Young girl with broad grin
face turned upward, felt the tug.
Kite string unwinding
colors dancing, zig zagging
dreams tossed to the wind come true.
Photo from Bermuda’s kite flying tradition on Good Friday.
Happy weekend to all — may your dreams fly high!
NaPoWriMo day 9.
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.
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.
I choose life with mystery. Space.
Question marks, exclamations, ellipses
not brackets or parentheses.
Certainty directs,
connects dots by numbers
like choreographed dance steps.
Give me ad lib, jazz scat
one man band with knees that bang.
Meander, run, or tra-la-la.
Tap shoes. Not silly silk slippers.
Too much between Point A and B
to follow a tutu pink linear path.
Photo Credit: Shirley B. Posted to Poetry Pantry on Poets United.
Thanks, Bjorn, for the introduction!
Holograph, barely here.
I talk like a moth flitters to light,
shadow boxing.
Grin and bear it.
Buck up.
It’ll get better.
Pearls of wisdom faintly heard.
Like oil bubbles’ thinly veiled colors,
disappear in darkness.
Skim me not.
Help find the me.
Please.
Quadrille (44 words) written, including the word grin, as prompted by Bjorn for dVerse.
Fireflies held aloft, cupped softly
between two hands. Flicker on…
off…on…off…under darkening skies.
On…off…dim…dimmer…
flutter palms’ release.
Dance free, bright within the night.
Could it be that easy,
as simply letting go?
Photo Credit: Tracy Stansel
On the edge of my seat
waiting for the world to twirl
days to churn, months to plod,
lean in and listen to me.
Bring me to that place,
the sea of tranquility
oasis in the desert of hate
respite from words spewed
like foaming waves upon the shore.
Where people listen
see beyond semantic walls
smile, consider, reflect
as conscience takes a pause.
Take me there, now.
Please
Photo taken in Bermuda in 2015.
Memory spiders twirling thoughts.
Nurse-white whisper shoes
sidle by. Clocks in freezer
stopped time when I knew me.
Thawed too fast, so they came
in loud tapping shoes.
And we danced ourselves into lucidity,
spotlight shining bright.
I remember tomorrow
like it was yesterday.
Quadrile 1 for dVerse Pub for Poets. Word count 44, using a form of the word dance – as in dance into a condition.
I need your help,
the crocodile is getting close.
Time just seems to disappear
even on ho hum days.
Please send Tinker Bell
to flit round my head.
I’ll remember then
to think wonderful things.
And the starry sky
outside my window
will look more inviting
when it’s my turn to fly.
lillian
Quickly’s Winter Doldrums Jan 10 Prompt: write an epistolary poem – a poem in the form of a letter.
She enjoyed decorating for the season
memories gently removed from tissue paper,
placed about the room.
Christmas cards from years gone by
ornaments of glass and styrofoam
some misshapen, now glitter bare.
Each year’s new wreath carefully selected
artificial greens bedecked in happines
meant to last well beyond her window.
And as Epiphany dawned
she readied herself for church
donned this year’s circle of golden stars.
Her wreath of choice, her Sunday hat.
And she wore the Christmas spirit
well beyond the new year.
In response to the Daily Photo Challenge to let a familiar shape, the circle, inspire you. Poem motivated by photo, taken at the White House December 2015.
News on reels, envelopes sealed with spit
new was last month or a week gone by.
Today it interrupts my present,
becomes a never ending loop.
Sunday drives with i spy and the license game
morphed into get-me-there robots.
Talking heads decapitated
into monotone maps.
Family restaurants turned mausoleums.
Mommy, daddy, Ashley and Drake
eyes down and mouths shut.
Thumbs talk…with imaginary friends.
Paris in Paducah and Chicago too,
a world of twitter and bird shit.
Color me shrink wrapped
and struggling to breathe.
In response to dVerse Poets Pub, December 17 prompt. Write about the times we have lived in – describe the life of the decades you have gone through. Free-write whatever comes to mind and then create your poem around those ideas. Cut it down but keep that raw feeling from your initial free-write.
lillian the home poet 