: go to https://dversepoets.com to see the prompt this poem is motivated by.
He or she or it peers out from window’s side. Black obsidian-like pupil orange incandescent iris. Half there, half hidden. All knowing? Fearful? Oblivious? Seer by unearned reputation among feathered fowl.
I arrange alphabetical letters. Create single words, strung-along thoughts gibberish with mismatched curves. Leaked ink stains fingers, dribbles dots on embossed paper smears black blotches. Accidental undefined punctuation blobs.
What seers roost among us? Spew artificial intelligence scenarios. Indulge everyman, everywoman, every androgynous human. Note the ever present “man” in that word. Want it? Steal it or create it. At the cost of many for the pleasure of few.
That all seeing obsidian eye? Taxidermist’s handiwork unfinished. Half-body only. Nothing else behind the window. What you see? Rancid carnage, stuffed roadkill. Alternative reality. This is all we get. ““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““`
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. I’m hosting the pub’s Open Link Night today, as well as dVerse LIVE on Saturday from 10 to 11 AM EST. Folks can post any poem of their choosing, no required length, form, or topic OR write an ekphrastic poem, one that is motivated by one of three “window” images I’ve provided, or any “window image” of their choosing.Owl image above from Pixabay.com
Join us LIVE on Saturday, October 25th, between 10 and 11 AM EST!! Want to see and hear poets from around the globe read their poems (all in English)? We’re a very friendly bunch! Come join us to sit in, read a poem of your choice, and/or join in the conversation. Click here and then click on the Zoom meeting link provided (video and audio). Hope to see you Saturday, October 25th between 10 and 11 AM at our LIVE session!
In the waning days of autumn nature sheds its hilarity. Crimson red, halloween orange, and golden yellow leaves shrivel, lose their vim and fall. Farmers’ fields, stripped of crops seem eeirly clold and barren.
I seek warmth, light and respite. Candles lit, afghan wrapped, mulled wine and book at hand, I hibernate. I am, afterall, a creature of nature. Slowed by age and sensitive to seasonal biorhythms.
Shared with dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe.
nature’s cancan skirts vivid orange, gold, crimson red leaves delight the eyes
windows opened wide fresh breezes ruffle curtains pumpkins on display
witches roam the streets moms and dads with little ones door to door for treats
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Dora’s prompt is entitled Tripping the October Light Fantastic. She asks us to write a poem about October. Photo from last October in Boston’s Public Garden.
Rooftops cold, lifeless. No sharing. No caring. Dead metaphorically.
Values depleted. Hopper’s view of the future, stark warning. Resist.
Jarring emptiness. Where were you when it happened? Democracy failed.
Today Sanaa hosts OLN at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. We can either post a poem of our choosing OR post a poem related to the image above.
Chiseled jaw, high cheekbones. Tired eyes glance sideways, energy depleted. Joyless. Her exquisitely shaped lips rouged deepest red. Closed, not pursed, yet somehow gentle. Dark tendrils hang beside her face, drooping as if exhausted. Indigo headscarf appears torn. Disheveled from constant wear or symbolic of war torn life. Blues bleed pale into background. Not thickened red of blood but bleeding nonetheless. One lustrous pearl earring hangs coldly, boldly iridescent in a palette of darkness. Did she really wear it for the sitting? Or is it the artist’s one defiant stroke?
Written for Open Link Night at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Image from Pixabay.com
Want to hear and watch poets from around the globe read a poem aloud? Come join us as I host dVerse LIVE on Saturday, June 21st from 10 to 11 AM Boston time. Last time I hosted, we had folks from Sweden, Pakistan, all across the US, Kenya, the UK, Australia, South Africa, and Trinidad Tobago! Come read a poem of your own or just sit in to listen. We’re a friendly bunch. The more the merrier!
To join us LIVE on Saturday, June 21st from 10 to 11 AM Boston time, just click here and scroll down to the LIVE LINK. Hope to see you there!
lillian the home poet 