Life

New Day

lillian56 Comments

Reminded not too long ago that life is transitory, I begin each day in a slow deliberate way. After padding into our galley kitchen in slippers and robe, a morning ritual begins. Paper cone unfolded, fits inside the top half of a glass carafe. Five carefully measured tablespoons of fresh ground beans are placed inside. Two and one-third cups of boiling water held aloft, I pour just enough to saturate the grounds. And then I count. One-thousand-one, one-thousand-two, one-thousand-three. Moist grounds aerate thirty seconds as I lean in to inhale. Water held aloft again, ever so slowly poured, counterclockwise. Dark liquid foams and slowly seeps into the glass carafe. Filter empties, save wet brown clinging to its sides. Paper sieve discarded, I pour steaming hot elixir into a white ceramic mug. Anticipation rising, I pad my way to the study and sit for that first sip. Eyes closed, savoring the taste and scent. And now, journal and pen in hand, I write. Thankful for this new day.

Coffee beans grown in hot sun
roasted to robust, slowly brewed,
nature’s wake-up call.

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It’s Haibun Monday at dVerse! Today Toni asks us to write a Quotidian. Quotidian means daily — refers to something that happens daily or that we use daily.

It’s in the Doing

lillian51 Comments

Once,
I wished
on a star.
Another time
a four leaf clover.
Eyes squeezed shut, breath held tight
twenty-one birthday candles
blown out from one huge sucked in puff.
But I’ve come to learn as I grow old,
it’s not in the wishing that dreams come true.

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Written for dVerse Poet’s Pub. Today, Victoria asks us to write an etheree, shaped by syllabic lines from 1 to 10. First line 1 syllable, second line 2 syllables, third line 3 syllables etc. up to the tenth line of 10 syllables. Quite fun to do!

Passage

lillian52 Comments

You carried me
over the threshold…
alice found crazy hats
and a tea party…
stalactites dripped slowly
until they began to fall…
fissures…
apertures…
this time
you cannot be
with me…
door to something
somewhere…
and I must
pass
alone.

chairTending the bar today at dVerse’s virtual Pub for Poets. It’s Tuesday Poetics and I’ve asked folks to write a poem relating to the word “door.” Although I provided a number of photos for possible use, writers can also use one of their own. This one was taken at Boston’s Museum of Fine Arts a few days ago – a space you enter wtih three walls, ceiling and floor covered in mirror or mirror-like materials with beads and jewels hanging from various areas. Looking back at the photo – it seems a passage to another world — perhaps an afterlife?  Who knows? You’re invited to visit dVerse and pop through some doors with a group of wonderful writers!

Fini

lillian5 Comments

extinction has become
a way of life
push ‘em back, push ‘em back
way back

thieves in the night
spread into the world
Serengetti, oceans blue
chrysalis and hives

letter writing, long white gloves
walking unplugged and fountain pens
family dinners, darning socks
rotary dial and porch talk

push ’em back, push ’em back
way back

civility disappears in spews
listening usurped abducted
mouths agape without ears
warnings ignored

das Ende, el fin
fine, mwisho

push ’em back, push ’em back
way back, yeah team

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NaPoWriMo Day 27 — using day 26’s prompt to write a poem with a refrain. Confession: I was a high school cheerleader.  “Push ’em back, push ’em back, way back” was used when the other football team was getting too close to the goal line. That “refrain” popped into my head and then I started thinking about all the things that have disappeared in my lifetime — far too many to mention here. And I realized, extinction has become a way of life — how strange to put those two words together!  “the end” is offered in different languages. It is after all, a worldwide problem. Thought the Japanese word for “the end” was quite interesting, containing the English word “wish.”

In Response to Mary Oliver [2]

lillian51 Comments

most of the world is time
when we’re not here,
not born yet, or died –

I am infinitesimally small.

Those who knew me at birth
cared for me, walked with me,
left this earth too soon by my count,
melded into the universe.

The sun however,
still shines upon me
although days are shorter
and final miles fewer.

At my back,
the sun projects my future,
step by step in front of me
a syncopated seer.

Shadowed possibilities
become realities,
one foot forward
into the new.

In front of me
she warms my face
till glances backward
see my past,

following me,
stepping where I was
but a moment before,
a speck of time

a dab of humanistic paint
upon a pointillist canvas,
soon to intersect
with those before my time.

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Written for dVerse Tuesday Poetics. We are to respond to a poet in dVerse, or a poet of our choice. We may or may not use an actual line from their poem. The first line here is from Hummingbird Pauses at the Trumpet Vine by Mary Oliver. In Response to Mary Oliver [2]  is two because when I started writing poetry in February 2015, my first attempt was a response to another poem by Mary Oliver — rewritten in January 2016. I enjoy her writing — and she is a kindred spirit in terms of being a Massachusetts resident from Provincetown, where we spend two glorious weeks each fall. Today is also used for NaPowWriMo Day 26.

Notes from a Musical Interlude Fantasia 2

lillian40 Comments

It was the big band era, lots of brass
Billy whalin’ on the drums
while Johnny waited for his riff
makin’ the keyboard swing.

And me, standin’ on the riser
my long arms waitin’ too.
“Wing span of a hawk” mama said,
just the ticket for a trombone man.

Yeah, I could slide that brass
hear the notes clear and smooth
no strings or keys,
just that long sleek glide.

And Mabel at the mic,
feathers clipped in henna dyed hair
sultry voice in the sweet spots
hips, always swingin’ to the beat.

Never made it big like the Duke
but we had our gigs.
A glass of gin between sets
and smoke swirlin’ round our heads.

They’re all gone now.
Pawned my ‘bone long time ago.
But sometimes, while I’m sittin’ here
I can put myself there.

I close my eyes and start to sway
Mabel leanin’ real close like she did.
I wheel this chair around a bit
and I can feel us back there again,
swingin’ to that big band sound.

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Rescored for dVerse Poetics Fantasia. This was originally posted in 2015, inspired by Carl Sandburg’s Jazz Fantasia. I’ve reworked it a bit — thinking it a good one for today’s prompt. I am hosting dVerse today — wonderful experience. In the words of Carl Sandburg, Go to it oh jazzmen!

All That Jazz

lillian35 Comments

Swingin’, swayin’ to all that jazz
Max drummin’ drums to syncopate
Ella’s scat, can ya dig it mate?

Billie’s sultry voice croons smooth as
liquid gold. Zoot suit struts janglin’
while Louis puffs his cheeks far as

air can go. Cool rhythms gyrate,
swingin’, swayin’, to all that jazz.

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Great jazz musicians referenced in poem include Max Roach drummer, Ella Fitzgerald, Billie Holiday, both jazz singers; and Louis Armstrong, trumpeteer extraordinaire. Written for dVerse Poet’s Pub. Victoria asks us to create an Octain Refrain: Poem composed of two tercets and a couplet. Each line must contain 8 syllables. Poem must contain the following rhyme scheme: A b b, a c-c a, bA   Another poetic sudoku! A is the refrain with first and last being the same or close to the same. Second stanza c-c means there should be an internal rhyme within the line. Quite the challenge!  Photo credit: Free-Pik.