Life

Desperate Corners

lillian8 Comments

Spinning. Top handle pushed.
Heel of hand slams down.
Pumps up and down,
fast, faster as head whirrs.
Manic music loop hums, buzzes.
Commuter rail speeds like top.
Speeds to dos, never dones.
Programmed straight line
but circles back. Races there
then back again. Then there,
back, and there again.
Riding circles in straight line track.
Back and forth and back . . .
going nowhere somewhere same.
No exit, detour, changing lanes.
No corners to cut.
Desperately need to circumvent.
Hell’s spinning in my head.
Straight line circles on track,
back and forth and back again.
Flat circles straight through Dante’s hell.
Cats in the cradle fingers frozen.
Razor feels cool in hand.
Razor-cut corners. Find corners,
arcs through blue veined tubes.
Red globules travel through body
to heart through body to heart . . .
. . . till corner is cut and circle is . . .
. . . your image blurs slowly . . .
like over-used hopscotch chalk.
Jump off grid at double squares.
Heel of hand feebly strikes on top.
Off line, pace slows,
sounds slur, world blurs.
Circle spins slower . . . slowe . . .
slow. . . slo . . . sl . . . s. . .
Stop chasing tail.

top-169872_1920

Written for Day 22, Napowrimo.  Prompt: To write a poem that disproves the statement “A circle can’t have corners.”

Grant Me Peace

lillian5 Comments

Decision must-do list sits crumpled,
blue pill bottle tipped askew.
Disturbed sleep awaits release,
sweat covered head buried in down.

I teeter,
teacup-shaped rowboat
adrift on wobbly table legs.
Knife-shaped oars
slice mahogany waves,
slivers shred my hands.
Teeth grit like hammer’s vise.
One thousand dentists drill,
prying, prying, prying still.
High pitched metallic sound
gathers sharks, circling round.
Close to waking, tossing, turning
seagull’s wings appear.
Flapping madly, madly more
tip the cup ‘till I spill forth,
swim across the dawning rays.
Sea of calm upon my face
hands relax, fingers curve,
arms arc upon the bed.
Dream softens in balletic pose,
body slips to denouement.
Curtains rise on new world.

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Written for Napowrimo, Day 14 where we’re asked to consider dreams….and to include one or all of the following words/items: teacup, hammer, seagull, ballet slipper, shark, wobbly table, dentist, row boat. I’ve included all….using balletic and slips for ballet slipper. 

. . . carousel music rings in my ears

lillian5 Comments

My mind says do it.
Muscle memory falters,
too many springs have sprung,
the daffodil kind.
Too many candles have crowded flowers,
the icing kind.

Life’s become a carousel ride.
I’m the unbolted horse,
slowly getting up from down
moving slower still from down to up.
Au naturel, gold gilding eroded by time
ultimately rounding the bend.

Walking to my once busy house,
I imagine that merry-go-round
music wooing, colors shimmering.
I smile as my mind reminds me done that,
and I pick up my pace,
kicking through the autumn leaves.

horse-754891_1280

Day 11 of Napowrimo. April is national poetry writing month. Today’s prompt includes these words, “If you are a citizen of the “union” that is your body, what is your future “state of the union” address?”

Last Breath

lillian9 Comments

Stem sticky sap, spent dandelion
clutched in blue-veined hand,
slowly raised to cracked lips.
Eyes wide, she blew, wishing not.
Seeds and tenuous wisps dislodged,
age-old secrets sent to God.

Ali - Dandelion

Officially day one of NaPoWriMo! A poem a day during the month of April, National Poetry Writing Day. Today the prompt is to write about secrets.

Big City Haibun

lillian23 Comments

She returned to her new home, a big city after Iowa. Good day at new job, alone with glass of wine in hand, the familiar chair feels comfortable. Staring at unpacked boxes, lacking energy, two unfamiliar items come into view. Walking closer, she eyes them more intently.

Two dirty, half coiled, frayed bungee cords sit atop an unopened box. Bungee cords? Metal steel curved hooks on dirty elastic cords. Quietly she hurried out the door.

partridge returns to nest
canine impressions mar one egg
nervous feathers flair

Haibun written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets where today we’re asked to write about an emotion without naming it — evoking it by the use of objects and imagery.  Haibun: prose that cannot be fiction, followed by a haiku. The prose describes what happened, before my husband joined me in Boston, on my second or third day in our new condo.  We moved here from Iowa. Turns out, some workers had entered our unit, without permission, to do some work….and realized they were in the wrong unit. I got security to do a thorough walk-through with me and then found out what happened. Needless to say, I received many apologies from management and I’m happy to say, we’ve lived safely and happily ever since. 

Elixir

lillian7 Comments

Can you recall her?
Elfin sprite, youthful innocence.

Sipped happiness
from rose petals tipped toward sun.
Turned acorn crowns upside down
savoring drops of morning dew.
Danced with snowflakes
tasting cold on outstretched tongue.

Cup your wizened hands
‘neath steady drizzling rain.
Raise them to cracked lips
eyes closed, sip deeply.
Recapture hope.

white-rose-2907862_1920

Written for dVerse Tuesday Poetics where Paul asks us to pen a poem about “drinking”; being as creative as we wish with the word.

tanka – a study in brevity

lillian51 Comments

childhood innocence
blushing cheeks and pudgy knees
jump-rope and hopscotch ~
photos keep her company
brittle memories thick with dust

album-2974646_1920

Frank is our Thursday host at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. He asks us to consider brevity in our writing…and talks about the Japanese poetic forms of haiku and tanka as examples of brevity. Tanka is 5 lines with the syllabic content 5-7-5-7-7 and should contain a “pivot” at or after the third line. Here, there is a change of perspective: lines 1 – 3 describe childhood for the reader. There’s a sense of liveliness and action. Lines 4 and 5 shift the reader’s view to an elderly person looking at the photos of childhood and hopscotch. The liveliness is gone, replaced by that last line. The person seems alone….left to finger and think about these images, these brittle memories. Perhaps the photos and her memory are “thick with dust?”

Harlequin

lillian57 Comments

Medieval court’s poetic jester
leaps cross marble floor,
bells on cap and toes.
Sings boldly eyeing men,
their indiscretions
bared aloud.

Sag-faced courtiers
murmur hoarsely, choking coarsely,
cannot silence tales.
Red-faced king sits in midst
as women waggle fingers,
his scepter turned to stone.

bells-1295520_1280

Quadrille (44 words, sans title) written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets, where today De asks us to include the word “murmur”. Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time — come on over and quaff some poems!